Category: Blogolicious

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Blogolicious

The Importance of Morale

We’re in a bit of a funk at my Agency right now. Like every sector of the world of employment, people are leaving. Word is, pandemics (and probably stimmy checks) are giving folks an opportunity to take a pause and re-evaluate their lives. This makes it tough for those who stay behind. There’s a fair amount of training required in my job. As there should be. We are involved in some big stuff in people’s lives. We owe it to the families we serve to properly train the workers. And, this leads to a lag between when someone’s hired and when they are given full responsibility thus giving some breathing room to the workers who’ve been picking up the slack.

Short staffing and pandemic circumstances have led to a lot of yuck. In March of 2020. We all buckled our seatbelts for a 3 week lock down that’s turned in to a year and a half of daily uncertainty and worry. There’s been division and fear, and the hits just keep coming. The fatigue of managing feelings about it all has led to a decrease in ability/willingness to tolerate adversity. We may have handled something different in 2019 than we do today if no other reason than we’re just tired.

As a result, a phrase that I’m hearing a lot lately is that “morale is bad.”

We are lucky to work with people who’s hearts are in it for the work they do and they people they do it with. When shit gets real, you can count on people to rally without hesitation to each other’s aid or to meet the needs of the community. Without exception. It’s a thing of beauty to see.

But when were struggling, it can be easy to lose sight of this very important truth; morale is everyone’s responsibility. 

Morale isn’t something that any leadership can dial up on their own. Obviously when there’s concrete changes that are within their power to address, they should. If, for example, supervisors were releasing a swarm of bees into the office every day at 2 pm because they like the sound of it, that’s a thing they should stop doing. But if the expectation is that they change the suck of the world, that just ain’t gonna happen.

Ironically, I’m sounding like I’m complaining as I say we shouldn’t complain. I’m not trying to. Folks are all keenly aware of the steps people take consistently to lift up each other. Whether it’s motorcycle balloons, ordering matching shirts, baked goods, kick ass magnets, group gifts, or just being someone’s second on an investigation; that amazingness matters.

However, what’s also noticed is when people complain about morale. The very action contributes to the toxicity. Over complaining about morale is essentially as effective as complaining about sand in your eye as you are rubbing more sand in your eye. It’s counter productive to the goal at hand. Maybe it’s out there and I just didn’t look hard enough, but I did a brief research review and wasn’t able to find any thing that says grumbling improves mood.

This is easy to misinterpret, so I want to be crystal clear about a few things:

  • If you have ideas for solutions, absolutely share them. Time after time, the best solutions come from folks actually doing the thing
  • Keep doing all the amazing stuff to support your peers. Rather consistently, it’s our peers that keep us motivated and fueled to do incredible things

And finally,…

  • This blog is the personal opinion of one worker. If it’s struck a nerve, that’s my responsibility alone.  (ugh….I’m starting to think I’ll never learn when to keep my mouth closed)

We can’t control the status of the world, but we can control how we react to it. If I had a wish; it would be that when that urge to point out how shitty things are hits, take a moment of pause. Do you have an idea for a solution? Share it, please! Trust me, it is needed. And then ask yourself will complaining make you feel better? Or does it run the risk of shoving more sand in your eye?

Thanks for reading, and remember; this is just one person’s observations and opinions.  

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Blogolicious

Places

On the hallway wall of my parents house was a framed map of the world. I used to pull a number of chairs from the dining room and line them up in the hall pretending it was an airplane. I’d look at the map and let my imagination determine my destination. Heaven forbid if I had any cousins or friends over because they’d have to accompany me on whatever journey lie ahead. I’d be the fake pilot. Obviously. Maybe this is how you spent your 20’s too (see, it’s funny because it was really in the elementary school days; old enough read but still young enough to imagine. A truly magical time.)

As is the same today, I knew very little of the big wide world. To get the best fake trips, I’d have to fly my vinyl covered chair to places that I’d heard something about, or places that could be found in the first few letters of. The alphabet.

Also the same as today, I liked to flex my curiosity muscle. I’m not sure which came first, the curiosity or the encyclopedias, but since it was WAY pre-google, they were my source for imagination fascination fuel. The Funk and Wagnall encyclopedias came from Safeway, but they were a limited time deal. As a result, all my “travel” and school projects landed somewhere in the zone of A-D. It was plenty of material.

I thank my ‘rents for instilling a sense of adventure and excitement about seeing new places. I knew how to pretend plane because I’d been to Dad’s home state of Minnesota. I was also prepared to play “gallery visits” from all the art we’d seen, but oddly I didn’t play that. Did you guys know that there are art galleries in Disneyland?! If you’re wondering who would look at them, it’s artists, and their less enthused children.

Seeing new places changes perspectives. For me, it’s creates a greater sense of community and understanding of humanity. It also builds confidence. When you survive the night in the sketchy hotel, you can feel a sense of accomplishment. And just the wonder of seeing new things; different mountains, landscapes that looks like a looney tunes cartoon, 1,300 foot tall smoke stacks, so many things that you’d have never known about had you chosen to be still and not adventure. There’s a great big world out there. No need to just treasure the parts you see every day.

The fake flights in the Amen Lane house hallway no longer happen. Which is good enough since the in flight meal service really sucked. But I do still look at maps and think about places I want to see. Luckily there’s Daniel. Chasing him around the country gives me a chance to see stuff. It also makes me feel good that he’s comfortable checking out new places too.

Passion for new experiences is such a wonderful gift for a parent to give their children. You parents who sign up for the long drives, the million potty stops, the battery of questions; you are the true MVPs!

Thanks for reading!

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Blogolicious

Make Your Heart Race

The anticipation grew. I knew the Star Spangled Banner would be starting any second. In a cruel twist of fate, I was stuck in the bathroom. I started to feel a sense of panic. I’d seen the drivers head to the podium already, but being behind a broken door could quite likely prevent me from seeing the start up of the nitro cars at the NHRA drags.

Luckily, the soothing sounds of crickets brought me back to reality. Instead of being stuck in a restroom, my phone was alerting me that it was 4:20. Time to wake and get on the road.

Next weekend is the Sonoma drag races. I am sitting in the copilot’s seat of an aging Dodge pickup for 2200 miles over the next 3.5 days. So,….it’s not that I’m excited to go down and back to Sonoma next weekend; but thankfully I already know it will completely worth it.

To get this out of the way; yes, I have a celebrity crush on funny car driver Matt Hogan. But my obsession with this event started before he started driving. So,..(tongue sticking out).

Sometimes the drags would be on in the house when I was a kid. It didn’t lead to passion for the sport. And if you’ve seen it on TV, maybe you’ve felt the same. “Cool Crystal. The cars drive fast in a straight line for 1,300 feet. Big deal.”

Then Brian’s work soul mate Aaron invited him to go. I passively told my toddlers, “Look for daddy on TV.” I hoped they wouldn’t get too excited trying to find him; that Walmart TV stand was working hard to hold up the 100+ pound TV. They could’ve been crushed at any moment. They lived. They didn’t see Daddy. But when he got home, his excitement didn’t make sense.

The next year was a family trip. I advise any parent challenge themselves by parenting 3 and 5 year olds in that setting. Ear protection is needed so any verbal parenting is ineffective. The drive was long. The traffic was tough. The sunscreening alone was a lot of work. I wasn’t sure if it was all going to be worth it.

Then. Nitro.

There is no feeling like it. You just be still and bask in absolute power. Raw, unadulterated force. Ugh.

The experience is surreal. Hearing protection makes it seem other worldly. The decrease in hearing is waaaay more than made up for when you feel the rapid thumps on your chest from the best internal combustion engines have to offer. You’re surrounded by 15,000 of your closest friends, but there’s enough energy to more than go around.

After the first startup, I was a believer.

Aside from stupid Carr fire and stupid pandemic, I’ve been every year since.

The action is fast paced and built for someone with my attention span. The long races last about 12 seconds. In the fast races, pilots get their cars up to over 300 miles per hour in less than 4 seconds. If I had even the brain I’m most jealous of, I still couldn’t describe it with justice.

After each 4 second race, the teams have 75 minutes in which they completely rebuild the engines. While they do this, they also are very approachable and fan centric (hence the growing collage that it my Matt Hagan photos). I know nothing about engines and cars, but even I can be impressed with efficiency and exacting work. You get to be right in the middle of it. People flock to the pit of the car most likely to do it’s test start next, challenging themselves to get the closest or stay the longest as the air fills with nitro exhaust. With tearing eyes and wide smiles, they clap cheer and wander off to the next car.

I’ve been lucky in that some of my years were spent camping there, making a serious adventure out of it. Feeling like we owned the place after the cars stopped running and the kids would ride their bikes on the track or drive my poor little blue civic at it’s “top speed.” Once a year, turn 8 was home. They were truly incredible trips, but time moves on and it’s not a part of my story anymore.

But obsessing over the chance to get to feel that power still is. It hasn’t waned in it’s ability to impress me in even the slightest way. It’s like each time is the only time. The races are in Denver this weekend. The whole production will up and move over a couple days to our wine country to delight the fans and flex their capitalist muscle. I get giddy anytime I’ve been lucky enough to see one of the trucks. I don’t think I’ll see any on this drive, but I’m learning my geography sucks. I thought I’d go through Corning on the way to Wyoming. (Master’s degree)

But I’ll see them next weekend. If you ever get a chance, go. You won’t regret it. Just make sure you go to the bathroom well before the national anthem so you don’t risk getting stuck and missing the first start up. (Seriously….who dreams that?!)

Thanks for reading!

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Social Worky

Thanks for Staying Cake

Where is that emo Alanis Morrisette when you need her? Because I got some shit that’s pretty ironic she should sing about.

We do a silly thing at work called “Thanks for Staying” cake. Probably close to 7 years ago now, there was a bitch session with some of the folks at my work after we’d had cake to celebrate someone’s departure. “Hey! Why do we have cake when people leave? Shouldn’t we have cake when people stay?”

And thus a tradition was born.

It’s a silly gesture that in no way makes up for what folks at my job give up to be there. But it’s an effort on the part of the leadership team to show that people who stay on are appreciated “We can’t change your work, we can’t change your pay, but here’s some sugar that says you’re important.”

It’s mock worthy if someone’s so inclined, but it really comes from a pure place. The entire leadership team contributes and hopes everyone knows that they are valued. We seem to really key in to the need for this event in times like we’re in right now. Times when there’s been a mini exodus of workers and those left behind are feeling more and more pressure.

My cake ordering has been dialed in for a few years. It’s always been smooth. I followed my same protocol this time. My Alanis moment came when the store called me 2 days before cake to advise of the following: “We’re sorry. We’re not going to be able to fill your order. We are too short staffed to do custom cakes.”

My “thanks for staying cakes”?! A little too ironic, don’t you think?

Never fear, there’s a solution. Cake day will still happen, but it just sheds a little light on the big picture of employment right now.

I went to Oregon a couple of weeks ago. It was a lot of seat time. I was stunned about all the places that had giant signs up looking for workers. My ass is old enough that I’ve cruised through a couple recessions. Times when people were begging for work and it just wasn’t there. And now, Child Welfare, cake bakers, mechanics, and more just can’t fill spots. It’s wild.

I expect the world will get back to some version of normal. I’m not sure when or what the long term implications will be, but pendulum swings are inevitable.

In the meantime, it makes me even more appreciative of those at my work. Every single person that works there is capable of making money some easier way. They are all bright strong individuals.

That being said, it’s clearly not the money that makes them stay. There’s a lot of reasons people are drawn to the work that we do; personal experience, attempts at altruism, a need to be constantly challenged, to name a few.

The reasons they stay are just as varied; sense of family with coworkers, personal sense of responsibility, mortgages, whatever.

Sometimes whatever drew them to the work is no longer enough. And that’s okay too. Child welfare is not something that just anyone can do or sustain. There’s no shame in that.

But those of us who can’t imagine what it would be like to have a normal job stay on. And in times like these, it’s really easy to get toxic about the situation. Negativity takes less work. Remaining positive requires us to look at what we can control, maintain our physical health, set boundaries with those who just can’t seem to stop bitching. That’s a lot of work at a time when everyone already has a lot of work.

These times suck, but it will get better. It always does. One of the things about the machine that is child welfare is that it will go on regardless of barriers in it’s way. There’s no new crop of cyborg county workers headed our way, but pendulum swings are inevitable.

So in the meantime, buckle up, check on your friends, eat your cake and know none of it can stop you from choosing every day to do great things.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Social Worky

Child Welfare Needs Joe Rogan

Child welfare needs Joe Rogan’s help. Yes, that Joe Rogan. The same one who was the funny guy in the tv show. The witty comedian who helped us all watch people do gross or scary things while he openly mocked them or leered at them.

Not to stereotype child welfare social workers, but I would guess that most haven’t paid attention to  Joe Rogan in a while. The social work type are probably busy watching other kinder, gentler things. But while they weren’t watching, Joe Rogan has become an icon of our time.

He’s insightful, knowledgeable, balanced, incredibly connected, and outspoken. He’s also a fan of the ganja and still hilarious.

And that’s where we need him. (Or someone like him)

If I had to make a blanket statement about the use of marijuana, I would say that I’m not opposed to it. It’s not a thing for me, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t be a thing for you. But can it be harmful? Absolutely.

With it’s legalization, we’ve kind of strayed from remembering that. I’ve only been a child welfare social worker for 17 ish years. But that’s enough time to be able to see trends and changes. On the upside, we’ve seen weed go from being a completely illicit substance that would generate big reactions from CPS to the thing that people were willing to say they were disabled to be able to use it, to straight up legalization. In those changing environments, it can be easy to lose sight of the bigger picture.

Just because something is legal doesn’t mean it won’t be abused. If you’ve any doubt, I encourage you to look at our old buddy alcohol. You’ve been able to buy it next to the milk at your local store for every. It’s been legal for most of it’s time in existence, still fucks up relationships and families with extreme efficiency.  

But also looking at ye olde alcohol, we know that there are tons of people who can use in moderation or use in such a way that the safety of their children is not impacted. In my non weed user opinion, I believe the same can be true for marijuana.

But here’s the problem.

If child welfare is looking at a situation in which marijuana use could be a contributing factor to a child being in danger, it’s likely that we are going to drug test the person. The challenge with weed is; if you test positive for me today, I don’t know if that means that you used a little today, or a lot at some point in the last few weeks. That information could make or break a situation when social services is at your door. Maybe the pot I’m reading on your test was from last weekend when nothing bad happened. But if I can’t tell, I also have to wonder if you used pot the morning your baby got out in the street. It’s a serious complication.

I imagine it’s a problem for other places too. Such as industrial jobs where reflexes and acuity are important. If there’s an accident, it would be nice to be able to show that the thc the worker tested positive for was from his weekend time and not from the day of the thing.

I don’t think Joe Rogan can fix this on his own, but I think he can help. Dude’s had Jordan Peterson, Elon Musk, Lex Fridman, and Neil deGrasse Tyson on his show. Brilliant minds, every one. None have a noted specialty in restructuring marijuana drug testing, but I bet they know a guy.

I don’t know Joe Rogan or anyone who does. I mean, my brother did shoot pool with him one time, but I don’t think that’ll get me what I’m after. So, if you do know Joe Rogan, or some other person who can benefit humanity by improving drug testing; please ask them to do child welfare a solid and help us out.

Thanks for reading!

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I Work Out Personal Growth (or not)

They Call Me Johnny Utah

“Did you have a spiritual awakening?”
“I didn’t want to, but there were muthafuck’n dolphins”

My expectations around the plan of trying to learn to surf hovered in more shallow conditions that the first few feet of ocean we walked out in to; maybe some cool stories, maybe some cool pictures, most importantly though a test of if I can. I very much enough being tested. So on those shallow premises; I booked a surf lesson to commemorate turning 50.

I’m not what you’d call a “water person.” I do love to be on my paddleboard, but I’m also quite certain I’ll drown if I swim more than 5 feet from the boat in the middle of the lake.

I know those people who are absolutely recharged by the very nearness of an ocean. I admire that, but for me that body of water is intimidating.

That coupled with the fact that I swim like a rock made it so there were a number of ways I thought the experience could suck out-loud.

The ethically motivated surf school guy called the day before the lesson, “We’re going to have to cancel tomorrow. The waves are expected to be pretty big, and there’s a dead whale on the beach.” Poor guy, he was genuinely trying to be helpful and all I could do was giggle. Of course there’s a dead whale blocking the adventure. We made plans for a different day. I thanked him, and wondered if maybe this adventure wasn’t meant to be.

As it turned out, there were no swarms of locusts or freak forest fires on the beach to get in the way when the day came.

The water was 61 degrees. Outside temperature was nearly the same. Being the bonafide lizard that I am, I was more than a little worried about if I’d be too cranky being cold to have fun.

We waited near the shipping container on the beach emblazoned with the name of the surf school. Corky Carroll. Anyone who knows anything about surfing knows the name Corky Carroll. So obviously, I knew absolutely nothing about him or his schools. Uncle Joe had recommended them, and since they’d already taken steps to try to improve our experience, I was a fan.

Two of the surfer-est looking young men I’d ever seen sauntered up to the container. They were the most chill. They had wild sun-bleached hair and smiles wider than the beach we stood near. Fine examples of young men. One of the fit handsome boys said his name was Logan. Before I though better of it I blurted “Of course it is.” I’m guessing his parents thought Thor or some other worthy name could have been a bit much. Maybe my weird comment is what got me paired up with not Logan, but Blair. A walking advertisement for sunscreen with his freckles and red hair as a legitimate surfer.

I was handed a wetsuit, and promptly felt already way out of my league. I’ve never put on a wetsuit. It felt a little bit like putting on those jeans that you know you should probably get rid of, but you hang on to the hope that someday you can wear them AND breathe.

There was lots of bustle in the container “bruh” “dude” “chill” “dope” etc.

Very few moments later we yarded our boards to the beach. Roughly 3 minutes of instruction later, it was time to go.

My heart was pounding out my neoprene covered chest.

Blair, in his voice that makes Bodhi from Point Break sound high strung, casually says, “You’ll want to step like this so you don’t get stung by the stingrays.”

“I’m sorry,…what the fuck did you say?!”

Yah. Stingrays. Spoiler alert, he was right. There were no sting ray attacks.

I very much appreciate the young men for just pushing the activity along. It made it so I had zero time to contemplate various outcomes of doom before we were paddling out.

Me. Paddling the fuck out. In the Ocean. On a surfboard! “Whoa.” (said in the key of Keanu Reeves)

Blair’s zen voice told me “paddle paddle paddle” as the first wave he’d selected for me to try came. I tried to stand. I failed. It happened so fast, I forgot to panic. The wave reminded me who was boss. I tossed around under it’s power, then popped up with a whole new attitude. Surf guy was looking for my response. I gave a big “wooooo!” He smiled and nodded his approval and I paddled back.

I failed on the second attempt too. But then I made the third one mine. The timing was right. I stood up in the proper spot on board, then mother nature gave me a ride. I definitely had a “holy shit,…I DID it” moment. I could see Uncle Joe watching from the beach. I could Brian and his extreme jealousy that I’d made it up before him (Okay, that may be an embellishment, but it’s my story. I’ll tell it how I like)

I wiped the enormous amount of snot from my smiling face and paddled back. “Man. I hope Uncle Joe got video of that.”

“Dude. You’re here for the experience, not the video” said my half-my-age zen master. I had another “whoa” moment.

He’s absolutely right. In just a couple words. Ginger Surf reminded me that that my purpose was to be still and enjoy what was happening. Maybe it’s because I’m 50 now, maybe it’s the Chris Rea I’m listening to, but just thinking of that moment I can be overcome with just great vibes.

Brian was eventually able to get up too. Our surf spirit guides worked even harder than us to make sure that we could get the best from our experience. At least once I was singlehandedly responsible for taking out all four of us. I nearly ran over several people. I rode a wave to the beach once. That’s frowned upon, but I didn’t know how to end it.

As we peacefully bobbed waiting to the wave for us, Logan called our attention behind us. A small pod of dolphins literally fucking frolicked in the waves. Blair said that he texted them and asked them to show. “Are you like that guy from The Boys?” I asked him. “The Deep? Tot…al…ly dude.” He grinned. Having seen the same Amazon show is maybe the only thing I had in common with surf guru. That and that he was about the age of my boys. But bless his little young heart, that didn’t stop him from killing it as my surf guy. He offered nothing but support, encouragement, and enough vibes for both of us.

The two hours were really more than incredible. There was such pure duality in the experience, working hard to sit back and let nature work you. Chaotic power and serenity meeting in the middle give such a feeling of peace and accomplishment.

I am already scheming about how to get back and go again.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Social Worky

Unexpected Hero

I swim like a rock. It’s a thing I’m really REALLY bad at. I’m not sure why, but it’s always been the case. For the most part, it’s not a barrier. In general, I stick to land based activities to compensate for my deficiency.  

When I worked in the group home though, my work was far from based on what was in my comfort zone. There was an outing to Whiskeytown’s Brandy Creek. The other staff that went on the outing were bona fide swimmers. So when the kids wanted to swim across to the other bank, obviously we were all going to swim across. Fun fact: the kids had to wear life jackets. Staff was expected to trust their own judgement, you know, since we were adults and whatnot.

Once again, my Pride told my Common Sense, “Shut the fuck up. I got this one.”

And not surprisingly, once again Pride was wrong.

I made it across okay. We did all the obligatory lake things “I saw a fish” “Something just touched my leg” “I think that boy is looking at me” ect.

As many activities with this crowd did, it wasn’t long before it fun comments evolved to “Luna is looking at me! Tell her to stop looking at me or I’m going to bash her motherfuckin’ face in.”

Luna (or whatever her real name is) was the fringe kid. That’s a hard role to have in a group home. As the kid with the lowest level of ability to manage her impulses, she was also the one most often to be in some kind of trouble. Often grounded for property destruction, fighting,  or instigating others. While I respect her dignity and worth as a person, she really was difficult to be around.

Since Luna had turned on her lightening rod of negativity, we began our swim back across to the main beach.

The real swimmers pulled out ahead. Then there was Luna and my weak ass.

I know I am dramatic, but real panic doesn’t hit me too often. Luna and her life vest were breaking free from me. I was trying tricks to try to be calm. “Maybe I’ll float on my back a while” which resulted in me slipping under a lot. The “I can’t touch the bottom” fear combined with the reality that each time I tried to float I sunk further down resulted in a little mini terror.

I surfaced. Luna was my only hope. Would she help? I’ve personally restrained her and grounded her countless times. Plus, she doesn’t often demonstrate a willingness to help others.

Pride did that thing of “Ooops. My bad. So,….uhhhh, go on ahead  Common Sense. I’ll tap out now.”

I called out to her. Lumbering with the grace of the most awkward of mammals, she turned and swam back for me. I grabbed a hold of her life jacket, and splashed along.

In general, Luna did nothing unless it instantly benefitted her and her alone. But in this moment, she was my rescue hero.

Luna didn’t exactly see things the way most others did, so I wanted to make sure I honored her for helping me, but I wasn’t sure how to best do that. If I gave her a well written thank you card, she may have eaten it or placed it in some unsafe orifice. She destroyed nearly everything she ever possessed, so a nice teddy bear or framed art also wouldn’t get it. The solution I landed on was to get her Lifesavers. And she was beyond delighted.

I probably would have lived if she hadn’t come back for me. Again, I’m dramatic. But also, she didn’t have to come back. Sometimes when it’s least expected, people are still want to do the right thing. I don’t know what became of Luna, but I am thankful for her instinct to do great things that day.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Blogolicious Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Take It

The list of things I’m bad at is pretty robust. But before you fling your sympathy my way for today’s topic, know there’s a good chance you’re bad at it too. Often we all are really bad at accepting compliments.

As with any rule, there are exceptions. We all know that guy who’s pretty sure he or she is the shit. Or the misguided person who’s pretty convinced that everyone they meet wants to make babies with them. But in my experience, those folks are rare. Thankfully! Because they are super annoying and frankly a menace.

For the most part, folks just suck at hearing positive things. I’m sure there’s deep seeded reasons for it. Maybe it’s the conditioning about how it’s not okay to be a braggart. Maybe it’s that we’ve spent too much time living the “everyone gets a trophy” life and now we shirk away from recognition. And maybe sometimes it’s that we can’t genuinely believe the compliment.

Whatever the reason, it’s fucked up and we need to stop.

A classic way to ruin a compliment is to offer some reason to dismiss the kind words just said. When we do this, we can accidently be insulting to the kind-word-giver. Say someone tells you they like your hair, and you respond with “It looks bad.”

A takeaway for the giver could be, “okay, guess I’ll just keep my opinion to myself next time.” Is that what we want? No. But what’s the motivation for the person to share kind words if in your attempts to be humble, you essentially tell them they’re wrong? You should say “thank you,” period.

I’m unsure how we can get better at taking compliments. Perhaps a nice support group in is order. We can journal about why we suck at hearing positivity. Or maybe we just all need to give each other the following permission; if I dismiss your compliment, you can deliver a crisp slap to my face or throat punch(because sometimes violence is the answer).

Flatterer: “You’re really good at drawing”

Recipient: “I’m not really that good”

Flatterer: “I SAID, you’re GOOD at DRAWING!” *promptly delivers serpent’s head strike to the throat

Recipient: (after clutching throat and recovering coughs out), “Thank you.”

Change would happen quickly, I’m sure.

We need to do less compliment dodging. Humility has it’s place, but so does confidence. In instances such as job interviews and general daily living; it’s okay to know that you’re good at things and say that out loud. And while it’s important to have our own internal locus of control in our positive opinions, it’s also important to for us see those opinions reflected in others.

Doubt? Okay, have you ever heard or said “do these jeans make my butt look big?”

It’s one of history’s most classic baits used in the practice that is compliment fishing.

Despite how much we need to improve on just fucking taking it, a compliment disclaimer may be still needed. Sometimes accolades really are used as a means of manipulation. Luckily there’s a couple easy responses to that too. If you’re worried that the person giving the positivity isn’t being genuine, you can still just say “thank you” and move on. You aren’t beholden to anyone who says nice things and the “thank you” covers you in case maybe they’re being sincere. You may encounter a creeper driving the van with  “free candy” spray painted where the back windows don’t exist. If he (or she, to be gender neutral) gives you a compliment, you do not owe him (or her) anything. Do not get in the van.

In summary; compliment, good. Creeper in van giving out candy with compliments, bad. So move foraes knowing your hair probably looks great today, and it’s okay to know it.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Blogolicious

One Trek Mind

As a young’n, I used to come home from school and fry up some grated potato, slather it in secret sauce, and settle in for some TV time. There was no cable and no satellite TV. Choices were limited to whatever the 3 networks had to give. I wasn’t down for the guy who wore the train conductor suit who introduced some olden goldies. I also wasn’t that excited about a 20 year old sci-fi show with low budget special effects and a pointy-eared main character.

I had no use for Star Trek. My nerd die had been cast in Star Wars. In my head I was a potato eating Princess Leia; full of strength, beauty and sass and destined to live in love with the handsome, perfectly imperfect Han Solo. Consequently, I could’ve cared less about the adventures of James T. Kirk.

I watched just enough of the Next Generation to be able to think it’s funny to say “Make it so, Number One” and to be moderately impressed when I saw Will Wheaton at Medieval Times.

I didn’t understand the show’s following, but I could appreciate it.

For reasons unknown to me, original Star Trek is my current treadmill treasure. And, ermagherd! Where has this been my whole life?!

There will be still-relevant life lessons that are sincerely acted (or overacted) interlaced with a dog with a furry costume with a unicorn horn. Their 1967 selves just hold the dog and straight faced proclaim that they have found an alien life form that is “a good specimen.”

Makes me whip my head around from my stationary walking position to see if anyone else saw it. Searching for someone who won’t think I’m too crazy if I blurt out, “You guys! They have a DOG in a COSTUME and they’re pretending it’s an ALIEN!!!”

And just when I think I’m lost to the campiness of things such as the filter used on Captain Kirk, gaudy painted backdrops, or how Spock’s eyeshadow is better than mine, I get sucked back in with some other truly poignant moment.

Today, after they figured out what was going on with the “alien,” Spock spelled out the necessity of duality in humans in a way that made me take pause.

“We see indications that it’s his negative side which makes him strong, that his evil side, if you will, properly controlled and disciplined, is vital to his strength. Your negative side removed from you, the power of command begins to elude you”

There’s been a lot moments where I set out to mock the “planetary landscapes” of studio whatever and then found myself thinking, “that f’kr Spock is right!”

It’s fascinating to me that someone was creative enough to imagine all the ridiculous wildness that is Star Trek, but still have some truly deep insights into humanity and such progressive positions and ideas for 1967. I recently watched the Black Mirror series. It too had a lot of “whoa” moments. (and of course some “I need to take a brain shower” moments). I wonder if watching Star Trek when it was new was a similar experience. Maybe not. Maybe the people of the time were just watching it for mini skirts with beehive hair and shirtless men.

The past-me potato princess would have never properly appreciated this show. We need life experiences to help us mold who we are and what we’re capable of taking in. I probably would have missed at least 2/3 of the gloriousness that is this show back in the day. I needed a brain old AF to be able to let it all sink in.

Though I’m captivated, there’s not a risk of joining the Church of Trek (it’s really a thing). My fascination will probably stay at the level of trying to suck other people into my delighted wonder, and continuing to work on my Captain Kirk rolls. Man rolls in a lot of fights. I fully intend to exit a room that way someday. Maybe the meeting has done the classic social work thing where it’s gone on longer than needed, likely because someone is too worried about feelings to be direct. I’m just going to get up, and roll the fuck out. That should move the meeting aptly to a close.

It could be that I’m the only person left who’d never watched it. If not, dude…it’s a great way to spend time.

But even if you have seen it, maybe hit it again. Take some comfort in knowing that if you’re in an existential crisis, it’s not unique to your time and space. As it turns out, 1967 writing about the struggles of 2260’s humans are still applicable to 2021. Kirk figured a solution to the salt vampire, you can figure out how to overcome your thing too.  

Or just watch it to see dogs in costumes.

Thanks for reading!

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Blogolicious Stories about my fam Things I Think are Funny

Absorbent Heirloom

The year is 2061. A handsome, yet humble, young man sits at a table across from the show star. A well-heeled gentleman, sporting round tortoise shell glasses and a bow tie. He’s hoping to look “different” (just like everybody else). He carefully adds pristine white gloves to complete his quirky outfit. He takes out his official “Antiques Road Show” pointer and leans in to my great grandson as he grandly gestures to the item carefully hung above the table, “Let’s talk about your great grandma’s robe.”

Roughly a million years ago, my robe and I became entwined. It’s been so long that I don’t even recall how the robe came in to my possession. I may have bought it myself. It may have been the classic husband Christmas gift. I could’ve stolen it from my neighbor’s clothes line for all I know. Carbon dating would likely be required to determine it’s actual age, but I know that I can remember exactly how it fit during my pregnancies; the long broad belt barely connected in front of my distended belly. As a reminder, my BABY is 19. That means that every day I don a garment that is at least old enough buy alcohol.

It should probably be replaced, but we’ve been through so much together, it’s hard to consider letting go. It’s the robe I’ve worn to the Christmas morning “Santa came!” chaos. The robe I threw on when someone threw up. “Mommy, my stomach h….” you know the rest.

It’s been a part of my morning routine every single work day. Jobs changed, robe didn’t. It weighs roughly 15 pounds making it feel like the special apron the dentist makes you wear to get your teeth x-rayed. Is it way heavier than I need on hot Nor-Cal mornings. But I don’t care. I wear it and just accept the fact that my nose will sweat as I’m getting ready.

It hardly makes me a terry cloth temptress, but I’ll be still trying to justify my ownership of it.

“You can see this is by the maker ‘Delicates’ out of China,” the appraiser continues. “The tag is frayed, but you can still make out ‘mediano.’”

“GGMA was svelte but mighty” answers the boy (it’s my fake story. I’ll tell it how I want…Bwah!)

“It’s minty color maintains a lot of lot original luster. When she procured it, mint was a popular color. And then for a couple decades it wasn’t. And then it was again. She must have been very willful to hang on to it through all those significant robe fashion changes.”

Appraiser man furrows his brow, “However, we do have some condition issues. Here you can see that some of the terry cloth loops seem to have been ripped out.”

Handsome boy interjects, “I’ve been told that my great grandma spilled hot eyebrow wax on it.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Some of the people of those days were indeed too cheap and lazy to get their eyebrows done professionally.”

“Also, did she use to put out a fire? It’s difficult to determine the cause of these marks.”

“She didn’t know. She doesn’t even know how she got the robe.”

The two nod at each other with reverence thinking about the olden days when things came from places they’ve heard of but never seen such as JC Penney.

The appraiser goes on discuss how rare “a piece” it is. He speculates at what it would bring at auction in today’s market.  Great grandson graciously thanks him for the information, but tells him he thinks they will just keep in in the family. Perhaps one day it can used to soak up an oil spill or as housing insulation.

My mom calls me a minimalist. That’s not as accurate as I’d like it to be, but I do try to limit the things I hang on to, making sure that those things that stick continue to add genuine value to my life. I do have a few clothing items that fall in this category; this robe definitely is one.

Thank you robe for your diligent service. You’ve brought me great happiness, be it on your best day or on the “whatever, I tried” days. My future generations and I are sincerely grateful.

Thanks for reading!