Dear lady behind the counter

Good customer service is not information I didn't ask for.

Good customer service is not telling me that the information you have that is bad is my fault.

Good customer service is not yelling at me.

Good customer service is not sucking your teeth at me.

Good customer service is not acting like I don't know anything.

Good customer service is not pretending you didn't hear me ask for your supervisor.

Good customer service is not lying to your supervisor about why she is needed.

Good customer service is not blaming me for your inadequacies.

Good customer service is not BAD customer service.

The end.

Walking Meditation

I like to walk.

When I was elementary aged I hated to walk. Because, I lived about one mile from school and Kansas Winters can be harsh - and I was walking in them. My siblings and I walked in insanely cold weather (the kind that freezes your snot within one breath) and we walked in the rain and mud, we walked screaming at each other or playing, we walked past the old man's house with the clock on it telling us (consistently) that we were going to be late to school if we didn't run. Sometimes dogs were chasing us. Sometimes creepy folks would talk to us. Often, weighted down with a backpack full of school books and notebooks, a saxophone, a binder, and a violin (until, the morning I kicked the violin down the sidewalk and destroyed it). But, we walked.

When I was twenty-two I had an experience that changed my overall perspective on walking. I had been in a series of incidents as a young adult where some things happened that were, in many ways, out of my control. And I was broke (a cycle that would repeat years later). I found a weekend job that I could work (in addition to school and another job I had) but, it meant walking across town early in the morning before the buses were running to get there for my shift. At first, I hated it. It was something else to overcome. Something else that was hard. Something else that I had to do that no one else I knew was having to do to get by.

Then, something changed. I began to enjoy it. The morning air, the quiet, the challenge of arriving just a few minutes sooner every week. And I was doing it. I had complete control. My feet were mine and the challenges were mine and that time was mine. I began to notice more around me. The smells in the air, the sounds, the way that a day presents itself each and every morning as something new.

Today, I walked my children to school. It is most common for us to bicycle - but, today we walked. And I felt the most refreshed I had been in a long while as I left them for the day. As I made my way home I had many moments to rattle around inside my own head. But, I arrived home exhausted.

During my walk I entered into such a deep meditation that I uprooted much stress and emotions that haven't had time to wick their way to the surface while pedaling my bicycle and carrying on the business of my life. But, I know that is okay. . I may be tired today - but, let's examine the depth of such an activity. If you enter into a workout and focus on a muscle group it tends to be sore following the initial session but, subsequent exercise will leave you less in pain and instead energize you. When you manage, through whatever means necessary, to reach your emotional core and shake it clean - it can be painful. But, over time, you are less in pain and healthier for doing that work. I am so glad for my feet. I am so thankful for my legs. I give praise to my heart. I am at peace knowing that I can control my stress. I just have to walk.

May you be blessed with mediation that works for you.

I would rather teach my son using parables

Yesterday, I said I would wake up with a smile. I was wrong.

My son is nine years old. He is around the same age I was when the Tienanmen Square protest was broadcast on the morning news. My mother allowed us to stay home from school to watch the newscast because she thought it was important for us to see. I believe she said, "You will learn more watching this than going to school today." She was right. That was the day my intellectual mind first grappled with the concept of justice.

Growing, we are taught some basics; share, don't push, no name calling, etc. and those are appropriate things for small children. As a child matures and becomes more aware of the world around them you have a choice as a parent to keep silent or guard them from the truth of issues of famine, poverty, social injustice, drugs, sex, and death or to talk to them about these things.

I didn't set out to engage my son in the topic of Troy Davis's story. Indeed, I wasn't sure he would understand. Based on some of his questions (ie: Can't we just get some bolt cutters?) he is still a very nine year old child. But, he saw a cardboard sign on the table that I had attempted to attach to my bicycle and asked about it. So, we told him. We explained that we didn't know Troy Davis. We don't know if he was a good man or an honest man but, that he was found guilty of a crime based on wrongful testimony and that 7 of the original 9 witnesses had changed their stories since his trial and that it seems there was much more evidence besides that he may actually be completely innocent. And that in the state of Georgia, they had something called Capital Punishment which meant the government kills people - as part of the system of law. And Troy Davis was on Death Row - about to be killed for a crime he may not have committed.

After hearing this my son paced the floor for an hour. He would occasionally interrupt while I was reading with his younger sibling with questions and eventually he made a statement. "Listen, I think it doesn't matter if he was a good man or a bad man - it is wrong to kill him. I think I should fly to Georgia and talk to those government people and tell them that I have figured this out and that they should not kill him." I explained that many people were working very hard to keep Troy Davis alive and that if I knew of something else to do - we would do it. I explained that I had signed some petitions online and maybe he would like to do that too. He did. And he said, when he went to bed, "I hope they give him the stay and I hope they change their mind."

"Me too my darling."

Then Georgia killed Troy Davis.

And my son woke up to learn that sometimes the bad guys win. Sometimes we are powerless against a broken system and that he did all that a nine year old could do to save Troy Davis. I believe the bittersweet ending to this tale is that my son became an activist against injustice this week. He will grow into a compassionate adult who will do what he can to help build the world into a safe and peaceful one. But, Troy Davis should have lived. And my son could have learned that justice can prevail. He could have learned that. But, he didn't. Instead, he lay across my lap with tears in his eyes. And he asked, "What did Troy Davis do for a living?"

Sleep Keening

"You were keening in your sleep, you probably woke up some of the neighbors."

This morning I was sobbing the deaths of a thousand souls when my beloved woke me from a bad dream.

The dream was vivid and I could choose to recall it all for you now. But, as it is often the case, the details were the simple staging of a truth found within the context of those slumbered realities. And as such, the details are less important than the truth you find.

This is what I found last night . . .

When you are in a relationship with someone - it can be romantic or platonic - you have a responsibility to make yourself known. Relationships are never meant to be one-sided. If you fail to make your planning include you or an understanding of your expectations - you are setting yourself up for disappointment. Include yourself. Don't give up everything. Check in with the other people in your life often enough that you know you are not the only one invested in you. Make sacrifices - but, don't barter your soul away. If you are giving up something because you want something else - recognize that choice - and make sure other people in your life know you recognize it as a choice. Dream. And talk about your dreams.

Nothing is guaranteed. You can plan to your heart's content but, ultimately you are only a part of something and other's choices will impact your life. If you put trust in something or someone else it is not your responsibility to make sure they follow through. But, if you find you are giving and not receiving - reevaluate why. And talk about it.

We make promises because they are the binding of people and purpose. We make them to mark choices and to be held accountable to those choices. Sometimes we make promises to ourselves. Those promises are to be fully realized through our individual actions. But, promises we make to or with someone else are affirmations that we are not alone and can pursue our dreams with some kind of support. But, if you store your plans in a locked cabinet and ask someone to have faith in a dream you haven't shared - it is to your own detriment. They could be "on plan" and working against the intentions you thought were clear. Keep your desires quiet and you will hear them echoed back at you with the same resounding silence. And your heart will be broken and you won't know why or how.

I woke up keening. Mourning for a future me. So, I took action. I spoke my truth. I made myself known. Tomorrow, I will wake up with a smile.

Webster is a liar.

How many trips to the Oxford English Dictionary have you taken into your lifetime? I like looking up words from time to time just to see how they have developed. Today, I spent some time on Free and Freedom. And BOY HOWDY did I get a re-education! Now, you show know first and foremost that I believe in the trans-formative nature of language. I am aware that language develops over time and meanings will morph - usually slowly - over centuries. The changing of meanings is a part of the making of our culture.

Today, I learned that woman and free are one and the same (in the history of linguistics) and that the idea that the word woman is derived from 'wife of a man' is not so very true (at the very least omits points of importance to its life as a word). Instead, the Sanskrit word for woman was priya "conjectured to be ‘one's own’" and has "the same Indo-European base as Sanskrit priya beloved, dear, (rare) friendly" And if you look specifically at the etymology of 'free' it comes from words that mean to delight, to woo, to please, to take care of, to LOVE.

I don't mean to make the same mistake that Webster did by leaving out most of the story. I strongly encourage you to look at the full history of these words. Instead, I want to give you a snapshot of what it made me think about.

Freedom has come to be understood on terms of extroverted qualities; of being apart from, not constricted, or independent from persons, places, and things - it seems quite the opposite of the very intimate and delicate nature of holding something close and caring for it - cherishing it and protecting it. When we describe someone or something as 'free' we tend to imply a disconnect. What if freedom or this ability to be "One's Own" or as the etymological development shows to be "of one's own blood" would require that we instead make efforts to hold ourselves and others closer and "take care of" each other. That freedom is not as my dear Janice sings "Nothing left to lose" but, instead is EVERYTHING to lose. What does that change?*

And if, as the dynamic Uppity Blues Women chant, W-O-M-A-N is NOT secondary in definition and linguistic origination to man but - is "one's own" and is to be 'beloved' and we are "to delight" in its own development of meaning over time as the sanskrit word priyayate would direct us to do - what does that change?*

*I believe this is a LONG conversation

Poker Face

I have a moniker that my grandmother placed upon me when I was young. I am known by this name by family and will respond to it just as willingly as to my birth name. The name I will keep secret to you - because it is kind of like in CATS where all the cats had multiple names that served them different purposes (I learned all about that show from my aunt who LOVES it). I have this one for family. It is a bit of a talisman. It is a name that in one word describes my tendency to emote through facial expressions. Which, I do more than most people. However, the funny thing IS . . . people often misread my facial expressions and go about thinking they know exactly what I am thinking without having ever actually spoken to me. Funny thing about THAT IS . . . it isn't funny. It causes hurt feelings when there shouldn't be any or someone thinks I am amused when - I am actually pissed (or vice versa). I have struggled with this for some time because I don't like misunderstandings. I have finally figured out what purpose this strange 'talent' offers to me. It provides anonymity. It makes it possible to allow random people to come to their (in some cases ridiculous) conclusions about who I am without ever having to say a word to me. It makes it easy to ride the bus, or avoid a busy-body. I can also think "You are an asshole who isn't funny." and it is instantly translated into "Please, tell me more about yourself!" well, this sucks . . . except when that asshole wants to give me something pretty or buy me a drink CHA-CHING! Anyway, I used to think this wasn't okay. I would interrupt just to try and feel better about the interaction - I felt it was somehow my fault that this happens. I was hurt that some didn't care to know me and mad that others wouldn't go away. But, after careful consideration . . . it is my fault. But, there isn't a lot I can do about it. I was born with this face and whatever nerve endings that respond to my emotional brain stigma are actually creating fantastic facial expressions that people who do take the time to know me learn to read as a part of getting to know me. And I have decided that if someone who is so busy with themselves to not notice they are getting on my nerves wants to buy me a drink - it is the hazard of being that person. I like margaritas.

When Shiny people Tarnish

How do I start? I am amazing. There. That is it. I am amazing. I am not perfect. I am not the best of the best of the best. I am simply amazing. And you probably are too. I know there are plenty of people out there who don't make efforts to expend the potential they have to become amazing. But, let us assume for a minute they have all gotten lucky and found a majic lamp and are all living on an island somewhere drinking cocktails, eating tropical fruit, and doing their favorite thing - imagining ways to go to the bathroom without having to leave their comfy lounger.

The rest of us amazing people are still back home doing our day to day amazing things. Getting out of bed, washing off our funk, preparing and doing, preparing and doing. OK . . . so . . . some of us are amazing because we have the ability to do something WAY better than others. Some of us are amazing because we wear a smile despite whatever not-so-amazing things may be happening in our lives. Some of us are amazing because we work hard and push through. Some of us are amazing because we are visionary or loyal or organized. Sometimes, we are a combination of different ways of being amazing. I know I can be - though, I may be a part-timer in some categories. BUT . . . we are still amazing. Sometimes, other people see that we are amazing and tell us. "YOU ARE AMAZING!" but, then they pin our amazing-ness to some single random act or ability we have displayed and can't imagine that our amazing goes beyond that. Indeed, it seems they cannot ALLOW themselves to see us as amazing in more than one way - afraid our amazing will somehow out perform their amazing. And even as we try and explain to them that we are more than a pretty face/good typist/bendy circus act - they cannot hear it. All the while, letting you know how amazing THEY are and 'shouldn't we all be impressed'. hm. Have you noticed that after a while it becomes difficult to be a good person around those folks. Because you start to realize their narcissism is so deep and selfishness so blatant that you have become an accessory to them. They will declare the one amazing thing they are able to see about you loudly ( and it is in some cases one of your least amazing qualities). And ask others to gather round and look at your shiny bit - claiming that this bit needs to be seen by many and it will be a great beneficial thing for you to allow them to call upon others to view your bit - then stand in front of you in their reflective vest so that your shiny bit becomes an optical illusion present upon them. They in a way - superficially steal your bit. They could not actually take away your amazing. But, have successfully been able to trick others into believing they have the same bit of amazing as you. And aren't they a good friend for acknowledging your shiny bit. This behavior makes you want to find that lamp and send them to that island without toilet paper. You imagine their shiny vest covered in smears of feces and picture their desperation to show their amazing off to the island dwellers sunning themselves on their loungers. And whilst daydreaming their sad and lonely existence on that island - you remember that there are parts of you that are a bit ugly too. And for a minute feel less-than-amazing and forgive them a little for being narcissistic asses.

When Summer Ends

It has been a long while since I have taken the time to check in with my voices. But, after a crazy year and a great Summer with the kiddos - we are headed back to new. New teachers, new schedules, new lessons, new developmental stages, new parenting of older children, new experiences as a family, and for the parents . . . new opportunities to be grown ups doing new grown-up things. And in the case of this blog - new beginnings beginning again.