The Role of Aunties

I love Aunties. Everyone needs to have Aunties in their life. Lots of Aunties.

Aunties are like Mom, but Not-Mom. When you’re a kid or teen, sometimes you need a trustworthy adult to confide in or ask questions that you can’t, for whatever reason, ask your own parents.  Aunties can give you a little different perspective about the world. Aunties don’t mind giving you a little extra candy or sneaking you that first grownup book that might be a LITTLE bit above your current reading and maturity level. Aunties are like your first therapist and if you’re REALLY lucky, you might get some Aunties that are a teensy bit subversive. We all need a little subversive influence now and again.

Aunties aren’t just important when you’re a kid. When you grow up, you might find yourself with some new Aunties. They might be a trusted professor or coworker or boss with life experience they’re willing to share with you.  They look out for you. They teach you how to navigate the tricky grownup world. Business people like to call these “mentors” but the older I get, the more I realize what they really are. They are Aunties in business suits.

So why exactly am I on about Aunties today? Because this morning I lost one. 

We weren’t related biologically, but she was definitely my Auntie. I’ve known her literally my entire life. Most of the memories I have of my early childhood involve our families doing things together. We were family. She was my second Mom and I’ve always thought of her daughters as sisters, even if we’ve grown apart as adults.

Once upon a time, at a pivotal point in my early 20s, this particular Auntie gave me some invaluable advice that I will never, ever forget. It was kind of a funny conversation. Not even a topic we would normally have talked about, but she’d just observed a situation unfolding and a tiny subversive Auntie streak (a streak I didn't know she had) came roaring to life.

She told me to always remember that my life is exactly that – MINE. And regardless of what external pressure I’m under and no matter WHO is applying that pressure, there are times you simply cannot go along with everyone else’s expectations. Because some compromises you can never take back. Your heart knows what is right. Listen to it.

And I did. Every time I find myself at a crossroads in life, I listen to what my heart is saying. What it’s ACTUALLY saying, not what I WANT it to say and definitely not what other people are telling me it SHOULD say. 

Sometimes that means I’ve made decisions that other people didn’t really like. But I’ve never made a decision that was ultimately wrong. Ever.

That was the most precious gift any Auntie ever gave me.

My Bear (A Love Story)

When I was seven or eight years old, we took a trip to Newport, Oregon.  I remember walking on the docks at the Bayfront, the reek of fresh fish and the sounds of barking sea lions, squawking seagulls, laughing tourists, and fishermen unloading the day’s catch.  We had just visited the Undersea Gardens and Ripley’s Believe It or Not and were heading back to pile into the station wagon when Mom pulled me aside and handed me a bag.  “This is from me and Dad,” she said.  “We wanted you to have it.” 

Inside the bag was a most glorious polar bear.  White and fluffy, his head angled slightly to the left just perfectly so I could clutch him to my chest.  A bear, just for me.  A toy that didn't have to be shared with my siblings.  A rare gift! 

And that was how my life with My Bear began.  

My beautiful polar bear has no name.  More often than not, he is just plain Bear.  I attempted to name him over the years, but nothing suited him.  He didn't answer to George or Frank. He definitely wasn't a Pooh.  Not even a Snuggles or a Snowball.  I would try a new name for a day or even a week, but no name would do.  He was simply My Bear.

My Bear has seen many things and been many places.  He has been packed in suitcases, tossed in backseats, stuffed into storage bins, crammed into backpacks.  He has even been vacuum packed (he did NOT like this).  He has been a front seat passenger across the country. Twice!  He has seen Mount Rushmore, Custer’s Last Stand, three Great Lakes and TWO oceans.  He hated living in Chicago almost as much as I did.

My Bear has seen the darkest moments of my life.  He bore witness to the three years of my Deep Purple Funk, when I could not drag myself out of bed or off the floor, when ceasing to exist seemed like a viable option. The days when I could do nothing but cry.  The days when I couldn't even cry.

My Bear contains the evaporated remnants of an accumulated 30 years of tears.  Secret tears that no one else knows about. When my beautiful calico kitten was flattened in the street and I stoically stated that one should expect such a demise of a barn cat, but secretly I was dying inside.  At summer camp in Alaska when I was casually informed over the phone of the death of Great-Uncle Howard, who I will always remember as a curmudgeonly old cowboy who was nevertheless always nice to me and who was the very first person I ever knew who died.  He was followed in short order by a grandfather, a beloved uncle, another grandfather, then several years later and most devastatingly, by my grandmother.  Only My Bear knows how many tears of despair and grief and whispered sobs of “Grandma, where are you, I need you” haunt me to this day.

My Bear has nursed more broken hearts than I care to remember. He knows every tale of cruel lover and false friend, loneliness and longing. He's endured the ridicule of thoughtless boys, safe in the knowledge that when THEY are long gone, Bear will still remain. Regardless of what happens, My Bear doesn't judge. He never says “I told you so.” He never offers unwelcome advice nor makes any demands.  He doesn't become angry that I ignore him when things are going well and demand his love almost solely when things are going badly. He just IS and he lets me just BE. I hold him in my left arm and he rests his head on my chest. He holds my hand in his paw and whatever will be will be.

His fuzz is now matted, worn bare in places. He has faded from pure white to a mottled mess of off-white and grey. To the objective observer, he is sad and tired and mangy after 30 years together.  But I still cradle him in my arms as I write this. I live in terror that he may not survive his next encounter with the washing machine (not even safe inside a pillowcase on the gentle cycle). If the house were on fire, he is the single possession I would return for.

He is My Bear.  And I love him.

Things Every Girl Should Know When Taking A Construction Job Clear Across the Country

1) Before you do anything else, make sure you save enough money to go home. 

2) Save enough to live on for a lot longer than you think you're going to need because sometimes that "sure thing next project" might not be such a sure thing. Save what you think you'll need, then double it. Maybe triple it. Hell, quadruple it just to be safe.  This is easiest accomplished by immediately putting all your per diem in the bank.  All of it.  ALL!!!!

3) Construction site coffee is a toxic substance akin to crude oil which should not be ingested under any circumstances, even if you're exhausted, even if you cut it half and half with hot water, even if you have three creamers and three sugars, and even if you pour a whole packet of cocoa mix into it. Don't do it! You will die! 

4) If you're going to be working a ton anyway, you can probably manage with just a studio apartment, an easy chair, and a really good bed (and a tv and an Xbox, because duh)...you don't need everything else so don't waste your time buying a lot of new nice furniture because eventually, sooner rather than later, you are going to have to MOVE when the project finishes and it will be a pain in the ass. 

5) Don't bother with re-collecting all your old kitchen gadgets that are back home in storage anyway. You might use them once or twice, then you have to worry about shipping them home when you're done. That said, DO have a good crockpot. You will be too tired to cook any other way. 

6) If you're working 60-70 hours a week, it's okay to pay somebody else to do your laundry. Do not waste time or energy feeling like a failure as a grownup because of this. 

7) EXERCISE. Because if you eat out 3 meals a day, you will get fatter and more tired and crabby and spend your time shrieking at your coworkers (which they probably totally deserve, but still, not entirely professional). 

8) Make better choices when you're eating out all the time. For example, Subway is better than McDonald's and when you are served a plate twice as big as your head, you should probably only eat 1/3 of it...and that still might be pushing it. Stay away from the donuts, and if you have to have one, buy two dozen and become a pusher because if everyone else gets fat too, then it's okay. 

9) Find something social to do with your off-time that DOESN'T revolve around drinking with your coworkers, especially if you are a girl and all your coworkers are guys who like to go to Hooters and Tilted Kilt (love you guys, but seriously. SERIOUSLY!?). Also, don't turn into a hermit and sit on your couch watching tv and playing Xbox by yourself. 

10) If you are allowed "home leave", you should take it no matter what kind of crap everyone gives you about how things fall apart when you're gone. THEY are taking their home leave, so they can shut the f*ck up. If you don't take your home leave, you will slowly go insane with stress and your friends back home will forget you exist. 

11)  If you are a woman in the construction industry, you need two things:  be a hard-nosed bitch and have a sense of humor.  But mostly be a bitch.  A bitch who is damn good at her job and doesn't take any shit from anyone.

 Ta-da. Now you have my life lessons of the last year. Most of them were learned the hard way, but one of my managers told me the first couple right when I got here. I definitely listened on the first one, but didn't do as good of a job on the second as I should have given the current economy.  As for the rest, now I know what to do if this kind of opportunity ever comes along again.

Spazzing Out: How the Internet is Making Me Crazy

There was a very well-written piece in the Montreal Gazette this morning called "Off-Line, I Reconnected" by Juan Rodriguez. It was about his year of being "unplugged" from the internet (er..mostly unplugged).

This is an idea I've been thinking about for a while. I'm suffering from an increasingly disturbing inability to focus on anything for extended periods of time. In moments of silence, instead of being in the silence, with the silence, OF the silence, I reach for a new distraction.

I send and receive over 1000 text messages a month, which is now leading me to compulsively check my phone every few minutes (and become enraged if someone does not respond immediately to my messages). During the day (when I have access to a computer for 10 hours), I frantically rotate among my five separate email accounts and respond immediately to anything that is there, keep up on the 25 blogs that I'm "following," then realize that I have 27 windows open and I cannot remember exactly what it was that I was trying to work on before I became so hopelessly baffled by my own thought patterns.

I first noticed the frazzled phenomenon in my co-workers and would make jokes about corralling the Alzheimer's patients. But steadily, over time, I'm BECOMING one of the Alzheimer's patients. I'm losing the ability to focus on a single task through to completion. I start looking for information on one topic and find myself irrevocably lost in a great quagmire of information, clicking from link to link to link to link. I don't actually ABSORB any of the information I find. Ask me in 10 minutes and I will have NO IDEA what I was originally looking for.

"Once I was a scuba diver in a sea of words. Now I zip along the surface like a guy on a Jet Ski." ~Nicholas Carr, The Shallows.

I find the whole thing disturbing. I'm losing the ability to absorb great thoughts. I read philosophical treatises and I have no idea what it is that I just read. My short attention span was even making the comprehension of a Dr. Suess book a bit....iffy.

I am getting dumber.

And the sad part is, I don't even have the internet at home anymore! *gasp* I KNOW, right??!

It wasn't even by choice. I was spending 10 hours a day on a computer at work, getting myself more and more frazzled, then coming home and spending an additional 4 hours on my netbook, feeding my Facebook addiction. It had to stop. First, I deleted my Facebook account. Then, my neighbor (and more importantly, his unsecured wi-fi) moved. And suddenly I have hours of time on my hands.

I've read more books in the last 3 months than I have in the previous 3 years. It's amazing what you can do with an extra 4 hours a day.

But I'm still feeling frazzled! Reactive! Illogical!!

I'm going to have to quit my job.

Or maybe just get the multi-tasking under control.

Most days, my brain feels about to explode. I literally feel motion sickness in response to the speed at which I change gears. My brain is rewiring itself, and I don't like it. Not one bit! It feels....well, quite frankly it makes me feel like a complete and total stark raving lunatic.

I frequently begin my work day by thinking to myself, "Today, I am NOT going to check my 5 email accounts every 10 minutes. Today, I am going to focus on this one thing until it's completed!"

Ahhh, good intentions....

The Immortal Beloved Letters

Reading Beethoven's letters to his "immortal beloved" causes me to think about how much things have changed in the last 200 years since these letters were written. Does anyone write love letters anymore? Does anything ever come in the mail anymore except bills, junk mail, and the occasional Hallmark greeting card?

When did we forget the beauty of the written word? Our communications these days are instantaneous. We've lost the ability to focus our minds, our attention, our affections. We are too busy texting and sexting. "My immortal beloved" has become "my bitch." Or worse yet, "my midnight booty call."

I can't remember the last time anyone said to me, "My heart is full of so many things to say to you...," but it's been merely days since I last heard, "Show me your boobs."

I can't help but feeling that something important, something beautiful has been lost.

Letter 3

Good morning, on July 7

Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V[ienna] is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a calm consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.

ever thine
ever mine
ever ours

L.

For text to the other two letters, visit www.edepot.com/beetletters.html

Clean Water For All....

Letting Myself Out of the Closet

Finding the strength to be my own authentic self is turning out to be the single-most difficult aspect of "growing up."

Setting aside the esoteric discussion of "what is this thing I call self, anyway," when I refer to my "own authentic self," what I mean is being comfortable enough to be open and honest about my opinions, my chosen spiritual path, my values. I've found this kind of openness to be incredibly difficult because my opinions, values, and spiritual path are totally divergent from those of my family of origin.

I grew up in a politically conservative fundamental Christian home. It's a world view that has never made any sense to me. Life in black and white. You're with us or against us. So you can imagine the difficulties a child who sees the world in Technicolor might have with that kind of upbringing.

When you grow up like that, when you see your parents literally turn their back on anyone who has a differing opinion about anything, you learn at a very young age that love isn't unconditional. You learn that you'd better toe the line because your very survival depends on being accepted and validated by these very well-meaning but narrow-minded and judgmental people.

You learn that it's NOT okay to be different. Which is unfortunate, because you also know that you ARE different.

Over time, you learn to parrot their ideas using your own vocabulary, which gives the impression of belief. You have everyone fooled. But your entire life starts to feel like wearing a pair of high-heeled stilettos that are two sizes too small when all you really want is to go through life in a pair of sock monkey slippers. It just doesn't fit. It's increasingly more uncomfortable. The blisters get worse and worse, bunions start showing up, and if you don't put an end to it, eventually you'll find yourself disfigured and disabled.

I spent a long time feeling very resentful about my own inability to express myself. In my five year old mind, I was completely convinced that I wouldn't be loved should I verbalize doubts in the existence of some kind of all-powerful vindictive god (you know, the one that's always smiting "bad" people). I haven't been five years old in a very long time, and yet there's still this little girl hiding inside of me who firmly believes that she will not be loved if she disagrees with anyone.

That kind of resentment is hard to let go of. It was my own fear of their rejection that kept me hiding my real self away for so many years. What's with this need for external validation? Intellectually, I know that it's theoretically possible to disagree without the world coming to an end. My survival doesn't depend on my ability to be amenable to everyone.

I never even allowed myself to think for a moment that my family might still love me, even if I wasn't quite like them. And yet, it took me years and years before I could finally say to my mother, "I don't really believe in the Christian god, I usually vote Democratic, and I'm more of a Buddhist than anything."

And honestly, she didn't take it all that well (and I didn't either). She quoted scripture at me, saying, "Two cannot walk together unless they be agreed." But I don't buy it. No two people are ever of the same accord on everything. Two can't walk together unless they have enough mutual respect and inner strength to let go of the need to always be "right."

It was very confusing because on the one hand she kept saying that she loves me, but "two cannot walk together unless they be agreed?" What does that mean in terms of how it's going to effect my life? I still don't know. She probably doesn't either. It's time to get comfortable with the discomfort.

"Coming out" to my mother was the first hurdle. But I'm not so sure if it was the hardest or not. Next comes walking the walk, talking the talk, being the person I always wanted to be. And it's risky. Because there are some who will prefer the story they tell themselves about who I am and have no interest in hearing the story I'm going to tell the world (and myself) about who I am.

And that's okay. May they be happy and may they be well, even if that means they must be happy and well away from me.