Life through Big Brown Eyes

Ask any of my old school chums. They’ll tell you. Yeah, maybe I was funny sometimes, and a pretty good student – but I got in trouble for being bossy. I simply expected everyone to follow the direction I provided.
As I began my career, the most dead-on piece of feedback I received was in the mid 90’s. My boss at the time wrote “She has little patience for those who do not meet her expectations.”  Yup.  

My nieces and nephews will tell you I’m still bossy. I try to tell them what to do all the time. God bless them, they’re all adults now and will happily tell me to go fuck myself. 
That’s a pretty good reality check. 

The type of work I do doesn’t help. I have to require people to do what I want all day long.  Comes pretty naturally. (Insert eye roll here) I’ve always received very high marks for my “leadership ability” (corporate-speak for “bossy”). 

I would absolutely be the first person voted out of Survivor. I’d be trying to organize our efforts, identify roles and responsibilities (Shelter-building: you! Fishing: you! I’ll gather wood!) 
The “tribe would speak” in a heartbeat. 

My husband and I have come to the conclusion that if we need to negotiate for something such as a lower price, or some other benefit, he needs to do the talking. He is much more charming than I when it comes to that. 

However, if someone/some company has wronged us and we need to negotiate for some recompense (like Comcast, for example?) let me at ’em. 

In the past few weeks, it’s also come to my attention that some people perceive my bossiness as rude. They have even inferred that I am (gasp!) a bitch. 

That was an excellent reality check. 

I’ve always tried to be a loving person, a good daughter, and a supportive friend. So when I hear that someone thinks I’m a rude bitch – my immediate response is EEEK!

The fact that we communicate mostly via the written word nowadays doesn’t help. Everyone knows that emails, texts, and social media posts don’t convey emotion very well. That’s why we have emojis. They only go so far. 

So if I need or want something done, I have to say would ya, could ya, if you don’t mind, when you have a moment, sorry to be a bother…..blah, blah, blah. 
Ain’t nobody got time for that!

My brain is wired to be bossy. That’s the reality. I will direct you to do such and such – always with good intentions and usually for the greater good. I’ll say please. I’ll say thank you. I’ll express my appreciation in a myriad of ways. 

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve preferred to use the term “requiring.” 

That’s really just calling a zebra a striped horse.

I’m still a bossy kid. 

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As I get to the end of what has been one of the most significant transitional years of my life so far (the passing of my mom, major career change, transferring my childhood home, to name a few), I want to pause for a moment in thankful contemplation. 

This year has flown by, hours and days passing in a blur of grief, of worry, of stress. Yet, within the maelstrom, there are pinpoints of light, Grace, and blessing. 

The moment with one of my oldest friends (a chosen sister) as we sat in the church for my mother’s funeral …and the moment one of my other chosen sisters, who HATES to hug, held onto me outside of the church afterward as we cried together. 

Lovely moments with my various great nieces:

The time I was holding one in the pool at a party this summer. Asking her if she wanted to swim. She grabbed tighter and said “No! I wanna stay with you!”

The moment when another finally said my name. 

Receiving a handwritten note from another that said “I love you, I’ll miss you and I don’t want you to go” as our visit came to an end. 

Holding the newest of these little princesses and singing her Do Rey Mi – getting her to stop crying when no one else could. 

Other instances of light…

The playing of taps and the slow salute of the Naval officers as we interred the ashes of my parents.

Conversations, philosophical (and otherwise), with various nieces and nephews while sitting in the grass, by a pool, at a bar, or at 3AM. 

Moments of laughter and levity, usually wine induced, with friends and family who enjoy a good glass as much as I do. 

And finally, every single time my husband, even after 26 years, looked deep into my eyes and told me he loves me. 

It’s easier to remember a year when big, life-changing events occur, especially when they’re difficult. 

It’s harder to recall the hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny moments that make us smile and warm our hearts. It is for these that we should be thankful. 

And I am. I truly am. 

I spent several hours this week watching The Presidents on the History Channel. If I learned anything, it was that among the last 44 Presidents, we’ve had a couple of real doozies. 
And America survived. 
We had a president that divided us to the point that the next one dealt with a civil war. 
And America survived. 
We had individuals who were corrupt, who were womanizers, who were stupid, lazy, completely ineffective. 
And America survived. 
Our current election forced us to experience two candidates who participated in one of the most negative campaigns ever…forced us to look at media (ALL media) with a jaundiced eye…forced us to endure arguments on social media, where discussion, discourse, and censure went out the window. 
Everyone is nervous about this election. Everyone believes that if their candidate doesn’t win, we’re going to hell in a hand basket. 
At the end of all the hub bub, once all the votes are cast, the sun will still come up tomorrow. 
And America WILL survive. 
I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America, and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under God, indivisible with Liberty and Justice for all. 

In the days before technology, people gathered in taverns, or around their tables, and discussed the issues of the day. There were debates, arguments, discourse. Some of it calm. Some of it not.

Nowadays, that table, that tavern, is social media. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. Folks from different backgrounds and ideologies can gather around a virtual table and debate.  Except they don’t.

In the horribly divided society in which we live, it’s their side or our side. You’re wrong. I’m right. If I believe this, you think I’m a bad person. If you believe that, I might think you’re stupid.

There’s very little discourse and even less censure.  Censure is the fuel on which the American machine has run.  It’s the ability to disagree with our governement and with each other without fear of consequence.  It was described best by the character Andrew Shepherd in the 1995 movie “An American President”:

“Let’s see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who’s standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours.”

In social media, you’re teased if you express a view that may be considered political (whether it’s controversial or not). And God forbid if people disagree with you. In social media, people rarely debate. It’s easier not to. If you post something that your neighbor, cousin’s boyfriend or your old 2nd grade teacher doesn’t like, you could be “unfollowed” or at worst “unfriended.”  I’m not blameless.  Post after post with pronouncements that made my blood boil.  Did I acknowledge them?  Nope.  I unfollowed them.

Shame on me.

No one allows themselves to be swayed.  After the first Presidential debate, folks posted to social media with comments about how crappy the candidate they don’t support anyway performed.  Not great fodder for discussion.

I enjoy respectful debate.  Let’s discuss issues, policies, possible solutions.  Yet, in this go-round, there really isn’t much opportunity to do that.  We’re talking about emails, corruption, deceit, walls, inappropriate comments, and sniffing.

Yes. Sniffing.

Each side is frightened of the other side’s candidate.  Almost everyone agrees that with all of our choices, what we’re left with is choosing what each of us believes is the lesser of two evils.  There are a few who are truly supportive of their candidate and are ready to expound on why he/she would make a great president.  But nobody wants to listen.

There is a growing voice about a third choice…Independent, Libertarian…maybe in four years we’ll be able to stretch our collective consciousness to entertain that possibility.  Not sure there is room for it this time.  Podium seems a little over-crowded as it is.  And let’s face it – that would just be more voices that noone will acknowledge or debate.

What the hell would George Washington do?

I think he’d just log off.

I prepare the tools of my art. I will travel deep into my head…entering a zen like state. The cares of the outside world wisp away like smoke. 

Let us begin. 

A clean canvas…

Color…

A protective cloth…

Water…

A clean brush….

A cuticle trimmer…
Wait. 

What – you say?!? 

What is a cuticle trimmer?

Besides the patently obvious answer that it’s a tool to trim cuticles – it is a very small, very sharp instrument that trims the extra skin around the nail. 

You know… when you get (or give yourself) a manicure.

Too girly. Right?

Waste of time. Yeah?

ZEN LIKE STATE?

Before you assume that I’m some frilly, frivolous, high-maintenance housewife from wherever – have you ever had a manicure? Or better yet – taken the time to give yourself one? 

Some of the most relaxing time I enjoy each week is spent dipping my fingernails in an acetone- soaked sponge, soaking them in hot sudsy water and leveraging that “never say die – the stressful world won’t kill me” artist deep inside to paint each one of them perfectly. 

It truly is one of the few artistic things I do. 

But a manicure can be so much more than a fun, girly, even pseudo artistic thing to do. It can be the catalyst for some really significant female bonding. 

Over the last several years of my mother’s life (even as her hearing failed, her eyesight dimmed, and her memory faded), some of the sweetest moments we spent together were over a bowl of sudsy water. I would file and paint her nails and we would chat about life. Toward the end, we would play games to help her remember people and places. It is those moments I conjure when struck with grief and longing. 

On a happier note, I invented a intimate little party I called “Margaritas and Manicures” (or “Merlot and Manicures” for those who are tequila-adverse). An evening spent with girlfriends or female family members. Drinking, nail painting, gossip swapping – so much fun! Although truth be told, I had to revise it to “Manicures and Margaritas”. We discovered fairly early on that one didn’t turn out so well if you’d already had too much of the other. 

Something as silly as lacquer on nails can result in so much more. A moment of peace at the end of a long stressful day, a memory to be carried deep in your heart, or a belly laugh so outrageous that you can’t breathe. 

So much more than just polish.