I’m With the Birds–And the Humans Who Love Them

I’m a bird nerd. There, I’ve said it. Now you know. Birds see me coming with my binoculars, confer with their friends and take off. I’m totally okay with them laughing at me behind my back. It comes with the territory.

Birds and humans have something very important in common: we see color. However, whereas birds rely on their color vision to choose mates, find food and scan for predators, whether or not we’re conscious of it, humans use it to make snap judgments about other humans. We’ve been conditioned to do so almost since the day we were born.

We receive messages about the meaning of skin color from our families, our friends, our teachers, movies and TV shows, magazines, newspapers, advertising, you name it. We’re immersed in this conditioning. It is quite literally impossible to be unaffected by it.

That being said, we can work on recognizing it when it happens and redirect the resultant thoughts and behaviors we may have.  Example: you’re walking in a park with your (unleashed) dog. A Black man with binoculars asks you to leash your dog, citing park regulations. Should you:

A) apologize and immediately leash your dog, wish the man a enjoyable day and continue on your walk, or

B) go all Mount St. Helens on this guy’s ass and call 911, screaming that an African-American man is threatening your life, while you simultaneously strangle your still-not-leashed dog and demand the man stop recording your antics.

Seems like a no-brainer. I would choose option A, but some women, like Amy Cooper, use their White lady fairy dust for evil rather than good and unfortunately, inexplicably choose option B.

Don’t be that White person. Be the one who sees color, acknowledges that Every. Single. One. of us is different, appreciates and embraces that diversity, and knows that all of our lives are vastly better because of it.

Photo credit Jeffrey Ward/Bird Collective

White lady fairy dust

Remember February? When we could still go to work? When we could still go . . . anywhere at all? After less than a month, that feeling of personal freedom is already starting to fade–and I don’t like it one bit.

Like so many other challenges, though, the situation we’ve all found ourselves in is providing me with some Aha Moments. You know what those are: the lightbulb comes on, either spontaneously while you’re in the shower or as a result of something you’ve heard or read. Aha Moments can be super cool, but they can also be super uncomfortable. For me, lately, they’ve been the latter.

What I’ve learned in the past few weeks is this: my White privilege (or “White lady fairy dust,” as we jokingly call it in our department on campus) allows me to feel resentful about not being able to do what I want when I want, where I want to do it. But get this: Black and Brown folks have to think about this every day–not just sheltering in place during a global pandemic.

Every day, Black and Brown folks worry about being pulled over by the cops on their way to or from the grocery store. Every day, Black and Brown folks worry about being shot in a Wal*Mart because they were holding a BB gun they took off the shelf. Every day, Black and Brown folks worry about their Black and Brown kids being the target of bullying–or far worse. Every day, everywhere, Black and Brown folks know they’re being scrutinized more closely than White folks. Every day, Black and Brown folks wonder if they’ll be targeted for something.

Yeah. They do. And what you may not realize is that most Black and Brown folks adjust their behavior accordingly to mitigate the potential of something bad happening. And they tell their kids to do the same thing.

My White privilege protects me from this. If you’re White, it protects you too. I’m not saying White privilege doesn’t feel good–it does, because it allows me to not have to think or worry about things Black and Brown folks think and worry about. If you look up the word, you’ll see what I mean:

priv-i-lege
noun
a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group

Yes, privilege feels mighty good indeed–but it feels icky too, because it comes at the expense of those who don’t get to enjoy it as well.

So, what can White folks do about it?

    1. Acknowledge it’s there. Know that you’re not a shitty person for admitting it. You didn’t actively request White privilege; if you’re White, it just happened. You know, because you’re White.
    2. Want to do something about it. Why would you want to change the status quo?  Because it’s unfair, and it’s been that way for a long, looonnnng time.
    3. Gently point out to other White people that White privilege is a thing. I say “gently” because we’re not very good at hearing this, much less accepting it as truth.
    4. Actively read, participate and learn.  Your local NAACP chapter is a great place to start.
    5. Journal your journey.  Or blog it, whatever works.

I’m not sure how we’re all going to come out the other end of this pandemic.  My optimism comes and goes.  I haven’t started day drinking yet, which I guess is a good thing.  And I’m trying to feel a lot more appreciation for what I do have (a home, Loving Husband, Happy Dog, One-Eyed Wonderpug and their feline step siblings) and less anger and resentment about being told not to go anywhere.

But it isn’t easy.

Stuff I’ve been thinking about lately, v.2

For lack of a more focused/coherent topic, please to enjoy this random collection of mental meanderings.

1. Working in higher ed is so not as glamorous as I thought it would be.  Especially at an open-registration community college.

2. Working at a winery is sexier than working in higher ed, but almost as exhausting.  Being on the outside of the bar is definitely more fun than being behind it.

3. There are a lot of people and situations I would simply love to write about, but realize I can’t for fear of coming across as a judgmental asshole.

4. I kind of am a judgmental asshole.  But there are still plenty of folks who may not realize it yet. Best to keep it that way.

5. Speaking of assholes, we had yet another yard ornament stolen. I spotted it propped up against a light pole a couple days later in our neighbor’s yard two houses down, sans the multicolored solid glass ball that had functioned as a veritable cherry on top. Our neighbor almost ran over it with their lawnmower. Seriously, people, what the fuck? If a kitschy glass thingamabob with no apparent purpose is mounted on a steel pipe well within my property line, IT’S NOT UP FOR GRABS. Literally and/or figuratively. Go to a craft fair already, buy your own fucking thingamabob, and then break it. Chrissake.

6. Things that are fun:  shredding paper, blogging, swearing, beachcombing, doing laundry.

7. Things that aren’t fun:  all other household chores, working, people who steal yard ornaments, traveling by air, waiting in line.

8. How can I possibly be 53 years old?

9. Did I actually meet Eddie Vedder and then spend time backstage with the rest of Pearl Jam after that show at the Paramount Theatre, or did I dream the whole thing?

10. I didn’t know about setlist.fm until just now.  In theory, it’s a super-cool concept.  However, 1994 was a long time ago.  How would would I know whether or not the setlist from that particular show was accurate unless I had a written copy to compare it to?

 

Stuff I’ve been thinking about lately

I mean, other than the fact that I haven’t posted since December.  I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

 1.  My gas mileage.  I just filled up last week, and got over 800 miles and 99 MPG on the last tank.  I drive a 2012 Toyota Prius Plug-In.  It’s ridiculous.


2.  How much I love our yard, and the fact that we can finally say the front landscaping is 100% finished.  Check it out.


3.  On the other hand, after 3.5 years, I continue to feel the pain of buyer’s remorse.

4.  That 30 Rock has finally replaced Seinfeld as my favorite TV show ever.  Good god, Lemon!

5.  That I feel like the co-caretaker of a small petting zoo.  Five critters is too many, but they’re family now–for better or worse.

6.  That it may be time to start looking for a new job.  Like most career paths I’ve tried during my professional life, I’ve discovered working in higher ed isn’t as glamorous as I originally thought–especially not at a community college.  There’s a lot of truth in the way community college is portrayed in Community, but it’s like a gazillion times sexier on TV than it is in real life.  And the drama!  Dear god, the drama.

7.  Moving to the coast.

Photo of Haystack Rock at Cape Kiwanda at sunset

Any questions?

8.  That my life is, for all intents and purposes, half over–but in a good way.

9.  How exhausting it is to be an introvert in a world where extroversion is prized and expected.

10. How it mostly sucks to be a big person, except for the alcohol.

11. That literally almost every person I see anymore is glued to their smartphone, and that I’m expected to watch out for them.  Walking, cycling, driving–doesn’t matter.  No one watches where they’re going, and no one makes eye contact.  It’s just sad.  And how the hell can anyone see that tiny screen without reading glasses?

12. Todos en español.  After five terms, I should hope so.

13. That I really need to re-focus on the good and wonderful things about this world and the people living in it.  Because damn.

I think the Incredible Hulk was, in reality, a perimenopausal woman.

Husband and I watched The Avengers again recently, and I started thinking about how similar I am to the Incredible Hulk.  Bruce Banner and I both go from a fairly mellow, introverted, seemingly normal person to a stunningly angry, homicidal, destructosaurus in a matter of seconds.  The differences are

  1. I don’t turn green,
  2. I (very unfortunately) do not possess superhuman strength, and
  3. I am a perimenopausal woman.

Incredible Hulk

Consider, if you will, this fairly comprehensive list of 35 Symptoms of Perimenopause as presented by healthline.com:

  • Hot flashes, hot flushes, night sweats and/or cold flashes, clammy feeling
  • Irregular heartbeat
  • Irritability
  • Mood swings, sudden tears
  • Trouble sleeping through the night (with or without night sweats)
  • Irregular periods; shorter, lighter periods; heavier periods, flooding; phantom periods, shorter cycles, longer cycles
  • Loss of libido
  • Vaginal dryness
  • Crashing fatigue
  • Anxiety, feeling ill at ease
  • Feelings of dread, apprehension, doom
  • Difficulty concentrating, disorientation, mental confusion
  • Disturbing memory lapses
  • Incontinence, especially upon sneezing, laughing; urge incontinence
  • Itchy, crawly skin
  • Aching, sore joints, muscles and tendons
  • Increased tension in muscles
  • Breast tenderness
  • Headache change: increase or decrease
  • Gastrointestinal distress, indigestion, flatulence, gas pain, nausea
  • Sudden bouts of bloat
  • Depression
  • Exacerbation of existing conditions
  • Increase in allergies
  • Weight gain
  • Hair loss or thinning, head, pubic, or whole body; increase in facial hair
  • Dizziness, vertigo, light-headedness, episodes of loss of balance
  • Changes in body odor
  • Electric shock sensation under the skin and in the head
  • Tingling in the extremities
  • Gum problems, increased bleeding
  • Burning tongue, burning roof of mouth, bad taste in mouth, change in breath odor
  • Osteoporosis (after several years)
  • Changes in fingernails:  softer, crack or break easier
  • Tinnitus: ringing in ears, bells, ‘whooshing,’ buzzing, etc.

Delightful, huh.  And I’ve been experiencing about half of them.  No wonder I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

Let’s read on:

When most women enter perimenopause, they expect a few hot flashes and night sweats. They might even expect mood swings, vaginal dryness, and loss of libido. What they won’t expect, however, are overwhelming thoughts of doom and dread, panic attacks, high anxiety, heart palpitations, vertigo, dizziness, unrelenting insomnia, and feelings of losing control.

Yet a large number of women experience these symptoms and many others which you may not think are associated with perimenopause. In fact, so wild and unpredictable are some of the symptoms, a lot of women think they are going crazy.

Why, yes, healthline.com.  We do.

I am more irritable and bitchy than I’ve ever been in my life, and that’s saying something.  Last night, as I was trying to leave for a restorative yoga practice (to help with my stress level, right?), Happy Dog wouldn’t kennel when I told her to, so I chased her outside screaming, “I AM THE ALPHA!  I AM THE ALPHA!  WHY DO YOU DEFY ME SO?”  As I pulled the sliding screen door aside, it came partly out of its track, so, naturally, I yanked it the rest of the way out and threw it across the patio.  I mean, who wouldn’t?  HULK SMASH.

Husband asked me to help him install gutters recently, but I was apparently emotionally incapable of doing simple things like handing him tools, standing on a ladder or using a tape measure.  I’ll leave out the details, but it got so bad I had to get in my car and leave.  After I came back home, Husband confessed that he’d gotten frustrated with his elderly battery-powered drill and hurled it across the yard.  Neither of us realized perimenopause could be contagious.

I don’t sleep well anymore.  There have been times in the past couple years when I’ve slept so poorly for days on end that I feel like one of those soldiers in government sleep-deprivation experiments.  (Snoring Husband and Abnormally Loud Trains don’t help.)  And sometimes I wake up drenched in sweat, having soaked through my t-shirt.  EW.

My mother had a very difficult time with perimenopause, and used hormone replacement therapy for years.  I used to think, naively, that I was going to be one of those Christiane Northrup-worshiping hippies, embracing my womanhood and powering through perimenopause without pharmaceutical assistance.  Now I’m wondering if anyone’s invented an HRT-administering version of an insulin pump, how many of them I can attach to my body at one time and whether they’d be noticeable under my clothes.

How can anyone be expected to live like this?  Truly, I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve felt so completely out of control.  Poor Husband.  Poor Happy Dog.  I hope they can find it in their hearts to forgive me for going all Incredible Hulk on their asses over the smallest things.

Incredible Hulk image from pngimg.com

Theft, Part II: Dear Dave

Thank you for helping me unload my cart at Costco this evening.  You didn’t have to do that, but you did.  You asked me if I wanted help, and I hesitated.  I looked at you and saw someone rough around the edges, someone who’d had a hard life.  Someone who might even be mentally ill.  I cursed myself for making a snap judgment based on your appearance.  I could have waved you off, but you seemed determined to help.  You introduced yourself as Dave, and I, in turn, introduced myself, wondering if you had some kind of ulterior motive for helping me.  As you loaded my car, you said, “People don’t really do this very much.”  I said, “You’re right.  They don’t.”  And you replied, “People should really help each other more.”

It took only a minute to transfer the contents of the cart to my car.  I thanked you; you gently patted my shoulder and said, “You’re welcome,” and you continued on your way towards the store.  I watched you with tears in my eyes as you walked away.  I smiled and said aloud, “Blessings to you, Dave.  Many blessings to you.”  You were too far away to hear me, but I want you to know.

I let someone steal my day from me, and you gave it back.  Thank you.

Theft, Part I: Dear A*hole

So you’re enjoying a stroll through the Monteith Historic District, presumably between the hours of 11 p.m. and 5 a.m. (when most normal people are out for a stroll), and you spot the cute little solar lamp I lovingly placed near the newly planted Japanese maple next to our front walk on Saturday afternoon after spending many hours landscaping that spot.  (The same exact cute little solar lamp, in fact, that graced a small planter next to the also newly planted willow tree less than twenty feet away for almost a year, without your notice.)

Front yard diagram

And you decide you must have it.  You can’t live without it.  You know in your heart that if you could only possess that cute little solar lamp, your wretched, pathetic life will suddenly, somehow, be ever so much better.  Less sad.  Less hopeless.  Maybe it’s a Magical Lamp.  Maybe if you take it home and rub its tiny solar cell, a genie will pop out and grant you three wishes.  Maybe you could wish for three more matching lamps to make a set of four.

I am so angry at you and your inability to admire without taking.  It seems like such an unimportant thing, but that little lamp, along with the planter it originally graced, was a gift from a friend, and it made us happy to look at it every night.  Will it bring you as much joy as it brought us?  Somehow, I doubt it.

stolen lampThink about how many people have walked by that lamp over the past year and haven’t stolen it.  I, for one, am perfectly capable of walking around our neighborhood and appreciating any number of solar lamps and assorted yard ornaments without making off with any of them.  O, the yearning!  The unimaginable self-control it takes to simply walk by without helping myself!  Yet somehow, I can do it.

Are you the same a*hole who stole the concrete gargoyle statue from our front porch steps in Rapid City, South Dakota, in 2000?  Are you the same a*hole who broke into our garage in Pennsylvania in 2008 and took Loving Husband’s tools and mountain bike?  I’ll bet you are.  I’ll bet you have a yardful somewhere nearby of stolen solar lamps, ornaments, decorative rocks, statuary, potted plants, patio furniture, wind chimes, sprinklers, hoses and bird feeders from other peoples’ yards.  I hope you’re smart enough to keep all those things hidden in your backyard so no one else steals them from you.

I wasted most of my day being mad at you and trying to figure out what possible pleasure you could have gotten from stealing this simple little thing from us.  Loving Husband wants to believe you’re a homeless person who needed it much more than we do.  I think Loving Husband is being naïve, but he’s much better at giving people the benefit of the doubt than I am.

A blizzard of petals

Seinfeld is life.  That being said, here’s a timely George Costanza quote from Episode 112, The Postponement:  “Spring. Rejuvenation. Rebirth. Everything’s blooming. All that crap.”

As usual, the show’s writers hit the nail on the head.  Who doesn’t feel a sense of rejuvenation and rebirth when the sun finally comes out in earnest, the air is soft and reeks of lilacs, damp earth and apple blossoms, and the days get longer and longer?  I imagine it’s a bit like what a bear feels upon waking from its winter hibernation.

I’m looking out the patio door at our apple tree, currently bursting with fluffy pink pompoms, each of which is comprised of several dozen individual flowers.

Apple tree blooming

Each flower has five petals that shower down randomly when they can no longer hang on, creating drifts in the grass and on the patio.  When a breeze hits the tree–or a dove or jay lands on a branch–the petals create a swirling pink mini-blizzard that lasts a few seconds.  It’s one of my favorite expressions of “nature porn,” if you’ll pardon the term– several others being fireflies, cardinals, diamond dust and sunlight sparkling on water.

sunset on ocean

I’m also a big fan of rainbows, unicorns, butterflies, and fluffy kittens.

kitty in sink
Anyway, spring has most assuredly sprung, and I am revelling in it.  The daffodils are completely over, tulips are on their way out, the hydrangea is sprouting, and our roses are budding.  Everywhere I look around the neighborhood, there are flowers, flowers, flowers–and more shades of green than I can count.

I’m practicing being Present, trying to focus on the many things that are right in my life, rather than the few that aren’t.  I’ve gotten more clarity on what I want in a job and what I don’t.  I’m working on my first book.  I’m trying to love Happy Dog–who joined our family almost exactly a year ago–unconditionally.

Puppy sleeping in tulips

I’m still missing my family and friends in South Dakota, and some days are definitely better than others.

But even though I’m out of Nancy’s yogurt again, this time there’s no need for panic and mayhem.  I’ll just ask Loving Husband to stop at Market of Choice after work.