Emotive Rambling

#MyBestAdvice a (non) VR to Brian Cormack Carr

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GraveStone

So this will be an easy (and short one) for the questions thing.   Brian Cormick Carr over on YouTube introduced the hashtag #MyBestAdvice on his channel recently, where he shared what the best advice was that he has ever gotten in life, and where from, and then asked others to do the same.

For me, this was advice given to me by Z.  Growing up, I spent a great deal of time at her house because she was 1) my parent’s “Pagan Parenting” coach of a sort, 2) she kind of ended up functioning as my sister and I’s “godparent”, and 3) she did a LOT of babysitting of L and myself.

So, with all those factors in place, it’s not really much of a surprise that this advice comes from her.   I think I was around twelve?  Maybe a little older.   Perhaps she was worried about how I would turn out, or perhaps it was just another guiding step on teaching us values.  Whatever the reason, her advice was to read a poem named “The Dash” by Linda Ellis.

Here it is…

The Dash

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning… to the end.

He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears,
but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth
and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars… the house… the cash.
What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard; are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left that still can be rearranged.

To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile…
remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So when your eulogy is being read, with your life’s actions to rehash,
would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash?

By Linda Ellis, Copyright © Inspire Kindness, 1996, thedashpoem.com

This poem changed my life in a very literal way. It made me conscious of my effect upon others and the world at large in a way that nothing previously ever had and created a “community perspective” that reached way beyond just my immediate family and friends.

This poem is the best advice that I’ve ever received, and holds a framed place above my altar in the bedroom where I stand to do my devotional each day.  A daily reminder to always look beyond myself and be mindful of the influence I have upon others and the world around me.

The Aliens Among Us

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Today, I was tagged by Normal Happenings in a writing challenge.

“They”

Detail an experience of yours (real or fiction) so bizarre you think you might have encountered an alien from another world.

So, as usual, when I get put on a spot, my mind draws a blank.   Don’t you hate that shit?   Anyway.  After half a day of contemplation I finally decided to share what happened to me a few months ago while on the road.

When I first came home from this experience, I shared it with you.  I was shaken up (and feeling a little triumphant) and poured it all out.   Now I’m going to reflect back on that experience here.

So essentially, it boiled down to an experience with road rage.    I was on the highway (two lanes in either direction) on my way back to Seattle from a trip up north.   The traffic wasn’t particularly heavy and flowing fine, and as usual, I was driving a good ten or fifteen mph over the speed limit.  (Yes, I know.  I know.)

This speed allows me to move smoothly past cars in either lane without “whipping” from lane to lane like a nutcase.  It’s a comfortable speed for me when dealing with a minimum of four to five hours of driving.  (I really need teleportation.  Seriously.)

Anyway.  I had just passed a black truck going a good deal slower than myself.  I glanced over my shoulder at the truck as I passed, confirming I’d passed him and was pulling away, then changed lanes.     Apparently…. he sped up to try and block me from changing lanes (some people are just assholes and love an opportunity to show it?) and I ended up accidentally cutting him off as I hadn’t realized what he’d done until after the fact.

I had a moment’s grimace and a mental “shit, sorry” moment.  It happens.

rage4But this guy took things to a WHOLE new level when he then began first riding my ass, and then trying to change lanes and whip around me to get in front of me.

When I wouldn’t let him in front of me (because hello, erratic behavior at high speeds on a highway is a BAD idea) he then tried running me into the concrete median, then into the ditch a bit later.

I knew letting this guy in front of me on the highway was a bad idea, and I knew that losing him on the highway would be impossible.  He was…. I mean, just wow.  Erratic, enraged, violently aggressive with that truck of his, and he was going to cause an accident.     So, I decided to take an exit and get off the highway in the hopes that maybe I’d be able to lose him somewhere.

Instead, he followed and, in the middle of the street, whipped around me by going into oncoming traffic and then blocked the road with his truck, forcing me to stop in the middle of the street.   He then proceeded to get out of his truck and start in my direction.

I felt this was a really BAD idea, so I backed up (in the middle of the street).  A semi started coming our way, and I guess he figured the current situation was untenable to him, so he got back in the truck.   While he was getting in his truck, I quickly passed around him and hurried ahead.

He caught up, of course.

To keep hmi from getting in front of me again for a repeat performance, I used the left lane and got right up behind a car.  I felt bad riding their ass, but I didn’t want to let him get in front of me again because this had definitely become an issue in personal safety.

For just over 2 miles, I rode this car’s ass while he drove beside me in the right lane with his window down, screaming obscenities at me, flailing out his window, giving me the bird, etc.    TWO MILES!

I then (finally) managed to lose him as, while he was stuck in the right lane (and traffic was becoming more busy so he was definitely going to be stuck in that lane) I used a last-minute redirect before a traffic light to slip into the left turn lane and turn off.   He was forced to go straight.

Fortunately?   I have a very innocuous car in a very innocuous color, so once I was away from him, even if he saw my car again there’s a good chance he wouldn’t be able to be sure it was me.   Just to be safe, though?   I took an alternate route back to the highway to be back on my way.

In the time since this happened, it has been suggested I should have driven to the police station and pulled into the lot to sit there for a bit.   And you know what?  I really like that idea, and I think that’s exactly what I should have done.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think of it at the time.

That said? The focus of this post is on the driver of that truck.  He left me shaken and a little freaked out.   And reflecting back now?   I sit here wondering… How does anyone get -that- angry?  Where does that kind of anger come from?  How does someone allow anger to enrage them to the point where your actions are violently aggressive danger to not just yourself or the person you’re upset with, but the population at large?

This type of overwhelming rage is something beyond my scope of understanding, no matter how many times I try to wrap my mind around it.  How does the human condition even have room for this type of rage and resulting behavior?

Alien?  Absolutely.

 

Sensory Overload

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I think I’ve figured it out. Or at least perhaps a part of it.

Whenever I come here to visit my mother, I have a negative reaction to the time here. It’s not anything she says to me. After all, she has the same judgmental litany of complaints to share whether it’s in person or over the phone.

It’s not the memories of Dad, or the unpleasant memories of living in this house, either. Yes, they are all there, and yes, sometimes they affect me… but something in this house has in the last handful of years caused my visits here to turn even more negative than normal.

And… I think I figured it out.

It’s the noise.

It’s the constant incessant noise. The floors are wood, and since Dad died, Mother doesn’t require the removal of shoes in the house anymore. The living room has a high ceiling and a few years ago, she had all the carpet removed and wood flooring installed.

The TV is always on. Even when it’s not, every step, every movement, every voice, every SOUND is amplified and echoes. There’s no softness to absorb any of it, as much of the wall art and softer furnishings have been sold off or given away since Dad’s death.

It’s hollow and loud. Even when closed off in a different room, you can hear everything, just at a lower decibel.

It is a constant barrage on the senses… all of the senses, in my case. Or, well, four out of five at any rate.

It’s not just exhausting, or irritating, but feels like some insidious sort of violence, secret and subtle that works it’s way in and leaves you raw.

Out of Line

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OK, before I do my meditation today, I need to get something off of my chest that’s been weighing on me all morning.

I was really out of line last night, and I am so sorry for it, and for hurting you.

Other than during the last year before coming back to me in full, you have always been the most selfless person I know when it comes to me. You always put me first, you always pay attention and watch closely, you always see so much more than I’m usually trying to show. You always push for what’s in my best interest.

To accuse you of trying to make something “all about you” was so grossly out of line. I don’t know why my temper flared like it did, but the words that came out of me… they were just wrong. On so many levels.

I’m so sorry. I hate that I said that to you. I hate that it will be there between us now and forever, no matter how much I wish I could take it back.

I love you.

The Crap-Ass Thing About a Good Economy

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housekeeper

Finding employees. That’s the crap-ass thing about a good economy.

So, you know how sometimes you just have to bury your face in a pillow and give a good yell?

Here it is….

I prefer to have a housekeeper. I LOVE having a housekeeper. I pay cash, and only need someone to come in 2 or 3 hours a week usually… sometimes another hour or so but really, it’s not that big a job. Two bedrooms, two baths, 1050 square feet of home lived in by two people who are relatively clean.

Hell, they don’t even have to do dishes OR laundry, because I prefer to take care of the laundry myself, and my best friend “pays” for the food he eats when he visits by doing my dishes. I even provide all the cleaning supplies for the job.

So there you go. You would THINK, being that I’m offering $13 an hour paid in cash, that I’d have people jumping for the job.

When you work for one of those house cleaning companies, they cleaners don’t even get paid that much because most of what they make goes to the company, and what’s left is taxed.

And yet… not one person with house cleaning experience has contacted me about the job. Not one. The guy I almost hired didn’t have any experience at all in cleaning, which was a huge drawback for me because it means I’d have to -teach- it all. I don’t really have time for that, and so I really want someone who already knows how to clean a bath tub. Is that so much to ask?

I’m frustrated. I’ve had ads out there for 2 weeks now.

Back when the economy was bad, finding a housekeeper was -easy- as pie. I put the ad up and had multiple replies within hours.

[End of sulky, frustrated rant.]

Self Reflection on Prejudice

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Suk1

I’ve never really considered myself a prejudice guy, yeah? I mean I guess I am in some ways, but it never really stood out to me until I decided to hire this new worker to come in and work for me as a housekeeper and helper.

I feel all kinds of awkward about him being East Indian… or, maybe you’re right and it’s about the whole “it’s a strange guy that will be coming into your house and touching your things. I know you’ve had housekeepers before but they were also females”, thing.

But what does it matter if the person working for me is a guy or a girl as long as they do the job? Hell, what does it matter if they’re East Indian or whatever, for that matter?

It doesn’t.

So the question is… it either of these things? Neither of these things? Am I making excuses for that internal instinct of mine that likes to speak up a warning when someone is bad news?

Suk2

Now that I think of it, I wonder if it’s neither the guy thing or the East Indian thing. It has that “fighting my instinct” feeling.

Damnit.

Considering that I know better than to ignore my instincts, I guess that means I’m still looking for a housekeeper and helper.