Tag Archives: love

Kitchen Science by Knitting Iris

New Leaf

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I have turned over a new leaf. I have a new focus in my life. From my late 20s until recently, my primary focus in terms of humanitarian endeavors was the inequality of citizen rights as they relate to the LGBT community. I am excited to see, with Minnesota passing laws making it the 12th state to allow inclusive marriage, that this focus has paid off and LGBT people are beginning to be viewed as equal across the United States. I know it’s still got some growth to go, and I will always put my pom-poms on when necessary, however I have decided to shift my focus to a set of citizens that need a voice: children.

How did this come about? Well. I am glad you asked. Like most adolescents, I spent a grand portion of my teen years carefully scrutinizing every decision my parents ever made. I constantly added to the infinite list of “when I have kids, I am not going to do that.” Now in my thirties, I have a deeper understanding that the decisions my parents made were based on their own upbringing; they were making what they thought was the best choice for their child according to their family values. The title of my list is now: “I have learned from that experience.”

The original list was mostly responses to feelings of anger, betrayal, or just general observations from my barely logical brain about what didn’t work. Things like “Never read my kid’s diary” or “grounding is not the solution to EVERYTHING” or “if you are old enough to watch your siblings when I am gone, you are old enough to enjoy some autonomous activity external to home.” There was so much more but the list fades in my mind as the years wane on. The bitter observations shift as I gain a deeper understanding of what may have gone on behind those decisions.

The new list was built with the benefit of 15 years of life-experience and at least five years of introspection. I have come to understand that every experience is not only a chance to learn, but it IS learning. I have also come to understand that, in life, not every anticipated outcome immediately follows the prescribed actions. It took me 15 years of being obese to learn that there are ongoing “poisonous” effects to being obese for that long. Gallstones don’t happen overnight. Obesity didn’t cause that directly but poor eating habits did. Other possible complications from being obese can include high blood pressure, possibility of fertility issues, stroke, diabetes, heart disease, etc. Alternately, and this is the thought-birth of my new list, positive change doesn’t happen overnight, either. To correct undesirable behaviors, it sometimes takes weeks of practicing the new learned behavior. When helping an emotional seven year-old to find a non-violent way to express her stronger emotions, it takes months of discovering positive replacements, trying them out, failing, and trying again until it works.

Every experience results in learning. So how does this relate to children? I think this foundational belief would free children from the idea that I’ve heard people talk about with respect to their children that they are beings born with an innate need to control “animalistic” behaviors via manipulation, disrespectful attitudes and attention-seeking behaviors; a short list of the mechanism by which some people view children’s actions. By shifting your perspective from one with mal-intent to one with understanding— that children are born with a blank slate and develop their sense of the world every second of their growing lives, it is my hypothesis that you will begin to see things differently. With this perspective shift, every manipulation is now communication: every tantrum is now dealing with a world they barely understand with the added complication of being unable to express themselves adequately. Children are little scientists—putting out their hypotheses, creating theories and schemas for life, and seeking to understand a logical reality with no real grasp of logic. They learn from what they are modeled and try new things they learn elsewhere. Whatever works, works, and that is success for a child scientist.

Children deserve the utmost respect and understanding from us “grups”. They have the hardest task out of the whole family. They have to address each experience blindly, trusting only their vision and hypothesis, as well as their parent’s guidance on how to navigate the world around them. As adults, we have the privilege of inspiring new ways for children to not only survive but to create and build love, compassion, and self-confidence.

This changes things for me. It changes my entire perspective on childhood and adulthood. For me, this means children get more control over their lives and decisions. They are encouraged to try and fail or succeed. They are encouraged to explore every nook and cranny of every passion they discover and add as much as they can to their repertoire of life-knowledge.

The closest thing I’ve come across to what I am talking about is the concept of “radical unschooling” where children are partners in a family unit, and as early as possible, make their own path in life. Parents lovingly provide for them and create as many learning experiences as they can, understanding that every moment, no matter what the activity, is always a learning experience for their little scientist-children. Activities ranging from apple picking to watching cartoons are investigated, hypothesized about, and set into the child’s knowledge bank. The more naturally and passionately parents allow this to happen, the more powerful the experience for the children.

I think mixing this with a little bit of “Parenting with Love & Logic” and we may see a lot of progress in how children see the world around them. Maybe we can begin to relate to children in that critically important way to create a better tomorrow with less issues as adults… Adults who will be more focused on the real issues at hand… this present moment (or, the present moment of the future).

Photo Credit: Kitchen Science by Knitting Iris

Photo © Tabitha Chapman

Starting with the End

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I’ve always been the kind of person who wants to skip ahead to the last few pages of any book to find out what happens in the end. THEN, I can read the book because to some degree, I know what to expect. That’s not how I write, though. Well, to be honest, I don’t really have any plan at all when I write. I usually just start with an idea and write and write and write and hope that it begins to take shape. If I were a clay or ceramic artist, I’d probably end up with the funkiest plates and bowls and cups ever.

But when it comes to my life vision, I realize that having a better understanding of how I want to shape my future is the best way to shape my present. It gives me a road map to follow, knowing that things will get adjusted as time goes on and I discover more and more about myself.

Deep down, I am what people might call “free-spirited.” Without a personal vision, I will take life one minute at a time and pick whatever feels the most comfortable to me in the moment. Because I lack having built a deep sense of self early on in my life, without a solid vision in my life, I often find myself so far away from the lifestyle that I would like to build. I find that sitting down to document the lifestyle I want is healthy; it helps me to have something to check in with, to decide if I am currently on track or getting off… and it allows for re-adjustment. Or, perhaps the whole vision plan needs to be re-addressed. And that’s what this is about. Me.

I assume that I will die of a ripe old age, of complications with old age, because that is part of my generally purposefully naive free spirit. So with that assumption, I am able to figure out what kinds of things I want to be said of me at my funeral and the party afterward… what will people remember the most about me? Will that happen? I don’t know, but it’s what I’d like to have happen.

What legacy do I want to leave behind…the talk of the town after I die? As I think of that, I remember my grandmother’s funeral. She had 16 children, and they all loved her. As many of them that could attend her funeral, did attend. Everyone talked about the valuable lessons they learned from her and there seemed to be a single common thread: care. Granny was the most caring person any of us had ever met. She cared, deeply, about any and everyone and any and every situation. I’d never known her to cut off communication with any of her children, no matter how much they fought her or disagreed with her. She would always be there, caring, even if only in her own head. So when I think about that experience, I realize that the word I’d like to think people would associate with me is love. How much I loved. Who I loved. How I loved. How many people my love affected. How many people loved more because I loved.

Photo © Tabitha Chapman

Photo © Tabitha Chapman

I believe that love is an eternal well…it never depletes. I believe that every human harbors his or her own eternal well. It springs from them and flows in abundance with no concept of depletion.

What is love, anyway?

So what, exactly, is love? And, also, importantly, what isn’t it?

I view love, to put it simply, as self-love + joy + altruism (as in, the principle or practice of unselfish concern for or devotion to the welfare of others, not to be confused with philanthropy). I know, I used the word in the definition. Let me explain. As I said in the paragraphs above, there is an eternal well that starts with me (and you) and it comes from me (and you). The only way to truly love, in my opinion, is to love everything about you, even the things you don’t like. I love every aspect of my life. Of course, that wasn’t always the case but, as I get older, I am able to look back on my life and my experiences and think, “Man, without those experiences, I would not be here today and I would not be the same person I am now and, good golly, I can love like no other. I like me. I love me.” The effect of this is that the decisions I make in life are, ultimately, decisions that will drive my goals and my plans for my own life. They are choices between living fully for my own future paths and trading myself for instant gratification that will never be fulfilling enough as long as I believe that external resources cause happiness. As I make decisions, if they are out of love, I will be able to self-correct them with care and gentleness.

I used to be the kind of person who punished herself with every “mistake,” which, incidentally, was me letting myself off the hook and not taking responsibility for my participation. “I am a victim of that, oops, didn’t really mean to do it. Don’t hold me responsible.” Now, I don’t view my life as a mistake. I look back and think, “Oh, that’s why I made that decision. Okay, time to correct.” It’s fascinating when you shift your perspective. Of course, there’s still some things I don’t want to claim responsibility for and I just haven’t brought them to my consciousness yet, but, when I do, I’ll correct it.

Back to my definition of love. It’s a “state of being” that encompasses the entire world like paint dripping over a ball. It starts with me and just oozes over everything as I think about how everything is interconnected. It’s a sense of mindfulness, with deep concern for how everything affects everything. It’s joy, even when there’s pain. It’s joy because of the pain. It’s recognizing that pain is good and necessary, and that it shapes you and everyone around you, providing a sense of humanness, of boundaries and limitations…and reality. Love is seeing all of that and feeling even more and even deeper for humanity, including self.

So where does the altruism part come in? Can one love enough with self-love, alone? Is love the same when alone as it is with other humans or objects or whatever sparks that connection? I believe that extending this concept of self-love onto people or objects or concepts drives the human experience to love deeper, longer, and better. I think it all reflects back to your own sense of self-love, and yet it deepens your sense of love for all other things. It’s like two mirrors that reflect, infinitely. Even if I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that I was the only human in existence on this earth, I don’t think this sense of love would stay contained within me. It’s like a vibration that bounces off other things, real or imagined, in order to grow. Think of pizza dough. The more stimulation it gets the larger the dough grows…from a tiny little ball into a big round disk with just a little time and effort. That’s how it is for me. With joy alone, I feel that you can walk through your world, feeling joyful, and, while it may have an effect on other people, that’s not necessarily the intention. The intention is to feel joy! To see the world through joyful eyes! With love, I think there is an element of “other” whether it is a person or an inanimate object. With that understanding comes great responsibility and care.

What is not love?

There are so many forms of expression that I think people often confuse expression with love. For instance, love is not “giving.” While I think there can be an element of giving that is important when it comes to relating to other humans—not necessarily in the sense of giving money to the poor or giving to some charitable event, but expressing more from yourself for the betterment of the world as a whole, whatever that is for you. Giving a part of you where you can interdependently give, and that can be part of this experience of love. But, ultimately, love is not the same as giving. I think this is an area where I have had confusion in my life in the past, where my relationships failed because I gave to the point where I completely disabled people’s ability to provide for themselves in certain areas. I called that “love” but, is it?

It’s not “being loved” or requiring anything in return from other humans. It is, however, trusting that when you have your own experience and you put love into the world, you will get both love and, for lack of a better word, “unlove” back, and that is just how the world is—the yin and yang that keeps the universe in balance. The best way to resolve that for myself is to love more, to seek out the love and the unlove, and love anyway.

Back to my list of nots. Love is not “being agreeable”. It is not “being friends with EVERYONE”. And… it is not “sex” or “babies”.

Ultimately, there’s a whole lot of ways that I think our current understanding of “love” is confused and the goal is to love because of that. It’s like watching a child attempt to put together a puzzle…and struggling. There’s nothing better to do than sit, watch, and love as s/he has that experience of figuring it out—maybe providing some guidance but understanding that the best way for that child to learn is to struggle.

This is how I want to shape my life, and these are the things I want discussed at my funeral, and forever after, when people think of me. And I am committed to steering my life in this direction.

Image from: GoodlookinVintage

How I got to be an expert at nothing

About Me, Thoughts, , , , ,

How do you play video games or board games? Do you decide, ahead of time, what you want to do in the game and what strategies you want to take? Do you figure it out as you go? Or, do you try to do it all? This is the story of how I got to be an expert at nothing.

As a little child, I remember sitting down playing with a little toy restaurant. My granny had given me and my little brother a piece of bread to make “hamburgers” with for the toy restaurant, which was roughly 1/3 of my height. We played for hours and filled our little bellies up with hundreds of tiny pieces of bread. One day, one of granny’s friends came over and watched as we played. I don’t remember the person well, but I do remember the discussion about what I wanted to be when I grew up.

“A firefighter.” I shouted. After a few seconds I stopped and looked up and said, “And a doctor, that would be cool. I could help people.” I kept playing while the stranger asked me more questions about what I wanted to be. “Well, I guess I could be a nurse.” Those tiny bread rolls never tasted so good. I’d roll the bread up into a little pea-sized “bun” and drop it down the “chimney” of the restaurant where it would roll down onto the conveyor belt (that didn’t convey, incidentally). I’d then pick it up and eat it– or share it– but mostly eat it.

The stranger kept on asking more questions. “Is that all you want to be? A firefighter, doctor, and a nurse?”

“No. I think I will be a teacher too.”

“Which one do you think you’ll be first?”

“First? All of them. Why do I have to pick one first?”

That conversation is one of the greatest examples of why I don’t meet my own expectations of where I think I should be, today. I still hold that belief, to this day, that there will be enough life on this earth for me to do everything all at once… even when reality tells me something different.

When I survey my past, I can see more examples of this, in various circumstances. In second grade, when I was 8 (I was 8-years old in Room 8 on Bus 8… that was really funny to me), I received the “future writers” award. My teacher, Miss Pencense, exclaimed several times that I would one day become a famous fiction author. Those were really great hopes, teacher. I was really proud of that recognition and, well, I still secretly want to be a famous fiction author. In sixth grade, during my graduation ceremony, I was awarded recognition as “future scientist of the year.” Well, that was nice and unexpected, especially since, while I loved science and really got into how things work, it’s not what I ever thought I would get recognized for.

It was often the case, during school, that I was awarded recognition in some fashion or another for subjects I felt entirely confused about. So the recognition was confusing to me. For instance, in 2nd grade, I was the ONLY student who was pulled from class twice a week to work in the computer lab and play math games and logic games. I was told it was because I was “gifted.” In fourth through sixth grade, the “gifted” kids were all pulled out of their regular classes and put into a class together where we had to sit around a table and do strange puzzles like…make a pig pen to hold seven pigs, one in each pen, with only six toothpicks… or answer questions like “If a train was headed towards Dallas at 1 billion miles an hour and another train was headed to California at 1 trillion miles an hour, at what point would the conductors be able to wave to each other” or some crazy questions like that. It was also when I started building computer programs. We drew little turtles and hearts on our COMMODORE COMPUTER RAWR using matrix commands and syntax. I admit, I looked forward to going to that class ONLY if it wasn’t during science because it got me out of doing the rest of the boring stuff everyone else had to do, even though I still had to do the homework. Besides that, I was still confused as to why I was the special one to be picked.

I have never felt “gifted” in my entire life. I have, instead, felt an ongoing sense that I am capable of more than some of the other kids, and I can do more, at once, than many of the other kids. I guess I got that idea because I did the school work that all the kids did, AND the “gifted” work on top of that.

So, any time I have ever played games require skill-building… heck, even the game of RISK, I have repeated the same pattern. I want it all. I want everything. I want all of the skills. I want my soldiers on every country. I KNOW I only have a limited amount of skill points, but I want to spend them evenly on everything.

Neapolitan is my favorite ice cream, because it’s all three flavors. As you can guess, if I were into pizza, I love me some supreme pizza.

I want it all.

So hey, remember the subject of this article? How I got to be an expert at nothing?

I have been doing computer programming for ten years, so there’s that. That’s about the only skill I’ve developed for that long and I’m not doing too bad with that. However, when I zoom out a bit, I also can strum a few chords on the guitar, can play the piano enough to lead a singing group, can sing enough to occasionally pipe out something nice, can play chess with intermediate level players, can paint enough to know how colors mix, can write enough to elicit people’s responses or to encourage analytical thinking, can make videos with some forms of transitions and add music, can create graphic designs to some degree, and can pick up sweet dance moves fairly quickly.

Well, I guess I am an expert at something…being a “Jill-of-all-trades”.

When I think about that, “grass is greener on the other side” syndrome kicks in. Maybe I want to be the kind of person that is exceptionally skilled at one thing or another. I’m looking at what either lifestyles are like, in general. Like, why do I think being either a “Jill” or an expert is a good idea over the other one? I get that having a specific skill-set has more potential for greater return of investment when it comes to money. What is it about having a wider pool of skills at a lower level that seems so beneficial to me? If I think back on the “occupations” that I have wanted to do “when I grow up” that have stuck with me throughout the years… it’s “Teacher”, “Mommy” or “Writer.” This kind of mindset lends extremely well to all three of these career paths.

Moving forward, I want to encourage my future generations to craft skills and become experts. If one of my currently non-existent children wants to be a famous rock-star… I will have a sufficient musical foundation to be able to help them start in that direction. If they want to be a nurse, a doctor, or a firefighter… I will be their cheerleader. If they want to be a teacher, I’ve got their back. I intend to encourage skill-crafting as much as possible, even though it’s not something I’ve really ever wanted for myself.

How do you even know when you’re an expert, beyond degrees or certificates? What kind of things do you consider yourself an expert at? A brother of mine is a plumber. Another brother is going to school to be a respiratory therapist. These are specific skills that allow for extreme specialization. How do you view specialization and expert-ization vs knowing a-little-bit-of-everything?

A Teacher, A Writer, and a Mommy. I’m still sure that I can have my cake and eat it too.

Image from GoodlookinVintage

Toy Soldiers by Kyle May

In Memory Of…

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Toy Soldiers by Kyle May

Toy Soldiers. Photograph by Kyle May

We played with G.I. Joes. We set them all up and shot rubber bands at the opposing teams. My brother and I would inevitably change our aim to the little green men up to an ear or a forehead and then it was game on. There were little wounded G.I. Joe men all over the house at any given time who had given their lives so that we could have endless fun. You’d find them in the garden, around any shorter walls of our house, on the side of the toilet. There was no surface that didn’t once have a plastic soldier standing boldly for his territory. And there wasn’t any territory that our little rubber bands didn’t bounce off of. The concept of war has been built into us Americans in a vastly different way than in kids in some other countries. To us, it is a game that starts out of boredom. A strategy game where the winner gets an extra slice of pie. So naturally as the decades wane on with each generation that seems to get out of touch, more and more, with what real war is like, the message gets louder and more clear. Today, Memorial Day, is NOT a day designed to take a day off and enjoy a bar-b-que. I mean, you can do that if you want. I’m sure it will be very wonderful. I’d do it if I had a grill.

When I was 11 years old, I lived with my mother and her husband and my two brothers. We lived in Hawaii. Only I really didn’t live with my step-father because he was busy being in a war, on a ship, in the middle of the ocean… heading toward Kuwait. What a lonely and scary experience that was for us. Every day we were reminded that our father was being heroic by joining the Navy and we should be proud of him. And we were. I remember an art contest that we all entered in. Make a collage that says “Farewell.” I made a ship at the dock, with my step-father on it and my family standing there in tears as he waved at us. I won that contest. I tied it, I remember, with another person. We were given a 50.00 bond that was going to take 5 years to vest. I had no idea what any of that meant but I do know that, after five years, it came in handy to our family after my parents went through a divorce.

We went to school every day and came home, every day, awaiting news. Any news. Occasionally we’d get a video diary from him. That made us very happy! What a treat it was to see our step-father even though he was one-hundred-quatrillion miles away from us… in a land far far away. He was a brave sailor and we were his brave children.

We all ran around hanging up beautiful yellow ribbons on every tree we could possibly hang up. We wanted everyone to remember. Every day. Because we couldn’t not remember.

He came home and life resumed. We were lucky. We all are lucky.

War in other countries is not quite as romantic as it is here, and I can’t really even describe that since I’ve never been to another war-torn country. But it’s a reality in some of these countries that children’s war toys are merely preparation. By the time we were using our green men as shelving decorations, kids our age are dawning guns and training. It’s not a matter of whether one’s father will come home, it’s a question of … “Will I?” We just don’t understand that here. The closest we get is a close-miss during traffic… which is scary but it’s not war.

It takes a certain kind of person to go and sign his/her life to this country. A person who believes, above all cost, that his or her life is not as valuable as his or her country– one who would die or kill for what he or she believes in. It’s not easy. If you run from the face of the enemy, it’s even less easy.

So, on this day, as I remember my childhood experiences of the closest I have ever come to understanding war, I wish you all the most thought-provoking day of what it means to be alive now, in a country that allows us the freedoms that it does. There’s so much that needs to be changed in this country and so much work to be done on a humanitarian level; however just take a minute– stop and thank all of those who have done such brave and hard work up until now.

Love,
Me.

NOTE: Edited for inclusiveness. I mentioned men but indeed, both men and women have served our country. God Bless. :)

DICT32A.TIF

My Personal Creed

About Me, Thoughts,

I think that Charlie Chaplin summed up in “The Great Dictator” with this:

I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an Emperor – that’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone, if possible — Jew, gentile, black man, white. We all want to help one another; human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness, not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there’s room for everyone and the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone.

The way of life can be free and beautiful.

But we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery, we need humanity. More than cleverness, we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost.

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world, millions of despairing men, women, and little children, victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people.

To those who can hear me I say, “Do not despair.” The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed, the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass and dictators die; and the power they took from the people will return to the people and so long as men die, liberty will never perish.

Soldiers: Don’t give yourselves to brutes, men who despise you, enslave you, who regiment your lives, tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel; who drill you, diet you, treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men, machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts. You don’t hate; only the unloved hate, the unloved and the unnatural.

Soldiers: Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty! In the seventeenth chapter of Saint Luke it is written, “the kingdom of God is within man” — not one man, nor a group of men, but in all men, in you, you the people have the power, the power to create machines, the power to create happiness. You the people have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Then, in the name of democracy, let us use that power! Let us all unite!! Let us fight for a new world, a decent world that will give men a chance to work, that will give you the future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power, but they lie! They do not fulfill their promise; they never will. Dictators free themselves, but they enslave the people!! Now, let us fight to fulfill that promise!! Let us fight to free the world, to do away with national barriers, to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness.

Soldiers: In the name of democracy, let us all unite!!!

I am not a soldier, but in many ways, I am. While it is oxymoronic to state that I am a soldier for humanity, science, and expression, it is true. I stand for good and am working through things that are not good. I am seeking to root out my inconsistencies that hold me back and evolve those pieces in order to move forward and build a better life for me and my children, and a better world for all generations moving forward.

This video was posted, originally, by a friend of mine, Allison Mack, and it’s worth watching even after you read the words above. Hearing the passion in Charlie’s voice makes it 1000000 times more powerful.

So, go forth and do good.  ”The kingdom of God is within man” — not one man, nor a group of men, but in all men, in you.

Scott Jones and Alexandra Thomas

O Love In All It’s Glory

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Scott Jones and Alexandra Thomas

Rich Lam/Getty Images

This week I have been exploring “Love” and what it means to me. I realized that Love was the single most important thing to me, and I decided to figure out a little more about it. It was initially inspired by seeing the photo taken by Rich Lam, a freelance photographer, during the Vancouver Riots of Scott Jones and Alexandra Thomas. The photo invoked a feeling of fear and somewhat of a muted reality for me, when I saw it. It was beautiful. Surreal. I realized in that moment that the safety of those two people were so important to me. I cared so deeply. It invoked this intense feeling of love and affection for humanity… even if I was upset and concerned that just a block away, my friend’s car was sitting and burning; a juxtaposition of humanity and its worst and best.

So, I have been considering the thoughts of love and affection. The way that I experience love is that there is something like a deep vulnerable feeling that I feel. It’s a feeling that this connection, this love, that I have is too much or it’s going to have some deep effect. It’s this amazing feeling that I care, deeply, for all things. It seems, though, that I only get a sliver of this feeling… every now and then. It’s not something that I can feel all of the time, though– not yet, at least. I imagine that that is what enlightenment would feel like, but what do I know?

I had an experience last night, in Troy. I was stopped at a Stewarts after a night at the Daily Grind. There was a man, lurking in the corner. I knew he was going to ask for money. I felt scared, as I usually do. I went into Stewarts and came back, and that’s when he asked, “Excuse me, I just got out of Albany Memorial Hos…” and everything faded. I was so scared… I barely even remember what he said. I was even too scared to respond. I thought about it… and I realized that it’s not the fear that he will hurt me, it’s the fear that I would love even him, and what that means if that’s true. I wouldn’t want to exchange love for integrity, and yet I do this all of the time. I pretend that my love buys integrity.

Anyway, this photo, if anything, has helped me to reflect on caring for someone, through fear. It has opened my own eyes to a world beyond me and my immediate friends and environment. When I saw Scott and Alexandra, I felt as if I cared for them and their well-being. Now, I am looking out into the world and wondering who else I might care for as deeply.

Read another well-written post on the “Kissing Couple” here

April Breakfast Day

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Granny!

Granny!

Every person has their own personal holiday or series of holidays throughout the year, more than what’s on the calendar. They are either cause for celebration or cause for the quiet, solemn, “turn-all-the-lights-off-have-a-bottle-of-wine-and-go-to-bed-till-this-day-is-over” and for the most part, our life flashes as we celebrate our private holidays.

 

April 1st is one of those private holidays for me, only I am rarely private about it. Why? Because the day is important to me. I call it “Breakfast Day” and it is a day for me to focus on one of the most amazing women that I have had the honor and privileged to spend a large part of my life with; she is a person who helped shape me to be who I am.

My granny, Doris Lee Chapman, was a woman of love, compassion, and strength. She raised me from the age of infancy to 9 years old and she will remain my hero, for years to come… although my mother, my best friend, is rising up to meet her status.

Granny was the kind of woman who always had her doors open. Even when she was sick or down, she’d keep her lights on for people to come over. It was kind of hard not to, with her, I understand… what with her having 16 children and all. I mean, that’s exponential growth in future generations! Holy Moly! Anyway, one of her favorite traditions to do was to cook a full on breakfast for anyone when they spent the night with her. We’d get to spend time with her and then wake up in the morning to the most delish spread of breakfast foods that I’d swear she had a secret staff that only came out to help her cook and then went back into hiding. Eggs, toast, biscuits, bacon, pancakes, syrup, juice, milk, and the list goes on. It was always such a wonderful experience! It’s where I learned how to sop up the yolk with my toast and get that delicious flavor in my mouth (that of course, now I’ve grown to dislike over time and I get my eggs scrambled).

So, I’m not really the kind of person to cook breakfast every day. I’m not really the kind of person to cook at all, to be honest. But I’m the kind of person who honors people as often as I can, and on this day… the day that marks the expiration of my beloved hero’s own breakfast traditions, I have chosen to celebrate her life and to eat breakfast with all who will come and enjoy.

Of course it doesn’t always work out for me the way I want it. Ideally, I’d like to be the cook and have people come over around 9 or so and eat the food. So if that isn’t possible, then I sometimes go to IHOP or Denny’s with a group of people. Tonight, I’m inviting a few of my friends over to enjoy breakfast, and I really encourage any of my friends or readers out there to eat some eggs in honor of my granny too. If you don’t know what she’s like, think of the best traits you see in me and you’ve pretty much got her as well.

I’ll probably have a glass of wine too, in celebration and love for her and the humanity that she instilled in me. So if you don’t like breakfast, raise a glass with me too.

For 10 years now, this day has never been a joke for me. It’s probably one of the most serious and loving experiences I create for myself all year. So! Off for the day. I am going to make my “Breakfast Day” plans, get my MacBook Pro fixed once and for-all hopefully, and get back to work! Granny was a hard worker in life and that is what I want to be too.

Good day, my friends!

Love,
Tabby

In Loving Memory for Doris Lee “Granny” Chapman.

Handling Critics

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Photo of Sesame Street CharactersCritics. That word just seems to have a really juicy bite to it, doesn’t it? I’m on a soapbox, just to be forewarned. Most people hear the word “critics” and kind of shudder and cringe. It’s in all the cartoons and movies… where people seek to avoid the critics and then get outraged once they hear the feedback or read the reviews. “They’re taking it all wrong and all out of context!!”

Well, of course they are! That’s why they choose that profession! But… really… why are you crying about it? So what if they’re wrong? What does it have to do with the work you’re doing? So what if people hear them and take heed to their “not-even-close” suggestions of running the other way? Why would that stop you from making the crème brûlée for the faithful customers who DO make it to the restaurant that night?

The very first experience of criticism I can remember was when I was in third grade. I was heavily into art back then, at the tender age of nine. We were learning to make art with pastels, which was at that time my favorite medium to use. So, I started to draw a cowboy and a horse and color it in. I was using some sort of peachy construction paper and was trying to color in the skin on the cowboy, but the only color pastel I had that would work was this dark tan color. Someone started to criticize my art, and in retrospect, I don’t think they were intending to be mean. But they said that the skin color was wrong. I remember feeling mixed emotions about it because I knew the skin color was wrong but it didn’t seem like I could do much about it at the time. Boy was that a tough day. I ended up saying a bad word to describe my art and got sent to the principles office and had to write like 1,000 lines (that was the worst punishment for me besides spanking… and my parents used it often with me…. Bart Simpson is pretty much the only other soul I know that has had it as bad). It was really tough being a nine year old back then. I did finish the art and I remember winning some award for it, despite the off-color skin tone, but that wasn’t really much compared to the way I reacted to the criticism. But, it’s the best I could do. I’d never had criticism over my art before! Most people just smiled and said it was beautiful and put it on their fridges.

The thing is, I’m not nine now. I have an understanding that there is a reason why I do the things I do and if there is any amount of external criticism that could change that reason, then I don’t really understand why I would do it.

I often think about the Holocaust when I think about this concept. If the people who were hiding Jews in their walls and attic were as wishy-washy then as many people seem now, we’d all be in a very different world. No, they knew what they were doing when they lied and said their house was empty. No amount of criticism could make them change their mind or see it any differently. They knew they were doing the right thing… no matter how scary it was. They pressed on and never changed course, in spite of the opposition.

The one really cool thing about criticism is that it’s useful, no matter how untrue it is. You can always find something useful in what is being said. Or even that fact that anything’s being said at all tells you something. It’s not like you can go throughout the world and expect to impact without someone throwing a tantrum.

People don’t like change at times, and they don’t like it especially if they don’t understand it. And again, I say, So What!? The minute you stop doing what you love to do to avoid criticism is the minute you’ve said, “Well, I guess you’re right.” And that’s a sad day for the hopeful dreamer.

So, here’s the deal… I was reading this blog about the “Art of Manliness” which was a really cute idea for a blog, by the way, and I felt inspired to share my thoughts on how to take criticism. If you’re used to just giving up, and want to stop that silly little response and start doing stuff in the face of criticism, I’ve got five tips for you.

1) Really be sure that the thing you are doing is what you really want to do. If this is true, nothing should shake you save gaining and understanding that the thing you’re doing is actually destructive to humanity and you just didn’t see it before. But if you know you’re intent is good and there doesn’t seem to be any major critical melt-downs in the process, this is a good thing.
2) Understand that all criticism is information. That’s it folks. That’s all it is. No matter what the intent is of the person or people aiming at you, you take it in simply as information either about you, about the people doing the criticism, and about the way the world operates. This concept will help you to be able to separate your emotional responses from your day-to-day processes.
3) Know the sources. Come on, seriously, if the person aiming his or her words at you have no interest in helping you make your thing better, acknowledge the action as information and then just don’t respond. Trust me, responding to them is only going to have them jumping up and down like excitable monkeys screaming for you to give them attention just one more time. Now, if the person is someone who has worked with you before and you trust that the person isn’t attempting to stop you from doing the thing you love (again, provided it is not destructive), take it in as information and see if it can be applied anywhere. This will help! Don’t avoid the criticism just because you’re unwilling to look at your process. Sometimes this is a good thing!
4) Show that you’re listening. If you have a blog, provide a feedback link. Occasionally post in your blog a response to the constructive criticism. Never respond to deconstructive criticism. I refer back to my monkey image I painted earlier.
5) If you’ve made a mistake, fess up! Apologize, do whatever it takes to fix the mistake. It’s no one else’s fault and no one else’s place to fix your goofs. And you SHOULD get some criticism if you aren’t fixing your mistakes.

Now, I’m kinda just a nobody in the world and I certainly don’t claim to be any professional advice-giver. So if this feels like deconstructive criticism… sorry! I’m really just trying to help people who tend to give up in the face of opposition and sometimes throw out the baby with the bathwater and stop looking at the constructive criticism that’s coming up as well. It’s all information! That’s really all I want to say.

Cleverly Worded

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I’ve been sitting here at the dining table trying to think of something clever to write here as I’ve watched my battery drain down from 20% to 10% now. It’s in the red and I’ve got about five minutes until it turns off so I thought, hey, what the heck, I’ll just start typing. If I just start typing then perhaps i can figure out something clever to write and then finally perhaps go to bed and sleep. Sleep has been really rare for me these days. I have rehearsal really late several nights of the week and the rehearsals go so awesomely that I am super pumped by the time that I get home and its just so hard to fall asleep so I toss and turn and toss and turn and then the next thing you know, the alarm clock on my phone is ringing fur Elise and I have to push snooze several times to give myself the false sense that by doing that somehow I am getting more sleep and restoring more energy when i’m really not restoring that much energy because i spend each of those 10 minutes anticipating the next ring.

Anyway, I’ve had so much on my mind these days. I am dealing with this sort of duality of seeing injustice in the world and then seeing my own response to it and how its more often than not just as violent in nature as the injustice that I see. I don’t really get why i respond the way I do but I do know that it would be awesome if i could look out into the world, see injustice, form a plan of action, and then move on it… without the whole blubbery “what am i going to do now” sort of thing going on. I mean i think its natural to get mad at stuff, but then there’s the step after that that is just so distracting and time consuming to fixing the injustice… i think that makes sense.

Like, i remember when I lived in Hawaii, we had a hurricane (Ike) come through. Everyone was just so scared it seemed. People were getting the supplies they needed but then everyone was just sitting around, talking about how scared they are. I felt scared but I felt more like making sure things were in order to ensure that we would survive it. I mean, we didn’t know. I’d never been in a hurricane before and I had no idea what to even expect. I was 12 for heavens sake. I remember not really getting it as to why everyone was so crazy. heh… until of course I grew up and realized that we’re all just crazy when it comes to catastrophe even in our own way. i mean even the people who are silent and not “freaking out” seem to be freaking out.

Anyway, going to go to bed now. I’m not going to worry about spell checking this post or grammar checking it. I usually don’t on my free-form posts anyway because this is exactly how it comes out and well… hell.. I’m proud of that!

Peace out folks! love to the peeps!

For the love of…

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Key and Ben WalkI know I am low on sleep when I start tearing up over the smallest things. I’ve been practicing with my acappella group every single night this week, and I don’t generally crawl into bed until 1am only to have to be up and to work by 7:30 every day. So, today, a co-worker sent us all a link about these two guys who are trying to raise funds for Breast Cancer. They are doing it by walking from Florida to NYC in under 60 days. I don’t even know why this is so emotional for me… but when I think about the beautifully creative ways that people come up with to raise money for causes they feel passionately about, I find it to be such a beautiful expression of care and love for humanity. I mean… the publicity and overnight fame doesn’t hurt as they cross the finish line (or maybe no one will even notice…), but the mission itself, to raise funds to make a healthier world, is really beautiful.

While I hold the position that most sicknesses/diseases in America can be prevented and that a lot of the cancers and strange illnesses are more often than not, caused by stress (i.e. I believe that holding up pent-up anger for years and years leads to all kinds of stress issues on your body, including migraines, muscle and tendon fatigue, weakened immune system, etc… I should know… I’ve been sick nearly all of my life with one cold/migrain/[insert illness here] or another). If we can find the cause of these stresses, that can point us to a solution… It’s preventable that way. In other words, if you start to feel stressed or angry, etc… Find the cause of why things are stressing you and fix that. I also believe that as long as cancer and other diseases DO exist, we have a two-front battle to fight… so to speak. The battle to overcome it now, and the battle to prevent it in the future. It takes an investment of both money and time, for both yourself, now, and humanity into the future. It’s an investment into you; a committment to letting go of those things that are bothering you, and figure out why they do, and learn what’s going on with that and work to fix that. Chances are, if you get that far, you’ll probably just let go anyway. Most cancer survivers will report to you that having a prognosis changed their life. It either seems to piss them off to no end, or is an impetus to do more with their lives and to be bigger than before and better than before and catapult change in the world.

It’s simply beautiful, this process of life.

To see more about the walk that these guys are doing and donate, if you wish, click the link below:
http://keyandbenwalk.com/.