Caterwauling

Key West sunset 17

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

So on Jan. 1, I sat on a blanket at Smathers Beach and did nothing but snap photos of the sunset for 20 minutes. There’s a reason they call Key West the “Home of the Sunset.” Spectacular.

I’m aimless these days. Working is overrated. So is pretty much everything else. I just want to curl up and sleep for a week or two. Or keep watching “Ghost Whisperer” marathons, interrupted by the occasional Oprah episode where she hosts Bon Jovi or reveals her secret sibling.

My purpose is out there. Hell, it’s right in front of me. And I can’t stare it straight in the face. I can’t bear to be disappointed again. Not that I have much choice, mind you. None of us does.

I just never thought I’d be this tired at 36.

Simone Hemingway

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This is my six-toed (on each paw) buddy Simone, who I met at the Hemingway House in Key West. She reminds me of my Maddie, and I wanted to stick her in my bag and bring her home.

So it’s been a month since the “It’s not you, it’s me — oh, wait, it’s you” speech. I’ve spent a lot of time searching my soul for what went wrong and how not to find myself in the same situation next time around. Somehow, I think giving me time to reflect is the worst punishment of all.

And punishment for what, exactly? My mom is one of those people who assumes she deserves whatever poop on a platter the universe is serving up. Yet I’ve never met a nicer person than her, you know? Like, why would anyone feel that ordering a gyro and getting a shit sandwich instead feel like there must be a reason for that? Oh hell no — it is our birthright to be happy. So, send that bitch back and bring me what I ordered!

The last time I found myself job-free, as the months turned into MANY months, I started to feel that way, though. That damn, I must be a real asshole for the universe to keep punishing me with the prospect of losing what little I had. And I don’t want to ever succumb to that feeling again.

That said, while I wouldn’t say I deserve anything bad, I finally have insight into how things came to be.

I was watching Joel Osteen last night. It blows to be home on a Friday but, hey, a girl’s gotta conserve her resources. And while I was just looking for a fuzzy-wuzzy feel-good message, I got knocked off the couch with something he said.

He was speaking specifically about the workplace, and gave the example of having a crazy supervisor who makes your life difficult. But if you don’t hang in there and let that experience change you, then you will go to another job with TWO crazy people, not just one.

And I snickered at that. Because I see the truth in it. You think you’re running away but then you get a heaping dose.

But that was something I struggled with when I left the Den of Iniquity. At what point do you dig in your heels and wait for God to show you why He put you there, and when do you cry “Uncle!” and run away from the disturbed uncle who keeps psychologically molesting you?

For me, I fell silent at the Den for my final months there. After I dared to question Elvis on why he did something so incredibly stupid that he did, and I got roared at (and lied to) for five solid hours, I stopped asking questions. I slipped out quietly and started my new life.

At my “new life,” I didn’t want to be silent anymore. I was quiet, sure, but based on past experience, I only wanted to be part of battles that I had a chance of winning.

It occurred to me last night when the battle lines got drawn. I can pinpoint that very moment. What I thought was full disclosure turned out to be a choice I couldn’t undo. What others cheered me for, was my undoing.

I don’t blame anybody for that. I can’t. I just wish that I would have spoken up more, if this was how it was going to turn out. I am not sure exactly what God wanted me to learn, but I always felt that I was there to help change others. I guess I failed Him there, too.

Anyway, with all this time to think, my worries are all over the place. I worry about money, sure. Who doesn’t? But moreover, I fear that whatever unresolved baggage I’m left with from the last time around will haunt me next time, the way I never expected the last luggage set to appear at my doorstep once I moved on.

I guess what’s different this time around is that I’ve at least had a chance to analyze, and compartmentalize, so that when I stick this suitcase on the shelf once and for all, I’ll travel light to my next destination.

Christmas in Palm Beach

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

This photo got 1,000-plus views on Flickr within an hour of posting it. Funny how a little snapshot on an iPhone can capture so much attention.

In any case, it’s a pale comparison to talk about how one little photo (hopefully) brightened up so many days. But really, it does just take one person to change a whole bunch of lives.

I was hanging out at the mechanic’s this morning. I go to the same place because I really feel taken care of there. I’ve spent dozens of hours with these guys over the course of the past two years. But it’s not that they are the best and brightest, but more so that they have hearts.

I have a friend whose dad has been a mechanic his whole life. And he’s supposedly never really made a dime because he’s always fair and even generous. Which is probably the same way I’d classify my guys. It sucks that the “good guys” never get ahead. But there are people like me to share their stories, and I hope that’s worth something.

My guy Mark has gotten some fame in the local area because of his work on behalf of a 6-year-old girl with late-stage cancer. He collects money for her and recently donated four tires to the family, who have put more than 40,000 miles on their car just taking her to doctor’s appointments and chemo.

One recent Sunday, they came into the store and he said he couldn’t let them leave without new tires (which they could not afford). He called his district manager and got the approval within 15 minutes. He said the whole family cried and hugged him.

I’ve been there on a Sunday. You can’t get anyone to pick up a phone, let alone return a call, if you need something that the store doesn’t have in stock. Of course, these guys drive all over tarnation when I need a part, so I’m not surprised at the random act of philanthropy.

Actually, the last time I was there on a Sunday, it took so long to get the parts I needed from several different stores (which weren’t yet open when I got there) that the guys wanted to share their lunch with me. They had ordered a bunch of tacos and wanted me to come back into the office and join in the fiesta. I ended up calling the corporate office to commend them and thank them for being so thoughtful.

Today, Mark showed me the company newsletter, where someone did a profile on him and his altruistic efforts. It really pleased me to see that human-interest piece. This was something missing from my last couple of gigs — I wanted so much to have the companies do charitable work (Habitat for Humanity, Haiti, whatever). At the Den of Iniquity, one leader told me that he much prefers sitting around smoking pot than entertaining the thought of donating money or time.

I should have just done it my damn self. Of course, I helped in the only way I could: by making donations. I’d much rather write the check than do the work, frankly. But these days, with the next check nowhere in sight, I’m motivated to get off my ass and help in any way I can, too.

(I made a donation to the little girl, since I got a discount. Amazing, redirecting resources from those who have them to those who need them. What a concept!)

When I came in today, the two top guys were commiserating about corporate’s recent smackdown on them for giving too many coupons and discounts. Everything now has to go through Mark — who gave me a very generous discount because, well, he rocks.

Now, he wasn’t saying NOT to give discounts (in fact, the other guy, Don, handed me a coupon for brake work and when I handed it to him when I was cashing out, he acted like he had never seen it before). He was just saying to get his authorization and he’d take the heat for it.

That is my kind of guy. And the same type of supervisor I always found myself being. Empower the staff and serve as an umbrella when the wrath of the heavens rains down.

Clearly it works, as everyone in there today was a repeat customer. I’ve gotten to know quite a few people in the waiting room over the years. This is as close to a family-run business as it gets.

We were in the midst of a Flock of Seagulls sing-a-thon (“Wishing”) when the phone rang. A customer called to tell him that another customer passed away last night, and to invite him to the viewing. He said she was fairly young, that this was sudden, and that he was planning to spend his one day off (tomorrow) with her family.

THAT is why I go there. Not for the discounts (although those do help) but because this guy takes a very active interest in the people he serves — both customers AND employees. Hell, if I knew anything about cars, I would want to work for him.

I gave Mark a CD on the way out — I just so happened to have been listening to the song we were singing when I pulled in this morning. He had heard it on XM and started humming it, and he was blown away that I knew the song. So, I left him with my music, since he was planning to go home and download the song.

I know it’s not big or important or even anything significant, but I wanted to do a little something nice for this guy who takes such good care of the people within his reach.

His colleague Don wished me luck and said he looks forward to the next time I come in because he figures I’ll have good news on the job front. “You’re one of the good ones,” he said. “You’ll be more than OK.”

Maybe I need to step out of my field. Perhaps not altogether, as it’s taken a lot of time to master it and I can do it part-time if need be. But maybe I need to step back into the helping fields again. Because I measure myself by the Marks of this world, and if this one man can make a large difference on the small scale, imagine what I could do if I simply tried to match his contribution to the world.

Suddenly I find myself inspired. …

The youngest victims of the Civil Rights warfare

Originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn

The monument in this photo is in Birmingham, Ala., and reads, “I ain’t afraid of your jail.” This is a place where dogs and water hoses were turned on society’s tiniest citizens — as well as the full-grown set — in a disturbing effort to keep segregation alive for as long as possible. And long after legislation told the state to do otherwise.

The most-impactful part of Lady L’s and my visit to Alabama this past November was a walk through the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. I remember at the gate, the ticket-taker simply asked us to make a donation of our choice. On the way out, I donated more.

Like any good Smithsonian, the multimedia displays immersed you in sensory overload. I can’t remember a moment in that place where I wasn’t fighting back tears. I’m ashamed of our forefathers who weren’t ready to let go of their self-appointed superiority. I’m thrilled with the “Freedom Riders” and other ordinary citizens (a la Martin Luther King Jr.) who stepped up and said, hey, I’m willing to be attacked if it means a fairer society will ensue.

(Just seeing the video of James Zwerg, the first one off the bus on that famous 1961 ride, is enough to rip out your heart that you have done NOTHING in this world in comparison.)

Although we couldn’t take photos in the Institute, the door from MLK’s jail cell (from which he wrote his famous 1963 “Letter from Birmingham Jail”) is burned into the back of my eyelids. (Read it and weep. I did.)

In going through some boxes in the past couple of weeks, I found a number of awards from the NAACP — yes, in MY name — from writings I did as a wee lass. I was quite sympathetic to the plight and I wrote many stories and poems for literary contests held in honor of MLK’s birthday. I almost wonder whether, in a past life, I were somehow there. The poetry I wrote, circa ages 11 through 14, was surprisingly evocative.

In any event, when I turned on financial TV first thing this morning, leaders were up in arms about all the schools that decided today should be a makeup day for snow days taken. And parents were keeping their kids at home in protest.

(God, I miss snow days. Not the SNOW, mind you. Down here, though, school gets canceled on cold days because many of the buildings don’t have heat!)

Frankly, I am in favor of having school today … with the caveat that it’s like the Chicago school whose principal personally knew Martin Luther King Jr. and uses the day for a special assembly where he shares personal stories about the time he spent with the legendary man.

I don’t see how a day off for kids (or adults) means anything when it’s simply a day spent sleeping in, or at the mall, or playing with the Wii, or WHATEVER. At least in school, the kids can be learning about the man who changed America as only he could. Of course, as my caveat-to-the-caveat, it shouldn’t just be a one-off event — what that man did should be celebrated for more than just a day.

I like the “day of service” approach for today (and also for 9/11). We should have more of those. I’m sick of all these religious and social-rights leaders bitching about people not being able to stay home because it violates the “sanctity” of the holiday. Wouldn’t the best way to serve be to A) learn about Dr. King and/or/then B) DO something in his honor?

We’re lucky and yet so very unfortunate to not have a battle like the civil rights one in our time. Sure, there’s a ton of inequality in the world and always will be. But I imagine Dr. King would still be fighting today, since things are far from ideal for people of color as well as those with different sexual orientations and, hell, people who just look or even SEEM different.

And aren’t we ALL different in one way or another? How can anyone allow one group to be oppressed when they’re just lucky they’re not at the top of the bullies’ list … today, anyway?

I have nothing profound to say. I just see injustice all over the world, and especially in my country. It sucks because we’re supposed to be setting the example and, yet, you’ve got assholes (whole colonies of them, right on U.S. soil) who think that having a black president is a sure sign that the apocalypse is nigh.

As the Repugs begin their crusade to overturn the landmark healthcare law, it just reminds me that morons either in power, with a lot of money or both will do their damndest to keep “everyone else” from the privileges they take for granted. Equality, healthcare, fair wages and not living in poverty when you’re working your ass off are NOT privileges, though. They are rights. And God bless anyone with the balls to stand up for everyone else who is too sad, sick, weary or otherwise beaten-down to be able to fight for it themselves.

I salute you, Dr. King. My generation’s absence of someone like you is palpable. Perhaps everyone knows they can’t rise up to the bar you set. But I sure wish someone — hell, a LOT of someones — would try. …

Just last week in a box I haven’t opened in years, I found a little denim hat, a onesie, a bib and a photo frame with two tiny baby shoes dangling from blue ribbons.

I’m sure I somehow never remembered to stick this stuff into a gift bag and give the package to its intended owner. Of course, I don’t even remember which colleague it was probably for, at this point. And perhaps when I packed up this box before I left D.C., I figured this was the closest thing I’d have to a hope chest.

When I rediscovered this stuff, I started thinking about my cycle. Rather, I noticed the absence of it. Just what I need right now — no job AND a kid. Oy!

I haven’t needed one of those wonderful little tests for a couple of months shy of a decade. And let me tell you, it is the LONGEST three minutes of your life after you pee on a stick.

I wasn’t necessarily thinking it would turn out any other way than it did. Frankly, I should send a thank-you to Loestrin, for keeping me kid-free for 10 years and counting.

I didn’t necessarily have any fantasies about “what if.” Don’t get me wrong, though. Even though I am not mother material, I wasn’t going to go to the neighborhood clinic this time. In fact, my reaction was more, “If that’s what’s meant to be, I’ll figure it out.”

That was pretty much the extent of my thought process. A hearty “Fuck you!” to the insurance industry and to people who can block your access to it, and a depressed, “Well, shit — Mom will NEVER leave now.” Oh, and don’t forget a, “How bad are wine and cigarettes in the early stages?”

I’m OK. No big deal. The only real “meh” feeling I have is that I’m no more stable now than I was 10 years ago. Career, family and love lives still have orange cones around them and a Hazmat suit at the entrance.

If anything, what I’m feeling is that I’ve simply run out of time. The only reason I ever would want to have a kid is to counteract the terrible people with offspring so that I can bring a wonderful human being in to cancel out the assholes-in-training of the world.

Anyway, perhaps this entry is ill-thought-out (see also: career, home and love lives). But I’m rather proud of myself for leaving it in God’s hands and telling Him I’d be OK either way. The outcome is the best one, and I hope it wasn’t merely sheer force of will that produced that negative sign.

Lesson learned here, kids, besides “take your pills and you’ll be fine”?

Simple. This reminds me to NOT waste my time on “opportunities” that won’t get me to wherever I want to go. Life is short, time is precious and God has quite a sense of humor. No sense in being as frivolous with time as I am with money.

That means write those books, open that cafe, volunteer outside your field to keep your heart alive, and for God’s sake LISTEN to your intuition and don’t go where your gut is SCREAMING at you not to go.

The way I figure, any moron can conceive/rear a child. (Case in point: look around.) That wouldn’t make me special. But giving a kid a whole pile of reasons to be proud of you? Well, most of us aren’t there yet. But I will be. Just give me some more time.

In any case, if ever there is another occasion to stop in the store and buy one of those thingies, I hope my next reaction will be worlds away from indifference.