We Get the Leaders We Deserve?

Isn’t it almost impossible to believe that the same nation which elected Jimmy Carter to its highest office also bestowed that honor upon Donald Trump?  Not surprisingly, it seems the Carter presidency was the aberration, much as some of us would like to hope Trump’s was the step outside the norms of America’s political reality. We never deserved Jimmy Carter.  But Trump?  That’s another story.

And the fact that a good, decent, upright man like James Earl Carter is judged by our history as having been an abject failure as POTUS, really tells you all you need to know about the United States of America.  Doesn’t it?  

Good Morning

You know it’s going to be a good day when you see the ants floating in your cereal bowl before you take a big spoonful and shove it in your mouth…

Thoughts

 

A little over a month ago, I thought I had made a clear, well-reasoned decision about the fate of this blog.  But, as often happens in life, circumstances and events of the past 30 days or so have combined to change my mind.

The primary event was struggling through a bout of COVID, inflicted upon me--and the rest of the family--by my oldest sister.  In her infinite wisdom, and despite all kinds of media and official warnings to the contrary, she decided it would be just fine to have company at her house on Christmas morning.  Company who had just recovered from "some virus."  Company outside our safe little pod of family members who have been tying ourselves in knots to keep from contracting this thing.  She took the risk--without consulting the rest of us--and we paid the price.

Of course, she and my brother-in-law didn't come through this unscathed.  BIL was so sick he ended up in the hospital for three days.  BIL suffers from Lewy Body dementia.  Sister is such a control freak that she will not allow him out of her sight for more than an hour or two at a time.  SHE spent the entire three days, save a couple of hours to run home and shower, camped out on a recliner in his hospital room.  It was not an easy time for her by any means.

But for me, it has also been tough.  I was not sick unto death or anything, but I felt like crap for over two weeks.  And I'm  really, really irritated about the entire situation. I feel like an asshole for being mad at my sister for getting me sick, but I just can't get past it, and that makes everything worse.  I honestly feel like a trust was violated.  I am trying to juggle "get over it," with acknowledging my feelings, and yearning for them to be validated by someone.  Anyone.

Because here's the thing about my family.  We don't go there.  To the world, we would be thought of as "close."  We all live within a few minutes' walk or drive from each other. We hang out together.   A lot.  We value our family connection, and we even love each other.  But we do not share emotions on any level.  My father was a very private, buttoned-up person.  He was a very good man, but he just didn't open up emotionally to anyone.  Ever.  And, unfortunately, he passed that trait down to all of his daughters.  Which has been...not a good thing.  We have learned to "cope" with emotional issues in a myriad of unhealthy ways.  Some of us are just good old-fashioned "stuffers."  Some of us spend our lives skating across the surface, never venturing deep enough to encounter difficult emotions.  Some of us stuff or skate until we explode. Some of us self-medicate. 

I have struggled for years to acknowledge feelings and deal with them in a healthy way.  A basic tenet of my theory has been to try and bring things out into the open and deal with them.  It seems to me that letting things fester never does any good for anybody.  But, let's just say, especially within my family, this idea has crashed and burned spectacularly.  

So I've yearned for someone to talk to.  Someone to share my deepest sadness and greatest joy.  My family is not it.  Has never been it.  I had a "best friend" with whom I shared over twenty years of my life.  She was not it, either.  

Imagine having a "friendship" that lasted over two decades, yet involved no emotional bond.  I think about that sometimes, and I think, "What the hell were we doing?"

The closest I ever came to making that kind of connection with other human beings was...yeah, you guessed it.  The early days of AOL Journals.  It seemed to me that I had landed smack in the middle of something I had yearned for all the prior 48 years of my life--an emotional and intellectual connection to...people.   Of course, we now know I was utterly mistaken about that connection...indeed, whether there was ever a connection at all.  Still...fifteen years beyond the collapse of that balloon--whether it was all in my head, or not--I'm still mourning its demise.  That's how much it meant to me, back in the day.

And so, "Coming to Terms" has continued on, unplugged from humanity for at least the past fifteen years.  And yet, I still come here.  Do I merely haunt this place in lonely yearning for something long gone?  Or has this blog served a purpose for me all these years?

It took this time of reflection and pulling away from my family to realize that, yes.  "Coming to Terms" does serve a real and continuing purpose in my life.  It may not be the place I come to communicate with other people.  But it has been, and continues to be, the place where I can come with all the things that I don't/can't share with anyone in my life.

The reason that my writing has "sucked" over the past many years is that I'm not communicating with anyone.  But this "crappy" writing that I've splattered here is still the story of my life.  It's still words and thoughts that need to be put...somewhere...in order to try to make sense of them.  

"Coming to Terms" is my somewhere.

So we will speak no more about letting it go because it no longer serves.

Of course it serves.  And will keep on serving. Me.   For some time, at least. 

 

Never, Never, NEVER Forget

 JANUARY 6, 2020

The day a power-mad despot and his minions very nearly succeeded in ending “The Great Experiment.”

We're so fond of “never forgetting” foreign attacks on our nation, 

But THIS is the one we should never, ever forget.

This is what Abraham Lincoln actually DID say about the eventual destruction of our republic:

“At what point then is the approach of danger to be expected? I answer, if it ever reach us, it must spring up amongst us. It cannot come from abroad. If destruction be our lot, we must ourselves be its author and finisher. As a nation of freemen, we must live through all time, or die by suicide.”

Sneaking In at the Last Minute

 

#6--Solstice Revelations

 

Good lord...

I rolled out a "10 things" with an eye toward kick-starting myself into finishing out the year with a flurry of essays.

AND...

My last post was over a month ago.

In fact, I have just two days left of 2022 to post...anything.

The Solstice has come and gone.  I dutifully inscribed little scraps of paper with "things that no longer serve," and incinerated them in my Solstice Fire.  We'll see where that all goes in the coming year.

In the meantime, the Universe has been nudging me toward the realization that there are some things that no longer serve which I have not been inclined to acknowledge.  Things that are so big and have been a part of my life for so long that it will actually be very difficult to let them go, though they do indeed no longer serve.

One of those things is my business--the thing which kept me going and gave me purpose during some very difficult years.  For more than twenty years, it's been the scrap of floating debris that's kept my head above water through some pretty rough surf.  But now, with our move to Eugene offering us fewer accessible market opportunities, and the Scandinavian Festival becoming a challenge which my ancient work-force has aged out of...it's probably time to close it down.  Not only will that be tough emotionally, but the sheer volume of stuff we'll have to liquidate is a daunting and exhausting thought.

There is one other dear and important thing that has outlived its usefulness in my life, and will have to be put to bed:

This blog.

I'll have to finally acknowledge that the loss of readers and feedback has destroyed my desire to come here and write.  

I came to that realization recently, when I sat and read, as I sometimes do, some of my old essays.  From the old AOL days, and even a bit beyond, when I still had people who came here and left evidence that they had been.  

My writing was GOOD then.  I became a better writer than I had ever thought possible.  Creative.  Clear.  Concise.  

Because I was talking to somebody.

And they were talking back.

"Coming to Terms..." is not that anymore.  And it hasn't been for a very long time.  When I look at the (mostly) crap I've written in the past few years...not only is it infrequent, it's just not very good.  It's not even close to the caliber of stuff I was putting out years ago.  Even when I was losing my sanity trying to play entrepreneur, I could write decent and interesting stuff.

Not anymore.   

I've kept coming here because I thought this would be the corner of "social media" that I could stomach.  Not ugly.  not contentious. "My little corner of the internet."

But it's not social here.  It's just...dead quiet.  

And putting thoughts here is really no better than letting them rattle around in my head.

In September of 2023, this blog will turn 20 years old.  

I'll try to continue to write here until then.  Or at least post photos, or something.  But I think the handwriting is on the wall for "Coming to Terms..."  I'll take the next nine months to wrap up 20 years of...whatever this is.

And, who knows?  Maybe something better, more fitting to my current life, will take its place.

The Universe has so far been very good about providing appropriate replacements when it finally pries my hands off something that no longer serves.

I'm looking forward to finding out what The Universe will find for me this time.  

 

 

#5--The Guardian

 

5.)  My determination to write this post has once again thrown a monkey wrench into my mojo.  It’s relatively simple to throw together an essay about external things…things that happen, things I have a strong opinion about.  But this one…this is something that is intensely personal.  So much so that I find it nearly impossible to frame it in a way that would make sense to anyone outside myself.  I am acutely aware that it might come off as delusional, ignorant drivel.

Anyone who has followed this blog for any length of time is aware of my path of spirituality.  It doesn’t have a name, it isn’t anyone’s religion.  I suppose it’s fine to belong to a spiritual community, but I just…don’t feel the need.  “Churches” tend to create rules defining the “right” ways and the “wrong” ways to conduct a relationship with the Almighty.  I can’t subscribe to that.  The Creator of the Universe is obviously a vast, creative, diverse entity.  Who am I, who is anybody, to attempt to define, and in doing so, limit the Creator to a size and character that we poor humans can understand?

People sometimes do eventually figure out that “God” is not the big guy in the sky who is everything human beings are, only bigger and badder—the ultimate extreme human.  Unfortunately, this tends to turn many formerly religious folks into atheists.  The logic is that if “God” isn’t what they’ve always been led to believe, then “God” doesn’t exist at all.  I just find that…incredibly sad. 

I figured out years ago that god wasn’t necessarily what any religion paints god to be.  But, rather than concluding that god doesn’t exist, it seemed reasonable to believe that our perception of the Creator of the Universe was so limited as to be erroneous.   Not to mention able to be twisted into a tool used to enrich certain human beings at the expense of others, which seems to be the chief function of religion in our world.

The part where I think other people might find it hard to follow me is this: While I claim to understand that the Creator is too vast and complex for our minds to truly grasp, I still believe that the creative energy that IS the Almighty encourages a personal connection to it.  Why does “God” have to be human in order to welcome a connection to individual people?  To make that claim would be to again place a limit on a limitless power.  If my spirituality has one rule, it is to never place limits on the power of the Almighty.

This all leads me to the subject of this post:

The Guardian.

 Once I walked away from traditional religion, I gradually became aware the Universe encouraged a connection with me.  I will admit my relationship to that connection has run hot and cold over the years.  There are times when a relationship with something beyond ourselves, something that cannot be seen or heard or touched, seems so remote as to be impossible.  It isn’t always easy to believe.  In religious circles, they often call this a “crisis of faith.”

My spiritual journey has progressed to the place where I am convinced that not only is the Creator connected to me…it watches over me.  I suppose this concept has been understood by religion for centuries.  There are guardian angels, patron saints, familiars, spirit guides…  All based on the idea that the Creator provides protection and guidance.  As I have walked my spiritual path, turned toward and sometimes away from the Creator for a time, I’ve gradually become aware that I have received benevolent protection and guidance for years, in such a form that is, for me, indisputable evidence that not only does the Almighty exist, but the Almighty has forged and maintains a connection to me personally.  Pretty heady stuff.

At no time has this been more evident than the past few pandemic-ridden years.  It has been quite a journey, and I have felt undeniably blessed and protected since it began, and even before.

In 2018, a full two years before COVID was upon us, I became convinced that the time had come for our little household to strip down, shed debt and move back “home” to my family.  It’s not like an angel came to me in a dream or anything.  I just decided, “NOW is the time.”  I thought I was setting us up for retirement.  And I set about to make it happen.  By early 2019, all was accomplished.

Less than a year later, the pandemic struck.  In August of 2020, the place where the husband had worked for over 25 years shut its doors…he was out of work.  But since we had shed $1400 a month debt service and were living in Eugene in a house with no mortgage, we were prepared.  We had meticulously set ourselves up to weather a disaster that nobody had any idea was going to happen.

Unemployment and government COVID benefits were sufficient to meet our finacancial needs (and then some.)  When unemployment ran out, husband landed a job that coincidentally (?) brought in almost exactly the income he was receiving from unemployment.  We applied for and obtained a huge government grant to keep our small business afloat when it was sidelined for 2 years by COVID.  Sure, we had to participate in our own survival.  But it was almost ridiculously easy to slide from one benefit to the next...when one thing ran out, another opportunity popped up.  Almost like it was planned.   

How to explain that?

All that time when I was almost crazy with anxiety about the specter of illness and death, the one thing I did NOT have to worry about was our financial well-being.  I didn’t have to stress about how to keep a roof over our heads or food on the table.  It was taken care of.  By a power far beyond myself.   

And, honestly, I understood that to be the case.  We have been protected and provided for during this whole thing.

And now that the time of fear is mostly over, lest I take for granted that the Creator holds us in the palm of its hand, I daily discover instances where I know I am being protected and guided.

Gradually, I’ve felt inspired to name the aspect of the Almighty that has watched over us and kept us from disaster. 

I call it the Guardian.  

The Guardian who has walked beside me, protected me under its wing, for years, unseen.

And I am grateful.  Every day. 

 

 

#4--Service!

4.)  Let's face it: those who control the lion's share of the wealth in the US have done a fine job of hauling the country back to the conditions present in the infancy of the industrial revolution--when workers were damn-near slaves to the business moguls who controlled nearly every aspect of their lives.  You lived in company housing.  You bought your food at the company store.  The aim, I assume, was the same as it is now: for the rich to get richer on the backs of the people who made them rich, and with whom they would be damned if they would share the spoils.  Sure, industry had to pay people to work...slavery was illegal.  But industry was intent on getting every penny they paid out in wages--plus more--back from the workers who toiled in the factories.  This, of course, led to the birth of the Labor Movement.  For all their boogers and warts, we should never forget that unions were born to advance workers' interests, hold wealthy employers accountable and generally force them to share the spoils of success with their employees.   

Fast forward to the second decade of the 21st century (almost 150 years, for gods sake!)  The factory jobs that had ultimately been forced to provide living wages to generations of Americans have been shipped overseas, where workers will toil for a fraction of the cost of American labor.  This has created our crappy "consumer economy," where 70% of jobs available are in the service industry.  Service jobs were once the bailiwick of students and second-income "housewives."  In 21st-century America, they've been elevated to the status of primary income for many Americans.

To add insult to this injury, or perhaps to facilitate this injury, the US labor movement is MIA.  After a century and a half of constant battle against the forces of the rich and powerful (who have steadily striven to set up our government to favor the rich and powerful), the union movement is, if not certifiably dead, then definitely on life support. And the propaganda efforts of the rich and powerful have been so successful, they have convinced struggling Americans to vote against their own interests,  guaranteeing the wealthy a lock on power.  As if that were not enough, Mr. and Mrs. Average American have been encouraged to viciously vilify anyone they perceive to be below them on the economic food chain.  "Service job isn't paying you enough?  Go to school, get an education and get a real job!"  As if that avenue to climbing out of poverty still existed in "the land of opportunity." 

And because these are the only jobs available, service people have been subjected to the most diabolical treatment by the industries whose pockets they toil to line.  Crappy wages.  No regular schedules.  No insurance coverage.  No guarantee of hours.  No vacation pay.  American workers have been forced to give up every hard-won benefit secured for them by the labor movement in the last century.  Workers are "lucky to have jobs."  You don't like your job?  We'll get rid of you and hire some other poor schlub to take your place.  It doesn't matter to us.  YOU don't matter to us. 

Workers had little choice but to tolerate such treatment, if they wanted to keep roofs over their heads and food on the table.  Which, in any case, they could not do without government assistance, even if they DID value their jobs.   

And then came COVID.

Poorly paid, unappreciated service employees suddenly became "front line workers."  And the only reward that came with that appellation was the title itself.  Little pay increase, if any at all.  No additional medical benefits, no additional sick time.  In addition, management did nothing to protect workers from rude, violent, entitled customers who took out their frustrations about COVID restrictions on the poor overworked peons behind the counters.

At one point, early on in the pandemic, the government actually paid people to not work.  

Which, unfortunately for the businesses that have for decades depended upon exploitative labor practices to line the pockets of the rich, gave workers a chance to see what life would be like if they were NOT chained to jobs where they were treated like worthless crap.  

And, guess what?  They rebelled.

They used the short breather they were given by the government to take stock of their lives...and legions of under-appreciated service workers decided NOT to ever go back to the jobs that made their lives more miserable than tolerable.  

Surprise!

Suddenly, the service industry had to swallow hard and deep, and start offering incentives to get people to stand behind their counters.  Signing bonuses.  Increased wages.  Health benefits.  

And, of course, the price of fast food has skyrocketed in order to cover the cost.

But, you know what? 

I am more than willing to pay people a decent living wage to flip burgers and fry fries.  Back in the olden days, just after the dinosaurs became extinct, my husband and I bought a home and two new cars on service worker salaries. People should be able to work in the service sector and make a decent living.  

Now, we are retirees; we don’t have a lot of extra money, but we do have enough money to eat out a couple of times a week. And due to COVID, we haven't seen the inside of a sit-down restaurant in almost three years.  So it's fast-food drive-ups or carry-out all the way.  And I'm okay with that.  If I have to spend $18 or $20 on a meal at McDonald's, just so the workers can pay their rent, I'm fine with that.  

But...and there is always a but.  And I'm sure this part is not going to get the nods of agreement from liberal readers that perhaps the rest of this post has inspired.

If I'm going to pay more for my meal because fast food workers need to make a living wage, then fast food workers need to be retrained to prepare the food the way it should be.  They need to care about the product they turn out.  If you’re going to serve me a cheeseburger, melt the damn cheese. Assemble the sandwich so that when I unwrap it, it’s still standing in a straight-ish column, not so that everything is sliding off one side of the bun. Don’t blob all the condiments in the center. And how about making sure the fries are hot when they go into the bag?  I don't expect fast food chains to spend a lot of dough to "improve" their product. The product is just fine, if it's prepared with a little bit of care.  Invest the money in well-trained, service-minded staff, people who might be inspired to take a few extra seconds to actually think about and take pride in what they're doing. Perhaps even to make it how they would like to eat it. 

I spent most of my working life making food, much of it fast. So I know it can be done.

Of course, in order to get the employees to care about their product, the employers need to show they care about their workers.

And perhaps that is where this whole thing falls apart.

For now, anyway.

But I have a feeling that's going to change.  Because it has to, if companies intend to survive in the pandemic-altered landscape of the American service industry.  

We shall see.     

#3--Wrestling Persistent Demons

 

I really DID intend to launch a more or less cohesive "Ten Things..." last month.  

Unfortunately, I ran out of mojo after the first two.  I'm particularly chapped about that.  Leaving the whole thing hanging after the post about pronouns put way too much emphasis on the subject of that post, when, in fact, it just happened to be the first thing I could pull out of the huge barrel of unwritten essays stored in the attic of my brain.  It's not exactly a thing I invest a great deal of thought into on a daily basis.  

I don't now why I have such a hard time sitting down to write these days.  I have plenty of ideas swirling around in my mind.  I just feel too...fidgety...to sit down and invest the brainpower into organizing them into cohesive essays.  

So...I thought I would make that thorny problem Number 3 of my ten things, and see if maybe it will jump start me enough to get me through the rest of the list.  Since it seems to be the over-arching issue of my life these days.

Come back tomorrow and see if there is a Number 4 waiting for you.  I give it about a 20% chance of happening.       

 

#2--Gender-ama

 

2.) I'm going to make an admission here that will have people questioning my card-carrying liberal politics.

I'm sorry, but the whole gender-identity, proper pronoun issue is just...ridiculously over-the-top.  I can't endorse it.

Don't get me wrong.  I don't care who anybody chooses to love, sleep with, have kinky sex with or raise a family with.  It is none of my damn business.  It is none of ANYBODY'S damn business besides the consenting adults involved.

So why do I have to know or care enough about your personal sexual orientation or gender identity to choose the proper pronoun by which you prefer to be referred (when I'm talking to someone else ABOUT you, since I won't use any pronoun besides "you" when I'm talking TO you, will I?)

American pop culture has become SO about sex--sex, sex and more sex.  All sex, all the time.  So I actually GET why gender identity would be carried out to the ridiculous nth degree.  I mean, if everything has to be about sex, then I must have to carefully consider and infinitesimally define my exact place in the culture.  And shout it from the rooftops.  And insist that the entire world acknowledge and approve it.  

Really?

Do we really need the approval of the entire world to be who we are?

Doesn't that assign a level of control over my ultimate happiness...over my acceptance of myself... to the world at large, that I should not want to concede?

I'm sorry.  I'm more of the opinion that we should all suck it up, be who we are, let others "accept" or not, because they're going to anyway...

...and not let what anybody else thinks or believes about my personal, private behaviors have that kind of power over me.

Why was "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" such a terrible thing?  I don't want to ask you about your sexual orientation.  I shouldn't have to.  It's none of my business.  It has absolutely no bearing on how I interact with you.   And I really don't need you to tell me, either.  I mean, you can tell me if you want.  It's not going to offend me.  But you shouldn't feel like you have to tell me, for whatever reason.  That information is private.  It's between you and whomever you choose to have a relationship with.  Guard it.  Cherish it.  Keep it sacred.

Don't allow the world to force you to exploit it.