...for that hard-to-shop-for man...

A last-minute blog post, in just under the wire.

There really are so many words that could be said about a day that included my best boy and a vulvar thing, hanging on an antique store wall.  Alas, there's just not enough time.

What I do have time for, however, is to point out that they clearly belong together.

You know, Muffin, Christmas is right around the corner....

Childhood Re-Writes

I realized today that there are a lot of things I used to/somehow believed as a child that I have a hard time letting go of as an adult.

For instance: I was walking through the house today, past the closet where we keep the litter box, when I caught a whiff of the air freshener I just replaced (since we're switching Frank & Beans over to new food.)    As soon as I smelled it, I held my breath.  Why?  Because when I was a kid, I actually believed that air fresheners would take away your ability to smell.   My dad told me that (or likely he uttered some variation of those words)....and I looped it around into my head that you'd never smell again if you smelled too much air freshener.  I always hold my breath now.

On that same vein:  Did you know that the reflective markers in the middle of the road are called "cigarettes?"   No? That's because they're not.  I have no idea what they're called, but I'm confident that they're not cigarettes.  I call them that anyway, though.  One night when I was really young, we were driving home I remember asking my mom (as we were driving from 115 onto 65 by Springbrook) what they were. Because I was probably not doing a very good job of keeping my focus or using correct, descriptive words (read: "Uhhm....what....are....HEYLOOKACAT!....what are those thingiiiiiies?  On the road?"    She replied, "Cigarettes?"  That deal = sealed.

My Grandma told me (a number of times) that it's a rule: all children have to to fold their arms in stores that sell breakable items.  I can confidently remember her telling me this after I knocked something off a Christmas display in Lazarus (I was probably doing my best impression whirling dervish.)  To this day I can't walk into a fine store with open displays or narrow aisles without reflexively folding my arms.  I'm sure the unintended standoffedness that results is that's why sales people don't ask me if they can help me...   Bonus, thanks Grandma!!

Finally, though no one ever told me this....and being absolutely unschooled about this growing up:  You can't open a dishwasher mid-cycle because 25 gallons of water will spill out, all over the floor.  I honestly thought this was true until someone did it in front of me when I was (thirty-two.)  I gasped and squealed when they did it, fearing for the life of their cat, who just happened to be walking by at the time.  I was sure he'd end up scalded, and be not only an ugly, mean sonofa, but now also bald.   I didn't grow up with a dishwasher and didn't have one myself until I was 28 - I honestly thought they cleaned the dishes by filling up completely, like a bath-tub.   I don't know, I didn't think it through. 

A few weeks ago I opened up the dishwasher mid-cycle when my talleryounger brother was here....he squealed and gasped...and took a step back.  Clearly we're both apples from the same tree.

Remind me to ask him if Grandma ever made HIM cross his arms in a nice store....

Kitchen (not kitten) Nightmares

The other night we were watching Kitchen Nightmares, a show that we started watching on the BBC (because they just have better programming) but is now also in the US.  Gordon Ramsay is a world-renowned chef who goes into family-owned, trainwrecked restaurants (who generally don't believe they're running a shit show) and whips them into shape.  Each episode is pretty much the same:

1. Ramsay comes in, orders enough food for 4 (off of their 20 page menu,) hates everything, cusses, sends it back.  Wait staff is sympathetic because they know it tastes like poo.
2. Overly confident owner/chef doesn't understand what he could have possibly found wrong and usually tries to say Ramsay doesn't know crap.  Ramsay cusses.
3. Words are had, owner concedes to some help after Ramsay cusses.
4. Ramsay observes the shit show, finds rotting meat in the kitchen drawers, cusses a LOT
5. Owner postures and/or acts surprised and blames someone else.
6. Ramsay has a Coming To Jesus talk, appealing to the (insert values of individual restaurant here) history and emotional side of owner, sometimes cussing. 
7. Ramsay rebuilds their menu, usually offering a simple twist on one "specialty" and infuses the staff with hope, good cheer, and personal unicorns.
8. The restaurant gets a facelift over night, the staff comes in, cries, and reopens....they falter...but they pull it out.
9. They hug Ramsay and he walks away, usually still cussing.   

This is clearly a show that I think I probably watch for very different reasons than my Love does.  I think she watches for the cussing, the drama, and the crazy before and dramatic after.  She worked in the service industry for a while and no doubt has worked for "that owner."

I watch it because I'm a therapy and communications nerd.  I'm fascinated with interpersonal dynamics, the visibly changing personal landscapes during conflict, and the way Ramsay engages in debate and persuasion...classic rational emotive therapy stuff.   I cover my eyes at the mold and the ick, and choke through the awkward producing...but I'm right there in that a-ha moment, when you see it click and they figure out what's going on. 

I realized the other night when we were watching...that I can see parts of my JOB in Kitchen Nightmares. Sometimes we get the really big, nasty, shit show....we figure out what we're dealing with...look in the nooks and crannies for what one side has overlooked or tried to shove out of the picture...we cuss a little (okay that's usually just me)...fill the kid in on what their responsibility is...we call on the good relationships we have with others and ask for help to rebuild.  

The currency I deal in....is changing landscapes, made muddy by the fears of adulthood and the posturing of childhood.  I try to let them roll out their map....show me where they are on it....point out pit falls on the path they've traveled and inconsistencies in the terrain ahead.  Sometimes I tug their ears, sometimes I box them. I'll spar with a student to help them see how they're impacting their positioning...and offer suggestions at how to change that.  Sometimes I even cuss!

 ....I realize that I really could work on that unicorns part, though.  Truth.

On Giving Up...and Taking On

In 2007 I gave up consuming...the buying kind. I stopped shopping and didn't buy anything save groceries and necessary toiletries.  No new shoes, cute ceramic owls, clothes, cooking accessories, etc..   I looked around and realized I had everything I needed...and I gave up control, putting faith into the belief that the Universe would provide me with so much more if I just let things be.

I wanted to look at how I used what I had...and really figure out the "Need vs. Want."  I knew I'd learn lessons about how media and advertising impacted me.  (An interesting approach for someone who is fascinated with marketing, no?)   I hoped I'd learn a lot about myself while shedding what few consumerist pounds I had in my veins.  (I wasn't really a big 'buyer' before then anyway.)

I had no idea I'd learn so much about others int he process, or that I'd spend such a significant amount of time assuring others that I didn't give a hooey about what THEY bought...no really...I don't care. 

Most friends knew about my "Year of Not Consuming" and their reactions to it were fascinating...and tiring.

"I'm going to Target...ohmygod, don't judge me because I went there...." 
"I was at Kohls this weekend and got three shirts and two skirts for under $100. *gasp* Oh no....SORRRRY....I hope I don't offend you by talking to you about this!??" 

While I appreciated the fact that they were trying to be...helpful (?)...sensitive (?)...what I never could really get through to people is that my decision to not consume WASN'T ABOUT THEM!  It wasn't about their spending. (I don't care WHAT you buy!)  It wasn't about their shopping excursions. (Go wherever you want!  Buy what you want!)  I honestly don't CARE.   No...really!  Go forth and be happy...with whatever!

Was it a lesson on how my intentional life-changes psychologically impacted others? 
Was it a lesson on how when you make a change...then others will automatically think you're judging them? 

I have NO idea...but those are two of the questions I walked away from 2007 with.  (That, and a lot less STUFF.)    

I fully believe that I am responsible for ME...and that others are responsible for THEMSELVES.  I can support you but do not have to personally take on  the troubles that you're having in order to do so (see the book: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road, Kill Him.)    I can have unconditional positive regard for you (see: Carl Rogers) and accept you absolutely where you are, but not have to be going through, or have gone through, the same things in order to accept you. 

As I was thinking about this post (not for long, I didn't want to overthink it) I wondered if it was my background and training as a therapist that helped me really separate my own issues from others, and others issues from me...but I know it started a lot earlier than that.

I was, in many ways and for many reasons, picked on a LOT as a kid.  At different times as I was growing up I was fat, a feminist, opinionated, and gay (eventually all at the same time! Whee!!)    I was bullied, belittled, randomly friended and unfriended, and insecure...and like many who go through that, I internalized it.

Somewhere along the line I started to figure out that none of the things I was picked on about were actually MY issue, they were others' issues with me...and probably really ABOUT themselves, not me at all.  As I came to really understand and live that out, I had a terribly rough exterior about it ("Don't like it? Go to hell.")  Later I realized that we're all broken and I can stand next to you and choose to not let your opinions impact me.   On the other side of that, I can have an opinion...and you don't have to take it as a personal attack either.    Sure, I always need to work on my own edginess...and understanding the responses and reactions of others, but there's always something we need to work on. 


What I picked up without cost that year was the realization that we're all somehow, for some reason tied together with emotional strands...and tangled up in there is a wild web of emotions and fears.  My strand that reaches out to you is honestly one of acceptance, that you can be who you are, make the choices you want, and I will still accept you, though I may not want to do as you do, or believe the same things. If I make a change, or have a feeling about something, it may somehow trigger an emotion or a fear of judgement in you...but it's just ME, not you.  Be YOU.  I'm cool with that.  I promise.

NaBloPoMoFaLaLaLaLa

You know what I used to do?  Blog.  Almost every day: long posts, explanations, clever witticisms.  I started my freshman year in college, just journaling my thoughts on a web page to get take a break from writing papers. I cataloged the random thoughts and goofy ideas I had.  I went to grad school and got pretty busy, so I focused on 5 things I was thankful for every day.  On the tail-end of my Masters, I transitioned from my own webpage to a blogging site...and it turned into something NOT just about putting thoughts out, but about community-building and expanding friendships as well.

Blogging, to me, wasn't time consuming.  I was in the habit of collecting thoughts, pulling them together in some semi-cohesive way throughout the day, and sitting down to write them out.  I kept blog posts in my brain and literally just dumped them. 1000 words out in 15 minutes, easy because I'd had them in my head all day.  That was neat - I had time for other crap too.   Apparently I had more room in my head.

Today I can honestly say that I'm out of shape with collecting thoughts and writing them out....and this actually makes me a bit sad.  It's like my muscles have atrophied...my brain is slow to start.  Like after taking (oh 15?) years away from the piano, it's like sitting down and everything looks the same...but my fingers don't work the way they used to.  I need to warm-up.

So I'll take this NaBloPoMoFaLaLaLaLa challenge - who knows, it might encourage me to get back in the habit of writing for fun every day.  Lord knows I have enough to say, I hope I can pull it out of my big o'le bean.