The Comforts of Home

Tonight I sit in the comfort of my living room and I wonder about the plight of the homeless. In the town near me, there seems to be an alarming and growing population of homeless. Their needs are beyond what I can conceive from my seat in my own warm home. There's a page I follow that's a "gossip" page and there is a post about a homeless man who needed some way to stay warm and out of the weather one night this week. The person who posted had spoken with the homeless man and was requesting help for the man for shelter and warmth. The overwhelming responses were from people willing to donate blankets, financial resources to help the man seek shelter, to bring warm meals. This warmed my heart. However, there is always one.... 

One of the first comments I saw read: "Has he applied for jobs? Has he?" 

This got my blood pressure up pretty quick. Why? What's so wrong with this question anyway? Well, hold on a minute while I clamor up onto my soap box. 

Here we go....

Let me start with the idea that whether or not this man is worthy of assistance seems to be tied up with whether or not he has applied for jobs. This is wrong on so many levels. Starting with the fact that the man deserves to be sheltered and fed whether or not you want to know about his job history! Don't even get me started on the entitled dictating to the less fortunate how to pull themselves out of the gutter. This chaps my hide faster than you can say "boo." Most of us have no idea what it is like to try and survive on the streets. When you're cold and hungry and dirty and haven't showered for days, is it really realistic to think you should be out pounding pavement for a job? In education, kids come to us hungry and tired and stressed out on the daily. Educators have the saying "Maslow before Bloom." Bloom's taxonomy of learning is central to education. And we all know about Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Your basic physiological needs must be met before you can address even the next hierarchy of safety (i.e. employment), and learning is hirer up yet. But for our homeless man scenario, the first items of business would be finding a place out of the wind and rain, finding food and a place to rest of the night. The brain cannot focus on the need to be gainfully employed or how to reasonably achieve this when those baseline needs are not met. Can I get an amen? 

Now, the pendulum does swing both ways. One poster said that she had a camper in her backyard hooked to electricity and he could stay there. That seemed foolish to me. Another poster mentioned that the homeless man of mention had attacked them previously. And desperation makes people do crazy stuff. I am not sure I'd invite this homeless man or any homeless person to my home and expose myself and all my earthly possessions to them. But I've been down and out and I have witnessed the goodness of others who have reached out and taken care of me. I can't discount the need for people to be good to others. I have been the recipient of such goodness. Maybe that is why I'm such the bleeding heart. I just get twisted off pretty fast when people are hard on the down-trodden. Show some compassion for goodness sake! Or badness sake! For sakes people! Be compassionate! You do not know anyone else's story or the depths of their sorrows!

March is "Slice of Life" month when teachers (in particular), educators and students link up and commit to write daily for the month of March. If you want to experience other Slices of Life writings, click on Slice of Life icon and it should take you to today's post. Links will be in the comments. 

Confusion, It's not just for breakfast anymore

 I am going to attempt to put words to feelings that I don't quite understand. There's a lot of social grooming for lack of a better term that surrounds the sexual rights of women, the essence of our being as women is inundated with confusing messages from a very young age. I don't believe this to be unique to me. I believe I've had some unique experiences as we all have, but the general conditioning that comes from Western society is broad and all women experience it to some degree if they grow up in American culture. 

One of my children says it's part of the whole, "the reason he picks on you is because he likes you" nonsense that we tell our young girls when boys are intimidating, physical, or bullies to young girls. I have a hard time swallowing that because 1) I have perpetuated that myth, and 2) I can see some truth in it from the stand point of young humans with big emotions that they have no way of processing and it comes out sideways. I know this to be a truth. But I also see how this is harmful. Teaching girls that boys (and I say boys because I am deeply heterosexual, I see things from a boy/girl standpoint. But I know/believe that this is true in any gender or love interest interaction) must like them when they pull hair, punch them, push them, call them names or chase them on the playground is wrong and teaches the receiver of this attention that violence is a normal part of love and to tolerate it. It confuses us. I can only speak to my side of this, the receiving side, but I thoroughly believe that it confuses both sides. Okay, now that I'm actually reflecting on my childhood, I know that I did my fair share of chasing. I was love-struck at a young age. Those poor boys.... I chased them all around the playground. But I don't remember entertaining the other bullying tactics that we dismiss in our society. I didn't use demeaning names or violence. I don't think I did. But I also imagine that my mushy love names that I spouted at boys could have had the same effect and probably left them feeling uneasy at the least. Because it's confusing behavior. In no way is it a show of respect. But I got off track. I was going to say that the chasing, it empowered me. It gave me a sense of being in control. And I was suddenly a part of the other person's world whether they wanted me to be or not. Power and control. 

I have been trying to figure out this rage that is welling up inside of me lately. It is ever-increasing and I have been really angry at.... well, at me, because I think that I shouldn't feel this way. My thinker is well-schooled at shaming my feeler.  I'm a feeler to the core. I am an empath times ten. Therefore, I am feeling confusion to my very core. and shame. I feel ashamed of my feelings. But aren't feelings just feelings, not right or wrong? Then why do I feel so guilty and so intolerant of myself because I feel something I don't immediately understand. Even knowing I feel this way and expressing it and on some level believing it is right, I think it's wrong. I say... "I don't know...." "I'm sorry...." "It's me, not you...." "if I knew, I'd tell you..." Are these little lies or big ones? They are starting to loom large no matter what size they really are, or what size they started out to be. Because the lying is to me. To my being, who I AM. 

I often wonder if I was sexually assaulted as a child or budding young adult. There's so much time that is just gone. I don't remember a lot of childhood unless there's a photo to prompt my memory. I detest feeling pressured into sexual behavior of any kind, even on a benign level, like flirting. It fuels that rage. The seething, simmering rage. Rage that is currently bubbling dangerously near the surface and is likely to boil over and burn my life in all areas. Not just sexual areas. 

A lot of victim guilt and self-shame comes from the fact that our bodies react to certain things.... touches, actions, behaviors. It felt good in a way, so I must have liked it. It must have been my fault. I have been giving myself this message frequently lately and I have also receiving this. 

The thing that makes me want to vomit faster than any other thing lately is the whole idea that I secretly like things that I say no to. And that no doesn't actually mean no. This is an old school way of thinking and it victim blames. I believe in America it is generational. And I was not as exposed to this train of thought as some one as much or as little as ten years my senior. A decade. How society changed. But then again, did it really? Experience-wise I'd have to say "not-so-much," 

In high school I was inappropriately touched by a boy in a stairwell. When I confronted him, he said, "You didn't scream, you must have liked it." This significantly squelched me. I wouldn't have told my teacher anyway because he frequently spouted sexist remarks from his position of teacher. And he was good friends with the other male-chauvinist teacher in our school who often spouted inappropriate remarks and engaged in taunting the at-risk kids in the hallways. Me. I was the at-risk kid in the hallway he taunted and belittled and damn sure didn't TEACH. Well, I take that back, he taught me a lot, but it wasn't academic in nature. He taught me about positions of authority and exploiting of those who don't have the control, he taught me that as the minority (and in this case I mean minority to mean the lesser of) I had no power and those who did have the power were not accountable for their actions. I was taught that I did not count and that I did not have a say. He taught me that if I was to have power it would have to be through cunning and street smarts and covert actions. Overt actions were for the favored ones, the strong, the bullies. He and other similar authority figures taught me to go ahead and smoke a little pot and drink a little drink because I had no future anyway. 

So I'm sitting here more than a little overwhelmed at all the feelings I'm walking through right now. And wondering... does that mean that I'm blaming others for my actions? Because we're always taught that we should not do that. That is wrong. Weak. Those who blame others. But I'm also overwhelmed with a sense of "a-ha! This makes so much sense to me!" Which is sort of freeing. I always want to know why I am the way I am. 

I feel like this is much deeper, bigger subject than one tiny rant in my blog. It's true. There's so much more. More to the idea of sexism and sexual shaming and the rage and guilt and self-loathing that goes with it. More to the exploration of events that happened to me that I had no control over that shaped the way I interact with men to this day and the age of perpetuation of ideas that are just flat out wrong. The victim blaming/shaming. There's more. But I've bitten off some big emotion this morning and I'm coming down from the adrenaline rush that came with writing this and I'm emotionally drained. Exhausted. So I guess this is a end of this little tirade today. More to come as the universe is constantly revealing more to me. 

Sludge

 That's what I call the stuff that mucks up my mind and makes my thinker move slowly. "You're sludging up my mind." Apparently, it's a naturally occurring part of ADHD. Which I am more and more convinced is a part of my make up. Since I am a starter, not a finisher. Since I'm SUCH an empath.... if I don't feel it, I'm not doing it. Since.... procrastination. Because.... anxiety. And so on and so forth. But if my mind is cluttered, and it usually is, the thinking process is slower and less effective.  You know, more muddled. I can express this line of thinking a billion times in a billion ways and still be surprised and harshly judgmental toward myself that it is so hard for me to achieve everyday things in my life. But truthfully, I know that acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. And I have to accept the fact that I'm not a lineal (linear?) thinker. I don't think, do, or live in straight lines. I'm a poster child for the ".... and this is why my coffee is cold" memes and stories. 

I poured myself a cup of coffee and then went to the bathroom, on the way back from there I remembered that I needed to move the laundry over, so I did that. While I was there, having taken the clean, freshly dried clothes out of the dryer, I brought them to the living room to fold, but then I remembered.... and the story goes on until I discover my cold cup of coffee umpteen hours later. 

Today's muck list includes but is not limited to.... 

• the death of Toby Keith. Did you know he's not even a decade older than me? This brings up another sad (?) point... 
• mortality. My mortality to be precise. The aches and pains and physical limitations more and more present in my life bring me around to the facing of my own mortality. Ick. 
• coffee. good coffee with a good friend. My llbff (life long best friend forever) sent me a link to try the coffee she loves. I'm also thinking about cold coffee. still in the pot. and in the car in my cup (where I forgot it, duh). and not drinking it. ever. never ever drinking cold coffee. Where did these kids with their cold brewed coffee drinks even come from? Are they really even mine?
• cleaning. Why don't I do more of it? I'd feel better (less muddled) if I did.
• every day tasks:
• laundry that needs folded
• laundry that needs washed
• items of said laundry to donate or throw away
• unloading the dishwasher
• loading/running the dishwasher
• wiping down the countertops and 
• cleaning the sinks
• beating down the cobwebs... I thought the darn cobs were sleeping or in hibernation or something, but the doorway corners and light fixtures tell a different story.
• taking a bath or shower. Simple enough. Except I tend to let it loom large in my brain and let it become monumental.... do I have enough time? Where's my new conditioner? Don't forget to get your razor, that forrest won't mow itself down. Lock up the dogs.... remember what they got into last time you forgot them? Laundry.... did I just use up all the hot water (good thinking Care, really good thinking....)?! Am I even awake enough to do this? All this thinking is making me tired! 
• Nerve, muscle, joint pain. If you're in your 50's like me, this is self-explanatory. But in particular, I'm cautiously optimistic about the PT for the nerve in my left leg causing so much discomfort. (Oh dear God, she's going to ask me to rate my pain with a number, so what is it now? What was it this morning when I first woke up? I'll hafta remember what it is later when I put animals away too). 
• Just vacuum already. 'nuff said.
• change cat litter. This is a chore that is surprisingly much like doing dishes, the feeling of relief and accomplishment is shortlived due to the fact that as soon as it is finished it is racing toward the "this needs done again right now" finish line. Finish line? Ha. There's no finish line, it's a song that never ends. 
• Things that never end. My friend and I were talking about organization and why it eludes us. Well, it's because those people who put things away as soon as they use them and have an organized home, calendar, life.... they never stop putting things away, adjusting the schedule, planning ahead, doing the next task. There's no finish line. 

For some things, such as success and sobriety, I'm so grateful that there's no finish line. I'm so glad that my quality of sobriety isn't measured by someone else's success; someone else's transformation, someone else's new beginning. If it was, I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago. Because transformation is slow with this one. I am not the same train wreck I was 30+ years ago, but I'm still a train wreck non-the-less. How many times have I cried real tears and thought, "why? Why am I not somewhere else? Somewhere farther? Somewhere more? More successful. Successful parenting. Successful teaching. Successful organizing. Successful.... (and the list goes on)..." Today I have to stop and breathe. And think to myself: acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I accept that I am who I am, where I'm at, for whatever the reason, then and only then, am I able to take on the sludge and slow it down and un-muck it up. But day to day... yeah, there's a lot of sludge.

Pain! You made me a Believer....

 December started out unbearably hard. The tears would not stop flowing and life was difficult every single day. And it's not surprising when grief strikes hard between Thanksgiving and Christmas, is it? I wasn't surprised, but I was still caught off guard. If that makes any sense. And if it doesn't, well, that's too bad I guess. I always say I won't be so surprised next time. I say this about a lot of things. Betrayal is what I say it about the most. But I can't be not surprised and still choose to trust in the good in the world and look for the good. I can't look for the good if I'm always dodging the not-so-good, the evil, the shadows that lurk behind every surface. And I'm an eternal optimist. I get down. I go negative. I know, it's true. But in the big scheme of things, looking at the big picture, I always think that a) tomorrow is a new day, and that b) the sun will shine tomorrow. If today is a hard day, I say, "that's okay, because tomorrow will be a better day..." But in December, the sun did not shine. Not one day to the next to the next. It started out cloudy and dark. And I missed my Dad something fierce. Of course, I imagined him in his Christmas spirit all joyous and infectious. As Christmas drew near, I imagine him reading out of Luke chapter 2 from the Bible, as he did every year on Christmas Eve. That was our sacred Christmas time. Christmas Eve. As a child, we went to church that evening and then celebrated our family Christmas after church. And then Christmas Day was reserved for going to Grandpa and Grandma's. And when the time came that it was just Grandma, we moved that celebration to the 26th. When I had my own little family, we did our family thing on Christmas morning because Christmas Eve was always the time to go to Mom and Dad's. And I have photo after photo after photo of my Dad, reading the Christmas story, written by Luke, with at least one kid on his lap. As December wore on, I was able to cry and hope at the same time. And at the least, in the same day. My tears weren't all sad. Some of them just were. They were there. Reminding me of a Dad who has been gone for three Christmas's now. And of his gentle, joyful spirit. 

As always, the harsh realities crash through too. The reality that not everyone loved him. That some saw his flaws and didn't carry forgiveness. And it always cautions me and tends to bring some guilt. Guilt that I just love him. I care, but I really DON'T care, about those terrible things. I just care that he was my Dad. I know he had some public sins. Everyone sins, some just not as publicly as others. My friend Tom used to remind me of that. And growing up in a small town as I did, I needed that reminder. The reminder that Jesus called out gossip and judgmentalism many times in his teachings. More than some other sins that our society points fingers at. 

I found faith again this year in December. Because I was desperate. I needed a life raft. Remembering that God, the God of the Bible, saved me, hopes for me, loves me, and carries me was exactly what I needed. Because I was going down for the last time. I needed some joy. and some hope. and more than just PAIN.

But Imagine Dragons is right. Pain, it'll make you a believer. Because it breeds desperation. And desperation breeds.... well, hopelessness and despair. I was in despair and I cried out and Jesus heard me and saved my soul. and today I am grateful.

What WOULD Jesus do?

 Pardon me.... your crazy is showing. Yeah, I know. My crazy. The crazy I come from. They're not so different, are they? 

So we were talking about how generous my dad was. And how that is how I imagine Jesus to be. Generous. Giving. Sharing. What's mine is yours. But in the midst of this conversation it took a very ungenerous turn. The story was.... some people were begging in a parking lot (like the Walmart parking lot) and the other characters in this story went to explore the situation. Before giving generously of their hard earned money the couple ask the ones in need what they thought of Jesus Christ. But not liking the answer given, the couple decided they would definitely not give of their money to these people. Okay... it's their money, they can do as they please with it. But on the heels of the conversation of Jesus and generosity, it seemed.... wanting. Less than. Not enough. My argument goes something along these lines.... Jesus would just give. No strings attached. He might attach His truth to it. For example, the woman at the well, Jesus says "go and sin no more." But He DIDN'T say, "I'll love you if you go and sin no more...." or "I'll forgive you if...." It wasn't conditional. Of course I think of the parable of the good samaritan who took care of someone who was not like him! Different nationalities and different religions too. He didn't say he'd pay for the poor beaten man's room and care IF.... he just took care of it. It wasn't conditional. I just think Jesus is like that. And I think I'll want to change and be more like Jesus because He's generous with me. He's not conditional. What if we were all more like Jesus and just gave because we could? Would the world be changed? I'm betting so.

The eternal optimist... Dad

 Last night I had a vivid dream about my Dad. We were establishing our own farm on the Suderman ground he loved so much. My Dad. I woke feeling encouraged. Because Gib never got down and stayed down. Not even in the hospital. Maybe at the end, when he knew he was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. But even in the daily fight to beat those little leeches in his brain, he never stayed down.  I didn't understand his plans to fish with Duke and why he was so obsessed. But then I realized it was hope. It gave him a goal. And there was no goal he couldn't reach. Pure positivity and love for life and sheer determination. That was all it took. These are no small things. The more I reflect on all he overcame in his life, the more in awe I am of him. If the only obstacle he'd ever faced was that of his Mom leaving this earth when he was eight years old, that would be enough. But this tragedy set a whole lot of other adverse situations into place for him, from being separated from his siblings when they were farmed out to different relatives that first year or so, living with different aunts and uncles, to then getting a "new Mom" who didn't understand him, to a dad who didn't know how to temper his own sorrow and frustrations. These events being the tip of an iceberg that was his life. 

Why? Why am I obsessed with my Dad's life and trying to figure it out? I guess I believe I'll miraculously find answers to the mixed up mess I call my life too. And I want to know where I come from. You know, in relationships they say that you keep repeating the same thing over and over until you change first. I want to know why I pick the ones I pick and do the things that I do. 

And if we're going down that road... I think I have a good one right now. But it doesn't come natural to me to choose things that are good for me. It's a head decision, not a hormone/heart decision (are these two things really all that different? When we fall "head over heels in love" is it not really a hormone thing? I think so, because it is often something that makes no sense, it's just this overwhelming rush). Which I suppose is also part of adulthood. I know plenty of friends who've gotten a good one by sheer luck and powers beyond their own control. Maybe that has finally happened for me since I've surely prayed for that long enough.

Here I Go Again....

 I have decided I need to be blogging again. But I'm super unenthusiastic about the whole thing. I don't feel like I'm interesting. To myself or anyone else. But I also feel the need to purge a growing surge of emotion. It feels as though I'm slowly coming back to life. I've just been really apathetic and dead inside. and exhausted. all. the. time. But memes on Facebook make me aware that being perpetually exhausted is part of adulthood. zero stars. not a fan. want a refund and to not be an adult anymore. 

It's been three years since my dad died. This floors me. because I miss him and grieve for him every single day of my life. I've decided it's okay to just be sad still. I guess I thought it was time not to be sad all the time? idk. But I realized that a large piece of my depression stems from this deep sadness and that there's no logical ending place to it. I can't make it make sense. I can't will myself to be better. 

Every day I have these giant epiphanies about life growing up and being Gib Suderman's flesh and blood. There may not be any way to express/explain this as it is both huge and trivial at the same time and has to do with my need to be loved, my crazy adolescence, the giant hole in my soul, and so much more. Dad had a hole in his soul too and knowing this explains so much about him to me. The gaping hole he tried to fill with fun (he was a fun guy), with women, with adrenaline rushes (coyote hunting, 4-wheel riding, racing, etc.), with work, with church. My dad was such a compassionate guy. He always told me about this hole in his heart that only I could fill. He also told my kids this. He was big on talking about this. I catch myself saying this to my own kids. 

I completely needed to pound this out and cry as I typed. I feel like there should be more. This is unfinished. But I'm about done. Put a fork in me.

Oh, we surrendered our big dog, Princess, today to the humane society in Newton. So I probably needed to cry that out too. I've been deeply saddened by this today. She needed to go. She has killed two guineas now. One she killed twice. I know that isn't really possible, but just go with it. I snatched that guinea from her and Alice (the little black terrier) and put it in the barn even though I was pretty sure it wouldn't live through the night. It lived. and healed and then that damn dog killed it. again. And more recently she killed our guinea who harassed the chickens tirelessly, and we called him Lucy, short for Lucifer. The thing is, Princess was supposed to be our farm dog that I could take with me everywhere, that didn't have an electronic shock collar, that didn't need to be in the fence. The guard dog. But she mostly lived her life tethered to a cable in the yard because she tried to kill the chickens and guineas. So she didn't get to live the life of privilege. But her and I were pretty bonded. I'm pretty heart-broken that we had to get rid of her. If I wanted to get rid of birds and just keep dogs, she could stay. But the way it stands, she can't stay. We want to have ducks and chickens and guineas. When we got Princess she was severely underweight. And she didn't really know what it was to just be loved. She is still scared of being beaten... we have never beaten her. But when she does something she knows is wrong, she will not come to me (or anyone else) out of fear. She trusted me. I feel rotten for abandoning her at the shelter. And the tears wouldn't come. Until I started talking about my depression and the constant missing of my Dad. I miss him so ridiculously much.