The real worst ever...

The Pulse nightclub shooting is on many people's minds these days. There a lot of talk about it on Facebook and I'm sure all the other obsessive social media sites.

I'm also sure that most people have seen the disclaimer type of posts about how this isn't the WORST EVER massacre or mass shooting and pictures of horrific events like Wounded Knee and the Watts Riots or the St Louis Riots and the list could go on and on. It's as though they would take away the sting of this horrific act by saying well hey, we've been through this before and look, survivors.

There's hours of time being spent debating on whether this was terrorism or not, and if it was, was it domestic terrorism or something else and meanwhile people died. Of course all these tv shows and talk shows have a gallery of the victims of the shooting, well the ones that died, because the true victims of the shooting are not JUST the people directly involved but all of their families, and friends and co workers and the people that they used to smile at on the commute to work and the people who never had a chance to meet them and will sadly, never know the joy of the friend ship or love they have missed out on.

The fact is that defining terrorism takes away from this point. Whatever it was, it was awful and shameful that more attention is being spent upon whether it was the *WORST EVER* or not. I kinda bet if you asked someone who was there if they cared whether it was called the worst ever, I doubt they'd want to go in for a do over to get the damned title.

Every second spent on whinging about whatabout this time or that time or wasn't this worse than that is time spent wasted when it could have been spent loving our fellow man (woman person whatever the hell you want to say in place of the word man) _see even there is a stupid waste of time_

So stop telling me that this event or that event was worse because all you're doing is avoiding the fact that people died and people who could have stopped it even happening didn't. Do we go on a witch hunt for those people though? The guy made it onto a watch list, but it seems he wasn't very well watched.

None of all that matters, sadly because what really needed to happen didn't and we can't go back in time.

But we can go forward, we can move ahead, not through to the other side leaving this behind us but through it, taking it with us, letting it colour our actions towards others a bit, or a lot.

I've never understood a parent who could turn their child away from the family home or table because of who they loved.  I just don't get it.  I bet that some of the people who died, died alongside the only family they felt they had in this world.  I bet that some of the survivors are now facing the fact that because they were there, in a Gay Club, that they longer have the family they had.

I also bet and would be very sad to win, though I know I would, that there's more than one parent out there wishing they'd not closed the door, hung up the phone or turned their back on their child who was there.

Observances on WoW gamers and the world in general.

So the part you're missing is that he was playing the game his way.

Who are you to tell him to do otherwise? Sure you can kick him. And find some other person to be low man on your totem pole, but really.. there's ways to do that without being an absolute creep about it. Like it or not, most of the people in random dungeons act one of three ways.

Either they are so consumed by their own greatness at a game, because you know, they levelled to 90 within the first week of the expansion and will be bored by the end of next month, having blown through the content by playing for hours daily.

This is A GAME, but they are so UP there, so high on their achievement that everyone else is beneath their notice or concern and really don't matter at all. This approaches what used to be the layman's definition of a sociopath. As well as gives rise to gamers being referred to as mouth breathing, socially inept basement dwelling, pee in a bottle cause they can't leave their computer long enough to use the bathroom let alone shower creeps. Just saying.

Or they are computer savvy, intelligent people who relish the challenges of an expansion and knowledgeable of the changes not only for their class but others, but are so fed up with the first group that they have become defensive and insular and just want to get through the dungeon already. They 'used' to offer advice and try to play the peacekeeper but have been attacked, slammed and generally treated like crap so often that they don't bother anymore. Just go, get it done, move on.

Or three, they are so scared they will mess up and be the lowest on the recount and get kicked after every fight that even if they do know what they are doing, they are too nervous awaiting the scathing or sometimes just down right abusive harassment of the first group that there's no way they could function normally or effectively.

I guess now that I think about it there's four, there's the person who just wants to have the fun of playing in a group of people. They might be moms, dads, doctors, lawyers, university students taking a break from studying or even 15 yo girls who think gaming is cool. But I'm willing to bet those are getting pretty scarce cause who wants to hang out in a crowd where the bullies are the kings.

All it takes is being nice, a concept that could very well be applied to any interaction be it at school, work or even at home in your own family.. Treat others as you wish to be treated. I really doubt anyone on WoW wants to be sworn at, told how inept they are and made to feel inferior for not being able to push a button as fast or in the correct (according to some) order that an elite is able to.

However I think that's beyond the scope of some people and too simple for others to accept as a solution, or maybe just too cool for the elites to understand. Being nice doesn't equate to being weak. Sometimes it's far more difficult to be nice in the face of something than it is to give in to the weakness of being a creep.

Grief

Grief isn't something one gets through, like a stretch of muddy trail on a hike.  It's more the hike itself.  It's a journey that has highs and lows and long stretches of normal.

In 2006 a rescue dog came to live with us.  Her name ended up being Girl as nothing else caught her attention.  She was old and weary and we felt the least we could do was give her a safe home for the few remaining months it looked like she had.

A part of her story is here. Another part, which wasn't mine to tell appeared on my son's facebook feed today. With his permission, here it is: One - eyed teacher If I were still in Stavely, If you were still alive, Now is when I'd close my eyes, Curl my fingers into fur, Fur which once came matted, The last time I felt - Genuinely, totally close - Like my brother and I Were actually siblings - Not strangers held together By tense, distant relationship. I can still remember him, Determined to clip away The neglected fur, Your patience rewarded, With suitable collar, Proof that, "In the morning" Never came. You feared thunder, One - eyed educator, Maybe a truck - We never did know. But I knew without a doubt, You came for more Than just a lesson. You reminded me; You are loved, You are cared for, You never cared, What I admitted, Secrets and fears Too dark for diaries. When we walked, The abandoned streets, Dark corners & Wide, open prairies... I bared my soul to you, While you merely looked on. You at one point, Soothed tears brought on, By hateful, cruel words - Spit by peers whom Really were old enough, To not only know better, But be better. I still remember how grieved, Bereaved and lost - How late night walks returned, To the fearful - "Will I make it home?" Lover holding me tight, Sobbing - tears shamelessly spent For you. In a school which I swore would Never have a drop of salt Borne from my eyes, A hatred of which i had fostered So deep that it's a wonder, I ever made friends there at all. In the city now, I have no fears of that. Perhaps its the boisterous Anonymity from being alone, Or the fact that Somewhere I know, Over the rainbow bridge, You wait for me - Watching on, Reminding me of Your compassion - For strangers & babes alike. Now I wonder if your seizures Were part of why I have made Choices which i still question. And i wonder, whether you agree Or if part of you would bare teeth And scold me like a kitten too rough. Though I know, That with your fears With your cold paws, And warm heart That you understand. You gifted me with much, Your lessons and love - Were all part of what I needed Then and now. ---Niko Wilson 2015

Humour. Or the Lack Thereof.

I'm a grouch.  I don't like stupid humour or the punk'd / pranks type and get no amusement in mean spirited 'shots'.  It's one thing to poke fun at someone gently and in a manner that may heighten awareness of a gesture or speech pattern or word usage.

Think Rich Little of way back when time.

Think Tim Conway (for that matter the entire Carol Burnett ensemble right down to the cute guy who left after a couple of seasons). AKA as Lyle Waggoner, thank you Google.

I loved SNL back in the day -- not saying that the humour there isn't to my tastes these days but I can't recall the last time I turned on the current show.  I'm more of a Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, John Belushi, Gilda Radner, Dan Ackroyd, Martin Short fan than I am of the current players.

Even then, when it got mean spirited, I tuned out.

Loved Robin Williams on Happy Days and Mork and Mindy; but wasn't too fond of his attack type of stand up that he did back then; nor the foul language. It was done for shock factor and was very effective in its time.  Now, I cringe watching his standup routines.  They just aren't funny to me anymore. (yes, I know he's passed on, but he's a valid example as is Richard Pryor.)

Same with Adam Sandler and Ben Stiller.  I used to just cringe at both of those guys being in a movie I was going to watch.  But then I saw Spanglish with AS and I found myself finding the pathos in his humour.  50 First Dates is fun and thoughtful and softer than his usual schtick.   Grown Ups 1 and 2 are too. Add Blended and Just Go with It to that list. 

He still gets out of control in some movies but it sure seems like he's grown up himself.  Blended ends with one of his style of singalong songs and it's quite delightful.  He and Drew Barrymore have that 'connection' that Gable and Lombard had (yes, way back in the day). There's an honesty and trueness that they bring across the screen.  I have no idea if they have an off screen friendship or not but I suspect they do.  

Sure Benny Hill was obviously a misogynist (or so it would appear) but his brand of humour was rampant in his day and I bet a lot of people still smile and picture a manic run of semi naked women and goofy man in their minds when they hear his theme song.  

British humour doesn't translate for some people. I love it.  There's a cleverness and effort to it and while it does contain a fair amount of physicality and staging it still has the appeal of making one think to get the joke.

My all time favourites are still the Carol Burnett gang and Red Skeleton.  It was shocking to me, at the age I was when Blazing Saddles came out, to hear Harvey Korman using such language and fondling a statue *yikes*.  But Mel Brooks is right up there for me, as well.

Make Bullying Unacceptable Behaviour EVERYWHERE

Bullying does not stop after you leave school.

This is why we need to stop it at every level be it fellow student to student, teacher to student, adult to child and yes, child to adult as well as peer to peer coworkers etc etc etc  

Oh Bosses, let's not forget bosses or managers or lead hands.
 
In fact anyone who sees themselves in authority over someone has probably been guilty of bullying.  

But that doesn't mean that just because you've done it that you should condone it.  

This is a long while ago, but when a DUI wasn't as serious an offence as it is now, many people were let down with light sentences because judges and lawyers had been there done that.  

Look how unacceptable DUI is now!

Come on, reformed bullies, let's get with the program and make bullying as unacceptable and distasteful as we possibly can. Don't share the photos, don't Like them on Facebook or pass them along on Instagram etc.

Find out the whole story if you want to comment and keep your comments to the situation, not how someone looks, acts, dresses, presents as, or the amount of $ you think they have in their bank account.

Be accountable for the things you say and do; if only to yourself.

Facebook is pissing me off

Offensive post #1.

"Shelter Insider" informs on how things work INSIDE the facility and how BREEDERS and SELLERS need to stop doing so while even one animal is being euthanized. *Big emphasis on how hard is your heart if you don't immediately go out and adopt a dog. *sarcasm intended.

I find it offensive to lump *breeders* who live with their breeds and work daily( hourly and lifetimes )to correct the errors of puppy mills in with *sellers*.  Not to mention all the uniformed people who seek out the *better deal for the paperless pup*.  Newsflash folks:  papers on an animal belong to the animal and have no monetary value.  Anyone (in Canada at least) who sells an animal purported to be a 'purebred' without the registration papers is in direct contravention of the Canadian Livestock Act (and the last I heard) is subject to fines at the least.  No punishment for the buyer though... so this goes on all the damn time. 

But that's offtopic here. 

Not every humane society worker is a damn saint and not every animal lover who doesn't take their dog to doggy day care is an abuser of animals.   Nothing is absolute.

I have worked in a shelter, I've shown dogs in conformation as well as agility and I've also had people tell me horror stories about their lovely breed becoming popular and destroyed.   I've stroked the head of my own dog as she was put down (for old age related illness at an already advanced age for her breed) and looked into her eyes as they dimmed and faded. I did the same thing 6 months later with another of our dogs, who was exactly 6 months younger than her and also at an advanced age.  I know how much that hurts, and I'm not saying it's not sad that there are thousands of dogs *thrown away*.  It is.  It just isn't the *breeders (real breeders who actually know the faults and qualities of their breeds) fault.

Attack Disney while you're at it.   Check the facts on the popularity rises (and increase in demand therefore allowing the whole puppy mill industry to thrive) of American cocker spaniels after Lady and the Tramp, and dalmations after 101 Dalmatins (the live version).  

Make a cute cartoon version, cleverly edit regular puppy play (hours and hours of it) into 3 - 5 min scenes, add some sound effects, even some voice overs and voila, you have a ruined breed.

After certain celebs showed interest in certain breeds, *teacup* variations became prevalent.  One of which proclaims herself a "true animal lover whose heart breaks *add tears here* at every animal that is euthanized".  All the while promoting the *selective breeding* so everyone can have a purse puppy JUST LIKE HERS.  The animal is malformed.  A SERIOUS breeder would either cull or at the very least neuter or spay such an animal to STOP PERPETUATING the breeding of smaller *thereby cuter?* versions of an already small sized dog.  These *teacup* versions are 'exactly the same but smaller'  though now fraught with health problems and the accompanying vet bills not to mention the heartache when a dog that could normally be expected to live 10 - 15 years has to be put down to spare them pain at 5 or 6.

Whew...there are going to be other posts that piss me off but this one was just over the top.

Customer Service

1.  When I phone you from an English speaking country, and you don't speak English clearly or well, expect me to be crabby about it.  If I'm not, then bonus. If I am, and you take it personally the call isn't going to go well for anyone.

2.  If I call you and I'm obviously angry, don't react in a 'my day is worse than yours' manner.  Again, the call isn't going to go well. You had a bad day, I had a bad day. It's inconsiderate of either of us to inflict that upon each other.  And no, you didn't call me just to bitch.  Chances are? I didn't either. You have no idea what straws were in my load before this last one so don't make assumptions.  You are a point of contact for the business you represent.

3. The minute you make the call into a me vs you situation, you lose.  You'll most certainly lose my respect which will make it darned hard to accept anything good from you without it being suspect in some manner. Do I mean you should take shit and abuse from someone? No. Absolutely not.  But if you get pissy because I ask for someone who speaks clearer English than you do (BECAUSE I AM HARD OF HEARING AND ANY ACCENT MAKES IT DIFFICULT for me to clearly understand you) then you're not really interested in servicing the customer, are you?

3A. And if you chose to make it into a racism situation, well.. just think about that in reverse for a moment.

4. I may not have started out in a cranky mood when I first called you, but if I've been passed about like a hot potato from department to department, having to listen to the world's worse choice in music (IE blaring rock and roll or rap or anything with a hard driving beat that gets my heart racing) I'm probably going to be that way when I get to you.  This will be doubly worse if I've been hung up on by someone else, or had to jump through a series of press 8 to speak to X department 3 or more times before I get fed up and press the * or 0 for a long hold to get past your silly, supposed timesaving phone messages.  Understand that. And if I want to bitch about it for a moment or two, let me.  Really, it'll go a long way to me seeing you as an ally.

5. By all means, smile when you speak to me.  It really does come through in the sound of your voice and cadence of your speech.  However, keep the shit eating grin that tells your co worker I'm another nut bar off your face, cause guess what? That comes through as well.  Se that part about I may not have started out cranky?  This will do nothing but make certain that I am.

6. I'm not always right, but I sure as hell think I am.  If you can be right without taking that away from me, you'll be well on your way to a career in Customer Service and management.

7.  Tempting as it might be to tell me to stuff it and hang up, reconsider.  I am a customer of the business you work for.  Without customers, chances are the company will have little use for customer service personnel. We don't have to be friends but this whole thing works better if you can manage to be a double agent and be on my side as well as your company's.

Just one more thing:

All of these work equally well for customer tips.

Life is Better with a Dog

NOTE:  Long, self serving and purposely sad, with a happy ending.  Read at your own decision.

Yep it sure is. 

When Girl died in January, that was the first time in over 20 years that I did not have a dog in the house.  People talk about how freeing it is, not to have that responsibility and I can understand that; but for me, it was a gigantic hole. 

That doesn't mean we didn't love Girl and were eager to replace her (sigh people look to your own before deciding why I'm doing what okay? Just saying). It means we understood that her time with us was done and that having loved her as we did, that love was available for another dogsoul.

It goes even further back to when Girl came to live with us.  She was a stray around stock when my son brought her home because she had climbed into his truck at the first crack of thunder and refused to vacate from under the dash.  At least it was on the passenger side ;). Alright I said, to his phone call, bring her and we'll take her to the shelter in the morning.

We had dogs when he found her.  In fact we not only had our own dogs, we had his big moose of a mutt.  However, when this bedraggled, thin and weary border collie with a smucked in eye and pads worn thin came into our house she went immediately to hubby and sat down, solemnly putting her paw upon his knee.

No fear.  No notice of the other animals. Just manners and a silent plea. 

Needless to say, she didn't go to the shelter the next day.  Her muzzle was already mostly grey, her teeth worn down and a certain hesitant stiffness to her joints upon rising had us thinking that this poor old girl had had enough and could live out her days with us.  How long could she have, we thought. Maybe she'd live out the year, maybe the winter but that's probably all that was left in her.

She moved with us the following September.  That was in 2007.  She became a constant companion to our elder daughter, especially after a bout of bullying had her become a home schooled student.

Ready at any time for a game of soccer or fetch she belied her gray muzzle with her exuberance and willing heart. 

She baby sat kittens, her soft fur soaked up tears and her gentle snores as she lay at the door, always at the door lest someone try to enter, kept me company through many sleepless nights.

In 2010 she fled the housefire after the girls, her fear of loud trucks and fire overwhelming her.  A neighbour caught her and returned her to my girls as they waited for me and watched the fire ;/ She stood beside them when I got there and when we checked into the motel later that day, she laid herself down at the door.  Likewise at the rental home. 

You just knew to open the door slowly because as she grew older she didn't always hear us and sometimes we had to give a little nudge of the door against her to get her to move.  However that hearing loss wasn't apparent when a stranger knocked. She was as upright and alert as a young dog in her prime.

Slowly her age caught up with her.  Soccer sessions grew shorter and fetch was only one or two tosses before eager as she was, her panting was too obvious to continue.  Walks with my daughter grew shorter.  Instead of walking her all the way to school she'd go midway and watch her till she got to the school yard before heading home.  Likewise with her trips to the park to swing, once there Girl would flop on her side and wait, but if daughter took too long she'd get up and give her a look. "I'll meet you at home." Shake out her coat and amble home.

Seizures started to punctuate her days.  Likely connected to the head injury that she had when found.  The time had come.  The decision was made.   In January she had one that she didn't come out of and she ended her days with her head in my lap as I sat on the floor with my back against the door. 

(Don't even begin to chastise me about not taking her to a vet, I tried, but they were far more interested in my method of payment than providing this final release to her. And yes, if you ask me I will tell you the names of the three vets I called begging them to let me bring her right in).

We adjusted, or at least tried to.  At night, I could hear her toenails on the kitchen floor as she patrolled the house, checking the doors before settling down for the night.  At least, I imagined I could.  

Coming home had a different flavor to it; there was no bacon in the house and no spontaneous trips to DQ for ice cream because not getting her a small dish of it was just too sad.

Years before we'd felt this sort of loss, when our boxers, Bop and Keys left us, the same as how they came, six months apart.  Over the years we'd broached the idea of another boxer, but the timing never seemed right.  Yes, we all wanted a boxer but couldn't quite face the idea of a replacement because that's how we would have viewed any boxer coming into our lives at that time.

"So get this.  I got offered a boxer for free. 2 issues..." the text from my daughter in ON started.  Thus began a series of events that simply clicked into place, culminating with the arrival of Bronx in our life.

Normally deciding to take in an adult dog would be a much harder decision for me.  I love that people rescue animals and obviously, Girl's rescue was a success.  There's always this niggling thought for me, someone's habits, bad or good are involved. 

There was none of that. My response to this text was an expression of sadness for the owner and the circumstances involved and a question. "So should I tell D to pick him up?"

Many texts and phone calls later, Bronx arrived a little over a week ago.  A lovely mannered, happy boxer who manages to "look a little like Keys and a little like Bop all at once" -- as expressed by nearly everyone who knew them and has now met him; while all the while being his own dog.

So hell yes.... LIFE IS BETTER WHEN YOU HAVE A DOG!

I'm a Fan

I wrote this blog entry on another blog some years ago when Doyle *Doc* Mullaney had to pull out of the 2005 season.

I've edited it a little to clear out some snark about links and such like as they have no place in this tribute.


Doyle Mullaney passed away a couple of days ago. I read that he was fighting a grass fire on his land and had what was apparently a heart attack.

I've seen lots of tributes to him, one of the posts on Facebook definitely made me catch my breath on a sob.  "The shamrocks are flying somewhere else today". If you know chuckwagons, then you know what that means.

His service announcement  is here.


2005:

Doc Mullaney has been a fixture of the Chucks for 42 years, and for health reasons has had to leave the Rangeland Derby this year, in midstream. That seriously sucks. Now in that great article (the writing was good, the online department *comment removed in the interest of good taste) it was mentioned that it hadn't yet been decided whether Doc's wagon would be driven by other drivers (a not unprecedented occurance; the most well known incident perhaps when Richard Cosgrove's wagon was driven for the entire week following his death during a race in BC shortly before the Stampede), or whether the next ranked driver would come up the ranks.

None of that matters, although from a what's really right in my personal viewpoint, the former is the most appropriate solution.

The Doc is gone... maybe for good, from the chucks and that's the important part. While he might not be as famous as Micheal Jordan or various other *sports* figures, he's a local legend around here.

Being a lover of all things Irish, I was quite enthralled by the shamrocks on his wagon, the leprechaun remarks and good natured jokes about his Irishness, when I first arrived in the big city (aka Calgary) in '79. Chuckwagon racing has to be experienced to be understood, and not just from the grandstand my friends. Not necessarily from the seat of the wagon either, but there's a certain *feel* that you either have for it or you don't. And by the way, if you don't get chucks and rodeo, please don't clutter up my comments with pita/peta remarks, 'kay? I couldn't freaking care less what those folks have to say.

*AHEM*.

Back to Doctor Doyle. He's never been a *star*, not going to hold the records, or post the times of the Bashaw Flash, and he doesn't have the 4 generation standpoint of the Glass family but he's been my favourite driver since '79 and since this is my blog that counts a lot. :P

His career thus far

In the early '90's not only was he my favourite driver, but he was also my favourite veterinarian. I doubt he recalls the hug I gave him following a fellow driver's untimely death, when I arrived at his clinic that monday to pick up some meds for a pet. There he was, a giant of a man, with tears in his eyes, doing what he did because what else was he to do. His friend had died, that was the chance they all take.

But I can sure tell you I recall the one he gave me when he put down our cat (he'd been severely injured and we'd waited some time to see if the injury would heal); enfolding me in his large arms and holding me close as I sobbed like a 5 yo who'd lost her best friend. Telling me all the while how hard I'd worked to save him and how I'd given him more chances than most would have to get well and that yes, this had been the best solution and I was brave to have done it.

I'm also not likely to forget the tears in his eyes when I told him that the pug puppy he'd saved from parvo had been killed by smoke inhalation during a fire at the campground we were at. This vet who has been described to me as unfeeling, rough handed and abrupt (by some) held this tiny dehydrated puppy in his hands, putting in a line, swearing a blue streak I'll give you that, but the hands? The hands were as gentle as if he held a newborn babe. He fed this pup baby food by finger tip and his assistant even told me he'd taken her home to give her extra TLC. The bill? It wasn't much, Tushi survived and loved to visit the Doc.

This is the fellow that I recall a few years ago, after a rather bad wreck at the Stampede, shouldering past the eager reporter who put a mike in his face to get a sound bite. Doc growled, something to the effect of: do you mind, a friend of mine is hurt. The friend he's referring to? His horses. Quite a sound bite if you ask me.

Doc has been graced with the following awards:

1980 Battle Of The North Champion
Meadow Lake Stampede Champion
1982 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1983 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1984 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1985 WPCA Most Improved Outfit Award
1986 WPCA Active Supporter Award
1993 WPCA Chuckwagon Person Of The Year
1995 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
1996 Fort Nelson Chuckwagon Champion
2002 WPCA Clean Drive Award

Not a bad record for 42 years by any one's standards.

Here's my hat, Doctor Doyle. Here's my cheer when you leave the barrels and here's my thanks for being my favourite driver for all these years.

EDIT to add:  He celebrated his 50th year in Chuckwagons recently.  Please see the halfmileofhell.com website for more information on Doc and other drivers as well as the current season.

Still a volunteer I guess :)

It’s been a while since I’ve posted. There's many a started and stopped draft in my folders.  

I  wanted to a time or two, out of outrage and out of wanting to share a ‘moment’ and for some reason I’ve gotten out of the habit.

So the other day, I had a chance to help out at a Senior Pro Rodeo.  These cowboys and cowgirls are over 40 and at some point competed at a pro level in rodeo. 

There are a few accommodations made for age and somewhat more brittle bones.  But for the most part these guys  and gals are competing under the same rules and conditions they would in a regular rodeo.

There are a few more for fun  events, like the rope and ribbon event where a roper ropes a calf and gets off their horse to control the calf, while his partner (a woman) snags the ribbon off the calf and races back to the chute.  There’s a lot of good-natured jeering as often enough it’s a husband and wife.

So anyway, I’m sitting at the little table I’m assigned to, selling tickets and because it was slack the crowd was a little thin.  I took advantage and was knitting along on a glove I’m making.

While one of the other volunteers and I were chatting we noticed an older cowboy approaching us. By the way he was holding his body, we could tell he was hurting.

As he came up to us, we greeted him in the way one does and we started talking about the rodeo and how it was going and such like.

He told us about how he’d torn his bicep in a previous rodeo and how that was making him use his other hand for bullriding.  I won’t go into how lipstick came up but we shared a chuckle about his using some bright red lipstick to mark his hand so he’d remember to tie in with the correct hand.

I’d offered him an advil jokingly as he had joined us and now he turned to me and said that he needed far more than an advil.  I agreed, nodding at his arm.  He said, well yes, that and my son died last night.

The other volunteer and I just… stared at each other.  We didn’t know how to answer him as he’d spoken in such a matter of fact tone.  Of course we expressed our sympathies at his loss but the conversation had come to a standstill.

He went on to tell us how his son had been disabled and how it wasn’t unexpected but still felt sudden all the same. He mentioned how everything felt out of kilter, like he'd forgotten to do something.

What floored us both was his indication that he was riding that night.  I understand that. Sometimes when life has taken an extreme corner or reversal, something usual is very welcome to give an oasis in the storm of the change.

This man, well past the age most people would consider tying themselves to a bull for the chance of an 8 second ride.  His body in pain from the injury to his arm and his heart hurting from the loss of his son, he was still going to compete; for that was his usual.

This is why I volunteer to work at rodeos; these glimpses of the real definition of ‘cowboy up’.

Rodeo and stuff

I am a volunteer.

I will be the one smiling at you when you pick up your tickets wishing you to enjoy yourself. I will be the one wearing the silly usher’s vest and showing to you to your seat.  I will be one of the many who will go around after and pick up the debris and empty the garbage and recycle bins.

I may have sold you your ticket to event prior to it.  I might have been the one answering the phone and reciting the times and dates while you jot them down.  And the one who does that the second and sometimes third time you do that, too. Each time I’ll do my very best to do it with a smile on my face because I’m a volunteer by choice.

I’m not a paid employee of the facility or organization that’s putting on the event.  I’m there because I want to be.  I’m there because I believe in the organization that’s putting on the event and want to contribute to its success.

I don’t get to watch the show for free. Fact is I haven’t sat down in the stands in the last 7 years to watch more than a few minutes and really couldn’t tell you who won, lost or wrecked. I don’t get any ‘behind the scenes’ perks that you can’t have for the price of the event.  I don’t get to meet the performers and I don’t get to go afterwards and have a drink with them either because I’m a volunteer. 

I don’t get to harangue anyone, demanding that the event change to agree with my considerable knowledge and experience either.  I do as I’ve been asked to do in my capacity as a volunteer.  Sometimes that means I will tell you “no”.  I’m not just
‘exercising my superiority’; I’ve been entrusted with the job I’ve been given and I’m going to do it.  If that some how hurts your feelings, I’m truly sorry.

I’m not there to spoil your particular fun.  Nor am I there to baby sit your children or run your errands either.  I’m there to make every possible effort so that you and other paid patrons can enjoy the very best performance possible in the most comfortable way for all. Not just you.

I’m a part of a team.  We all fail or succeed as one.  If I stand by and let another volunteer fail, I fail. That would be nothing less that sabotage of the organization I’m volunteering to assist; and what would be the point of that?

If I micromanage someone into a state of indecision or worse, fury, I fail, just as they do.   I do my job and let others do theirs and the event succeeds and so do we all.

The best thing I can hear as I tiredly smile and wave to you all as you leave is “See you next year.” That tells me that you’ve enjoyed yourself and intend to come back and that is a true measure of our success.

See you next rodeo.

Broken or Mended, Trust is Trust

Scooped this from a post on Facebook from a friend.  

My response:  Melted and remolded chocolate tastes just as good as chocolate molded to its original form. That is, if the integrity of the chocolate is maintained by careful reheating and remolding... course... I guess you could just toss it out as bad rubbish too.. your choice, but I tend to prefer to conserve rather than waste, be it friends or well especially chocolate ;).

I don't necessarily disagree with it, either.  Goodness knows; trust is hard enough to place in someone's hands as it is.  I mean... you have to trust them to trust you back, y'know?  You have to give up a part of yourself that's so very vulnerable and so very personal and let someone have control of that part of you, to trust, that it's mind boggling that anyone can do that, ever. 


I see a lot of stuff like this, various places.  Almost all of them deal in absolutes.   Akin to the "mess with me and die" sentiment expressed by some.

Over the years I've heard trust expressed and discussed many times. 


Trust has to be earned, not expected from someone. 
Akin to respect, trust is.  Though like respect it's easier all around when it's reciprocated, not just expected to be placed blindly in a person who demands that you earn it from them.

Once trust is broken, well that's it then.  Right? I mean if you trust someone and they break that trust that's the end forever.  
 there are no possible circumstances that could have been a factor.  Like... you trust your loved one to come home after work every day.  And one day, they don't.  You no longer trust them.  Then, the police arrive at your door and inform you of an accident, and how your loved one did everything they could to avoid it but they couldn't and they died on the way to hospital.  Well you should just go on not trusting them after that, don't you think? I mean you TRUSTED them to come home and they didn't, end of story...
But say, they didn't die. They lived but you know, they still didn't come home after work that day.  Should you trust them then? How about if they were just delayed for hours because they stopped to help the people in the accident and you find out that they held a little girl's hand til the response team could get her free? Would you go on trusting them then?
Well not according to these popular sayings. Cause once it's gone, it's gone. There's no rebuilding it, no reforging it no earning it back.

There are far too many things that are treated as absolutes in how we deal with people. 

Sure, you need to stand for something because if you don't, you'll fall for anything.  I just worry that by promoting such absolutes we aren't teaching our kids to think for themselves.  Wouldn't it be far more productive to tell them, trust in someone till they prove a reason not to.  Far less catchy and way harder.  To do that one would have to decide what would constitute broken trust and to do that ... one would have to think ahead, make some decisions about their priorities and ... oh hell that's far too much work.

Better just to do like my mom told me to do many years ago:

Love many and trust few,
Always paddle your own canoe.

(sorry for the disjointed stream of consciousness post, but it might be all you get from me for the next while)

2012 here we come... OR a knitting update

How's the new year treating you all?

I read somewhere that the second Monday of January is called BLUE Monday, anyone else have a day of the 'blues'?

I've been recovering from surgery and am now at that point where I 'want' to be doing stuff but still can't be doing what I want to do.

This energy bubbling has morphed into a pretty bad case of startitis. Over the past weekend I've cast on for 3 scarves, knitted the ribbing for a 2nd sock, and added 2" inches to the 2nd of a pair of wristwarmers. I've also finished two WIP (yay me!) and planned a number of Christmas gifts for next Christmas. I need to get one of those counter widgets and keep track of what I do get knit :)

About those wristwarmers... I'm working the Nereid Gloves from Sutherland Studios. A nice textured, ribby wave pattern that is working up right nice in Chroma Fingering in the Regency colorway. The subtle greys are nice and long and the purples are just enough color accent at the base of my hand and thumb with just at dusting of it creeping in on the fingers edge. I usually don't bother with finding the repeats when working with variegates but this time I did although not perfectly accurately.

I'll post a picture as soon as I get one uploaded to Ravelry.

I'm having a little bit of trouble with the yo holes being loose, due in part I believe to using two circs. I really need to get stocked up on dpns. I 'like' the idea of 2 circs, but somehow my tension and gauge goes on holiday when I use them with any sort of patterning beyond simple ribbing.

Another thing I've noticed, is that I don't seem to be following the graph and yet, the pattern is turning out correctly. I can't see that the change I'm making is a correction on the graph and pattern, since it's a really big obvious switch of the ribbing in the middle section.

Anyone else do this sort of thing? Just decide that the pattern should be another way and knit blissfully on til you need to check for a measurement or increase or decrease number and find yourself in a WTH moment? I can't really be alone in that can I?

I hope to be back on track with the posting this year. Not exactly a resolution (more a kick myself in the pants moment) but I guess like with every good intention, we will see.

Happy New Year.

I need this on a loop...

Obviously I've felt this way before, as seen here: http://reasonablefemale.blogspot.com/2006/08/turning-other-cheek.html

Obviously I've gotten that stunning slap in the face from someone I truly trusted and liked.

obviously I haven't been listening to myself...

equally obviously... I will probably need to repost this again at some point...

because I just... do not want to be the person I describe in the last paragraph. That would take far too much energy and anger and I'm far too lazy for that.

But, maybe, just maybe this time? I can make it partway there and get past the cheap and easy respect, so easy you don't need to bother and find my way to 'someone worth the effort'.

I guess we'll see.

11.5 hour wedding shawl

Some years ago I posted this to the KNITTALK list and thought to retell the story here.

circa 2002

K. my eldest daugther (bless her picky heart :) ) decided on a May wedding, with very short notice and a small ceremony with just family in attendance and a come and go reception at their home.

She was very practical (and frugal ... bless her cheap heart :P) in her planning and since our weather (looking outside today and seeing snow you'll understand what I mean) has been known to be very unpredictable she made alternative plans for the ceremony; because as badly as she wanted an outside ceremony she was pretty sure it'd snow or rain or something.

Sure enough, night before the wedding, we're all crammed in her tiny little galley style kitchen, me and her sis-in-law to be bumping rear ends as we worked on our family *specialties* and K and her younger sis A (my kindred soulchild who also inherited my sense of sarcasm and wit) bustled about, K wringing her hands at the details and A quietly fixing what needed fixing and sending me telling glances that had us having to look away lest we break out in the giggles.

Now don't get me wrong, we love K but she's a pain at times and details are her forte. A and I tend to go with the flow while K is determined that things WILL be a certain way. Even K however, has yet to figure out a way to convince the weather to do her bidding. (with her sense of accomplishment and determination I'm betting on K)

So, at 9 pm she looks out the window at the gathering greyness hovering over the city and says resignedly, "guess it's an indoor ceremony." Commiserating with her disappointment we all agreed.

"Mom..." she gasped at me, "what will I wear from the car to the house?" She had chosen an off the shoulder dress, lovely in a silvery white but yes, her shoulders would decidedly be exposed to the forces of nature.

Backtracking a moment, I'd asked this kid repeatedly, "do you want a wedding shawl? I'll make one however you want it." over the past 5 or 6 years previous. The reply was always no thanks mom. (which read, knitted shawls are for old ladies and while I'll oo and aw over your socks and shawls for you I wouldn't be caught dead wearing one).

"I need a shawl." She proclaimed and I glanced at the clock. 9 pm. Wedding is at 12:30 pm the next day. 15.5 hours... oy...

We left for home (an hour's drive) at 10 pm. Arriving home at 11 pm, bundling everyone off to bed I'd been mentally assessing stash rejecting cotton immediately as I knew I wanted something lofty and halo'd but having little in my stash of the right weight or colour to match the silvery white of her dress.

As we drove into our yard it hit me. The colour wasn't totally right but if I did it very airy it wouldn't matter TOO much. Right? Right. I had some baby alpaca in raw white. Doubled up on 10 mm needles it might just do it.

By 11:15 PM everyone was in bed and I had 3 movies programmed on the satellite. Casting on I started a basic dishcloth pattern in garter, hoping that the large needles and halo would compensate for the simplicity of the design.

(for those who need to know: Cast on 4, knit 1 row, *k2 yo, knit to end of row)

The fabric looked fine and was growing quickly enough so I kept knitting. But as anyone who's used this pattern knows, it's designed to produce a square or a rather deep triangle if you don't use the decrease half. I wanted it wider quicker so I started increasing on both ends of each row. ACK, now it's widening too quickly, back to the one increase per. Better ... and so it went for 2 or 3 hours. Switching back and forth (and sorry to say randomly when it just looked right) was giving me a somewhat scalloped edge... hey it's a design feature right? Right.

Along about 4 or 5 am I woke with the blunt end of a needle pressing into the crook of my elbow but a darned good start on a shawl. I appear to have knitted in my sleep. I can't swear to it and no one was awake to see me do it, but that shawl had grown.

After a shower, and shove out the door to the rest of the family (knitting all the while during breakfast, arguing with children about what they COULD NOT wear to a wedding and hubby's doubting thomas questions we set out to drive the hour's trip.

I'd count furiously then decide it wasn't wide enough so I'd knit knit knit. Hubby asked if I was having any mother of the bride nervousness, "shssshh," I snapped, "I'm counting." Being the quietly sarcastic sort he tossed back, "obviously..." "No time to be nervous." I answered after yet another stitch count.

Now I was close enough to start obsessing about the cast off. Gotta be seriously stretchy for this to work as the shorty triangle stole I was seeing on the needles. My hands were aching, wrists swollen. Finally the brain kicked in and I went for a sl k1, psso *YO, k1, pass previous stitch over both the YO and second stitch, leaving YO on the needle ) Yep, stretchy.

A came out to the van to see how I was doing and her reaction startled me "Holy batcrap mom...When did you start this?" I told her and she started to do the math as I finished the last of the cast off and suprisingly the last of the yarn. Two balls, ending evenly with only a 2 in tail ? ... can we say Meant To Be? Approximately 11.5 hours from cast on to shoulders.

K was upstairs so I quickly stretched this out on her couch, spritzed it lightly and tugged it into a semiblocked state. She came down and again with the gasp.

I stood there, rubbing my hands trying to get the ache to quiet as she gazed at it. "Oh mom...." she looked at me, tears welling in those about to be a bride's eyes and my aches went away.

She wore the shawl all through the day, even after she changed out of her wedding dress. Sometimes she wore it upside down, the ends spiraling (I can only guess from the scalloping of the shaping and the extra stretchy cast off) off her arms, the tip of the triangle folded down at the nape of her neck like a little collar.

A doesn't want a wedding shawl either. I have the Forest Path entrelac lace phenomenon 1/3 done... SHHHHH, don't tell her.

(sadly, that Forest Path went in the fire we had. However, I'm seeking the pattern and a similar yarn to start it again)

When? Why?

I believe in vaccinating my children. To keep them safe and because there hasn't been a reported case of said disease in X years is not a valid reason not to vaccinate. If anything It's even more of a reason because as we have less and less exposure to these germs our ability to fend them off when confronted with them is limited.

If we are going to make something mandatory but then say Oh but you can choose not to, why bother?

If the lady down the street doesn't vaccinate her children and they become ill, they potentially endanger my children; even though my children have been vaccinated. Even though I've taken every reasonable, educated precaution I'm comfortable with doing, my children are still at risk because of someone else's decision. Note: Where I live that is how it is, it's suggested but it's not 100% mandatory.

IF you, I and everyone else who seems to be thinking along the right minded way of thinking I'm reading about teach our children about their bodies and masturbation and they understand about private and public touch and 'strangers' and the like but 'Mz I dun wanna be talking to my babies about sex and nobody else should be either' over across the way doesn't... and her little Johnny or Jenny comes along and starts touching my kids or yours ... all she has to do is say at the moment "I didn't believe in teaching a young child about sex." and she's off the hook. Unless it's a rather major event where the police are immediately called; or you, I or another parent wants to make a big deal of it and potentially undo the right-minded thinking we've started to instill in our children then whoever little J / J touched inappropriately is left without a solution. Afterall, they have still been touched.

There are other situations and laws out there where this somewhat skewed logic applies. Just because 3 out of 10 people I know, can drive at 140 mph and do so in a safe and courteous manner (and yes, there are people who can and do so on a regular basis) doesn't mean that I am going to be out there lobbying that the speed limit should be upped to 140. Speeding limits are set up to enable the most amount of people to drive the most amount of miles in the safest possible way. Sometimes there are just plain stupid zones though, just saying...

When your child reaches a certain age, either the one determined by the law of your land or if you're like most people I know, in a field long before they would be allowed on the road because you know yourself that exposure to something in a controlled and supervised manner is a good way to learn; you teach your children to drive safely. At a younger age (hopefully though given some of the pedestrians I've encountered maybe not so much) you also teach them how to cross the street safely. You teach them how to work the stove, use a knife, light a fire, you know, how to do any number of mundane tasks. You do this because at some point in their lives they are going to cross a road without you there to tell them how, turn on a stove or even drive to work complaining about pedestrians who don't know how to cross a road safely. Ahem.

If your child takes up sports, you're going to buy them the right equipment for it aren't you? To protect them from bumps, bruises, perhaps even serious or life threatening injuries considered connected to that particular sport. Before strenuous physical activity you're going to either teach them how to prepare their bodies and minds, or get right upset with a coach who doesn't promote preparation when your little darling pulls a muscle because they went into the game cold.

You're going to do this and other preparatory things because you want to protect your children, being a right-minded parent. As a result, most of the kids participating in said activity are going to do so in safe manner, with everyone enjoying themselves. They'll even learn to relax (because they are protected, knowing that a particular piece of safety equipment will do its job when needed) and by doing so will probably enjoy the activity even more.

Sex has never been nor never will be 'safe' to some, because there have always been inherent risks to either the self esteem or psyche by indulging or denying without even getting into the STD's, moral and/or legal issues of then and now. And yes, I'm glossing over these but not because I believe they are not crucial, but because most of them are based on beliefs, traditions and moral views that I may or may not adhere to, or hold personally.

But let's face it, people, at some point in their lives, your child is going to indulge, partake, or even *gasp* enjoy sex.

Why would you not want to prepare them? Why wouldn't you want them to be aware of and even feel comfortable using safety equipment (hint: condoms do more than just provide a barrier to conception).

I just can't ignore the age-old question... do you really want your child out there getting an inpromptu and probably very confused and inaccurate information session on sex from their friends?

I just don't get why we have to turn into blithering idiots instead of right-minded parents who work hard to protect and nurture their children the very second SEX is mentioned.

Merry Christmas, despite being a little late...

So this past year hasn’t been one of my favourites. To hit the high(?) lights, we’ve had a house fire that destroyed our house, two deaths in the family, money issues (who hasn’t) and I’ve finally quit a job that was sucking out my very soul.
There’ve been some up moments, (see the part about quitting that job?) and all the helpful, compassionate people who came to our assistance after the fire. People coming out of nowhere and being kind to us. Balanced as always by the (so - called) neighbour who informed me in front of the still smoking ashes of our home, that if we lived in an old house like that, what could we expect? I’ve always said it takes all kinds, so nice to be proven right O.o

Anyhoo, given all these rollercoaster moments I’ve been looking forward to December 31st with more anticipation than usual. Today is December 24th and I had planned all along to go shopping at Costco for the last minute gifts. I’d gotten into this habit a few years ago when certain children had reached the age of snooping and paying off the younger ones to do it for them.

Over the past few years I’ve become more than a little bit jaded with Christmas and the holidays in general. It’s been harder and harder to get excited about it and hold onto that wonderment. I suppose that’s a symptom of growing older but I was letting things slide for the kids, and that has been bothering me. Sure, they had presents and a nice turkey spread. We put up lights and went to the town hall for the school concert. We even do the family game night Christmas eve, unplugged if you will, a marathon evening of board games, most often Monopoly or Life and lately Scrabble and Risk have been making an appearance. Little traditions have been kept but there’s been something missing…something of the anticipation and joy of the season.

I was giving myself a talking to while driving to Costco. About how, this coming year I’d start my stocking-stuffer buying in January like I used to do, little odds and tidbits some to be wrapped some to be just discovered; and make some gifts, another habit that has gone by the wayside as the pressure of putting on Christmas became less and less interesting. I’ve long ago given up on knitted gifts for all but most Christmas mornings had someone exclaiming over something hand made by mom. An afghan, a sweater, a pair of much wanted wristees or even just a plain old scarf in just the right color had been unwrapped with anticipation on my part to see how the recipient would respond. That hasn’t happened in more than few years if I’m honest.

I spent a rather pleasant couple of hours at Costco as the crowds weren’t overly so and there were plenty of items I’d been looking forward to checking out without tipping my hand to the nosy children that usually accompanied me on shopping trips. I’d found everything I had planned on getting, a few things besides and reluctantly put back others with the hopes that on another trip with more extra available they’d still be there for purchase. DD#3’s new camera was in there, the navigational GPS thingie for hubby, more than couple blu-ray disks and books, always books for Christmas at our house as well as new pyjamas to wear Christmas Eve and most if not all of Christmas Day. Noting to myself that not all of our Christmas traditions had died I wandered to the checkout line.

I noticed a lady letting people go in front of her in line. She had one of those trolley platforms and while it was full it was mostly larger boxes. She’d waved at least two others through as I got up to her and was telling me to go on ahead too. I responded that she should go ahead as it was Christmas Eve and everyone wanted to be home. At her question about why I wasn’t in a hurry I told her that since hubby is a truck driver subject to the whim of a dispatcher and road conditions, Christmas at our house didn’t start till he got home anyway and that I had all day as he wasn’t expected till later than evening.

She smiled and got in line. As we waited our turns at the register we chatted. I often strike up conversations in line-ups and have passed an otherwise tedious time exchanging opinions on politics, current events and the weather with equal vigour. Hey, I am Canadian after all, and weather is an important topic of discussion. Especially interesting to me when I find someone who ‘remembers the big one of 19…aught something. *grin*.

During this chat we exchanged sentiments about how seeing the backside of 2010 would not be a bad thing. As I’ve mentioned we’ve had enough. She told me of a 50 year marriage ending in divorce and we both commiserated with the other that 2011 didn’t have to do much to be better. She paid for her purchases and was fiddling with her purse as the cashier started running mine through.

I turned to her and smiled, about to wish her a Merry Christmas when felt I needed to say something more. “You know, your ex probably just needed to get out of your life to make room for someone who really loves you. Or maybe you’re just one of those lucky people who loves themselves enough they don’t need that affirmation from someone.” She clasped my hand and holding it asked my name. I told her and she said, “Well my name is ******** and guess what, I’m your secret Santa and I’m going to pay for your order today.”

“You can’t,” was my immediate response, my mental tally had rang up near 750 or so and the thought of a stranger giving me nearly a thousand dollars shocked me. She was adamant and firm, telling me she’d said she was doing it and that was that. As she headed over to the ATM to get out cash the cashier remarked about how nice it was that my friend was doing that for me. When I told him and his packer person that I’d never laid eyes on this woman before in my life they both welled up with tears. I, too, was crying by now.

I did insist that we exchange information so we could talk again. Turns out she lives in a town I used to, and her dad had spent his last years in the town I now live in. When I asked her why she’d done this, she said that a little voice had told her she should when we’d been speaking in the line-up. She figured it was her Dad telling her to do a good deed.

When I got out to my vehicle I just sat there for a few minutes, somewhat overwhelmed. That’s the first time in a very long time that I’ve really felt the Christmas Spirit filling me so fully. I called my eldest daughter when I got home and told her about this. We have some ‘extra’ money coming in January with one thing or another. We’ve decided we’re going to go stake out a grocery store and have some fun. I think we’ll know the right person to pay this forward to when we see them.

P.S. I started writing this when I got home that evening, but for some reason it didn’t seem right to post it till now. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas season and that the best of 2011 finds its way to your home.

P.P.S I’ve been behind in my blog reading and just got to the Yarn Harlot's recent entries today. I wish I’d read her post about the traditions for New Year’s Eve in time, I’d have done them all.

Why?

I see on *insert social site here* that my son's ex girlfriend/shackup/love/ whatever it was/is posted a picture of my grandson, her son. The son she and my son, her ex/shackup/love/whatever it was/is had together. The son she and my son no longer have.

I see that with that posting she's speaking of how much she misses them both. Her family, my son, my grandson, my son's son, her son and her man.

And all I can think to say to her is Why? Why then, did you not follow through with the treatment? Why did you do things that could hurt him while you were pregnant with him? Why did you when given all sorts of chances and offers of help both officially and from family and friends did you lie to us all, yourself included? Why were you both so damned smart you could put 'something' over on us. Why be such smart asses that you think you are cleverer, better, different. Why not admit you had a problem? Sure you both give it lip service. You both say all the 'right' things, but you didn't/wouldn't/couldn't do them.

I want to blame her, I want to blame my son, I want to blame them both. I want to blame me and his dad, I want to blame her mother and father, I want to blame everyone. I want to blame the system that let them lie, let them cheat on the tests and I believe set them up so that they both could do nothing at that point but fail... but really who lost in the end... that little boy.

Both of them will point fingers at me and say how horrible I am for posting this if they see it. They'll both find some horrible secret of mine to throw out there. And you know what... that little boy will still be gone. No matter how they and I toss aside the blame, how no one wants to think about it...

why why why didn't you think about it before... if you couldn't bring yourself to worry about losing him why did you have him... why damnit WHY...

Thinking about writing...

"He started for the kitchen to get a drink, and checked himself. Take a drink because you pity yourself, and then the drink pities you and has a drink, and then two good drinks get together and that calls for drinks all around." - Little Fuzzy 1962, by H. Beam Piper.

Today while wandering through blogland I was reminded of the above quote from Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper. When I first read this book some 25 years ago, I enjoyed the story for what it was but was also excited about the way it had come to my attention. The book store I frequented (read haunted) was run by a wonderful repository of background information and he'd suggested the story to me both for the great story as well as the background of the author. I'd recently taken an interest in some old Ace Doubles and Piper's space opera type of writing had an appeal all of its own. The author had not published the third book and the manuscript, long believed either destroyed or otherwise lost had recently been discovered in an old desk. A third book had been written by another author from Piper's notes, with the approval of his estate but here after more than one ending was Piper's.

It was an enjoyable experience, discovering his work and collecting it and now I get to do it all over again. Regardless...

That line had jumped out at me at the first reading and has been something I've thought about many times through the years, often quoting it to people during discussions of various topics.

I'd heard that Piper had not viewed himself as successful and certainly in terms of the genre there were more prolific and well-known writers; Asimov and the like. Writing isn't really about being successful. There's a lot said about the anguish of writing. Of putting that part of yourself out there laid bare for others to read that terrifies many a person into never letting their "scribbles" see the light of day.

I've likened the idea of submitting something to giving birth that once it was out of your hands it acquired a life of its own just like your children and would forever reflect back on you its success or failure.

Somehow, though, in all the talks I've had with fellow writers that doesn't stop one from needing to write. I've chucked everything, more than once sad to say, and scrambled to retrieve it once that passion of the moment had passed. I mourn the loss of ideas that I have been unable to write down because they've come to me while driving, or in those moments between awake and aware. I marvel at the idea that some books see the light of day, too but that's another post :).

But to get back to the quote...

To me, there's something so incredibly truthful and psychologically defining in it. Fanciful as it may seem I can imagine that being a nothing line that Piper wrote that he himself perhaps came back to, to reread and ponder over. I wonder if he suffered from depression, or perhaps even alcoholism when I read that and usually set down the book at that point to muse over the implications there, of how one justifies drinking, of being alone and seeking solace in a bottle, or turning to it rather than addressing the issues at hand lest they unsettle the tiny island of comfort such as it might not really be one that someone could have carved for themselves.

I think writers have to be, by nature, somewhat arrogant or at the least impressed with themselves, if only within their own minds. There are times when something one writes is so ... perfect and profound that you can get lost in it, reading it over and over. I think that the good writers get over that, or learn to cope with it, cause there's a real danger spot there. Not accepting that it could be bettered by a change of word, rewriting of a phrase and the flipside of that, where you edit till your eyes bleed and it's still not perfect... those are the barriers to writing successfully as many would define writing.

That justification of one drink needing the company of another holds true for so many things and not just terrible life destroying vices but good things as well. Joy is never so wonderful as when truly shared with another. A laugh that takes you to your knees, sets your eyes to streaming and steals your breath is only ever better by another joining in on the same level.

Sharing... that's what writing is about. Sharing your ideas, making them larger than they are by giving them to others and having them reflected back to you. People say that writing is a lonely process and good writing only comes from anguish and much gnashing of teeth. I beg to differ. I don't believe that one has to wring every word from their psyche to make it good. I believe that writing can be joyful and happy and exciting and love the idea a published author I once knew put in my head when asked for a synopsis. She'd replied "Well how the hell do I know what happens in the story? I write them to find out the ending..."

Now seeking a writing partner...any takers?

Refound

Fascinated, you bet...
Friday 10.29.04 [4:51 pm]

Well to most that know me this won't come as too much of a shock. I'm facintated by men. Now that doesn't mean that I have a Chippendale's calendar hanging in my bedroom (my crafts room actually) or that I oogle guys as they walk down the street.

It does mean that that other species that masquerades as the other half of my own fascinates me.

I offer these Rules of Manhood as an example of why...(note at a guess given the language involved these came from a British or perhaps a European site...a tip: MATE = friend I was given no reference for where this comes from, so if you know, I'd appreciate the info to give a nod to the author (not to miss mentioning copyright details as well).

(Italics mine)

Rules of Manhood

01: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella. Okay, this one I'll let go... not to sure how I feel about two women sharing one either, unless they are lifelong friends or family.

02: It is ok for a man to cry under the following circumstances:

a. When a heroic dog dies to save its master. I'd like to see someone NOT cry then. (said somewhat indignantly)

b. The moment Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry (or both) starts unbuttoning her blouse. Ahem

c. After wrecking your boss' car. Girls get to do this when they wreck anyone's car, see how fair we are?

d. One hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds into "The Crying Game". I've never actually seen this movie, so can't comment.

e. When she is using her teeth meh, and just lets it go.

03: Any Man who brings a camera to boys night out may be legally killed and eaten by his mates.

04: Unless he murdered someone in your family, you must bail a friend out of jail within 12 hours.

05: If you've known another man for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever, unless you actually marry her. Seems to me that defeats the purpose of having brothers with friends.

06: Moaning about the brand of free beer in a friends fridge is forbidden. Complain at will if the temperature is unsuitable.

07: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your mate's birthday is strictly optional. Alright fine, but does it have to bleed over to forgetting your girl's birthday too?

08: On a road trip, the strongest bladder determines pit stops, not the weakest. Men have also invented cars that go too damn far on one tank of gas as well...I'm sensing a conspiracy here...

09: When stumbling upon other blokes watching a sporting event, you may ask the score of the game in progress, but you may never ask who's playing.

10: You may flatulate in front of a woman only after you have brought her to climax. If you trap her head under the covers for the purpose of flatulent entertainment, she's officially your girlfriend. Just... ICKS

11: It is permissible to quaff a fruity alcopop drink only when you're sunning on a tropical beach...and it's delivered by a topless supermodel...and it's free.

12: Only in situations of moral and/or physical peril are you allowed to kick another bloke in the nuts.

13: Unless you're in prison, never fight naked. And yet, invite a guy to watch an all girls mud wrestling match...

14: Friends don't let friends wear Speedos. Ever. Issue closed.

15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.

16: Women who claim they "love to watch sports" must be treated as spies until they demonstrate knowledge of the game (can explain offside or the double switch) and the ability to drink as much as the other sports watchers. Yeah, like we -want- to sit in front of the tv hollering and slapping each other's asses every holiday ... There's shopping to be done, thank you very much. *SNORT* I also sounded convincing there didn't I? it was the shopping part right?

17: A man in the company of a hot, suggestively dressed woman must remain sober enough to fight. You know, I can't really argue with this one, call me oldfashioned... well sort of, I guess it depends how suggestively dressed she is, and for what purpose...

18: Never hesitate to reach for the last beer or the last slice of pizza, but not both thats just mean.

19: If you compliment a man on his six-pack, you'd better be talking about his choice of beer. GIGGLES

20: Never join your girlfriend or wife in discussing a mate of yours, except if she's withholding sex pending your response.

21: Phrases that may NOT be uttered to another man while lifting weights:

a. Yeah, Baby, Push it!

b. C'mon, give me one more! Harder!

c. Another set and we can hit the showers!

22: Never talk to a man in a bathroom unless you are on equal footing: i.e. both urinating, both waiting in line, etc. For all other situations, an almost imperceptible nod is all the conversation you need. *EYE ROLL* What the hell do they do if they need extra tissue?

23: Never allow a telephone conversation with a woman to go on longer than you are able to have sex with her. Keep a stopwatch by the phone. Hang up if necessary. Is that why they're so damned concerned with how long they were going for...

24: The morning after you and a girl who was formerly "just a friend" have carnal drunken monkey sex, the fact that you're feeling weird and guilty is no reason not to nail her again before the discussion about what a big mistake it was. No comment, okay just one... PIG

25: It is acceptable for you to drive her car. It is not acceptable for her to drive yours. EVIL EYE

26: Thou shalt not buy a car in the colors of brown, pink, lime green, orange or sky blue. Orange, snicker...

27: The girl who replies to the question "What do you want for Christmas?" with "If you loved me, you'd know what I want!" gets an Xbox. End of story. Here's a tip, boys, think diamonds and gold and ring fingers...cause that's what we bloody well mean you dorks.

28: There is no reason for guys to watch Ice Skating or Mens Gymnastics. Ever. Heh, well for the most part I tend to agree with that, who wants them around then anyways...

Now, first of all, why do they need a written set of rules? Don't they realize that under any given set of circumstances there are any number of responses to all of these situations? I mean really... women just make things up and given some of the creativity I've seen from a guy or two, at squirming, I'd think they'd be just as capable of just making it up as they go along.

Second, are there truly MEN police out there, checking to see if one guy talks to another in the john? Who gets -that- job? Who -wants- that job?

And that whole set of beer rules... only men would have rules about BEER.

So men will continue to fascinate me with their sport rituals and silly bathroom rules of behaviour. They also make me want to pick them apart to figure out what makes 'em tick... but then they get all broken and metrosexual when you get too deep into the whole feelings thing.

So guys, despite more than one joke about you, and your various types of behaviour... that makes me nearly pee my pants with laughter and glee; here's one gal who's pretty happy you guys are guys and she's a gal.