Before I met my oldest brother, I had no idea that anything was missing from my life. I didn't feel any holes, any missing pieces.
The story of my mom's first child, adopted by his wonderful forever parents, wasn't part of the story I knew of my life, of my mom's life.
Since he found us, though, so much in my past, and my mom's past, makes more sense. Looking at things with the lens of added knowledge, there's so much more clarity.
For instance, Mom never expressed any overt hostility toward her hometown. She shared positive memories. There was no, "I hated every moment, and I couldn't wait to get out." Still, she never wanted to go back. She left at 19, and died at 83. She went back to her hometown exactly twice in those years, and one of those times was to deal with my grandmother's move out of her home and into a nursing facility.
When she got high school reunion invitations, I'd say, "Don't you want to go?"
"No," she'd say. "There's nobody that I need to see. I don't even know what we'd talk about."
Still, she's an introvert, very happy being alone, miserable in crowds, so that was fairly expected.
Mom hated crowds and noise, so it goes without saying that she disliked large cities; it would never have been her choice to live in one. She didn't even like to visit large cities. So, it was a tiny bit puzzling when she was also vocal about not wanting to live in small towns. "Small towns are terrible," she'd tell me. "Everyone knows your business, and everyone's in your business."
"I don't care," I'd say, especially as a child. (I wanted to live in a town that went beyond "small" and into "tiny.") My personality veers more toward TMI than it does toward close mouthedness, so having people know my business didn't seem like too big a drawback. Also, I'm very good at brushing off people who want to make my decisions for me. They annoy me, but I can ignore them.
That was viewing things through my lens. Through Mom's, things look different. I cannot begin to comprehend what it felt like to be an unmarried pregnant teen in the 1940s, in a small town in the Midwest.
My family probably already looked pretty scandalous to those with wagging tongues. My grandparents were divorced. My aunt was about to get a divorce. Mom was pregnant out of wedlock.
I can imagine the force of all of those well meaning advice givers and all of those judgement passers mostly from Mom and Aunt Jeanette's reactions - move 2000 miles away, and never come back. She never, ever spoke of it to me, my siblings, my cousins, but I don't have to hear the details; I see the results.
And, I can't count the number of times Mom told me that small towns were gossipy and judgemental. I chalked that up to her experiences during her divorce. In the picture perfect 1950s, she left a handsome husband and a pretty house to marry a never before married bachelor 20 years her senior - and he and her first husband worked together in a small town fire department. "Grandma," my daughter told her decades later, "you were scandalous!" She humphed, and smiled a small, amused smile. Now I know that, by then, she was a pro at navigating societal disapproval.
(In the turbulent, "free love" 1960s and 1970s, she was a faithful wife and mother. Whether she did it intentionally or not, I'm tickled that she swam upstream, against prevailing currents.)
How Mom described us now carries more meaning for me, as well. When someone asked how many children she had, my mother would say, "My husband and I have four at home," and, as the older kids were no longer at home, "My husband and I have four." It was invariably "we," not "I." If she said "I," it was usually with details about one or another of us - "I have one who's turning 30 this year." I always looked at it as her way of looping my dad in - two of us were children of her first husband, not my dad (her second husband). Still, he raised them, so I always liked that she always phrased it as "we have" four children, not "I have 2, and my husband has 2."
I'm still certain that was part of the intent. Mom presented us as a unit, because she saw us as a unit.
Now, though, I know that there was a second, unspoken part to that statement. "My husband and I have four" was accompanied in her head by, "And I have an older son." He was always in her head, always in her heart, just as the rest of us were.
So much of her life was colored by her first child, by this brother that I didn't meet until I was in my 50s. And now, I get to love him, too. And I love the way his life touched my mother's. I enjoy understanding her better. She was an outstanding mother, friend, aunt, sister just because of her own personality, but her experiences with her firstborn made her a better one. Having my brother had a huge impact on the kind of person she was, and the rest of us siblings (and our friends) reaped the benefit.
I understand so much more - and I am glad.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Hair Today - Gone Tomorrow?
I reminded my husband that the only reason that I have hair at all is in deference to him; I would be so happy bald, but I would not look great.
Still, this is what my hair looks like. For the last 25 years, the fact that I have hair at all is due to Rogaine.
When you add that to the fact that I cannot stand, really, truly, cannot stand, the feeling of hair touching my neck or my face, what I need is a buzz cut.
I feel ridiculous trying to "style" this and make it socially acceptable, when what I really want is to be happy and socially unacceptable.
"Put it in a ponytail! Put it in a bun!" people say; they have never seen me in either style. This is me in a play set in another century. We've fluffed a lot of air into my hair to get it to look this, um, abundant. Still, compare it to my companion. I could hold back a ponytail with an orthodontic rubber band. My bun in this photo is held by a single bobby pin, I think. (I'm on the left, obviously.)
And, I wear a ponytail to bed every night because, as I said, I cannot stand the feeling of hair on my neck or face. It is not an attractive look. Trust me. But, it is comfortable.
I know that it will "look terrible" cut very short. I do. I just don't really care. I do want to avoid having my husband be horrified every time he looks at me. This is why I still have any hair.
I could wear wigs; I own wigs. They're not comfortable. Ditto hats or scarves - and I have a really large head, so most women's hats (and some men's hats) perch on top, look silly, and blow away with every puff of air. I just wanna be bald, and society does not support me in this.
The vanishing nature of my hair - it was thick and long in my childhood - is a combination of heredity and hormonal imbalance. Before you ask, yes, my hormones are "regulated" with medication. No, it doesn't help my hair. Or the whiskers I grow (after I've had laser hair removal on my face and neck).
My dad, if he were alive, would be mortified if I cut my hair off. I cannot tell you how many times he lamented the 60s popularity of short styles (think Twiggy). "A woman's hair is her crowning glory!" he said, over and over. Any woman who cut it was being self destructive, he was sure.
After looking at photos of my Grandma Laurel, my dad's mom, I think this sentiment may echo something my Grandpa Fred may have said when Grandma got a 1920s bob.
Here's Grandma on her wedding day. Beautiful, no?
Still, this is what my hair looks like. For the last 25 years, the fact that I have hair at all is due to Rogaine.
When you add that to the fact that I cannot stand, really, truly, cannot stand, the feeling of hair touching my neck or my face, what I need is a buzz cut.
I feel ridiculous trying to "style" this and make it socially acceptable, when what I really want is to be happy and socially unacceptable.
"Put it in a ponytail! Put it in a bun!" people say; they have never seen me in either style. This is me in a play set in another century. We've fluffed a lot of air into my hair to get it to look this, um, abundant. Still, compare it to my companion. I could hold back a ponytail with an orthodontic rubber band. My bun in this photo is held by a single bobby pin, I think. (I'm on the left, obviously.)
And, I wear a ponytail to bed every night because, as I said, I cannot stand the feeling of hair on my neck or face. It is not an attractive look. Trust me. But, it is comfortable.
I know that it will "look terrible" cut very short. I do. I just don't really care. I do want to avoid having my husband be horrified every time he looks at me. This is why I still have any hair.
I could wear wigs; I own wigs. They're not comfortable. Ditto hats or scarves - and I have a really large head, so most women's hats (and some men's hats) perch on top, look silly, and blow away with every puff of air. I just wanna be bald, and society does not support me in this.
The vanishing nature of my hair - it was thick and long in my childhood - is a combination of heredity and hormonal imbalance. Before you ask, yes, my hormones are "regulated" with medication. No, it doesn't help my hair. Or the whiskers I grow (after I've had laser hair removal on my face and neck).
My dad, if he were alive, would be mortified if I cut my hair off. I cannot tell you how many times he lamented the 60s popularity of short styles (think Twiggy). "A woman's hair is her crowning glory!" he said, over and over. Any woman who cut it was being self destructive, he was sure.
After looking at photos of my Grandma Laurel, my dad's mom, I think this sentiment may echo something my Grandpa Fred may have said when Grandma got a 1920s bob.
Here's Grandma on her wedding day. Beautiful, no?
Later, she cut her hair to a fashionable chin length bob. She's still beautiful, but my dad's "crowning glory" attitude tells me that the haircut was probably not well received.
I never understood, either, the idea that long hair put up is attractive, elegant, acceptable, but short hair is not. It has the same basic aesthetics.
So, for right now, I have hair. Some day, maybe I won't.
Thursday, January 24, 2019
Go Now, Do Your Best
Last year, I was teaching once a month in our women's meetings at church. The leaders would choose a talk given by one of the church's worldwide leaders (usually from the twice a year global "General Conference"), and ask teachers to prepare a 45 minute lesson on the topic.
One month, the talk given to me as the theme of my lesson was this one. The theme was "To The Rescue," and talked about both physical and spiritual ways to "rescue."
Other than giving you a talk as a topic, the local leaders really give teachers a lot of latitude in how they present the topic. Teachers are supposed to pray, study, consider the needs of our congregation, then present a 45 minute lesson. Nobody asks for a rough draft or outline; they trust you to develop your lesson, and know that each person would do it differently.
I remembered hearing this talk in General Conference, and it really resonated with me at the time. One of the stories contained in the talk was from Alejandro Patania, sharing an experience that his brother, Daniel, had.
Daniel captained a fishing boat. One day, the boat received word of an approaching storm, and made the decision to head for land. They came across another fishing vessel that was in distress, with its engines having failed. Daniel's crew hooked up a tow line to try to pull the disabled vessel into port.
They radioed in their position and circumstances, asking for help. On land, the navy, the coast guard, and the fisherman's association sent representatives to a meeting to discuss how best to help. Should they send out a rescue vessel? Which one? Should they wait? What was the best course of action?
Here's a quote from the talk: "While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan. When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came."
Oh, my. I cannot describe to you how that makes me feel. I am terrified of water, sincerely terrified by the fear of drowning, and the thought of holding a meeting while ships were asking for help is just too terrible to contemplate. It's a horror.
It also had predictable results. The tow line broke, the boat without power started to sink, and Daniel's vessel radioed that they were attempting to pull survivors from the water. Then, there were no more messages. Both boats, and everyone aboard, were lost.
Men died because people in safety and security couldn't decide on the correct protocol to save them.
It is a horror.
For my lesson, I decided to tell stories of calls for help that had a different ending than Daniel's story. I immediately thought of two - the rescue of the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies and the Titanic.
My main points, in referring to times when others needed help were: 1. Go quickly, and 2. Give your best.
Go Quickly
The Willie Company and the Martin Company were two groups of pioneers headed to the Salt Lake Valley. Instead of horse or cattle drawn wagons, they had handcarts - essentially, trailers pulled by humans. You could only bring as much as your family could physically pull - which, really, wasn't much, since these were some of the poorer emigrants (hence the lack of wagons or livestock). A Wyoming history website notes, " Rations were one pound of flour per person daily, plus any meat shot on the way. The carts were pulled by one or two people while other family members pushed behind or walked alongside."
They also, like the ill-fated Donner Party, left late in the season, and were affected by winter storms that came early in their season. By October, in what is now Wyoming, they were cold, hungry and literally starving, with rations having been slashed. Deaths would eventually be up to 25% of the companies. History notes, "It was by far the worst non-military disaster on the emigrant trails."
This was a time and place in which messages could not be readily sent. The pioneer companies couldn't telegraph or send letters - the only long distance communication available in those days. The only way the settlers in Salt Lake would know what was happening was for messengers on horses to go from the companies to Salt Lake.
On October 4, 1856, word reached Brigham Young that there were companies still on the way, and that some were in distress. The next day, October 5, he was scheduled to speak in General Conference, which, at that time, might be the only time that families who had traveled considerable distances would hear the leaders speak. (Today, we have live satellite broadcasts, the Internet, and published copies of the talks; back then, you heard people in person, or you got a second, third, or even fourth hand, account, often weeks or months later.)
When President Young (his title as church president) got up to speak, he cancelled the prepared remarks, telling the assembled worshippers that the people struggling to reach Salt Lake should be everyone's highest priority. He said, “I will now give this people the subject and the text of the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference. It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them...
I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 112 or -15 wagons...
I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom (heaven) of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains."
The townspeople began loading the wagons immediately; the first wagons left the valley on October 7. More left on October 22, October 31, (a nearby fort sent some on October 22) - they weren't content to say, "We sent help, and now we wait," they sent it as soon as the wagons could be loaded, and they kept sending it.
"I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor the next day;" that's a true leader. Keep in mind, October 5, 1856 was a Sunday, but there was no talk of resting that day, because someone needed help.
That kind of leadership was also displayed by Captain Arthur Rostron, captain of the RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued the Titanic survivors. (Read details in "A Night to Remember" by Walter Lord.)
On April 15, 1912, the Carpathia received the Titanic's distress signal. There were other ships who received the call who thought it must be a mistake, or a hoax, and at least one ship, the Californian, just barely in sight of Titanic, testified that they had her radio off, and that they never received the middle of the night call. (Rumors, then and now, whispered that the Californian heard the call, but ignored it, as they were stopped in an ice field, and paralyzed by fear. If so, I totally understand - as I said, fear of drowning overwhelms me. Plus, I'm not worried about a crew, vessel and cargo for whom I have resposibility. So, I get it; it's understandable. But understandable does not mean desirable or beneficial.)
On the Carpathia, wireless operator Harold Cottam went immediately to Rostron's quarters - the captain was already in bed. Sitting up in bed, the captain gave the order to turn the ship around immediately, and head for Titanic's coordinates. He also ordered extra lookouts to watch for ice. Only after those orders were carried out did he seek out Cottam and say, "Are you sure?"
The Carpathia was a passenger ship. Diverting would put them behind schedule, which could mean angry passengers and an angry Cunard line, the ship's owners. And, if the captain or the wireless operator had misheard the news, there would undoubtedly be excessive ribbing from the crew. Yet, he ordered the new course before he confirmed that there actually had been a distress call from Titanic. He was willing to act on the need immediately, and confirm later, because if the need was real, there was not a moment to spare. Turn the ship first; ask, "Are you sure?" second.
Give Your Best
We humans have a tendency to give "what we can spare" when helping others. Either with good intentions or just exhibiting carelessness, often in our day, people will send wildly inappropriate items to victims of fire, flood, or other disasters. Winter coats arrived in Indonesia for tsunami victims. In recent months, the victims of devastating California wildfires started issuing requests through various agencies - "Stop sending us your old stuff." Sure, when you have nothing, you appreciate any gesture, but when you keep getting used towels and sheets and you need beds and chairs, it can be adding insult to injury. Our local food bank frequently reminds us that a food drive is not a chance to clean out and donate the expired items in your cupboard - they're not allowed to distribute expired food. (Whether you agree or not doesn't change the policy.)
Steam ships, like the Carpathia, could not just speed up, like a car with someone pressing harder on the gas. In order to go faster, the steam engines needed more steam - and they didn't have the option of getting more fuel. Captain Rostron diverted steam from heat and hot water, in order to send it to the engines. (Imagine having no heat or hot water on a passenger ship today, no matter what the reason!) The ship went almost twice as fast as its normal speed, reaching the survivors in 3 1/2 hours.
All told, Rostron gave 23 orders before they reached the survivors. (source: "Titanic Hero: The Autobiography of Captain Rostron of the Carpathia") After they loaded the survivors, they were given blankets, food, tea, beds... they severely crowded the ship, but no one complained. The Carpathia had been headed to Europe, but she turned around and went back to New York. The needs of the shipwrecked survivors outweighed the needs of the other travelers.
In Salt Lake in 1856, the women leaving the church building after hearing about the handcart companies in need began peeling off their stockings and petticoats, tossing them onto the piles of relief supplies, hoping to keep warm some women that they had never met. The clothes on their bodies were the first items donated - their own comfort or modesty was a dim secondary concern.
From the pulpit that day, Brigham Young said, "I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams... First, 40 good young men who know how to drive teams, to take charge of the teams that are now managed by men, women and children who know nothing about driving them. Second, 60 or 65 good spans of mules, or horses, with harness, whipple trees, neck yokes, stretchers, lead chains, etc. And thirdly, 24 thousand pounds of flour, which we have on hand."
Notice, he repeatedly asks for good horses, good men, good everything. Not, "Do you have a spare in your barn?" or something else that left room for second best. He notes that the things he wants are "in this Territory" or "on hand" - no "take time to look around, see what you can find." He wanted the best, and he wanted it now - and he got it. The people gathered things quickly and willingly.
There were approximately 650 survivors of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. There were between 701 and 713 survivors of the RMS Titanic; counts vary.
I did not include in the lesson another hero of mine, Captain Bernie Cooper of the SS Arthur M. Anderson, because that story does not have a happy ending. The Anderson was a cargo ship on the Great Lakes; in 1975, she was the last ship in contact with the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter lost in a storm on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.
The Fitzgerald and the Anderson, along with other ships on the lake, were caught in a ferocious storm. Both were headed to Whitefish Bay and the safety of the port. Captain Cooper was in contact with Captain Ernest McSorley of the Fitzgerald as the storm progressed. The Fitzgerald was taking on water, but the last message from her bridge, sent to the Anderson, was, "We're holding our own." That message came in at 7:10 PM. Then she was gone, so fast that no mayday was sent, no lifeboats launched.
Capt. Cooper repeatedly radioed the shore and other vessels to express concern for the Fitzgerald, starting at 7:39 PM, asking if anyone had been in contact with McSorley, as he now couldn't reach the Fitz by radio, or see them on radar. He officially reported the Fitz missing at 9:03 PM. When the Anderson was sailing into port, the Coast Guard asked Captain Cooper to go back and look for the Fitzgerald; they feared that her communications were out, and she might be adrift. Cooper had just experienced sustained winds of 58 MPH, and gusts up to 86 MPH. The waves were as high as 35 feet. Yet they turned and went back out into the storm, the same storm that had swallowed the Fitzgerald. An hour and a half later, the Coast Guard asked other vessels to assist. But the Fitzgerald was gone, and all 29 crewmen were dead.
Sometimes, your best efforts won't be enough.
But, always, go quickly, and give your best.
One month, the talk given to me as the theme of my lesson was this one. The theme was "To The Rescue," and talked about both physical and spiritual ways to "rescue."
Other than giving you a talk as a topic, the local leaders really give teachers a lot of latitude in how they present the topic. Teachers are supposed to pray, study, consider the needs of our congregation, then present a 45 minute lesson. Nobody asks for a rough draft or outline; they trust you to develop your lesson, and know that each person would do it differently.
I remembered hearing this talk in General Conference, and it really resonated with me at the time. One of the stories contained in the talk was from Alejandro Patania, sharing an experience that his brother, Daniel, had.
Daniel captained a fishing boat. One day, the boat received word of an approaching storm, and made the decision to head for land. They came across another fishing vessel that was in distress, with its engines having failed. Daniel's crew hooked up a tow line to try to pull the disabled vessel into port.
They radioed in their position and circumstances, asking for help. On land, the navy, the coast guard, and the fisherman's association sent representatives to a meeting to discuss how best to help. Should they send out a rescue vessel? Which one? Should they wait? What was the best course of action?
Here's a quote from the talk: "While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan. When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came."
Oh, my. I cannot describe to you how that makes me feel. I am terrified of water, sincerely terrified by the fear of drowning, and the thought of holding a meeting while ships were asking for help is just too terrible to contemplate. It's a horror.
It also had predictable results. The tow line broke, the boat without power started to sink, and Daniel's vessel radioed that they were attempting to pull survivors from the water. Then, there were no more messages. Both boats, and everyone aboard, were lost.
Men died because people in safety and security couldn't decide on the correct protocol to save them.
It is a horror.
For my lesson, I decided to tell stories of calls for help that had a different ending than Daniel's story. I immediately thought of two - the rescue of the Willie and Martin Handcart Companies and the Titanic.
My main points, in referring to times when others needed help were: 1. Go quickly, and 2. Give your best.
Go Quickly
The Willie Company and the Martin Company were two groups of pioneers headed to the Salt Lake Valley. Instead of horse or cattle drawn wagons, they had handcarts - essentially, trailers pulled by humans. You could only bring as much as your family could physically pull - which, really, wasn't much, since these were some of the poorer emigrants (hence the lack of wagons or livestock). A Wyoming history website notes, " Rations were one pound of flour per person daily, plus any meat shot on the way. The carts were pulled by one or two people while other family members pushed behind or walked alongside."
They also, like the ill-fated Donner Party, left late in the season, and were affected by winter storms that came early in their season. By October, in what is now Wyoming, they were cold, hungry and literally starving, with rations having been slashed. Deaths would eventually be up to 25% of the companies. History notes, "It was by far the worst non-military disaster on the emigrant trails."
This was a time and place in which messages could not be readily sent. The pioneer companies couldn't telegraph or send letters - the only long distance communication available in those days. The only way the settlers in Salt Lake would know what was happening was for messengers on horses to go from the companies to Salt Lake.
On October 4, 1856, word reached Brigham Young that there were companies still on the way, and that some were in distress. The next day, October 5, he was scheduled to speak in General Conference, which, at that time, might be the only time that families who had traveled considerable distances would hear the leaders speak. (Today, we have live satellite broadcasts, the Internet, and published copies of the talks; back then, you heard people in person, or you got a second, third, or even fourth hand, account, often weeks or months later.)
When President Young (his title as church president) got up to speak, he cancelled the prepared remarks, telling the assembled worshippers that the people struggling to reach Salt Lake should be everyone's highest priority. He said, “I will now give this people the subject and the text of the Elders who may speak to-day and during the conference. It is this. On the 5th day of October, 1856, many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them...
I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 112 or -15 wagons...
I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom (heaven) of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains."
The townspeople began loading the wagons immediately; the first wagons left the valley on October 7. More left on October 22, October 31, (a nearby fort sent some on October 22) - they weren't content to say, "We sent help, and now we wait," they sent it as soon as the wagons could be loaded, and they kept sending it.
"I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor the next day;" that's a true leader. Keep in mind, October 5, 1856 was a Sunday, but there was no talk of resting that day, because someone needed help.
That kind of leadership was also displayed by Captain Arthur Rostron, captain of the RMS Carpathia, the ship that rescued the Titanic survivors. (Read details in "A Night to Remember" by Walter Lord.)
On April 15, 1912, the Carpathia received the Titanic's distress signal. There were other ships who received the call who thought it must be a mistake, or a hoax, and at least one ship, the Californian, just barely in sight of Titanic, testified that they had her radio off, and that they never received the middle of the night call. (Rumors, then and now, whispered that the Californian heard the call, but ignored it, as they were stopped in an ice field, and paralyzed by fear. If so, I totally understand - as I said, fear of drowning overwhelms me. Plus, I'm not worried about a crew, vessel and cargo for whom I have resposibility. So, I get it; it's understandable. But understandable does not mean desirable or beneficial.)
On the Carpathia, wireless operator Harold Cottam went immediately to Rostron's quarters - the captain was already in bed. Sitting up in bed, the captain gave the order to turn the ship around immediately, and head for Titanic's coordinates. He also ordered extra lookouts to watch for ice. Only after those orders were carried out did he seek out Cottam and say, "Are you sure?"
The Carpathia was a passenger ship. Diverting would put them behind schedule, which could mean angry passengers and an angry Cunard line, the ship's owners. And, if the captain or the wireless operator had misheard the news, there would undoubtedly be excessive ribbing from the crew. Yet, he ordered the new course before he confirmed that there actually had been a distress call from Titanic. He was willing to act on the need immediately, and confirm later, because if the need was real, there was not a moment to spare. Turn the ship first; ask, "Are you sure?" second.
Give Your Best
We humans have a tendency to give "what we can spare" when helping others. Either with good intentions or just exhibiting carelessness, often in our day, people will send wildly inappropriate items to victims of fire, flood, or other disasters. Winter coats arrived in Indonesia for tsunami victims. In recent months, the victims of devastating California wildfires started issuing requests through various agencies - "Stop sending us your old stuff." Sure, when you have nothing, you appreciate any gesture, but when you keep getting used towels and sheets and you need beds and chairs, it can be adding insult to injury. Our local food bank frequently reminds us that a food drive is not a chance to clean out and donate the expired items in your cupboard - they're not allowed to distribute expired food. (Whether you agree or not doesn't change the policy.)
Steam ships, like the Carpathia, could not just speed up, like a car with someone pressing harder on the gas. In order to go faster, the steam engines needed more steam - and they didn't have the option of getting more fuel. Captain Rostron diverted steam from heat and hot water, in order to send it to the engines. (Imagine having no heat or hot water on a passenger ship today, no matter what the reason!) The ship went almost twice as fast as its normal speed, reaching the survivors in 3 1/2 hours.
All told, Rostron gave 23 orders before they reached the survivors. (source: "Titanic Hero: The Autobiography of Captain Rostron of the Carpathia") After they loaded the survivors, they were given blankets, food, tea, beds... they severely crowded the ship, but no one complained. The Carpathia had been headed to Europe, but she turned around and went back to New York. The needs of the shipwrecked survivors outweighed the needs of the other travelers.
In Salt Lake in 1856, the women leaving the church building after hearing about the handcart companies in need began peeling off their stockings and petticoats, tossing them onto the piles of relief supplies, hoping to keep warm some women that they had never met. The clothes on their bodies were the first items donated - their own comfort or modesty was a dim secondary concern.
From the pulpit that day, Brigham Young said, "I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams... First, 40 good young men who know how to drive teams, to take charge of the teams that are now managed by men, women and children who know nothing about driving them. Second, 60 or 65 good spans of mules, or horses, with harness, whipple trees, neck yokes, stretchers, lead chains, etc. And thirdly, 24 thousand pounds of flour, which we have on hand."
Notice, he repeatedly asks for good horses, good men, good everything. Not, "Do you have a spare in your barn?" or something else that left room for second best. He notes that the things he wants are "in this Territory" or "on hand" - no "take time to look around, see what you can find." He wanted the best, and he wanted it now - and he got it. The people gathered things quickly and willingly.
There were approximately 650 survivors of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. There were between 701 and 713 survivors of the RMS Titanic; counts vary.
I did not include in the lesson another hero of mine, Captain Bernie Cooper of the SS Arthur M. Anderson, because that story does not have a happy ending. The Anderson was a cargo ship on the Great Lakes; in 1975, she was the last ship in contact with the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, a freighter lost in a storm on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975.
The Fitzgerald and the Anderson, along with other ships on the lake, were caught in a ferocious storm. Both were headed to Whitefish Bay and the safety of the port. Captain Cooper was in contact with Captain Ernest McSorley of the Fitzgerald as the storm progressed. The Fitzgerald was taking on water, but the last message from her bridge, sent to the Anderson, was, "We're holding our own." That message came in at 7:10 PM. Then she was gone, so fast that no mayday was sent, no lifeboats launched.
Capt. Cooper repeatedly radioed the shore and other vessels to express concern for the Fitzgerald, starting at 7:39 PM, asking if anyone had been in contact with McSorley, as he now couldn't reach the Fitz by radio, or see them on radar. He officially reported the Fitz missing at 9:03 PM. When the Anderson was sailing into port, the Coast Guard asked Captain Cooper to go back and look for the Fitzgerald; they feared that her communications were out, and she might be adrift. Cooper had just experienced sustained winds of 58 MPH, and gusts up to 86 MPH. The waves were as high as 35 feet. Yet they turned and went back out into the storm, the same storm that had swallowed the Fitzgerald. An hour and a half later, the Coast Guard asked other vessels to assist. But the Fitzgerald was gone, and all 29 crewmen were dead.
Sometimes, your best efforts won't be enough.
But, always, go quickly, and give your best.
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
Ornaments
A family member recently asked on her Facebook page if people let their kids decorate the family Christmas tree, or if they did it themselves, because they wanted it to look "picture perfect."
The majority of her friends who responded said that they had the kids help. Some admitted to tweaking the placement after the kids were in bed, but only slightly. I remember doing that; I have a photo of my two year old hanging every ornament that she had on the same branch. We told her what a big helper she was, and moved them after she was asleep. I'm not going to have a discussion about ideal placement (and branch strength) with someone in diapers.
The discussion made me think of a conversation that I had with a friend, years ago. She wanted a perfect living room, so she put up a tree in another room, not visible to visitors, and, in her words, "made it a junk tree." I looked really confused, so she explained - "You know - hanging up all those crappy looking things the kids made." Oh. Well. Those are some of my favorite ornaments. My daughter was thrilled at 5 when I used the angel she made out of a paper plate for the top of our tree; at 15, she was mortified. I still loved it.
I admire trees with matching, themed, color coordinated ornaments. I really do. They're lovely. But I want my tree to hold memories.
Every year, we got the children a new ornament. When they got old enough, we let them choose their own. We end up with ornaments like this on our tree:
The majority of her friends who responded said that they had the kids help. Some admitted to tweaking the placement after the kids were in bed, but only slightly. I remember doing that; I have a photo of my two year old hanging every ornament that she had on the same branch. We told her what a big helper she was, and moved them after she was asleep. I'm not going to have a discussion about ideal placement (and branch strength) with someone in diapers.
The discussion made me think of a conversation that I had with a friend, years ago. She wanted a perfect living room, so she put up a tree in another room, not visible to visitors, and, in her words, "made it a junk tree." I looked really confused, so she explained - "You know - hanging up all those crappy looking things the kids made." Oh. Well. Those are some of my favorite ornaments. My daughter was thrilled at 5 when I used the angel she made out of a paper plate for the top of our tree; at 15, she was mortified. I still loved it.
I admire trees with matching, themed, color coordinated ornaments. I really do. They're lovely. But I want my tree to hold memories.
Every year, we got the children a new ornament. When they got old enough, we let them choose their own. We end up with ornaments like this on our tree:
We get a little grief for it. "Oh, yeah," one visitor said. "Nothing says Christmas like Darth Vader." Hey, that Vader makes my son happy, and it makes me happy.
So does Darth Maul; he's from the year that my son dressed as Darth Maul at the Disneyland Halloween party.
You can tell a lot about my childrens' interests by the ornaments they chose.
These came in children's meals at a fast food place one year; all of my kids got the full set of 4 (there's also a Whoville house, and Max the dog with a tied on antler).
My son made this one at Scout camp.
We generally commemorate events of the year with ornaments. This is from the year that my youngest daughter danced in "The Nutcracker" on a local showroom stage.
These were actually on an onstage tree the year 4 of us were in "A Christmas Carol." That's a laminated ticket tied on when the ornament came home after the show, and went on our tree.
Years ago, we decided to start collecting ornaments when we travel. Most of these were bought on vacation; sometimes, we buy something after we've gotten home that reminds us of the trip. (There's no shortage of Eiffel Tower ornaments in stores!) The photo is from the Big Island of Hawaii, commemorating our hike in to the island's green sand beach. We've also printed wedding photos onto metal ornaments.
These are from Germany. My maternal grandmother's family emigrated from there; I bought these when I visited Germany for the first time. The visit helped explain some of my grandma's taste; there were red geraniums everywhere.
Sometimes, we go with things that aren't actually designed to be ornaments. The one from Hawaii is supposed to be a bookmark; the Minnie hat is an antennae ball. The swordfish was just what my son chose one year when he couldn't find an ornament that he liked. Hey, we can adapt.
Until this year, when our immediate family reached 9 with the addition of spouses, we tried to add a personalized family ornament every year. Sometimes, they're travel reminders, too. We got the orca the year we went to San Diego at Christmas.
Some of our ornaments are more traditional. I cherish my mother's delicate glass ornaments. I remember breaking many of them during my childhood.
All together, they make for a beautiful tree that makes me happy every time I see it.
Friday, November 30, 2018
"December to Remember"
It's that time of year again. Every day, there are commercials on TV telling me to buy my loved ones luxury automobiles or diamond jewelry for the holidays.
It's not going to happen.
Look, I'm not going to tell you how to spend your money. Do whatever you want - spend it, don't spend it, give gifts, don't give gifts. If you want to give me a car, I'll take it and be grateful. Just know that my idea of ideal gift giving and yours do not mesh.
I think that gifts should, ideally, be small. They're meant to say, "I thought about you!" The last time I made a "wish list" for my husband, it had brown eyeliner and bed sheets on it. We also have a deal - there will be chocolate in my Christmas stocking.
I will totally admit to occasionally giving expensive gifts, but that usually involves travel. (Once it was scuba classes.) Experiences are more valuable than things are.
Again, I'm not telling you what to do, but this is what works for me.
People have told me why they think that big ticket items are something that should wait for special occasions; I know those reasons. I just feel that, if you've taught yourself to expect a car with a big bow on it in your driveway, just because it's a holiday (or birthday or anniversary), you've 1. put the emphasis in the wrong place, and 2. set yourself up to be deeply disappointed if the gesture isn't huge. And how many huge gestures are even possible, much less likely, in an average year or an average life? "Going big" ceases to be big if it's commonplace.
If you'd be happy with some candy, some warm socks, a good meal and a good book, you can pretty much guarantee a happy holiday. Think about that - guaranteed happiness! Who doesn't want that?
If, however, you've trained yourself to expect a two carat solitaire, you'll be disappointed with a one carat solitaire.
Years ago, I worked with a lovely, delightful, bright lady, who came from a family with more money than mine had. I remember clearly one November, when she announced, "I've just paid off last Christmas!" I was horrified. I said something (undoubtedly indelicate, like, "Are you crazy?"), and she looked puzzled. "That's how it's done," she said.
"Not in my family!"
"In every family."
We tangled about this for a few minutes. She thought that I was just being ignorant of family finances, and I was assuring her, "I'm not talking theoretically." My mother handled the money in the family I grew up in; I handle the money in my family. I know how it's spent.
She's a lovely person, but she may have felt a bit attacked, because we ended with her saying something about how "most people" wanted their holiday to "be nice," and credit cards were how that was accomplished, so my holidays were undoubtedly not "nice."
I beg to differ. My holidays were lovely. They still are.
I'm gearing up for this year's Christmas celebration. We'll have dollar store candy and discount store clothes and a fantastic time. I love this time of year; it's my favorite! No luxury cars or diamonds are needed.
It's not going to happen.
Look, I'm not going to tell you how to spend your money. Do whatever you want - spend it, don't spend it, give gifts, don't give gifts. If you want to give me a car, I'll take it and be grateful. Just know that my idea of ideal gift giving and yours do not mesh.
I think that gifts should, ideally, be small. They're meant to say, "I thought about you!" The last time I made a "wish list" for my husband, it had brown eyeliner and bed sheets on it. We also have a deal - there will be chocolate in my Christmas stocking.
I will totally admit to occasionally giving expensive gifts, but that usually involves travel. (Once it was scuba classes.) Experiences are more valuable than things are.
Again, I'm not telling you what to do, but this is what works for me.
People have told me why they think that big ticket items are something that should wait for special occasions; I know those reasons. I just feel that, if you've taught yourself to expect a car with a big bow on it in your driveway, just because it's a holiday (or birthday or anniversary), you've 1. put the emphasis in the wrong place, and 2. set yourself up to be deeply disappointed if the gesture isn't huge. And how many huge gestures are even possible, much less likely, in an average year or an average life? "Going big" ceases to be big if it's commonplace.
If you'd be happy with some candy, some warm socks, a good meal and a good book, you can pretty much guarantee a happy holiday. Think about that - guaranteed happiness! Who doesn't want that?
If, however, you've trained yourself to expect a two carat solitaire, you'll be disappointed with a one carat solitaire.
Years ago, I worked with a lovely, delightful, bright lady, who came from a family with more money than mine had. I remember clearly one November, when she announced, "I've just paid off last Christmas!" I was horrified. I said something (undoubtedly indelicate, like, "Are you crazy?"), and she looked puzzled. "That's how it's done," she said.
"Not in my family!"
"In every family."
We tangled about this for a few minutes. She thought that I was just being ignorant of family finances, and I was assuring her, "I'm not talking theoretically." My mother handled the money in the family I grew up in; I handle the money in my family. I know how it's spent.
She's a lovely person, but she may have felt a bit attacked, because we ended with her saying something about how "most people" wanted their holiday to "be nice," and credit cards were how that was accomplished, so my holidays were undoubtedly not "nice."
I beg to differ. My holidays were lovely. They still are.
I'm gearing up for this year's Christmas celebration. We'll have dollar store candy and discount store clothes and a fantastic time. I love this time of year; it's my favorite! No luxury cars or diamonds are needed.
Thursday, November 8, 2018
Making Time
"Is your family close?" a classmate once asked me.
"Like, am I close to my siblings?"
"No, the rest of your family, like aunts and cousins."
"Oh, yeah, my family is really close!" I said with enthusiasm. "We get together every holiday, at my aunt's house." I looked forward to those family parties.
"Every holiday?"
"Yeah. You know - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July - holidays." The girl who'd asked was looking really puzzled; I thought that the concept of "holiday" was pretty clear. "All my relatives on my dad's side are there. Not the ones who live really far away, but the ones who live an hour or two away all come, too."
"That's when you see your cousins?"
"Yeah, usually." There were a couple of cousins that I saw more often; we'd go to my cousin Lynne's cabin for a week in the summer, for instance. But if you asked, "When do you see your cousins?" the answer would be, "On holidays."
She gave me a look like she'd give to spoiled fruit. "If you only see your family on holidays, that means that you don't really like each other."
What? That made no sense to me. "No, it doesn't! We get along great!"
"I see my cousins at least three or four times a week," my classmate said. "Sometimes, every day."
What? I couldn't imagine that. Not because I didn't like my cousins, but because I couldn't quite imagine seeing anyone that often, unless they lived on the same block. Who drives to other people's houses several times a week?
Turns out, lots of people do. More power to them; I think that's great. I just come from more solitary people.
(Once my husband asked me, in aggravation, "When you get older, are you going to become a complete hermit?" My brother was visiting, and he answered for me: "It's inevitable; it's hereditary.")
I feel like I have a lot of friends, and a lot of close friends. I feel like my extended family is close. That doesn't mean that we see, or talk to, each other frequently. I always thought that "being close" was about how comfortable you felt with people, how much you liked them - not how often you were in contact. One of my long time friends said it well: "I don't have to see my friends every day to know who they are." You know that "pick up right where you left off" feeling? That's pretty much how I define "close."
I am often baffled by other definitions. "If you're important to someone, they'll make time for you," people say. Well, sure, but how frequent does that time need to be?
I once upset someone who was telling me how ignored by their sister they felt. Their examples were making little sense to me; it wasn't "She won't answer my phone calls," it was, "She doesn't call often enough." When I was, I guess, less sympathetic than she wanted me to be, she snapped, "How would you feel if you went weeks without hearing from your sister?"
"I do go weeks without hearing from my sister. I routinely go months without hearing from my sister. Sometimes, I hear from her twice a year - my birthday and Christmas."
She looked aghast. "Have you had a fight?"
"No! I adore my sister! She adores me!"
"Are you sure? It doesn't sound like it."
"Yes! I'm sure!"
Truly, the sister in question - I have two, one who lives near me and one who doesn't; I was speaking of the one who lives hundreds of miles away - is one of the nicest, most considerate people you will ever meet. I feel positively cherished by her. I don't think that I have to hear from her frequently in order for that to be true. She loves me, she'd be here in a heartbeat if I said, "I need you," she'd give me her internal organs if I needed them. And she calls every few months. This is OK! And if I needed to hear from her more often, I'd call her - it's not healthy to put my needs on her (or anyone else). I'm responsible for meeting my own needs.
I have four siblings, none of whom I see frequently, or call frequently, or go out to lunch with regularly. There are no festering resentments, no issues, no "grit your teeth and get through obligatory contact" on anyone's part. This makes sense to me. It makes sense to them.
It's the same with my friends. At least, it is on my part. Honestly, the last time I had a friend who felt that we had to get together, or at least talk on the phone, two or three times a week, I felt absolutely oppressed. I found it excessively clingy and needy. I also found it weird that she'd approached me in public just because our kids were roughly the same age. I mean, I liked her, but I was glad when a move meant that she needed a new, in the neighborhood, buddy. I can only be readily available for so long, and then I'll start hiding in the bathroom, and feigning illness.
I hear about women feeling alone and isolated, desperate for mom friends, and I know that they really are in pain, but trust me, I am not. We can't expect everyone to want what we want.
Two of my close friends are the kind of person I honestly thought was a myth before I met them. They are the kind of person who strikes up a conversation in line at the grocery store, in line at amusement parks, with the people at the table next to them in restaurants. They often walk away from meeting new people with names and phone numbers. Just the thought of it makes me exhausted enough to collapse into a puddle on the floor. If I thought that I had to not only make conversation but forge a lasting connection with someone who stood next to me waiting for Splash Mountain, I would just stop going places.
And, of course, they would be unhappy living my life.
I think that's the key - are you happy? If so, OK. If not, then you do what you need to do to fix it.
And if you think that someone's ignoring you, don't take it personally. They may be happy as a clam, thinking that you're best buddies.
Because, hey, if my cousins don't like me, well, I'm blissfully unaware, and what we have going is working for us. I like them, I think that they like me, and they don't have to hang out with me every week. Bam! Success.
"Like, am I close to my siblings?"
"No, the rest of your family, like aunts and cousins."
"Oh, yeah, my family is really close!" I said with enthusiasm. "We get together every holiday, at my aunt's house." I looked forward to those family parties.
"Every holiday?"
"Yeah. You know - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July - holidays." The girl who'd asked was looking really puzzled; I thought that the concept of "holiday" was pretty clear. "All my relatives on my dad's side are there. Not the ones who live really far away, but the ones who live an hour or two away all come, too."
"That's when you see your cousins?"
"Yeah, usually." There were a couple of cousins that I saw more often; we'd go to my cousin Lynne's cabin for a week in the summer, for instance. But if you asked, "When do you see your cousins?" the answer would be, "On holidays."
She gave me a look like she'd give to spoiled fruit. "If you only see your family on holidays, that means that you don't really like each other."
What? That made no sense to me. "No, it doesn't! We get along great!"
"I see my cousins at least three or four times a week," my classmate said. "Sometimes, every day."
What? I couldn't imagine that. Not because I didn't like my cousins, but because I couldn't quite imagine seeing anyone that often, unless they lived on the same block. Who drives to other people's houses several times a week?
Turns out, lots of people do. More power to them; I think that's great. I just come from more solitary people.
(Once my husband asked me, in aggravation, "When you get older, are you going to become a complete hermit?" My brother was visiting, and he answered for me: "It's inevitable; it's hereditary.")
I feel like I have a lot of friends, and a lot of close friends. I feel like my extended family is close. That doesn't mean that we see, or talk to, each other frequently. I always thought that "being close" was about how comfortable you felt with people, how much you liked them - not how often you were in contact. One of my long time friends said it well: "I don't have to see my friends every day to know who they are." You know that "pick up right where you left off" feeling? That's pretty much how I define "close."
I am often baffled by other definitions. "If you're important to someone, they'll make time for you," people say. Well, sure, but how frequent does that time need to be?
I once upset someone who was telling me how ignored by their sister they felt. Their examples were making little sense to me; it wasn't "She won't answer my phone calls," it was, "She doesn't call often enough." When I was, I guess, less sympathetic than she wanted me to be, she snapped, "How would you feel if you went weeks without hearing from your sister?"
"I do go weeks without hearing from my sister. I routinely go months without hearing from my sister. Sometimes, I hear from her twice a year - my birthday and Christmas."
She looked aghast. "Have you had a fight?"
"No! I adore my sister! She adores me!"
"Are you sure? It doesn't sound like it."
"Yes! I'm sure!"
Truly, the sister in question - I have two, one who lives near me and one who doesn't; I was speaking of the one who lives hundreds of miles away - is one of the nicest, most considerate people you will ever meet. I feel positively cherished by her. I don't think that I have to hear from her frequently in order for that to be true. She loves me, she'd be here in a heartbeat if I said, "I need you," she'd give me her internal organs if I needed them. And she calls every few months. This is OK! And if I needed to hear from her more often, I'd call her - it's not healthy to put my needs on her (or anyone else). I'm responsible for meeting my own needs.
I have four siblings, none of whom I see frequently, or call frequently, or go out to lunch with regularly. There are no festering resentments, no issues, no "grit your teeth and get through obligatory contact" on anyone's part. This makes sense to me. It makes sense to them.
It's the same with my friends. At least, it is on my part. Honestly, the last time I had a friend who felt that we had to get together, or at least talk on the phone, two or three times a week, I felt absolutely oppressed. I found it excessively clingy and needy. I also found it weird that she'd approached me in public just because our kids were roughly the same age. I mean, I liked her, but I was glad when a move meant that she needed a new, in the neighborhood, buddy. I can only be readily available for so long, and then I'll start hiding in the bathroom, and feigning illness.
I hear about women feeling alone and isolated, desperate for mom friends, and I know that they really are in pain, but trust me, I am not. We can't expect everyone to want what we want.
Two of my close friends are the kind of person I honestly thought was a myth before I met them. They are the kind of person who strikes up a conversation in line at the grocery store, in line at amusement parks, with the people at the table next to them in restaurants. They often walk away from meeting new people with names and phone numbers. Just the thought of it makes me exhausted enough to collapse into a puddle on the floor. If I thought that I had to not only make conversation but forge a lasting connection with someone who stood next to me waiting for Splash Mountain, I would just stop going places.
And, of course, they would be unhappy living my life.
I think that's the key - are you happy? If so, OK. If not, then you do what you need to do to fix it.
And if you think that someone's ignoring you, don't take it personally. They may be happy as a clam, thinking that you're best buddies.
Because, hey, if my cousins don't like me, well, I'm blissfully unaware, and what we have going is working for us. I like them, I think that they like me, and they don't have to hang out with me every week. Bam! Success.
Sunday, October 21, 2018
"Offensensitivity"
As always, Berkeley Breathed and "Bloom County" are sheer genius.
Sorry to break it to you - I hope that you're sitting down - but "life is offensive."
Some people wear the sentiment "I'm offended!" like it's a badge of honor. Even when it's phrased differently - "That sentiment is so hurtful!" - it comes down to being aghast that someone is different from you, and expecting them to change because of it.
"I don't expect them to change because they're different! I expect them to change because they're wrong!" I hear. Of course, they think that you're wrong - and round and round we go.
We're all so easily offended, aren't we? And we think that everything is about us, personally - or, that it should be.
I like to travel, and I've spent recent years working as a travel agent, so I read a lot of travel related stuff. In one list of things actually written in online reviews was this gem from a Caribbean resort: "There was a sign in the lobby that said, 'No hairdressers on property.' We are hairdressers, and we think that they knew, because we did not get attentive service."
The thing that amazes me most about this is the "we" - there was more than one of these people. Let's assume that there are two. Also, presumably, anyone old enough to have a profession that requires training or schooling is an adult. So, one of these otherwise functional adults expressed this sentiment - "They don't allow hairdressers to stay here! And I'll bet they've figured out that we're hairdressers, because they are not being attentive to us!"
Instead of saying, "Don't be a knucklehead. That sign means that the resort does not employ hairdressers; you cannot get your hair done on resort property," the other, otherwise functional, adult says, in effect, "I think you're right! Using no other information than our names and credit card info, they have figured out what we do for a living, told every employee at this resort, and now they are all making a concerted effort to give us less than their best service!" I mean, does that make any logical sense?
What are the odds that a property will decide to discriminate, and choose hairdressers as its target? Come on in, drug traffickers, strippers, phone sex operators, convicted felons - welcome! Stay out, you nasty hairstylists, we don't serve your kind! And we're going to do extensive background checks on anyone who stays here, so that if any hairdressers sneak in, we can give them bad service! That'll show them! Does that actually sounds plausible to you? And yet, at least two people agreed that, yes, that was exactly what was happening.
I saw a review for a doctor's office that complained, "He yanked up the back of my shirt with no warning, so that he could listen to my lungs." She went on to say that she'd never come back, because she feared that the doctor would be sexually inappropriate. She was obviously upset, truly upset, but I found myself thinking - he's a doctor. If your accountant yanked up your shirt, yeah, dump his services and file charges. But have you never been to a doctor before? He can't do an exam through your clothes. If you want him to warn you before he touches you or your clothes, tell him, explicitly. Otherwise, calm down. Every time a doctor has listened to my lungs, he or she has pulled up the back of my shirt, without warning. I have never felt mistreated because of it.
No wonder doctors, nurses, and anyone else who touches you is paranoid about lawsuits.
(I've had to warn my doctors - I will make faces. I will probably make noises (often with the faces). Do not touch my tummy without warning, or I'll yelp. I am not in pain, I am not afraid, you're doing fine - I just hate to be handled.)
Of course, it's usually most baffling when someone directs their outrage straight at me for things that are, honestly, just an ordinary part of life.
The first time someone informed me that I should not belong to my religion (or, presumably, many other religions) specifically because "when you think that other people are going to hell," it makes it impossible for other people to have a productive relationship with me, I was baffled.
Well, my first problem with that idea is the very flawed understanding of my religion's belief in the afterlife. We believe that everyone, and I mean everyone - Adolph Hilter, Ted Bundy - will go to heaven, where there will be no pain, death, hunger, illness, etc. It will be a beautiful, safe and peaceful place, where people will live with perfected bodies. It will not be possible for harm to come to anyone there.
That will be, however, the least desirable "level" of heaven - there are four more places that are even better. In the best of these "levels," people will be living in the presence of God.
Plus, we believe that if you messed up your life, or never heard about Christ, you'll get a chance to fix things in the next life; your fate isn't set at the moment of death. You can change and improve after death.
So, when you accuse me of thinking that people are "going to hell," you're not bothering to find out what I actually believe, or you're being deliberately inflammatory.
The first time that I told someone that my beliefs weren't what they thought they were, and they said, "Just because your church does it differently doesn't mean that religion in general doesn't shame people," I thought that they were just particularly stubborn and trying to save face. I've since had enough people say it to me that I have to concede that it's a pattern. The thing is, if you're going to judge me because of my religion, the conversation had darned well better be about my religion, not another religion or religions as a general concept.
"You just don't understand how painful it is to be told that you're going to hell," people (yes, plural) have told me - ignoring, I suppose, that under the belief system of most of the people on the planet, I personally am going to hell. Born again Christians, Muslims, Catholics, Seventh Day Adventists, Jews, Jehovah's Witnesses, all believe that I, myself, will not be going to heaven. There's more religions that think so, I'm sure, but I'm not well enough versed in their teachings. (On more than one occasion, someone who's telling me how I "just don't understand" the pain of being condemned has also told me that I'm headed to hell; I suppose that I'm not supposed to notice the contradiction.) This means that I have family, friends, health care providers, casual acquaintences, people that I will hire and people that I will work for, who all think that I am going to hell. And, as the person who spends the most time in my life, and knows it the best, I can say with authority that it does not harm me. I can assure you that those of other religions do not make me feel condemned.
I once asked someone (accusing me of being a bad person, by virtue of my religion) if they knew of any instance in which I'd treated someone badly, based on my religious beliefs - smacked alcohol out of their hand while yelling, "SINNER!", said that I feared for the souls of their children, refused to spend time with them or told my children to avoid them, for instance. The answer: "No, the way you treat people is fine. You just think that they're inferior."
Whoa, there, Thought Police. Aside from the fact that you are not a mind reader, and therefore can't accurately speak to what anyone else is thinking, even if you could, are people's thoughts a big issue for you? Every day, people wish they could push past everyone else in line and be served first, they want to slap rude clerks, waiters or customers, they lust after strangers (or those who aren't strangers), they think about how easily they could shoplift that item they want, but they don't do any of those things. At least the hairdressers and the patient were complaining about something that someone actually DID. I cannot get behind the idea that you are a bad person, and I should censure or shun you, based on what you might be thinking. (Because, of course, no one knows exactly what you're thinking unless you tell them.)
Treat me politely, even if you don't like me, and we'll be fine. No one is required to enjoy someone's company. But, every human owes other humans civility.
Pressed for an example of how I thought that other people were "inferior," the answer was that I think that ordinances performed in my church are "better" than those performed elsewhere.
Oh, for crying out loud. Every religion recognizes its own ordinances, but not necessarily those of other religions. If you want to join a religion, you may need re-baptized, remarried, re-ordained. Churches generally do not mirror civil authority; a justice of the peace, for instance, can perform civil marriages, but not religious ones. At my church, I am a teacher (Sunday classes for adults), but I hold no civil teaching credentials, and I would not be asked to teach religious classes at any other church.
If people do not agree with religion in general - say, they're atheist - I can understand them thinking that the entire concept of religious authority is silly. But if you're a religious person, and you get angry at another religion for having its own criteria, procedures, etc., I just can't get behind your outrage. You're entitled to have it, and express it, but not to expect me to change because of it.
Don't be the Thought Police. Don't suffer from offensensitivity. Live and let live!
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