The View from my Phone

Four years ago the world was so different; my world, the national world, the international world. Politically, financially, spiritually the media profiled people and events differently. The reality we are experiencing now, the divisiveness, the racism and violence, were all there but they were not on the radar as glaringly. We had a president that didn’t express anger publicly and a first lady that was out and about in the world. The financial sins of the top one percent were still a bit cloaked.

As for me, my world was completely different. I walked with a four toed cane unaware I had broken my hip some years before. I was about to move everything into a storage unit and myself intoan office to write and sleep in my car. I had already spent three years in a life threatening situation with an unhealed angry, violent alcoholic I was too poor to move away from. I’d slept in a pool house for a summer using an umbrella to go to the bathroom in the shower house when it rained. Life seem d very desperate.

My faith remained strong. I had wonderful client families I served. Good friends encouraged me. I did meaningful volunteer work. I believed against all practicality that my present was not my future.

Today is very different. The country is a mess. Hate and division abound. Rich and poor grow apart in an ever widening gap with no middle ground. Me? I’m in a cozy, light filled apartment. I have all my things around me. The laptop I once thought I couldn’t live without sits by the piano and my desktop remains silent mostly while I live on my phone.

This morning I had oatmeal I ate on the Big White Couch with Too Many Pillows.

And I have an ‘old lady table’ , as I used to call it before I realized ‘old’ is a relative term.

And I have the luxury of a footstool,courtesy of my BuyNothing club, and can casually journal about hitting the ‘fresh start’ button in my life.

With a rudimentary understanding of uploading and selecting and adding, and the ability to have somehow, with my daughter’s help six months ago, get into and create a blogpost in what was once the space to transfer twelve years worth of columns.

Soon I will be switching blog hosts and creating a new one called “Old Enough to Know Better”, but I’m ready to start blogging again, so I will tack on these last few before moving into the new. 

What is significant to know is that I have survived being hated. This is an era of acknowledging hate crimes by white people and I have survived some of the finest efforts.

It’s also important to know I am a woman of faith. The intersection of being hated and having faith means the view from my phone has been mitigated into exhaling that hate rather than internalizing it. Why was I hated? I told some truths some people didn’t want to hear or have known because they were making money off of certain situations. 

What made the difference for me along the way? Kind, ordinary people. Those are the people who change the world. Are you a kind, ordinary person? You’re changing the world right where you are. You’re doing the small things that make a huge difference. 

It’s time for me to get on with my day. I have a couple of books to write and some music to make. The sun is out and the noises of the neighborhood declare that it’s ‘make it so’ o’clock. 

In front of you, from your own heart ♥️- you are making a difference. 

Love,

Deborah

Sisterhood that Changes

Was it only weeks ago we were all wearing seasonal smiles as we watched, first, Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye with their pantlegs rolled up, waving ice blue feather fans around as they sang 'Sisters, Sisters'?

Recently, sisters, and many others, wore pink hats that set off a fire storm of discussion here in the United States and around the world. Someday I may be able to walk 3.6 miles, but that Saturday I stood and watched a stroll down 4th Avenue in Seattle by 175,000 people that would not stop. It was one of the most iconic moments of my life. Like the birth of my children, there is now, before the parade of democracy, and after.

Speaking up, speaking out, has always been sacred to me. In younger years, I did not join the chorus against Nixon and involvement in Vietnam for two reason: first, my family forbid it as it would, supposedly, jeopardize my brother's work in the defense department/Navy, and two, because, to me, it seemed like my peers just wanted time off from Spring Quarter.

But all my life I've wondered what I would do if I lived under a dictator, and now the imagined has become reality. It is time to speak.

I am a woman of faith. I have friends with whom I agree completely on the centrality of faith and disagree in a vast array of ways about how that faith ought to be lived out on this earth. When I followed up my decision with a posting of the new first lady in a pornographic picture, I threw gas on a bonfire. For the life of me I could not, cannot understand the 53% who allegedly voted for Trump, except as I understand racism.

My attitude toward discord amongst people is a  little unusual in this culture.  I believe in any verbal match, both sides have to stay on the field, in the ring, face to face, staying connected in the strong, healthy places until the disagreement is resolved. Resolved, is probably an unknown, so that action of togetherness probably means, co-creating the resolution.

Yea, people pretty much don't do that. /Name calling, shouting matches, division and broken relationships is generally the process of having differing opinions.

The lewd picture brought good discussion, but I wearied of seeing the very thing I opposed, women resorting to using their nakedness and sexuality in service to the prurient interests of men ( and women) to get ahead financially and career-wise, plastered on my feed as people repeatedly commented. I got blocked by a lot of people who didn't like porn on their feed either, or disagreed vehemently with my posting of it.

What's a girl to do?  I was the only female child in my family. I had three brothers. I was in the middle. In ninth grade, I had the thought flash through my brain and heart, "You have to learn to like women." I did not know the word 'misogyny, but their was some of that going on. When my little brother was born I had another thought, "I want to treat him differently than I've been treated". Shout out to a terrifically successful experiment. We have a kind and loving and respectful relationship.

But it pains me to have this separation with my sisters in the faith. Now, three days ago, I was going to write some fluff with examples of how we were working it through. But yesterday I realized I have mostly questions to ask them, not just statements that seem oppositional. Yesterday, it became more than clear, the new president is not well mentally or emotionally. Yesterday brought up a discussion, and sometimes a fight, I've been having with the church for the last two decades. The questions like, 'How do women become co dependent?". "Why do women support men behaving badly?" "How did I get to where I am and how is that alike or different from other women?" seeped to the front of my daily presence.

So, instead of tying up this column, this blogpost, with a clever, tidy, humorous observation and resolve, I will end by saying, I'm committed to intentional conversations with my sisters in the other half of this country.
It's not how blogs are supposed to end. But these are new and dangerous times. Friendships with women, solidarity, empathic conversations, resonance in fellowship and service and worship have always been a place of groundedness for me. A meat clever just sliced through that little bowl of ambrosia. Whack! There's cool whip and coconut and canned fruit everywhere!!

I don't know what's going to happen. Do you? Care to share? I'm thinking. I'm pondering. I'm praying. Because we need some big strategies for getting out on the dance floor in our ice blue chiffon dresses or with our pantlegs rolled up and our sock garters showing. This is the life or death of our country, our churches, our faith community. Pressing on.
Love,
Deborah

A New Thing

This is what's on my radar right now, real time. I just remembered I forgot to start the laundry and it's too late to take any action. The washing machine pressure is almost non existent and takes forever and it's already 9:40 and I'm still three hours away from being able to go to sleep without attending to laundry.

Oh, I'm gonna google and see if I can find a stock public domain photo of a washer and dryer set because everyone knows, people can only read so many words on a screen without a picture of something. What has happened to us all?? ( So proud I remembered to use italics and not shouting caps:)

My little butler's table that I use for a desk in my room, is filled with music stuff as I work through remedial issues of intervals and relative minors and seventh chords and I have a paper keyboard from the used text I found on ebay for $8.95 plus free shipping. ( Hmmmm. Stop and pull a picture of piano? Nah...You'll read a few more words, I'm sure).

This blog is a morphing of my column I wrote for twelve years in The Vashon Loop. I moved off Island and last Spring, I knew it was time to take my banner and wave it elsewhere. Major surgery, moving and going back to school, plus the need to just take a break from pumping out 800-1,000 words every two weeks for twelve years, gave me a huge break. I needed it.

There was one other biggy that happened. You all know I slept in my car for a year to get this book "Kneeling at the Cross: A Protestant Looks at the Crucifixion" to print, right? Well, an agent saw it. Real God story. I'll share it in a couple of years. He liked it. In fact he liked all my rough drafts for other projects that I sent him. So, after a couple of months of me working myself into such a place as I could believe I wasn't Daniel Webster and he wasn't the devil, I signed a contract with him. I admire agents. They are coach, advocate, counselor, stylist, and translator all wrapped into one. They hang in there for years with us artists, writers, dancers, painters, musicians, performers, who all have to be at least a tad neurotic or else we fit into society too much to be of much use artistically, for a percentage. It took months of testing him, but I finally decided he was right. I did need him.

You know that overnight sensation thing? Yea, it doesn't happen. It's yeeeeeeears of creation and rewrites and reviewing and all these other people having their hands on stuff.  So we began the slow process of getting my writing to a wider audience. Part of that was the decision to narrow down what I write about.

As soon as I do what I was told to do two weeks ago and contact the guy who's going to help me revamp my website so it looks more anime and less War and Peace, you'll notice the parenting stuff gets kinda tucked away and the personal growth stuff will morph into the faith based stuff.

Everybody is faith based ya know. They have it or they don't. They have faith in something or faith in nothing.
I like talking to people about their faith walks. I find people's faith journeys absolutely fascinating.

So I'm cool with just focusing on faith issues.

Which brings me to the fact that this is the Eve of the inauguration of Donald Trump as the 45th president of the United States. What will I be doing during the inauguration? Practicing Clementi, and Mozart and Chopin and Beethoven. Actually. Really. My lesson is at noon tomorrow.

As a Christian, I know lots of my brothers and sisters in the faith think he's the answer to their prayers. Me? I can go into a dozen reasons why I think he's the evidence of God saying 'Wellllll. I think I'll just take my hand of blessing off the country for while and let them have at it on their own."

I'm not going into those reasons right now. But one thing I know for sure. We will all be living under oppression for the next four years. Why/ "The love of money is the root of all evil." And he looooooves money. Like Golom. Can't get enough. Isn't very honest about it. Stewards it poorly. Would, and has, stepped on anyone to get more. Have you been around someone who looooooooves money?

So this is kind of a two parter. It's howdy hi and gee what a world , what a world . You do remember the Wicked Witch of the West said that , right?  (Oh shoot I still haven't worked any pictures in here. I don't think she's public domain. I think I end up paying Stephen Sondheim money if I put a picture of Elpheba here. Or MGM. Do they still own it?)

Anyhoo. How do you live under the thumb of someone who looooooooves money? Well, first of all you realize you are living with someone with a severe addiction.  So, be real. Being President is only going to feed the addiction. Second, you stay out of their disease. Go to Presidential Anon, if you need to. Keep your honest core. Get grounded.  Call a spade a spade.

In the next blog, I'll give some practical advice for daily living, but for now, do some research about people who loooooooove money. Did you notice he got elected by people who wanted more money?

Well, that gets us off to a cheery start doesn't it? Positively Speaking had two mission focii when it I wrote for the Loop. The first was to prove that we could talk about negative things in a positive way. Clever title, huh? Secondly, and fair warning, it was to talk about the things of God, the sacred, the eternal, in a way that opened conversations up instead of closing them down.

OK. This is so enough words. I could have chosen a dollar bill or a washer and dryer or the Wicked Witch of the West. Tell me your preference and I'll edit them in. I love the comments on my feed. Leave a few here. Now I'm going to get back to homework. I'm excited to find out the relative minor is just built on the sixth degree of the major scale. How easy is that??

I always signed my column, and so I will continue to do here- every Thursday night or Friday. Every week (whew doggies. Upping my game!)
Love,
Deborah

Tears and Laughter

Watching your children convulse themselves with laughter is one of a parent’s cherished moments. The fact that they were laughing at my self help book library added a bit of edge to the humor but I delighted in their wit.

With lightening speed, they fired off fake self help book titles, first my son, then my daughter, then back
again. The favorites that were remembered: "Scary Loving; Lasting Love" and "Loving Your Own Self-
Discipline". Actually, until I verified the title with them, I thought it was "Loving Your Unselfdiscipline" which I thought was best seller in the making.

I would like to defend myself. Unlike many who needed a parent manual for raising children, I needed a manual for knowing and being myself. Although my daughter calls my generation of women ‘Whiny man
haters’ and declares she wants to neither ‘burn my bra or give away my ovaries’ ( they made her take
feminist literature this semester), the truth is we middle aged women were just given two different sets
of directions when we were young. At birth, they told us to stand by our man . When we were well on
our way to doing that, they told us to be all we could be. Well, good grief, who wouldn’t need a manual
for that lane change?

And after my ex husband’s response to my question “Will you ever be able to perceive some of my needs without me having to tell you everything?” was “Huh?!” followed by the smoking of a very
long cigar while taking a two hour walk (him, not me), it was anybody’s guess how to sort it out. Why not read some books? I like it that I can laugh about stuff I cried about before. Like the time I walked into the kitchen and my daughter, then two, was sitting underneath the table happily dipping into a bucket of Country
Crock buttering the legs of said table as carefully as Picasso ever painted any canvas.

I have this tape of Candid Camera episodes I keep for certain occasions. My favorite piece of research is the one that found that people who were severally depressed weren’t suffering cognitive distortions; they were seeing life more realistically than anyone else. So, when I’m seeing life really, really realistically, I
remember the episode where the Candid Camera plant gets into an elevator and turns to face the rear wall and everyone coming in after follows him. So you end up with this elevator full of people facing the rear. Do you know, right now while I’m typing this I’m laughing out loud with a big grin just thinking of it.

 It’s followed by the stunt where another CC plant asks a stranger with help driving a car forward a few feet. Only they don’t know the car is sawed in half, so when they drive it forward the back falls off. Again with the LOL! I’m going to have to pull those out tonight.

One of my favorite photos taken on a trip to Vancouver one time is a sign that says: “Boy Scout Manure
Sale”. Maybe in addition to the Christmas tree sale? They could have a contest....... Nah.....better not
go there.

Want to know my simple anti war plan? We have to laugh more,together. Big belly laughs. Laurel
and Hardy trying move a piano. Brett Butler (remember her?) doing a whole routine about her sister
who insisted on speaking French dealing with her child who picked up a doll displayed in a mall as the baby Jesus and the head falls off . It rolls under a bunch of dressing rooms .Her sister starts running after her yelling in French with a southern drawl chasing the head of Baby Jesus crawling under the curtains.

Personally, I miss Erma Bombeck more than I can say. Laugh till we cry. That’s what we need to do. More international puns.

Oh, let me tell about the time our dorm in college was asked to be the dance partners for a French
Embassy party =again with the French= for this ship that had just spent seven months at sea. Free party at Charles in San Francisco. So all dolled up in my size ten Rudi Gernrich (remember him?) orange, purple and red chiffon number , I say ‘yes I’d loved to dance’ to a gallant officer and when we get to the middle of the floor, I realize that my ever so cute ,small patent leather handbag is wrapped around my ankle. And the officer is trying to pretend he doesn’t notice, and I just keep kicking it out of the way and drag it all the way back to my seat afterwards.

Yeah...good times

If you haven’t laughed till the tears roll down your cheeks and your sides ache, then you’re too intense.   Toxins building. Red warning light on…Go find something funny. Better if it's just plain silly. Smile. Right now, smile. See?????
Your heart wants to follow.
Love,
Deborah

Know Courage

The young black men sit on stools while people pour ketchup, milk, and sugar on their heads deriding them for their color. It is1961 and they are being trained by fellow African Americans to be“strong enough to be non-violent” when they will forcibly integrate a Woolworth’s soda fountain counter. Hundreds died in the effort to register voters in the South. The right to have our vote count has never been more important.

Then John was shot. We were losing our cultural definition of apartheid. The real and pretend worlds we lived in were collapsing.Kitty Genovese changed our lives forever. Maybe you remember her. In 1964 she was killed at three in the morning, screaming for help,in her apartment entrance while thirty eight people looked out of their windows and did nothing. We began to have to face ourselves. Meanwhile, people of courage were beginning to be the mainstage event instead of living in the shadows of worlds we refused to acknowledge.

It’s 1966. The Cultural Revolution in China has started. Nien Chang, the wife of a former Shell Oil executive, has been taken prisoner by association. It will be 61/2 torturous years before she is released. She will be told her daughter committed suicide, only to find out she was beaten to death when she would not say her mother

was a spy. At her lowest moments, she would find the creativity to craft a needle out of a splinter and

embroider with threads taken from her hem. They could not imprison her spirit.

It’s the seventies and Karen Silkwood dies in a car crash. She has been gathering information to take

to the Union about plant safety regarding plutonium exposure. Because of her activity, death and the resulting autopsy, new standards were set for plant safety. We begin to face the reality of chemistry and the world.

Mainstream concern starts to form. Can recycling trucks and water purifiers be far behind?

The eighties arrive and with them a host of childhood victims of sexual abuse. The definitive book was called The Courage to Heal. It’s still the unmentionable. It’s still a plague. But the therapists don’t call women hysterical anymore. Apparently Mr. Freud, they weren’t just making it up. Next stop, domestic violence.

The nineties bring a new awareness of clergy and political leaders initiating horrendous offenses of sexual misconduct. Wasn’t that just a right that came with the territory? Didn’t she make ya do it? The survivors learn that, as one woman who blew the whistle on a particular senator said, ‘First they’ll say you’re crazy and then you’ll think you are.’ 

Most of the world gets up in the morning needing a double dose ofcourage. Atticus says to Scout and Jem, in To Kill a Mockingbird , “ I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do.” Some people are fighting to live beyond the limitations of their bodies. Others are defying the odds set against them by oppressive regimes. Corporate executives struggle to live with integrity. People with mental illness claw their way to reality. Moms and Dads live in the eddies of intimacy and responsibilities that no one ever told them they would have. Educators cover the gap for others who have dropped the ball. Blue collar workers do the jobs no one wants to do for a pay that doesn’t equal their efforts.

I’m involved you say, and we are. Go a step further. Tell the story of your own courage to someone who needs to hear it. Go ahead. Break the facade. We’re all wounded ducks learning to swim with one wing. It’s the best part of you that can be offered. Share when you were strong in spite of yourself and the odds. We do a lot of good for others and well we should. But that story of yours.......wow.........that’s Gold. The dream is kept alive when people connect about their moments of courage. Story by story the human spirit is kept alive. 

You don’t have a story, you say? Go stand beside someone who’s oppressed, or speak a truth no one wants to hear, or face something you’ve never faced before. Somebody gave their life for you to have the dimension to your life that makes the world a better place. We’re told a lie when we’re told to keep our tragedies to ourselves. It’s a lie because the world needs to hear as many stories of courage as can be offered. If we don’t, we conscript courage to those who would go on Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil. 

Courage is not a commercial venture. 

Dignify courage and honor the gift those who died have given you by sharing your courageous moment with

someone. Soon.

Love,

Deborah 

Beginning Online

Welcome to the new home for "Positively Speaking" . I have written this column for The Vashon Loop for the last several years. Recently there was a scare the newspaper might be going under and it helped me hustle along to putting this into the list of my blogs.

Gradually I'll be archiving the past columns. Occasionally I'll be writing something new that won't be run in the paper. It's all good. It's all meant to encourage and let you know the Love conquers all. I speak of the things of God without using lingo. I talk about the tough topics in a positive way. I believe it's never as bad as you think it is and it always turns out better than you think it will. Even death...even life...even every opportunity lost or coming your way. All of it ......
So do all the things you're supposed to do with these internet things: leave comments, 'like' it, and then pass it along word of mouth to your friends and family. Blessings and Cheer...........and a whole lot of plain talk.
Love,
Deborah