A Lonely Tribute

Charles B. Pirrone

27 Oct 1947 - 2 April 2017

My father died.

It's been 11 weeks and 4 days.  I know.  I'm still counting.  I don't think that's a good sign.  At least my shrink says it isn't.

I remember sitting by my dad's bedside in the ICU, hearing the beep of the EKG, absorbing every whoosh of the ventilator hoping he would take a breath on his own.  But he couldn't.  He was brain dead.  I couldn't look at his vacant face so I kept my eyes trained on the monitors.  I studied his BP, pulse, oxygen levels.  I studied the little jagged line that showed his heart beating.  Alive, but no longer living.  A nurse came in to check on him.  She asked if there was anything she could do for me.  I shook my head.  As I squeezed his flaccid hand in mine I knew there was nothing more anyone could do for either one of us.  Before she left I looked up at her and asked, "What do I do now?"  She patted my shoulder and said "Whatever you would normally do."

So I get up every day, I go to work. I review financial statements.  I analyze data.  I prepare reports.  Then I go home.  I feed the cat and make dinner for myself.  I watch mindless TV.  Every now and then I see friends or go to dinner with my sister.  I keep busy.

But then night falls.  I lie in what is quite possibly the most comfortable bed in the world, but I do not sleep.  Questions spin through my head.  Was my dad proud of me?  I'm sure he was in the way that dads are always proud of their kids, but did I earn it?  Did I deserve his adoration?  I wasn't the best daughter.  I got frustrated with him every time he would lose his wallet or his car keys or forget something important.  I was angry because I felt like I was raising a child.  In many ways I was.  I knew he was dying, but I didn't take the time to realize that that meant he was dying.  That each day was one less day I had with him.  I thought we had a couple of years.  I was wrong.

Now I lie in my super comfortable bed every night and I think about the time dad chaperoned my class trip to Dawes Arboretum.  I think about the stories he told me about WWI so that I could pass a history test.  I wonder if I would've ever passed Chemistry without his help?  I remember how excited he was when the school decided to place me in the gifted program.  He always believed in me.  So much so that he bought me my first Calculus book when I was 8.  I remember playing chess.  I remember bike rides and car trips.  I also remember him embarrassing me in front of my first crush.  I thought I'd never forgive him for that one.

That's one of the great ironies in life.  People let you down.  They do things you swear you'll never forgive them for.  But at the end of the day, when all is said and done, it's YOU who you can't forgive, not the other person.  I remember every time I tried to act like I didn't know him in front of my friends.  I remember every time I said 'I hate you' out of anger.  I remember every hurt and every scar I put on his heart.  I know he cried.  Not in front of me, but alone.  And I hate myself.  I lie in that super comfortable bed with an ache in my chest that is so very real.  It's amazing how physical grief can be.  It's as though your heart is literally ripping.

I lie alone and think about what his final days were like?  Did he know he was dying?  The day before he fell into the coma his dementia was the worst I'd ever seen it.  He wasn't cognizant.  But was he able to tell that he didn't have much time left?  Was he scared?  Was he in pain?  These thoughts circle my brain and make my heart ache even more.  My entire life I've been fixing things. I'm a doer. I'm a planner. But death isn't something you can plan and it's certainly not something you can fix.

Night is definitely the hardest.  That's when my entire soul aches from within.  It's so quiet, but the silence is deafening.  It's almost accusatory.  I couldn't fix him.

My religion tells me about the wonderful place that my dad went to where there is no multi-organ system failure and his heart beats in joy.  He's been reunited with his own father which is something he'd been waiting on for almost 17 years.  I'm glad that he's found eternity, but I'm human and selfish by nature.  I pray over and over asking God why he had to take my father away so quickly.  But the answer is always the same.  He was never mine to keep.  My father was a child of God; on loan to this world.  He completed his journey and returned to be with the one true Father.  But, as selfish as it sounds, it only makes my heart ache more.

I'll see my father again in due course.  I just have to be patient.  Dad always said one of his regrets was that he never taught my sister and I patience.  I told him it's hard to teach something you don't know.  Ouch.  That was mean.  I was a terrible daughter.  That's the kind of thing that makes my heart ache more.  I guess patience is something I'll have to figure out on my own.

So...for now, and probably for a while to come, I'm going to allow myself to lie in my super comfy bed, the sound of silence filling my ears, and I'll allow myself to cry.  To miss.  To regret.  And to hope.

And when morning comes, I'll start all over again.

War of Words

Okay kids.  Let's talk freedom of speech.  I think the 1st amendment is the most contested of the 27 amendments that have been ratified, so I'd like to weigh in with my opinion and a few indisputable facts.

I started meditating on Freedom of Speech and its meaning a few days ago when Richard Spencer was stripped of his credentials and ejected from the Conservative Political Action Conference, better known as CPAC.  For those of you who don't know, Richard Spencer is the president of the National Policy Institute, a white nationalist think tank, and a very outspoken white supremacist.  He stands by the policies of Adolph Hitler and has called for a "peaceful ethnic cleansing" in America.  When interviewed outside the conference after his ejection he made several comments that were taken as a call to action for white supremacists.  He also stated that white American citizens of European descent have become a minority in this country.  First of all, so what?  This country was created to be a melting pot, not a glass of milk.  Second, NO THEY AREN'T.  I'm so sick of uneducated people making that assertion.  Look at the facts.  Based on the most recent U.S. census non-Latino Caucasians make up 63.7% of this country.  The next most prominent ethnic group, Latinos, only constitutes 16.3% of the population.  That means there are 4 whites for every Latino citizen in this country.  And that ratio becomes even more unbalanced for African Americans (12.2%), Asians (4.7%), American Indians (0.7%), and those considering themselves multi-racial (1.9%).  So in what way are whites a minority?  I will fight to the death for Freedom of Speech, even hate speech, as long as those words are factual, legal, and based in reality.  Mr. Spencer fails on all fronts.  So let's take a look at what Freedom of Speech does/does not mean in this country.

Fact 1:  Although many don't like to admit it, Freedom of Speech was created to protect unpopular opinions.  That is the essence of why it exists.  Think about it.  No one needs to create a law to protect people from shouting "I love puppies!" or, "Rainbows are awesome!"  No.  The founding fathers created the law to protect outsider beliefs and those that could cause offense.  More importantly, Freedom of Speech was first contemplated as a means to allow citizens to voice their dissent against political officials and government.  The 1st amendment sort of grew out of a distaste for the oppressive rules of the British monarchy.

Fact 2: The amendments to the constitution protect citizens from legal retaliation in the criminal courts, not the civil courts with the noted exceptions of slander and libel.  You can say as many hateful things as you want without risk of being arrested or prosecuted.  In the case of slander (verbal defamation) and libel (written defamation) you can still say whatever you like as long as what you say is true.  But that doesn't mean that society can't punish you in its own way.  For example (and this may surprise some of you) I firmly stand behind the right of a bakery to say they will not make cakes for gay weddings.  A bakery is a privately owned business and, just like any other business, they have the right to refuse service to anyone they choose.  That being said, I defend the rights of any citizen who refuses to patronize those businesses.  I also defend their right to hold protests outside the business on public property.  That right is also guaranteed under the 1st amendment.  Another example would be Chick-Fil-A.  The restaurant chain's president, Dan Cathy, is a right-wing Christian conservative who has spoken out against LGBT rights.  He's allowed to do that.  It's a privately owned business and he's entitled to his bigoted opinions.  I however, am expressing my rights by refusing to eat there.

As I said, I will defend Free Speech to the death, but there are lines.  Statements made that cause physical harm to an individual, both perceived and implied, are off limits. There's a reason you aren't permitted to yell FIRE in a crowded theater (unless there actually IS a fire).  The resulting panic of individuals rushing to get out and save their own lives would cause great harm to everyone around them.  Telling someone to act out in a dangerous way is off the table as well.  You can't tell a rally of people to kill all the n****rs.  You can't threaten anyone's life in general.   You can't preach in an effort to evoke harm.  You can't call citizens to act in a violent or illegal manner.

There is also the line of protected classes.  You can't refuse service simply because someone is black or because they are Muslim.  You have to ensure that your business is handicapped accessible.  You can't refuse to hire women.  There are certain demographics like age, sex, religion, ancestry, etc that the government has decided warrant special protection under the law.  That's pretty awesome but it's only a start.  Right now there are only 10 protected classes.  That list needs to be much longer.  So far there are no civil protections for those of the LGBTQ community and that is a travesty.  I'm not gay myself, but I stand my all my fellow citizens.  No H8.

So, as long as what someone has to say is factual, legal, and based in reality, I support their right to say it.  Supporting free speech is fundamental in a democratic society.  But just as hate speech is legal, so is our right to speak out against it.  Just last month I told off an elderly man for making a horribly racist statement to a black pharmacy clerk.  As Michelle Obama said, "When they go low, we go high."  We have to stand by our moral convictions and let the world know we what we will and will not tolerate.  We might have to suffer under a delusional, nationalistic, autocrat in the White House but we can be still be vocal about our dissent.  That is our right and our duty as American citizens.

P.S. I do like puppies.

Spinach People Need Love, Too

(Writer's note for international readers: In the United States there is a cartoon character named Popeye the Sailor Man.  Whenever he's in danger he eats spinach which makes his muscles grow to help him beat up the bad guys or overcome obstacles.)

Back in my college days I found myself enrolled in a particularly tricky accounting class.  The professor exemplified arrogance and I knew from Day 1 that I'd have to work my ass off to prove my worth.  Midterms rolled around and I studied like I'd never studied before.  I took the exam and, for once,  I actually felt good about how I did.  Then came the fateful day when we received our scores.  The professor walked into class and pulled four boxes of cake mix from his bag.  He said our class had set a record with four people scoring 'A's on the midterm (that's how hard the class was- 70 kids, only 4 'A's) so, to celebrate, he brought those students cake (some assembly required).

He called off the names one at a time and presented each student with their "cake". 

The first name wasn't mine.  

Nor was the second.  

Or the third.  

I held my breath and crossed my fingers as I heard him announce the final name.  It was not mine.  

Fuck.  I worked so hard, but no cake for me.  

Then the professor announced that he had one final student that he didn't want to leave out.  One student came soooo close, scoring an 89%, but just needed a little more muscle to make it to the elite.  He walked up the steps and down the aisle until he was standing directly in front of me.  He placed a can of Popeye's brand spinach on the desk before me and said, "Good work, Ms. Pirrone.  Just needed a little more muscle.  You'll get 'em next time."

I still have that can of spinach.  I used to keep it on my desk in front of me as a reminder to always work a little harder, push a little farther, gain a little more muscle.  But that was a long time ago.

I'll always keep that can of spinach but it's no longer on my desk.  It's tucked away in a cabinet along with other happy reminders of the past.  It's a happy memory, and a fun story, but I will never again give that can any more regard than I do any other forget-me-not's.   I spent years telling myself that I wasn't quite good enough.  That I had to work harder or do more in order to be 'elite'.  That can served as the physical proof.  But I was wrong and I won't have a tin can tell me otherwise.

Now, there are plenty of things that I'm no good at.  For example, cars.  I know nothing about cars.  I know the hole where gasoline goes and the hole where oil goes, and I can change a tire, but that's about it.  My brother works in the auto industry so when I have questions, he's the one I go to.  He always gives me one of those "Bless her heart" looks when I ask what are, apparently, stupid questions.  Also, I don't get football.  At all.  Dad loves talking about football so I pretend to know a thing or two.  But I don't.  Not at all.  He might as well be speaking in Aramaic.  I know a tiny bit of Spanish, and even less French, but not enough to score an 89% on an exam.  And I'm okay with that.  None of those things make me 'less than'.  None exclude me from being 'elite'.

That 89% was probably one of the best things that could happen to me.  It forced me, over time, to become okay with my shortcomings and instead take pride in what I AM good at.  I know how to find the exact center of a circle using just a compass (the math type, not the boy scout type) and a ruler.  I know Roman numerals.  I've watched enough medical shows that I think I could place a chest tube or decompress a lung, should the need ever arise.  I know why they call a dollar bill a buck, where the phrase "to pay through the nose" comes from, and why the Statue of Liberty is green.  I'm pretty awesome.

Each of us has at least one special talent.  Some of us are scholars of literature.  Some can write computer code.  And some can name all of the Kardashians, which I'm sure is a skill to someone somewhere.  We all have talents, but for some reason we all choose to judge ourselves by what we can't do as opposed to what we can.  It's a universal condition.  Don't feel bad about it, but do acknowledge it.  You can't solve a problem until you know there is a problem.  Look inside yourself every day and remind yourself of all the things you excel at and forget about the rest.  The day I took that can of spinach off my desk was the day I decided to focus my energy on my talents.  Then and only then was I able to acknowledge that I am already elite.

One final note.  I ended up earning an 'A' as my final grade in that accounting class.  When I received my grade card I immediately emailed my professor.  "Dear Professor: I earned an 'A'. Where's my cake?"  His response, "Dear Ms. Pirrone: I inspired you to earn that 'A' so I kept the cake for myself."  If I saw him today I'd tell him I earned that 'A' because I'm already elite, no spinach required.

Return of Happy Dancing Girl

If you've been following my blog (and if not, why haven't you?  I'm insightful and hilarious) you know I've been hitting some rough patches in my life.  But I don't want you to think my world is totally doom and gloom.  I still find moments of happiness.  And, as much as I hate to say it, being physically active DOES help.  Exercise releases all kinds of happy brain chemicals.  Just don't tell my trainer I said that.  She'll never let me live it down.

I was the first to arrive in the office today.  I actually had the office to myself for over two hours which is a rare occurrence.  So I decided to have my own dance party.  Kinda like Risky Business but without stripping down to my underwear.  I threw in some strength exercises, some ab crunches, some wall push-ups, a plank, that kind of thing.  Once again, don't tell my trainer this, but I feel pretty good.

Which reminds me of a commercial I've seen running on TV every 5 minutes for a piece of exercise equipment.  The commercial starts with the hyped-up announcer proclaiming that the #1 reason people don't work out is a lack of time.  No, paid exercise equipment spokesman.  The real reason people don't work out is because exercise sucks.  It's hard, it's tiring, it hurts, it makes you sweat.  I'd rather spend an entire day hanging out with my least favorite family members than spend 30 minutes on a treadmill.  The #1 reason people don't exercise is because they already have enough torture in their lives.

But it really doesn't have to be that way.  I don't get a lot of personal time in my life, but I fit in little bursts here and there to make it less torturous.  I use my break time at work to walk around my building.  I can do it within 10 minutes and, if I dance while I'm doing it, I don't even notice the time fly by.  Yeah, people look at me funny, but I'm fat.  I'm already used to people looking at me funny.

Sometimes I close my office door as if I were on a confidential call so I can fit in a few minutes of ballet, or ab crunches, or arm strengthening stuff.  It's only a few minutes at a time, but those minutes add up.  And you don't need thousands of dollars of equipment to do a little strength training.  I've learned all kinds of things I can do with noting more than my body and a little motivation.  My trainer, Yolanda Rooney, has a ton of videos on YouTube that will walk you through strength training that you can do at home or (in my case) in your office.  Check out this video as an example:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEPM2Klo5KA

Now, I'll admit, I can't do ALL the exercises Yolanda has in her videos, but I can modify them enough to make it work for me.  Best part is, no equipment needed.

I have no false aspirations of ever becoming skinny and sexy.  Because of various health issues and medications I take I basically have no metabolism.  But just because I probably won't lose a significant amount of weight is not a reason to give up.  The reason I still chose to stay active is to strengthen my body, in particular my heart.  I'd rather not have die from a heart attack and, for me, that's worth a couple strolls around the building at work.  What would you be willing to do to give yourself a few extra years with your husband or kids or family?

Whatever you chose to do to be more active, make it YOUR plan.  If you pick something you enjoy it makes the habit easier to keep.  I can't imagine why anyone would ever take up hiking, but, should you happen to like nature, start going for walks in your local park.  For some people it's bicycling.  Spending an hour perched on a tiny seat that keeps pressing on my vagina doesn't scream party time to me, but some people love it.  I chose to dance.  And I love to swim.  There's a million different ways to fit a handful of minutes of activity into your day.  Take advantage of those minutes.  Be creative.  Make it a family event.  Just do it and keep doing it.  Don't worry how you look.  Just remember that those 10 minutes throughout your day are adding days to the end of your life.  And that's time very well spent.

My Father's Keeper

I am the world champion at being overwhelmed.  If being overwhelmed were an Olympic sport, I would win the gold, the silver, AND the bronze.

Being a grown up is hard.  For all of us.  Having to run errands, work a 9-5 job that you don't necessarily like, go to the bank, buy groceries, hit the gym, do laundry, pay the bills; It all adds up to stress and exhaustion.  But when you add another party to the mix...well...that's a whole new circle of hell.

Being a caregiver for another person elevates anxiety to immeasurable levels, especially when that other person is chronologically, though not mentally, a grown up themself.  Suddenly, on top of your regular grown-up responsibilities, you find yourself having to argue and negotiate with health insurance companies, you have to take time off work to transport your loved one to doctors' appointments and make sure to schedule all required follow up appointments (that never seem to work with your schedule), you pick up medications, you pay their bills-  that's the most fun part of being a caregiver - paying the bills.  You are forced to budget what money they have and, make no mistake, the bills ALWAYS extend beyond the income available.  You have to become a mathematical magician to try to determine what you can afford and what you can't.  Is your loved one going to live another 2 years?  5?  10?  You want them around and happy as long as possible, but, let's face it, the money WILL run out at some point.  It's up to you, and you alone, to determine what luxuries and treats you can afford now without bankrupting your loved one down the line.

Sometimes being a caregiver becomes so big that you don't believe there is anything bigger out there in the world.  It leads to isolation.  Sure, people can show sympathy, some may have empathy, but no one truly understands your specific struggle.  No one can relate.  No one else spends every minute of every day torn between wanting as much time as possible with a loved one while simultaneously wishing they would die just so you can be free.  And you get tired of  complaining about the same things over and over to your friends.  That is, when you can get a hold of any of your friends.  They're all moms and dads and have families of their own to manage.  You get tired of hearing yourself speak.  So you stop trying.  You stop reaching out.  You stop being a burden to others and you stop looking for joy.  You're convinced that the minute you step out for some joy, you'll drop a very important ball and the whole thing will fall apart.  And it will be All. Your. Fault.

I know...Trust me, I know.

My older sister is much better at these types of things than I am.  I'm big picture while she's one-day-at-a-time.  I'm the forest, she's the tree.  Since I'm dad's primary care giver I tend to lose my shit once a week or so.  Then it's Heather's job to talk me down off my limb.  Sometimes she's successful.  She gives very good advice from time-to-time.  Other times I'm so wrapped up in my own stress and anxiety I can't hear her.  I can't hear words of reason because anxiety has enveloped me.

Now, I'm no expert (obviously) on keeping your sanity together while caring for another.  But I can offer my one piece of wisdom that I hope will leave you with a glimmer of hope.  The most important thing you can do for yourself is decide when enough is enough.  You'll know you've hit that point when you start thinking of faking your own death and running away.  That's the point when you say no.  You say no to everything and everyone.  You keep saying no until you've built a space for your self to breathe.  Women in particular have trouble with this.  We're conditioned from a young age to be agreeable and conciliatory.  But remember, saying no to someone else is just a means for you to say yes to yourself.  Each time you say yes to yourself you create a little more desperately needed breathing room.

So keep saying no to others and yes to yourself.  Say it until you can start to see the light shining through the forest.  Take deep breaths.  Assign yourself one singular task to complete today.  I know how long your To-Do list is, I have one myself.  But commit yourself to one thing and one thing alone.  Once you accomplish that one thing, treat yourself like a hero and breathe.  Because you've earned it.

Paving the Way

In honor of the opening of Black History month, I'd like to pay tribute to four trailblazers who showed us the impact of civil disobedience and the importance of standing up for what is right.

On 1 Feb 1960 four African American college students (Joseph McNeil, Franklin McCain, Ezell Blair Jr, and David Richmond) walked into a Woolworth's store in Greensboro, NC, sat down at the "whites only" lunch counter, and ordered coffee.  They were, of course, denied service and asked to leave.  But the four men refused to leave.  They stayed in their seats waiting to be served until the store closed that night.  They returned the next morning and, once again, took up residence at the "whites only" counter and were, once again, refused service and asked to leave.  Once again they remained until the store closed that evening.  This practice continued each day for 5 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days until the store finally surrendered and agreed to desegregate.

The Greensboro Four were not the first to stage a sit-in during the Civil Rights Movement but they were, and are, historically significant because of the attention they garnered for their cause.  When they entered Woolworth's on Feb 1 they had only each other to rely on for strength and solidarity.  However, when they returned the next day they found more than 20 other students from local colleges and universities there to join them.  Each morning as the men arrived they were met by more and more people joining them in their cause.  Widespread media coverage of the sit-in led to similar protests and boycotts in cities throughout the south.  By the time President Johnson signed the Civil Rights Act in 1964 more than 70,000 Americans had taken part in various protests.

By their courage and determination, the Greensboro Four became part of  a great American tradition of civil disobedience.  From the colonists who dumped British tea into Boston harbor, to Henry Thoreau refusing to pay federal taxes, to Susan B. Anthony illegally casting a vote in the 1872 Presidential election; the American people have proven the power and ability of ordinary people to accomplish extraordinary things.  It is that very spirit that ensures that we as a nation continue to make progress in the fight for justice and liberty for all.

Everyday Hero

I have an app on my phone called Timehop (I'm sure most of you are familiar) that shows me what I posted to social media on the current day in previous years.  Here is what I wrote on 24 January 2016:

"CNN is running a series called "The Person Who Changed My Life" wherein various CNN anchors share stories of their life changers. Hmmm... THE person? Like the ONE most significant relationship that forever changed who I am? That's a million dollar question. There are people who have taught me how to love, people who have taught me how to laugh, and people who have taught me to think and question. There are saints and sinners. There are people who have shown me that pain and cruelty exist and people who have taught me how to overcome pain and cruelty. I don't think I could name ONE person if I tried. But to all of you who make my list, thank you. Thank you for inspiring me and teaching me to believe. Thank you for proving that yesterday does NOT have to define tomorrow. Thank you for creating the amazing person writing these words right now."

Those words are as true today as they were a year ago.  I've encountered many game changers in my life, both positive and negative, but there are certain things I've come to realize; For one, I don't think we give enough credit to our bad relationships.  I think we tend to beat ourselves up for staying in them.  It's good that those relationships are over, but those bad relationships are every bit as important to who we are now as the good ones are.  Every boyfriend I've had has put me closer to knowing what I NEED in a partner as opposed to what I want.  Every ex-friend has shown me how not to treat the people I care about.  And that's important.  I've learned never to raise a hand to another and that sharp words cut deeper than any knife.  Every slight and every blow has built me into a stronger, wiser, more compassionate person. So to all you jerks who were terrible to me, I owe you my thanks.

Another thing I've come to learn in my old age is that we didn't get to this point in our lives by stumbling around blindly.  Each of us has had thousands of hands guiding us along the way.  Some of those hands pass us on to the next never to be seen again.  They may never know the full impact that they had on our lives.  For example, I've had dozens of teachers from preschool through college but I can only remember the names of a few.  Those are the ones that helped build me.  Like Debbie Stephenson.  She was my high school choir director and my vocal coach.  She was more than just a teacher to me.  She was a friend, a parent, and a mentor.  I remember her for holding my hand after my sister was in a bad car accident.  I remember her for- quite literally- smacking me in the back of the head when I started slacking off from my studies.  She used to tell all her students, "Make mistakes, but make them LOUD."  She never let us feel ashamed for hitting a sour note, as long as we did it confidently and learned what not to do next time.   I still remember Mrs. Stephenson every time I screw up.  I remember because I know it's okay and that I can, and will, do better.  I haven't seen her in nearly 20 years, but I still want to make her proud.  She will probably never know what an integral part of my scaffolding she became.

Then there are the everyday heroes we all encounter.  One particular story from my own life comes to mind.  It was about 13 years ago.  I was in college and working full time.  I had fallen asleep after a long night of studying and  failed to hear my alarm clock.  When I finally I woke up I went into panic mode trying to get dressed and grab everything I'd need for the day, beating myself up for how late I would be getting to work.  I HATE being late.  It was raining, so traffic was terrible.  I got halfway to work when my empty gas tank light came on.  I pulled into the first service station I encountered, all the while knowing this little detour was making me even more late.  That's when I realized that my wallet was sitting on the kitchen counter at home.  I didn't have any money to get gas and I didn't have enough gas to get home so I was stranded.  I was so tired I couldn't even cry.  I scrounged up about 58 cents from underneath the seats of my car and dashed into the station to pay the clerk.  I must have been a sight.  My hair was stringy from the rain, I was wearing 2 different shoes (didn't notice that until just that moment), and I was trying to buy 58 cents worth of gas.  The clerk pulled out his wallet and put a $10 bill in his drawer.  He told me to fill my gas tank and be careful getting to work.  I was still wet.  I was still terribly late.  But that one gesture made me feel peace.  I was so wrapped up in my problems I had forgotten how much good is out there in the world.  I went back a few days later to repay him, but he refused my money.  He said he was just passing on the blessings that God had given to him.  Mind blown.  I'll never know for sure, but I have a feeling that that guy didn't go home and tell all his buddies about how he saved some poor girl.  I doubt that he boasted or bragged about his incredible generosity.  However, I DO hope that he went to bed knowing that he made the world a little bit better that day.

That stranger was a hero for me.  He is as much a piece of me as every other relationship I've ever had.  And he'll never even know it.

We've all had hundreds of game changers in our own lives, good and bad, but what I want you to take away from this is that every encounter we have gives us a chance to be a game changer for someone else.  Of course we affect our friends and our family members daily.  But it's those chance encounters that really make the difference.  How we treat others impacts how they treat everyone else down the line.  It's all about random acts of kindness.  So pay for the car behind you at the drive through.  Stop to help the stranded motorist change their tire.  Pay off a stranger's lay-away account at Christmas.  It's not about gaining praise or acclaim.  It's about going to bed that night knowing that you made the world a little bit better today.  And that makes you a hero.

Love Thy Neighbor

Happy Birthday, Mom. We miss you.

Writer's note: I know the word 'president' is supposed to be capitalized, but I don't care.  I'll start capitalizing it when I start respecting him as a commander in chief.

If you haven't noticed, I tend to be very passionate when it comes to politics.  What our new president is doing disgusts me.  But what disgusts me even more than the president himself are the people that support our president and his hateful rhetoric and mandates.  The racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic bigots in this country disgust me and confound me.

Until I took a step back.

The woman pictured above is my mother.  She passed away 6 years ago.  Today would have been her 74th birthday.  I've been thinking about her a lot today (as should I) and I've come to a realization.  My mother would have been one of those bigots that I so frequently rail against. She was a Bible-thumping, conservative Republican through and through.  I've mentioned this before, but it bears repeating; My mom grew up on a farm in rural West Virginia that instilled in her a predilection towards subtle racism.  She never even met a person of color until she moved to Florida for a brief time in the early 1960's.

My mom once told me that I couldn't run for President because I'm a girl and girls can't be President.  She believed that Jews ran the media and that the blacks were given too many handouts by the government.   She had black friends, but those individuals were exceptions to her finite rules on the races.  I wasn't allowed to date anyone of color.  I wasn't allowed to go to a friend's bat mitzvah (though my dad put his foot down on that one and took me so I could experience another culture).  Although she wasn't outwardly hostile to gays (her hairdresser was a gay man) she had plenty to say about them when it was just our family hanging out at home.

I don't know whether or not my mother was ever sexually assaulted, but I know she was physically and verbally assaulted by men all her life, starting with her father.  I'm almost positive that she would have written off the comments the president made to Billy Bush as 'boys being boys'.  She never knew that I had been assaulted so she would never understand how that line of thinking destroys a piece of my soul that I've spent years bandaging and healing.

I'm almost certain that my mother would have voted for our president and would stand by his hateful Executive Orders and plans for the future of this nation.

But that wasn't all there was to her.

She worked full-time while raising two children and still made sure to make dinner from scratch most nights of my life.  She won the church's Bake Off every year.  Everything she made was homemade.  Nothing came from a box.  She made her own noodles and dumplings.  She made her own pie crusts.  She made her own minced meat, though I fail to see how anyone can accept meat as a desert.  She never used recipes.  She kept them all in her head.  She was a firm believer in fat and sugar and everything she made was delicious.  Maybe that's why I'm fat.  One more thing to blame on my mother.

My mom loved Halloween.  I think she loved it more than Christmas.  We were too poor for store-bought costumes so my mom made costumes from things around the house.  She was incredibly creative.  One year she painted the box an appliance had come in, attached lids from various sized jars, and sent me out as a boombox.  But she didn't just dress me and my sister up.  Oh no.  She had to get in on the fun.  She worked on a military base and they had a costume contest every year up until 9/11.  Every year she entered the contest and every year she placed in the top three, but could never seem to win.  The last year she participated she decided to go big with something no one else would EVER think of.  She went as an outhouse.  Her friends helped attach poster board around her for the walls, she made a little triangle roof with a moon cut out of it and cob webs intertwined.  She attached pages of the Sears catalog as 'toilet paper'.  It truly reminded me of an outhouse from the early 1900's.  I was mortified when I saw it, but gosh darn it, that year she won.

She took care of us when we were sick.  When I was 3 I contracted Scarlet Fever. My temperature was 105. She held me day and night and sat in cold baths with me until my fever finally broke.  I once asked her how does a parent deal with that?  How does a parent hold their child, not knowing if that child would survive, and keep it together so calmly.  She told me that when you become a mom, you stop mattering.  The only thing that matters is that child and doing everything you can to protect them.  That was my mom.  She did everything that she could to protect me.

So...That's one of our president's supporters.  Heck, if the president is right about all this voter fraud, I'm sure my mom was the first to climb down from heaven to cast her vote for him.

Trump supporters may be racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic bigots.  But they are also mothers, fathers, daughters and sons doing what they feel is right in order to protect their loved ones, however misguided they might be.

I will still continue to take a stand.  I will wear my pussyhat and my safety pin.  I will write essays and speak out for what I believe in.  I will support women's rights and Muslim rights, and Black Lives Matter.  But I will never forget the things that my mom sacrificed in order to protect me and raise me.  And I will remember that my opponents are just doing the same.

Happy birthday, mom.  I love you.

United We Stand

Me and my pussyhat.  #TakeaStand

As we all know, a lot of bad, bad things have been happening in Washington as of late.  Our President has already signed 14 new Executive Orders in one week, most of which have been directed at the removal of rights or not-so-subliminal discrimination.  Most recently he has signed an order blocking entry into the U.S. to individuals coming from 7 Middle Eastern countries.  This ban includes any non-US citizens traveling on valid, government issued visas.  There are three things I'd like to point out:
     1. The president decided to block 7 specific Muslim-majority countries- the list happens to
     exclude countries that he has done business with during his civilian life.  He isn't so much
     concerned for our safety as he is for his profit line.
     2. No terrorist act has been carried out against America by individuals haling from any of the 7
     countries being blocked.  The 911 attackers were from Saudi Arabia, UAE, Egypt, Afghanistan,
     and Lebanon to which the ban doesn't apply.
     3. An exception has been granted to all Christians traveling from one of the blocked nations,
     which is a blatant sign of the very religious discrimination that our Bill of Rights protects against.

But I'm not here to remind people of all the terrible things occurring in our country.  We're all very, very aware.  Ashamed, dismayed, frightened, and aware.  But in spite of all that, I'm here to remind you that there is still something to hold on to.  A story comes to mind that is attributed to Fred Rogers, better known to you and I as Mr. Rogers.  He said when he was a boy and would see scary things in the news, his mother would tell him to look for the helpers.  She said you will always find people who are helping.

So I look for the helpers.  I look at the millions of women and men who marched in cities across the globe last week in defense of human rights.  I see the masses of protesters gathering at airports fighting selective, discriminatory bans.  Everyday I run into individuals still proudly wearing safety pins showing solidarity and support for all those being attacked and disenfranchised.  One thing you can count on in America is a firm belief in civil rights and determination to fight injustice.  Our president may have an evil agenda, but he does not speak for all of us.  We will not, to steal from Dylan Thomas, "go gently into that goodnight."

I'm not encouraging anyone to break any laws.  Riots and pillaging do nothing but hurt the cause and reinforce the opposition.  I do, however, encourage civil disobedience.  As St. Augustine said, an unjust law is no law at all.  We have a right to peaceful assembly and we must exercise it to make our voices heard.  But we can also call our Congresspersons.  We can write letters to prominent publications to shine a spotlight on issues that violate ethics and human decency.  Even something as simple as showing kindness to each other shows who we are as a people.  There's a line towards the end of the film Schindler's List that says "He who saves one life saves the world entire."  The actual text from the Talmut is much longer, but you get the gist.  We must be the helpers.  If we cannot rely on our leaders to save us, we must save each other.  The only way we can truly "Make America Great Again" is by showing strength, solidarity, and an unwavering commitment to equality.  I believe in this country and its people.  I believe in it's strength.  And I believe we can fight this and find better days.

The Fourth Reich

Not-my-president Donald Trump has selected several individuals for posts within his administration that stand behind the alt-right movement.  Let’s be honest, alt-right is nothing more than a sugar coated way of saying white supremacy.  Except this time it’s more loud and proud than it has been since Jim Crow was the law of the land.  Whether you believe that Trump is a racist or a white supremacist is inconsequential.  What I urge you to recognize is that, through his rhetoric and actions, Trump has made white supremacy okay again.  People finally feel comfortable publicly using hate speech.  I have to wonder how many people heard that he wants to ‘make America great again’ and DIDN’T realize he meant returning to the America that burned crosses on people’s lawns.

Someday our children and grandchildren will study this version of America and wonder how we allowed it to happen.  They’ll wonder why we stood by and watched as hordes of Mexicans were deported, Muslims were placed behind barbed wire in internment camps, and gays were beaten and killed to prevent them from polluting society with their fiendish predilections.  Future generations won’t understand how anyone could become so apathetic.  They will question, but we will not have answers.  At least not good ones.

Let me take you back a bit to help you understand.

It’s important to remember the state that Germany was in during the decades following WWI.  The country was decimated.  People were left homeless, jobless, and desperate.  Hitler came to power by promising the people good jobs and economic prosperity.  He was charismatic and touted a renewed sense of nationalism.  He made people feel hope that the Germany they loved could be restored to its former glory.  One could almost say he promised to ‘make Germany great again’.  The people were willing to believe anything he told them.  So when Hitler said that the depression was the Jews fault they shrugged and went along with it.  They allowed themselves to believe it was because of the dirty Jews that they were starving.  And Hitler didn’t just make promises.  He backed them up.  Within a relatively short period of time white Protestant German citizens found themselves in comfortable jobs with good homes, great schools, and plenty of food to go around.  So they ignored the camps with barbed wire.  They shrugged things off as their neighbors were relocated at gunpoint to ghettos.  They tuned out the whistles and clacking of trains headed for work camps.  They embraced it actually.  After all, the Jews brought it on themselves.  Dirty Jews.

In the spring of 1945 allied troops liberated work camps established by the Nazi regime.  They were horrified by what they saw.  They couldn’t believe the vast number of dead.  They were astonished that humans could be so sickly and emaciated but still living.  They didn’t understand how anyone could allow such horrific conditions to exist.  U.S. military leaders decided that there needed to be accountability amongst the people.  Nazi officers were already being arrested and held for committing war crimes, but the Americans also blamed the complacency of German citizens for allowing genocide.  By late May U.S. troops began gathering German civilians from all the towns surrounding Nazi camps and forced them to tour the decrepit camps.  G.I.’s stood guard as townspeople filed past mounds of bodies in various states of decay.  Women held handkerchiefs to their noses to block the pungent stench of death.  Some vomited.  Others fainted.  After the tour they asked the civilians how they could allow it to happen in their own backyards.  Most claimed ignorance.  They said they didn’t know; that they had been lied to.  The few brave enough to admit that they knew excused it by saying, “What could we do? We were afraid we’d be next.”  They were also ashamed to admit, even to themselves, that they were part of the machine that put Hitler into power in the first place.

Today we are dealing with an all-too-familiar scenario.  Our illustrious leader is calling for the rounding up of “undesirables” and punishing states that refuse to comply.  He whole-heartedly believes that torture absolutely works despite all his military advisers assuring him that it doesn’t. He wants a wall to separate the good, patriotic American public from the scum on the other side. 

Beyond that, our new leader has even attacked us, his constituents.  He has called for censorship of the sciences and eliminated the arts as being frivolous.  He decides what the media can report and rages when those reports are unflattering.  This is all part of establishing extreme nationalism and creating enemies for other white Christians to blame.

So.  How will we explain the next 4 years to generations to come?  How will we justify the degradation of anyone who isn’t a white, Christian, Anglo-Saxon male?  How will we justify our own hate crimes?  Will we say that we didn’t know; that we had been lied to?  Will we shrug and ask what could we have done?  These are very real questions that history will look back and ask us.  And as of yet I don’t have an answer.

Andrea and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

I'm having a day.  Not just a day.  A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  I'm sure you can relate.

I worked out at 7:30 this morning which, sure, good for me for hitting the gym.  But let's just say I'm not the sparkling pillar of positivity that you've come to know and love when it's 7 freaking 30 in the morning.  My trainer, however, IS a sparkling pillar of positivity.  Always.  At every hour of every day.  And she has two teenagers at home.  I'm very proud of her for it.  She's very encouraging and she listens and lets me use the 'F' word as much as I want because, frankly, that's the only word my brain can come up with at 7 freaking 30 in the morning.  But today I was out of sorts and I said something unusually mean to my sparkly, shiny friend and now I feel terrible.  So, if she should happen to stumble upon this, I'm very sorry and thank you for not punishing me with that 'stand-up-sit-down' thing even though you know how much I hate it and I probably deserved it.

Afterwards I went to my wonderful job only to receive some unsettling news about things to come (or possibly not come) at work and it put me on edge.  Luckily I'm a civil servant and the world expects us to be surly, so that worked out just fine.

I was SO happy at the end of the day to finally be able to pack it in and head home.  Of course today it's raining and, at the very innuendo of rain, every citizen of the state of Ohio collectively forgets how to drive.  I'm sure I could include myself in that collective shame, but this is my story so every other driver can suck it.

I get home and there's a notice on my door that management will be coming to inspect my apartment tomorrow.  Side note: I've been sick lately.  The entire city has been passing around a Martian death virus for the past couple of weeks and I was one of the parasite's lucky hosts.  So my apartment looks like you would expect it to look after its inhabitant spent the past 9 or 10 days feeling the grim fingers of death at her neck.  So they're coming to my apartment in about 17 hours but I don't really have TIME to create a Better Homes & Gardens facade because I have Bible study tonight.  So I did what every responsible, job-holding, tax-paying, grown up would do and just started stuffing things into closets and under the bed.

I take a moment to quickly go through the rest of the mail just in case Ed McMahon plans to stop by and wants to make sure I'll be home.  Sadly, there's no letter from Ed, but there IS a bill for $300 from Walgreen's. As most of you know by now, my father suffers from dementia.  He still drives, which I hate, but the state of Ohio is perfectly a-ok with it so what can I do?  I've taken away his access to most of his money and accounts so he can't get into too much trouble, right?  Yeah, right.  Apparently he decided to go into Walgreen's to get his annual flu and pneumonia shots and told them to just send him the bill.  Problem, he lives in assisted living and they give those vaccines to every resident.  He had already been vaccinated but didn't remember so he figured he'd go get the shots himself.  Of course the insurance company isn't about to pay for 2 sets of vaccines which is how I came to be staring at a bill that we really can't afford for $300.  Fan-freaking-tastic.

It's at this point that my darling cat starts to vigorously remind me that she's hungry and it's dinner time but, SHIT I haven't washed her food bowls.  Keep in mind, I still haven't fed myself.  I'm running on a blueberry muffin and an overpriced Starbucks coffee, both of which I consumed at 9am.  But my cat is very persistent so I decide to wash her bowls and feed her before feeding myself.  This isn't quite good enough for her so she begins to wind circle-eight formations around my ankles while meowing louder and louder to remind me that she's STILL hungry.  She does such a good job that I trip and drop her porcelain bowls which shatter on the kitchen floor.  I. Do. Not. Have. Time. For. This.  I end up putting her food on a plate for now but she isn't smart enough to hold down one side while she eats so she ends up scooting the plate in circles around the kitchen trying to lap up her dinner.  I could watch this comedy act for hours but, oh crap, I need to get to Bible study.  I still haven't eaten but they usually have snacky treats.  Hopefully they have SOMETHING there that isn't vegan, gluten free, organic, and/or kind to the environment.  My friends are such good people.  Damn them.

So I hop in my car and drive the half hour to Dublin to meet with my people.  The people I love oh so much who will comfort me and lift my spirit.  Only...Wait...No one's home.  What?  So I grab my phone and check my email.  I'm terrible at checking my email.  Apparently an email was sent hours ago that we had to cancel due to, big surprise here, serious illness.  Son of a @#%&!  So I did what every responsible, job-holding, tax-paying, grown up would do and sat in my car and cried.  Back off.  I'm a girl.  We're allowed.

But, this actually works out.  This gives me time to run to the pet store, buy new METAL bowls, and hit the grocery store because OF COURSE I spotted mold on my bread at home and if I don't at least have a sandwich within the next hour I'm going to commit a felony.  I also used the time to throw some laundry in the washer because, after all, I AM a responsible, job-holding, tax-paying, grown up.  Fifty bucks says that laundry doesn't make it out of the dryer and folded until next weekend.

So that's it.  I'm done.  I have adulted this whole day and none of it really worked out so I'm done.

I did do ONE thing right today.  I phoned a friend.  And not just any friend, the RIGHT friend.  I have a lot of friends, and each has her own special talent and today was the day for Crissy.  Crissy is amazing. She herself is somewhat of a sparkly pillar, but mostly in the sense that everything she owns either started off bedazzled or eventually ended up that way.  I called Crissy, not because she's sparkly, but because I knew she wouldn't blow smoke up my butt and tell me that this means tomorrow has to be fantastic.  Nope.  Crissy told me what I wanted, neigh, needed to hear.  Essentially that my day blew.

See, that's the thing I think guys are missing from their relationships.  They feel the need to 'fix' things.  Everything has to be a project.  It's different for us girls.  Most of the time all we're looking for is a little freaking sympathy.  And Crissy is great at that.

My day is slowly coming to an end.  I still have a ton of crap to stash and I still haven't had my sandwich, and those clothes sure as f*** aren't coming out of the dryer tonight.  But I feel okay.  I talked to my friend and she agreed that my day totally sucks, which is all I've wanted all night long.  So now I'm going to go make a sandwich and watch PBS for a bit before collapsing into bed.  If the landlord wants to evict me tomorrow, screw him.  I'm just proud I made it through today.

The Good Things From the Bad

I woke up Saturday thinking, 'Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe there wasn't an inauguration yesterday.  Maybe there's hope left for this country.'  But no, it wasn't.  And yes, there was.  Still, regardless of those facts, there is always room left for hope.

I purposefully did not watch any news coverage yesterday.  I avoided social media and listened to CD's in my car rather than the radio.  I didn't want to hear any of the details of the catastrophe that was unfolding in our nations capitol.  But I can't avoid it forever.  So today I broke down and turned on the news.

Instead of a pretentious, overblown, tasteless, megalomaniacal dictator I saw crowds marching.  I saw pink knit pussyhats en masse.  I saw hordes gathered across the country as well as around the world marching in solidarity against tyranny.  I saw men, women, and children together waving banners declaring that 'LOVE TRUMPS HATE'.  It was a reminder to me that the good thing about bad things is how they draw communities together.  Bad things by their very nature give birth to good things.

But good things aren't instantaneous.  Tolerance arrives over time and is often spurred on by a catalyst.  In 1872 Susan B. Anthony was arrested and fined for voting in a public election.  This catapulted the women’s suffrage movement and led to the 19th amendment giving women the right to vote.  In 1954 the U.S. Supreme Court handed down a landmark decision in the case of Brown v. Board of Education eliminating “separate but equal” statutes and paving the way for the eventual fall of segregation.  In 1958 Richard and Mildred Loving, an interracial couple who were legally married in Washington D.C., were arrested in the state of Virginia for the crime of cohabitation.  Nine years later the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the Virginia law used against the Lovings was, in fact, unconstitutional citing Brown v. Board of Education as precedent.  Now, 50 years later, Loving v. Virginia was itself used as a precedent in a new battle, this time for gay marriage.  Because of the Lovings’ fight for equal rights for all citizens, same sex couples are now free to marry.  While these individual events in no way display the entirety of the journey and struggle towards freedom, they do provide an example, and inspiration, calling all of us to think better, see better, and do better for our society.

Much like today's global protests, we consistently see examples of diverse groups of individuals working together for the betterment of the community.  Wherever a natural disaster occurs, individuals gather to help one another, neighbor to neighbor, to respond and rebuild.   During health crises, medical organizations worldwide share information and resources to heal the sick, protect the healthy, and ebb the spread of disease.  In towns across America citizens gather in common causes to take back the night, end hunger, quell gang violence, or protest injustice in their communities and governments.   It is by the sheer determination of those feeling disenfranchised that each generation creates a society more accepting and tolerant than before.

And so we march.  We raise our voices.  We still live in a country where religious places of worship are vandalized or burned, where women are paid less than men for equal work, where minorities are saddled with failing educational institutions and few career prospects.  There are still veterans who fought to defend this country only to end up homeless and forgotten.  We still battle the lack of support and treatment for those with mental illnesses.  We've been saddled with an administration that encourages discrimination and abuse.  All of these conditions exist, and may continue to exist for some time.   Bad things happen quickly.  Good things take time.  In order to progress as a nation, it's up to We The People to continue to stand together for what we believe in.  We cannot rest on complacency.  Democracy and progress only triumph when individuals are given a platform, a voice, and the opportunity to instigate change.

So there IS hope.  There is always hope.  We stand together to show our children the real meaning of solidarity.  I fear that the next four years will be among the hardest that this nation has faced.  But face it we will.  We will not back down and we will not compromise.  We will teach our children about love and acceptance. And if we try hard enough we might just create a little good out of the bad.

Atlas Groaned

We all have a very general knowledge of who Atlas is, but just in case you've forgotten, here's a refresher.  Or at least as much of a refresher as my brain remembers.

The story of Atlas comes from Greek mythology.  Atlas was a Greek dude who decided to join up with the Titans in a war against the Olympians, led by Zeus. (Side note: Do NOT bet against an alpha deity.  If you bet against God, Thor, or Zeus, you will lose.  Every time.)  Alas, Atlas bet on the wrong horse. The mighty Titans were defeated and, as punishment, Zeus imprisoned all of them.  All of them, that is, but Atlas.  For Atlas he had a special punishment.  Zeus condemned Atlas to spend eternity holding the sky on his shoulders, forever preventing the heavens and Earth from reuniting.  I know, all the pictures show Atlas holding the Earth, but that's probably because it's really hard to depict arduous physical strain if the guy is just holding sky.

I think we can all relate to Atlas' plight.  We all sometimes feel like we're carrying the weight of the world all by ourselves.  We have jobs, family responsibilities, bills to pay, errands to run, bake sale items to pretend to bake from scratch.  We have parents that call to remind us how we never call.  We have children to remind us constantly how dumb we are.  Our bosses are surprised that our findings haven't already been compiled, though he just assigned the case an hour ago.

It's safe to say we all fit in there somewhere.  It's the never-ending hamster wheel of "Now what do you want?!?!"  We spend the first couple decades of our lives wishing so hard that we could be older.  Then once we are, we spend the rest of our lives trying to role the odometer back.  Adulting sucks, but it's part of life.  I have a lot of experience with having a sucky life, so I'm going to attempt to impart some skills I've learned that might make that load of sky on your back a little more manageable.

Children often represent the greatest weight that we bear.  I'm not a parent in the traditional sense. My child happens to be 69 years old.  But I can totally relate to all you regular parents.  My dad loses his wallet pretty much every week.  Each time he does I ask him, "Did you check your pants pocket?"  And as all of you know he always says 'yes of course'.  Says it kinda snotty, too.  And rolls his eyes.  Then I pick up his pants off the floor (never in the hamper) and remove said wallet from his pants pocket.  He looks up at me in awe as if I were The Great Houdini because that wallet was NOT in those pants a moment ago.  Some days I'd love to smack him in the back of the head, but that would be elder abuse and I'm taking great efforts to prevent myself from committing a felony.  In these situations I recommend boarding school.  The further the better.  I hear Switzerland is nice.

Work isn't really any better.  No matter how good your job is, they still have to pay you to show up.  The modern American office is the ultimate hamster wheel.  The better you are at your job, the faster the wheel spins.  My mom used to say that there are two types of employees, Those that are willing to work, and Those that are willing to let them.  I'm still early enough in my career that my soul hasn't been completely crushed yet, so I'm here to work.  You can tell the who are ones who have given up.  They are the ones who can tell you, to the hour, exactly how much time they have left until retirement.  Beware these individuals.  They have become Ninja masters at the art of passing off work to others.  They start off by asking you to take a look at this or that because "you're so good at" whatever it is they're working on.  For a moment you feel honored that such an experienced team member has asked for your "opinion".  But before you can say thank you the file has been dropped on your desk and the Ninja has disappeared.

Work Ninjas are smart, slick, and sneaky.  But they aren't the only office obstacles.  You also have the office trolls to contend with.  Trolls are usually found in management where they can do the least harm.  These are the people who spend their days wandering around the office carrying a coffee mug and having important looking conversations.  Beware these people as well.  They are idiots.  Their main function is to prove that they are so hopeless that you WILLINGLY volunteer to take over their project so it won't get totally f''ed up.  Trolls are sly in their own way.  They spend months, sometimes years, building up their ineptitude.   They ask pointless, inconsequential questions so that when the time comes for input, no one goes to them.  Here are a few of the classic questions that  trolls have tried on me over the years (I am not making this up):

Example 1:
Troll: Did you know that that Matt Damon movie 'The Martian', was based on a true story?

Example 2:
Troll: Where is Arnold Schwarzenegger from?
Me: (working furiously despite the interruption)  Austria.
Troll: Is that in Germany?
Me: (pauses and looks up at troll)  No.  It's in Austria.  The country of Austria.
Troll: So it's like a suburb of Germany?
Me: (sighs heavily) Yes.  Exactly.  Austria is a suburb of Germany (returns to working furiously)

Example 3:
Troll: When was the war of 1812?

If you encounter any coworker who asks you these types of questions, walk away.  Do NOT engage them.  They are setting you up.  If you are unable to make an escape, your only hope is to give them an even dumber response.  Example: "The war of 1812 started in 1929 between Germany and America.  America wanted to prohibit alcohol, but Germany is where alcohol comes from, so they started a war.  It's called the War of 1812 because the 1,812th amendment to the constitution banned alcohol consumption in the USA."  The troll will either TOTALLY believe you or begin avoiding you for YOUR apparent ineptitude.  Pray for the latter.

Then there are your parents.  Sigh...parents.  The people who gave you life, then never let you forget about it.  I bet every person reading this that is in contact with their mother knows EXACTLY how many hours their mother spent in labor bringing them into the world.  But that's not all you have to answer for.  First it's harping to get good grades, then you need to get into the "right" school.  They start worrying about you dating the wrong boy, then suddenly turn their attention to you finding the right boy.  That's when you land in the  "When are you getting married?" pressure cooker.  Once upon a time you could get out of it by saying you were gay and it wasn't legal.  But now the Supreme Court has ruined that.  Damn you Ruth Bader Ginsberg!  Even if you do break down and get married it becomes all about procreation.  When are you gonna have kids, already?  My mother used to have a monopoly on guilt and would whine about wanting grandchildren.  Then one day I got to remind her I can't have kids because I had cancer instead.  That's right.  I played the cancer card.  Bam!  Mission accomplished.  In the end, I think your best bet, the near guarantee when it comes to getting rid of meddlesome parents, is to ask for large sums of money.  I'm not just talking large money.  I'm talking hostage recovery type money.  You will never hear from them again.  My grandpa taught me that one.

So that's it.  That's all I've got.  I still feel like I'm carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, but using these tricks I've managed to convince the people I love that it's all their fault.  And at the end of the day that's all that matters.

With a Little Help From My Friends

So, my dad is dying.  I think we've covered that.  What I'd instead like to focus on this time is the moments in between the doctor's visits and medication and blood tests.

In the Bible, Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 reminds us that our lives our cyclical; a time to be born a time to die; a time to reap and a time to sow, etc.  For those unfamiliar with the scripture, listen to the Byrds 1965 hit 'Turn! Turn! Turn!'  It's the same general idea and has a catchy tune.

The basic idea here is that we are unable to appreciate joy without suffering.  We must endure suffering, but if we wallow we deprive ourselves of the opportunity to appreciate the the good times.  That's why we need personal relationships.  Shared moments build our reserves to be able to survive the tragedies.

I have several happy memories with my father.  Like the time that my mom decided dad should take my sister and I fishing (why, mom? why?).  She gave us marshmallows for bait.  My mom SWORE that while living in Florida she once caught an alligator using marshmallows for bait.  There are two problems with this scenario.  First, alligators are carnivores.  They don't have an affinity for processed sugar.  Second, when's the last time you saw alligators stocking up on Peeps at Easter?  But Heather and I were too stupid to know better and my dad didn't want to pick a fight with his darling bride, so off we went to a nearby lake with 2 Snoopy fishing rods and a bag of marshmallows in tow.  Let's just say it was not the most productive excursion.  We didn't catch a singe fish.  We did, however, learn that ducks DO know how to laugh and that they can be cruel.  You haven't lived until you've had a duck laugh at you in a malicious way.  We might not have become successful anglers, but we came away with a story that keeps us warm on tenuous nights.

But sometimes you need to distance yourself from the patient.  I can't stress the need to develop a life of your own outside the patient.

I remember a night back in 1997.  My BFF and I had been invited to a party out on the sticks and figured 'Why not?'  You can do those types of things when you're 17.  Long story short, we got lost.  I'm a terrible driver and my 'navigator' has dyslexia so our journey had about the same odds of success as the Titanic .  Before I knew it we were driving on a desolate country road in the middle of farmland.  A dense fog had blanketed the road and surrounding fields.  All I could think at that moment was that this is the road where people die on in horror movies.

Suddenly we hit a bump.  Then another.  It might have been a body.  Then again it might have been a charming woodland creature the Disney had released to Nowheresville Ohio.  Now, I'm typically a very responsible person, but I was NOT about to get out of my car to see what we hit on the Murder Interstate.  That's how the monster's get you.  So we drove on.  We ended up in Lithopolis, Ohio.  Do you know where Lithoplis is?  It's okay if I you don't.  I don't and I'VE BEEN THERE.  There's only one place open in Lithopolis after 9 pm.  It's a pizza and beer joint appropriately named "Pizza & Beer".  The story DOES have a happy ending, though.  We somehow made it home safely and now, whenever one of us finds ourselves scared and lost in the middle of nowhere, we refer to it as 'Bump'.  We made it though the first Bump so I know we'll make it though the next,

You millennials have an extraordinary gift that past generations didn't have.  You have social media.  You get to reconnect with the people you knew years ago and realize they aren't the assholes that you once believed.  You have online dating to expose you to people you'd never meet otherwise.  You have sites like Meet Up to connect with like-minded grownups that can become your new best friends.  So...No more excuses not to leave the house.  Firefly might be having a marathon that night, but lets honest, you've already memorized all the episodes anyway.  And if you leave your house there will be nice people and alcohol to sweeten the deal.

I'm getting up there in years, but I'm not too decrepit to make use of social media.  I've reconnected with a ton of people who I thought (hoped) I would never encounter again after graduation.  Much to my delight, it's been fantastic.  These people support me when the reality of my dad's health is too much for me to accept.  They've also been there when I needed alcohol and karaoke.

After my last post I was overwhelmed (and eternally grateful) with condolences, prayers, support, love and compassion.  Caring for a sick loved one is very isolating,  As much as we want to hide in our homes and lie in a rut of 'what if's' we can't survive that way.

After mom mom's funeral I confessed to our pastor that, while I appreciated those that had come to say goodbye, tomorrow all those people will take their kids to school and go to work and go on with their lives.  She agreed, but she gave me the best advice I could have received.  That's what they're supposed to do.  They are supposed to go back to their lives just like I was supposed to go back to my life.  I could mourn my mother, but I could also cerebrate the life that she gave me.  It took time, but I have chosen the latter.

Now I face a similar battle.  I can mourn my father.  But I can also chose to meet with friends.  I can go out go out drinking and dancing.  I can celebrate birthdays and new jobs.  I can buy pretty clothes just because they bring me joy.  I just know that I can't do it without my friends.

So, my final advice, reach out to your friends.  Talk to them about how you're feeling.  Don't hide it.  It's a part of you.  Let them be there for support but, when they insist on taking you out, GO.  Have fun.  Flirt.  Make new memories.  But,whatever you do, avoid Bump.  That's where the monsters live.

The Tell Tale Heart

My dad is dying.

I know, I know.  That's a pretty blunt statement.  But that's kind of how you have to approach it sometimes.  My dad is dying.  My dad IS dying.  And there is nothing I can do to change it.

When my mom was dying I did everything I could to, if not stop, then at the very least, postpone the inevitable.  I started studying cardiology, pulmonology, nephrology, hematology, infectious disease, orthopedics.  I learned how to read a CBC report, a blood gas, a urinalysis, a 12-lead.  I researched medications, surgeries, alternative therapies.  I became a certified cardiac care giver.  I made sure to be there when her doctors did rounds.  I negotiated with the insurance company for more coverage.  I insisted on being a team member in her treatment plan.  I flipped God the middle finger and said 'I'll take it from here.'

But God had other plans.  He always does.

Nine years later I found myself in a private ER room exactly like the dozens of other ER rooms I had been in with my mother when the attending handed me a Do Not Resuscitate order.  I don't remember the doctor's name.  She was 40-ish with straight blond hair and dark blue eyes like mine.  I don't know why I remember that part.  Her eyes looked so much like mine.  She was kind, but perfunctory.  She explained each line as I initialed each one.  She didn't need to.  I had taught myself everything I needed to know by then.  But I was too tired to tell her 'I've got this.'  Truth be told, I didn't.  Yes, I knew everything that was wrong with my mother's body.  I knew that her mental state was deteriorating.  I knew her heart was failing, and her lungs, and that her kidneys were going to go soon.  I knew every physical mark and ailment.  But what I didn't know, what no one can tell you, is how to let someone die.  There is no textbook on deciding for someone else that their time is up.  I'm a firm believer in physician assisted suicide and dying with dignity, but this was not my life.  This was not my death.  This was not my call...until it was.  It was up to me to tell these strangers that my mother had had enough.  

Several months later my mother died. It was a Sunday.  My sister, Heather, had visited that afternoon.  Minutes after Heather left, my mother left, too.  That was almost 6 years ago.  Or maybe it was yesterday.  Some days my heart can't tell.

Now I'm caring for my father.  He has dementia, so it's very much like caring for a young child.  I zip his coat for him.  I wipe his face when has something on it.  I remind him to get a haircut.  Then I go home and I manage his finances and pay his bills.  I pay his cable bill because the only thing he loves more than my sister and I is Bill Maher and without HBO there's no Bill Maher.  I pay Medicare so that he has medical help to make the dying part a little more comfortable.  I pay the life insurance.  I manage the schedule and make sure he's at all his appointments with his litany of doctors.  Luckily my sister helps immensely with that.

He also has Stage 4 kidney failure.  The good news is, because of his dementia, he doesn't know he's dying.  The bad news is, because of his dementia, he doesn't know he's dying.  I could tell him.  Break it down as simply as possible to help him understand.  But there are only 2 outcomes to that act: 1. He forgets so I have to have the same painful conversation with him again.  And again.  And again. 2. He remembers and spends what time is left sad, desolate, depressed.  Can anyone say that either of those is a kindness?

I still talk with the doctors and discuss treatment plans.  But I no longer feel the need to BE his doctor.  I've signed a living will for him, but we did that together.  I explained each line as he initialed each one.  That was 5 years ago when he was more able to participate.  Now all that's left is to wait.

Once upon a time my father was the most brilliant man I had ever known.  He was very well educated and a subject matter expert in pretty much everything.  He was a chess master.  The town I grew up in had a chess tournament every year as part of the 4th of July celebration.   He came in second every darn year for a decade so he quit.  What he doesn't give himself credit for is that he came in second every darn year to a Russian expartriot.  Chess is kind of their thing.  Well, chess, vodka, and espionage, but dad was only good at the chess part.  Dad still plays, but only against himself or a computer game.

I do what I can when I can to engage him. We talk about the possibility of colonization on Mars.  We make fun of Donald Trump and discuss what disasters the next 4 years might bring.  We talk about the American Revolution and who our favorite American Presidents have been.  We discuss the Industrial Revolution and how it changed the global landscape then much like the technology revolution has now.  We talk about music and writers and even football until he drifts off.  See, when your kidneys aren't functioning you tend to fall asleep frequently.

I don't know how long my father has left.  I thought I had maybe a couple of years, but recently he's taken a turn for the worse.  The nurse said there's a chance he could rebound but that it isn't terribly likely.  I think she just wanted to give us some sense of hope.

All I have now is time.  Most days I hope for more time, but, more often than I'd like to admit, I wish this were over.  Grieving changes you.  It creates dark corners in your heart that hadn't been there before.  You can't understand what it is to watch someone die until you've done it yourself.  And even then, you're on the outside looking in on someone else's struggle.

My father is dying and I just want it to be over but I can't say that out loud because it makes me a terrible person.  Oh sure, everyone says it's okay to feel that way and it's normal, but that's not what I'm talking about.  I'm talking about how I feel about myself as a person and my soul.  Every time I look at him and think 'Can't you just die already?', I hate myself a little bit more.  I get a little more jaded.  I get a little more frustrated and helpless.  And each of those 'little bits' add up until you don't recognize yourself anymore.

So you avoid those thoughts.  But that bile has to go somewhere, and if you direct it toward the person that's dying, then you really ARE a terrible person.  So you take it out on everyone else.  You get pissed at your sister for bailing on something insignificant.  You belittle everyone else's problems because they can't POSSIBLY be as bad as yours.  You attack your pretty friends because they're so pretty that life must be easy for them.  Everyone else gets to go about their easy lives while you feel like you're trudging through sand.  You get angry that things are so easy for everyone else while you're slowly drowning with no end in sight.

Of course none of that is true.  No one has an easy life.  But those dark corners make it seem that way.  There is no cure or instant recourse here.  There's no healing.  The only thing I've come up with is that loves trumps everything.  Love trumps death.  It trumps hate.  It trumps desperation.  Love trumps the dark corners building in our hearts.  All I can do is to try to be generous.  In all things, be generous.  Be selfless.  Reach out rather than pull in.  Forgive others freely, but first forgive yourself.  Be angry.  But don't allow anger to consume you.  My father is dying.  I know that.  And there will be times when I takes things out on others who don't deserve it.  So I have to learn to apologize frequently and mean it.  There are so many tools out there to help me through this but I have to be willing to seek them out.  I need to hold on to those around me.  Maybe that way I'll be able to let go.