Pick Yourself Up, Robin

Here's a quote from Bugs Bunny that I think should be dedicated to the year 2013...  "Don't think it hasn't been a little slice of heaven... Cause it hasn't."  The year 2013 was filled with more loss than gain.  Unfortunately, my sister, Robin, won the prize for the most loss during the year, but fortunately, she may have hit bottom.  With full force.  And ass first.

It began with the news that Dad would be gone in six months.   We loved both our parents, but we had "our parent."   I was a Mama's boy, while Robin was Daddy's little girl.  We knew that last Christmas was literally the last Christmas for my Dad.  He wouldn't see another New Year beyond 2013.  Robin said goodbye to "her parent" on April 15th in the afternoon.   For me, the rest of the year was a bounce up.   But, for Robin, she didn't stop there.  She tumbled further downhill.

By early May, Robin found out, via a co-worker, that her only daughter had gotten arrested for being involved with someone operating a meth lab.  Jessica is what I call "a lost soul of the world."  She wasn't sure where to turn when times got tough. She took what she could and she got dealt a rough hand.  She'll find her way someday.   But for Robin, the only way to see her daughter is with a glass wall between them and a phone on the wall.   An actual court date has yet to occur, so Robin's wait continues.

Robin's next unforgiving task was to help clean out the home of our parents.  Cleaning out years of memories was no small task.  She had to prepare to say goodbye to the physical location, while grasping and recording all possible memories in her mind.   From the age of ten, she had experienced a lot at Rural Route 4 Box 125.   Not to mention, over the telephone line of 778-3717 that ended at that address.   The final parting was difficult.  It would never be the same.

By Fall came the final "icing on the cake."   She lost her home.  On one hand, it sounded like a shady deal; but on the other, it was the work of some unforeseen force.  Robin got the boot from an unseen someone, whether she wanted it or not.  To be forced out of a rut that she had been in for a while.   It was the home where she raised two kids, watched her husband part this world, and received the news of numerous family members deaths.  She faced a lot of work on a haunted house, whose spirits needed to be set free, including Robin's.

Although she's doing well (at least from what we can see), I still offer her these words...

Robin, our parents died, but we didn't.  They gave us life and expect us to live it.  As I've grown older, I've realized how time quickly flies. Mama has been gone now over five years, but worse, I can still remember Grandma Marshall's funeral from over 25 years ago.  Has it really been that long!?

We can't waste time on the trivial.  A place to live is important, but it is exactly that...  A place to live and it can be just about anywhere. It's not for mourning, or worrying, but for living and soaking in life.  Making every moment count as much as possible.  And remember it's not about stuff.  Get over the materialistic.  I have.

Make yourself some goals.   Make yourself do them.  Make yourself enjoy every moment.  Someday, you'll wake up and everyone that you've missed will be there to greet you.  But now is not that time.

CSM

Pity Friending: A Degrading Action

Recently on Facebook, I "updated my status" on the "news feed" about a phrase that I've coined, which I'm sure already exists.  It's call "pity friending." 

You may have heard of "pity f*cking", when a person has sex with you because they feel sorry for you, have no interest in you at all, and need to feel they've done some great honor for you so they feel better.  It's kind of like that.  They "friend" you, with no real interest in you, only because they need some ego boost or just want to name drop.

Can you tell this upsets me?  

I have set rules about Facebook.  I don't care for this new generation of Facebookers who have no idea what the word "friend" means.   All of my "friends" are truly that.  Friends whom I 've know in real life.   We went to school together.  We played together.  We worked together.   We became friends before the age of Facebook.  You know, back "in the day" when you talked to people at parties or church or the park or at school or at the local hamburger joint...

Don't get me wrong.  Facebook is a wonderful place.  I can connect with classmates, coworkers, and distant family.  It's a way to keep up with people that you care about.  I can support local businesses, musicians, writers, and other community stuff.  Those people can use the numbers to get grants, contracts, or event attendance to measure success.

I just can't stand those people who really just need their ego boosted by the number of "friends" they have.  Just because you've got over 1,000 "friends" doesn't impress me.

Grow a set, get out of your shell, and make me a "real" friend that you can care about, can count on, and like in person, then I'll "friend" you on Facebook.  Don't just "pity friend" me.  It's degrading.

CSM

Parental Opposites: Patience and the Lack Of

Mama was the patient, cool-headed kind that would be fair and honest until you really pushed her... in which case, when you reached that point, you better get the hell out of the way because all hell is about to bust loose.  Anyone whoever worked with my Mom I'm sure can tell their own stories.

I never remember my Mom being angry.  Mad, yes, but never angry.  In fact, I don't even remember my Mom ever getting angry.  I've often wondered what it would have been like. She was the silent type.  She held it in.  She never raised her voice.  She did slightly grit her teeth.  But most of all, she remained calm, cool, and collective in general.

My Dad, on the other hand, had a short temper and would fly off the handle.  He had control issues that I'm not sure he ever really managed to... well, control.   His fuse, when lit, wouldn't last long before some dramatic tirade would burst out.  My Dad had so little patience. I am not sure how we put up with him. My parents were married for over 50 years, and how they lasted still amazes me to this day.  

Looking at yourself in the mirror, who do you see?  In my case, I see a mix of my parents.  Apparently, I inherited the calm, cool, and collective spirit for dealing with life in general from my Mom, but then I think I got the rest from my Dad.

Thanks a lot! 

CSM

To Traci -- It's All about Trust -- Regards, Chris

My good friend Traci recently had a situation happen in her life where she basically felt burnt.  She'll correct me if I'm wrong, but I could see there was an issue and she needed reassurance.  Personally, I think it was about a matter of trust.

OK, it's confession time.  It's hard for me to feel like I can trust someone.  The feeling must have occurred somewhere deep in my childhood... Or maybe something more recent that I've never really addressed.  Regardless, trust for me has to be built and cultivated over time.  Some people can easily trust one another.  I'm not that easy, but once I do, I will do anything for you.

To go back to the basics... For starters, I began with a good old-fashioned method of understanding trust, I looked the word up in the dictionary.  Good old Merriam-Websters had something like this to say:  a belief that someone or something is reliable, good, honest, effective, etc.

It sounds so simple, like there should be no problem with this.  On one level, it is.  On another level, it isn't.  It comes down to this... Do you know the person or not? 

So Traci, if you don't know a person, you should start with the bottom line -- you don't have any trust in this person.  Zip. Zero. Zilch.  That person is a stranger.  You know nothing deep about this person at all.  Nothing.  Nil. Nada.  You can only rely on your instincts and gut feelings.  Prayer will also help in the case of flat tire on a deserted road, late at night.  In this case, I would allow "hope for the best."  You have nothing to loose if you are cautious.   At some point, a certain level of trust will be established.

On the flip side, it's worse when you thought you knew someone so well and then they hurt you.  Boom!  Kwack!  The trust is blown out of the water.  First, let me recommend you stop and ask yourself "Am I being oversensitive to someone's foolishness?"  I can be oversensitive-- an aspect of my personality that I'm working on, but has mellowed A LOT with age.  Then, question "How would my life be different without this person?"  You may be the same person you were before you meet them.  Those are two basic questions to think about.

With me, trust has to be built over time.   So, Traci, just remember you trusted someone and now that trust is gone, maybe for good, yet maybe not.   You have to decide.

I trusted you when we worked together and I still trust you now.

CSM

Pimples, Band, and The End of the World: The High School Years

High school!  Wouldn't go back to high school if my life depended on it!  Ah, those awkward years!  Dealing with pimples that you thought would never end.  Trying to memorize the Pythagorean theorem that your math teacher insisted that you must know for the rest of your life.  Hoping not to be taunted by the football jocks.

Going back to high school to me is like having a unclean horse sit on my dinner.  It's not a pleasant thought.  However, it wasn't all bad.

Pimples.  White-headed bumps that just seemed to appear on your face.  Waiting to be popped.  Gross.   What exactly was that white stuff that landed on the bathroom mirror when you popped it?  I try not to think about it.  Today, I am surprised that I don't have a pothole map on my face.  Pimples are now a thing of the past.   Thank goodness that's over.

On a talent note, I was in the high school band.  I actually began my musical career in middle school.   Mrs. Wall, a tall blond, arranged musical instruments in "the band room" and I went in and tried each one out.   I knew I was destined to become the world's great French horn player.  Performances at the Met, platinum albums, adoring fans screaming my name.   (Now, I look back and think... Right, the French horn...)  One day while practicing, I heard my back yard neighbor tooting on his trumpet out.   Much to the dismay I'm sure of the neighbors, dueling brass began between the two houses.  How long and loud could you blow your horn?   I'm not sure who won.  It was probably a draw.

High school was rough for me.  I didn't quite fit in.  I felt like an odd duck.  It wasn't until my junior year that realized my calling.  In hindsight, it was the starting point for my trip down the road of arts and culture.   French class turned out to the boost I needed to say "Hey I can actually learn something I like."  From there, I began to blossom and knew education of some sort would be in my future.  Many thanks to one encouraging French teacher and one very patient math teacher.   Both taught me I could earn a good grade.

Now I look back at those high school years and think "What I would give if my worst worry was a pimple for prom?"   Or "What the hell is the Pythagorean theorem used for and why was it so important?"  (I don't remember it) Or even better, "OK, how many of you jocks are now overweight, beer drinkers, or even better, turned out to be gay?"

CSM

A Single Traveler

Note:   I wrote this several days ago, so I am not sitting at Starbucks. 

Right at this moment I am sitting at a window counter in a Starbucks on Michigan Avenue in Chicago.  Twilight is here.  Out on the sidewalk, people are rushing by. Hailing cabs.  Checking in or out of their hotel.  I see them, but they don't look at me. They just walk by looking at their Androids, iPhones, staring down at the grey pavement.  I wonder what they are thinking about?  Dinner?  Just getting home?  And what are they looking at on their deviecs?   Email? Text messages?  The news?  This blog...  I wish.

It's cool out, not cold, but enough for the felt caps and knitted scarves.  I see they've dug out their heavier jackets from the back of their closets. Winter is coming.  Chicago at this time is starting to look festive for the holidays.  Christmas lights, trees, wreaths are all starting to show up.  Earlier when I walked by, I noted that Macy's Department Store was decked out, ready for the holiday season.

I take in the whole scene.  I'm here near the Miracle Mile, wishing for a miracle.  It's hard sometimes to take in the scenery alone, but I do it.  Watching the people.  The other singles. The cuddling couples. The ragged families.  All scurrying by to their destinations.

It's hard to travel alone, but it's harder to justify not traveling at all.

CSM

Chicago! Part One

Well, I've been wanting to try my hand at travel writing... So here goes.

I just spent 2.5 days in or near Chicago. (The half day being Sunday and wanted to avoid the hurricane that was a'comin'.) 

First I want to say this about Chicago... What a great city!  Lively.  Bustling.  Windy.  Museums.  Shopping.   Starbucks on every corner.  And lots of handsome faces... If you're into that...  Which I am... 

I arrived in the Indiana suburbs and parked at my friend's house.  From there, I walked over to the South Shore, bought a ticket from a faceless machine in no time, and boarded the arriving train.  The timing was perfect.  I had checked the schedule beforehand, so I knew what to expect. The trip to my first stop lasted all of twenty minutes or so.

Getting off at the 55/56/57th street station, I had arrived in the big city.  Racing past enclosed waiting areas, I found the descending stairs, then the streets, and in no time stood in front of the Museum of Science and Industry.  It was heavenly to see those large banners with a giant Mickey Mouse beckoning me in...  Taunting me to the exhibit Treasures from the Walt Disney Archives...  Ahhhhh... I could feel their presence.  Inside those stone walls, somewhere in a guarded gallery, I was about to be made love to.   Seduced by the lure of stage props, original costumes, and delicious memorabilia. 

And sure enough, after paying the entrance fee, grabbing a guide map, waiting until my assigned time, I found myself within inches of Walt Disney's desk.  And awards including two gold shiny Oscars.  Then, be still my heart, the original knob from the bed in Bed knobs and Broomsticks.  I was one degree of separation from Angela Lansbury.  Hey, she touched it.  Watch the movie.

I swayed and swooned over the carpet bag carried by Mary Poppins and the coat and hat she wore.  The blocks that spelled out her name.  Captain Jack Sparrow's outfit.  Mechanical figures from The Magic Kingdom's Haunted Mansion.  The prop Nautilus from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I staggered, drunk with awe...

I felt sorry for the security guard who really thought I was drunk.  "Ha!", I said.  "Drunk like hell, I'm having an orgasm."

But most of all, I felt sorry for the poor cleaning woman.  She cleaned loads of my drool and slobber from the Plexiglas cases as I pressed my nose against them to get as close as I could.  Poor thing... I hope they gave her a bonus for the day.

CSM