Full Moon Christmas Wishes

I’ve been working since the end of September; almost three full months.  Happily, I seem to have found my groove and don’t feel quite as exhausted.   Just in time for the holidays, too.  I had to consciously strip away some of my extracurricular activities to do so, however, so things like Art Guild events, holiday bazaars, and my actual art have been put on the back burner.  I had a table booked at Pacifica’s ELF Market that I ended up forfeiting, too.   I needed and still need to focus on my family, the house, and the holidays.  That’s ALL I want to focus on now.

When the muse speaks again, I’ll hear her. 

I’m so looking forward to this Christmas.  Our lovely little tree is up, and wrapped packages are already appearing beneath it.  Elizabeth will be thrilled with her Christmas booty!  I struggled with some left over anxiety from last year, but having shaken it, I feel more in the Christmas spirit in a sort of stronger, more confident way.  It’s kind of nice.

If I had to put one word to 2013 it would be “bummer”, because 2013 sucked big-time.  I’ll be thrilled to see it behind us, as in, “don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”  I struggled most of the year with financial worries, Leslie had multiple bouts with cellulitis that were serious enough to land her in the emergency room more than once and then in the hospital for four days consecutively.  Immediately thereafter, she got the gout, which was a real hayride.

Leslie also had a rough run with her sister, after spending almost a year trying tentatively to reconcile.  Things went well for a while as old wounds were successfully addressed.  But, as soon as it looked like Leslie had more M&M’s than her sister (if you know what I mean), as soon as Leslie’s weight loss surgery was scheduled and I got a full-time job; Jealousy, the old green monster, reared its ugly head once again.  Something, and some people, never change.

Lots of good things happened in 2013, too.  Leslie had her weight loss surgery, and her health improves more every day.  I continue to loose weight, as well, ever respectful of the body’s requirements in this intense process.   Our experience was vastly different, which I find fascinating, even though we had the same procedure done by the same doctor.

Elizabeth found her passion in the high school’s Drama Department, the irony of which still blows my mind.  At her age, I was passionate about theater, too, but I did it to be noticed and she does it for love … of the craft, that is.  I didn’t have a fraction of the self-discipline she has.  She been watching her weight intensely, is down to a medium from a large, is working hard at voice lessons, and is working out regularly. What’s more, she’s kept her grades (all Honors and College Prep classes) at an “A” consistently.  She’s got her eye on the part of “Audrey” in the Drama Department’s production of “Little Shop of Horrors” coming up this Spring, and to that end, seems to fully grasp the phrase “God helps those who help themselves”.

So, I guess 2013 wasn’t all horrible.  Still, I won’t be sorry to let it go along with all the baggage that was in it.   I’m looking forward to 2014, and will focus on losing more weight, and learning everything I need to learn in the new job.  Maybe artistic inspiration will make an appearance, too.

On this full moon, I wish all of you a wonderful Christmas!

Fast Forward to Zombies

It is a glorious day in Pacifica.  The weather back here in the valley is always different than the rest of the town.  While we benefit from the insulating coolness of a morning marine layer, we’re also just one mountain away from Millbrae, which is 20 degrees hotter than the rest of the Peninsula.  It’s a lazy Saturday, too, almost 4 p.m. as I write this, and no one is dressed.  We really need the downtime.  Since I’ve started a 40 hour work week, it feels like someone pushed the fast forward on my life.

Putting the Bart strike aside, it’s been good.  Despite being tired, we’re relaxing in a way that only financial security can provide.

Elizabeth’s schedule is crazy and demanding, and has been all junior year. She has college prep and honors classes, and college prep and honors homework, as well as rehearsals for the Fall play she’s in at school.  She has voice lessons on Tuesdays, and rehearsals on Monday, Wednesday and Friday until 6 p.m.  When she gets home in the early evening, she’s starving, and has two hours of homework that she can’t even look at until she’s had dinner. 

Elizabeth’s girlfriend called last night wanting to go to a football game.  Elizabeth finds them intensely boring and hasn’t been to one since her first as a freshman. She asked, “What do you do when you’re there?” to which her friend replied, “Oh just walk around and talk to people.”  When Elizabeth got off the phone, her secret answer, the one she shared with us was, “Why does she want to talk to a bunch of people she doesn’t care about?”

Leslie is doing well after weight loss surgery in September.  She had the same procedure I did by the same surgeon, and she’s doing much better than I ever did.  She takes in more than enough water, eats a wide variety of foods, and is more active than I was.  She finds the new schedule difficult, but no more than I do, and only because she’s in that awkward fatigued stage that comes right after surgery. Her body is adjusting to radically less calories (read about my experience here).  Still, she gets up early every morning to drive us to our destination.

My own perfect zombies!

Lately, the three of us spend much anticipated Friday evenings and other available evening time glued to the television and “The Walking Dead”. We didn’t know it existed until Elizabeth discovered a latent love for zombies watching “Warm Bodies” on Pay-per-View.  By then, however, “The Walking Dead” was three seasons in, much too far for us to catch up.  Suddenly, as a build-up to season four, there was a zombiepocalypse-a-thon, and I could tape all three seasons. 

“The Walking Dead” is a lot like “Downton Abbey”.  It’s one big soap opera gloriously punctuated by cleaved in and/or crushed skulls, severed limbs, gnashing teeth, and black oozing and suppurating undead brains.  We talk through most of it, express our disdain for certain characters, shriek our hope that the right person will be gruesomely assassinated, and holler “Eeeeewwww” as a steel bar or hunting knife is pushed through a walker’s forehead.  Leslie doesn’t typically watch any kind of horror of science fiction, but once she got beyond the gross parts, the drama pulled her right in.

“The Walking Dead” is perfectly disgusting, and we love it.  But, the best part is that Elizabeth doesn’t want us watching it without her.  After an exhausting 40 hour work week, getting up super early every day, and dealing with a ridiculously demanding junior year schedule, zombies are a soothing balm.

Watching them together, however, is the perfect prescription.

Chubby Commuter

Fatty, fatty, two by four, couldn't get through the bathroom door.

Okay, so I never really heard this when I was heavy.  Not literally.  I am, however, surprised by the subtle ways I was discriminated against when I was heavy.  I didn’t fully appreciate it until I got on a BART train headed for my new job downtown at over 100 pounds thinner than I was the last time.

It is physically much easier to sit on the seats in BART, and I don’t have to worry about sitting next to someone as large as I was.  What really caught me off guard was how people aren’t hesitant to sit next to me.  When they do, our hips don’t touch, which is a huge personal relief.  I don’t feel the barely concealed sneers and judgments I used to feel.  Men look at me.  I suppose if I found that important, I’d be happy about it.  Now, it just feels like a weird sociological measuring device that I could easily do without.  I surprised myself most recently by hiking up BART stairs because of escalator repair and not having to rest at the top.

I was at my heaviest when we lived in Connecticut between 2006 and 2008.  I got up to 340 pounds, and back then I applied and interviewed for more than four good jobs in New York City, which is where you had to go to get decent pay.  I came very close on several of them.  Leslie is convinced my weight was a barrier, a thought I didn’t want to consider too seriously then for obvious reasons. Beyond that, had I been hired, my weight would have made commuting to the city extremely difficult. 

I’m convinced I wouldn’t have this job if I was heavy.  My client contact is a nice enough guy, but he is nervous, too.  He’s the kind of fellow who would be uncomfortable with a very heavy woman no matter how experienced she was.  In my interview, it took him less than five minutes to announce he loved me, a decision he made based on first impression. 

If I was fat?

I am working very hard to get used to working full time again.  I’m tired much of the time.  How much harder would this be if I was heavy?

Sure, it’s a person’s right to be fat. I felt that way when I was.  But back then I didn’t feel I had a choice.  Having a choice, and making a decision toward better health has made a positive impact in my life. 

I see that quite clearly.

Tap Dance in Pacifica

I loved dancing school when I was a kid.  It was more than dancing school.  It was the foundation for whatever paltry confidence I dragged with me into adulthood, and it kept me out of trouble in more ways than I can count. 

I suffered through ballet class.  We all did. The bar work, no matter how it toned my body in a way I didn't appreciate at the time, was grueling. Connie had us bending and twist and holding, and it was difficult and painful.  The tap dance, however, was thoroughly enjoyable. Nobody taught like Connie did.  She was striking, demanding, and talented, and she endowed my feet with 15 years’ worth of tap routines that are forever emblazoned in my muscle memory (a term she used frequently).  Waltz clogs, time steps (single, double, and triple), shuffle off to Buffalo, Fred Astaire breaks, chugs, flaps, slaps and travelling steps are all accessible to me now.

Before my weight loss surgery a year ago, tap dance was one of the things that motivated and excited me.  Elizabeth’s sophomore year high school musical and dance recital fired me up even more.  Now, I’m pursing it.

I've listed two classes in Pacifica’s Park & Rec Fall Play book.  Beginners Adult Tap Dance is offered twice with a series of six classes in September/October, and six classes in October/November; two sessions back to back.  I’m holding the classes in the little dance studio at the Pacifica Community Center.  It’s got bars, mirrors and everything.

I am poised to launch an intensive local marketing campaign with flyers, postcards, ads in the paper and on Pacifica’s public access channel, and a website dedicated exclusively to tap dance.  I think I’ll call it “Pacifica Tap”.  I want to apply what I've learned about press at Sanchez Art Center to this.

There is a tiny possibility that I might be able to teach a class at Spindrift, too, but we’ll see if it works out.  It doesn't matter to me one way or the other.  What matters to me is my health and readiness.

I better get ready.

Don’tcha think?

My Claim is Exhausted and So Am I

I last time I blogged here I wrote about worry.  I was worried (whining) about work and my unemployment benefits ending around December 31 of this year, and all sorts of other stuff.  Imagine my surprise when I found out this morning that my unemployment claim was exhausted, as in no money left … at all.

There was some weirdness going on with my most recent unemployment payment, and because I was worried about October, I had to talk to someone in the unemployment office.  I’d made a number of financial promises, and we had plans in anticipation of having a third check when usually there are only two.  October just turned out that way, giving us a chance to catch up with a few things. So, I spent the last two days dialing 1-800-300-5616 (dial 1 for English, dial 2 for Spanish, dial 3 to toss your cell phone in the garbage disposal and watch with glee as it’s torn to shreds).  I finally got through to someone this morning at about 8:50 a.m. 

After explaining my problem, I was advised that I had zero dollars left to my claim.  I even have something in writing from the EDD indicating I was good to go until the end of December, but no.  0 + 0 = 0 … you could drive a truck between the vague loopholes in communication from the EDD.  I’m a smart woman, and still I missed the difference between having an open claim and having a fully funded claim.  I was advised of this by a completely apathetic woman, and even as I began to tear up in frustration and feel a little hysterical (no act there), I thought why hadn’t anyone mentioned this?  I’d talked with someone about my problem two times previously with two separate people over the last couple of days and NO ONE bothered to mention “Hey, are you aware that you are down to your last $450?” 

My head exploded.  I mean, really.  It flew apart into a million pieces.  How would I pay the mortgage? Never mind all the other bills. Screw all that. How will we pay the mortgage was all I could think of.  Hearing all this from where she was in the living room, I could hear Leslie’s heartbeat start racing like a runaway train.  She had no chest pain, of course, but I knew the stress would be hard to bear.  How many times had we talked about how lucky we were that we had enough money to cover the mortgage even though I wasn't working?  A day ago, I thought my benefits would expire the end of December, and having a few irons in the fire, I was prepared to do so temp work if necessary.  Now, temp work is urgent.   My next thought was how do we tell Elizabeth? She’s already so good about all this, but now she has to worry about losing her home?  There is no family to call for help. It’s just the three of us and has been for years.  So, it’s up to us to make it work. She knows this.

After the initial shock, and after cleaning my exploded grey matter off the walls, I started writing, networking, to everyone I could think of who might have a tip on a job, and every temp agency I’ve ever done business with.  The opportunity at Redwood Shores ironically gained some traction today becoming a job I am uniquely qualified for. I have a phone interview in the morning. And I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon with a temp agency so I can get some income happening.  Then, we had to go to an eye doctor's appointment that took forever to get and Leslie really needed to take.  I waited for her in the lobby for over an hour, and it was the longest hour of my life.  You know how it feels when you need to be doing something, anything, and all you can do is sit?

When Elizabeth got home, we explained what happened, and she asked questions like “Do I have to worry about being homeless?” and “Do I have to be afraid?”  I explained the difference between sending in resumes over the internet for a permanent job and hearing nothing, versus getting temp work with an agency when you need it.  She understood I would get something soon. She teared up a little, but recovered quickly.  As I exclaimed about what a stressful day it was, she said, “But you’re not being mean.”  That sort of stopped me in my tracks.  She explained that when dealing with the stress of the last job, I was mean at home.  Her words really opened my eyes.  I realized how stressed out that place, my last place of permanent employment, had really made me; how difficult the enduring uncertainty and tension there, the nastiness of people’s behavior, had worn me down. It was so bad that I was angry and upset virtually all the time.  My fifteen year old opened my eyes to this in a way that hadn't occurred previously.  I told her I wouldn’t let that happen again. I'd had plenty of time to rest and bounce back from all that stress, and I told her I was sorry.  She answered, "It's okay, Nana. Can we study my French now?"  Kids.

They say it’ll be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.  Well, it’s about 10:30 p.m., and I feel like I’ve been whacked about the head hard with a reality stick.  And when the cosmic joker was done with me, he started whacking Leslie.  We were both feeling stunned, but we stuck together like glue.  Now we’re just tired.

I need to work. I don’t care what it is. If I’m capable of doing it and it’s enough to cover the bills, I’ll do it.  I have current secretarial skills, I’m a good manager, and I’m a good leader with a strong facilities background.  My resume is strong, and I have years of experience.

I’m sending out my need and desire into the ether like it’s a palpable thing. Right now it is.  I send it on Raven’s wings and dragon’s flight, and I know my intent will find its destination … and soon.

It as to.

What's the Delay?

I really enjoy blogging. Now that I’m involved with the Art Guild of Pacifica, there are an endless number of people, exhibitions, shows, and art styles to write about.  AGP has a blog on blogger, and while any AGP member can author an article, most people don’t seem to have the time.  I’ve got time on my hands these days, so I’m truly enjoying myself.

But I wonder … is this taking me away from my novel?  I’ve been closed mouth about my fiction novel entitled “Faultlines”, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do, and something I definitely want to finish before I go back to work.  Time is ticking on that account.  I’ve grown concerned that writing a novel is a little bit like dieting, very overwhelming, and so am I avoiding it? While I found a way to support my efforts at better health with bariatric surgery (vertical gastrectomy aka “stomach staple”), I think the only way to get my novel done is to simply write it.  One step at a time, one page at a time, one day at a time.

So, what is holding me back? What am I afraid of?  I really need to figure this out.

Are Bullies Just Babies?

I find it ironic that our daughter, Elizabeth, is dealing with bullying at school around the same time I was getting pushed around at work. First, she had her hands full with a disgruntled ex-friend who acted out feelings of anger on the internet, and then, most recently, we had a go round with an adult bully; one of Elizabeth’s teachers.

Now that I’m home, I’m more tuned in to my family. Elizabeth has always shared her day with Leslie after school, but by the time I got home tired and stressed, it was old news. Elizabeth is sharing more with me, usually over homework or projects. She has one teacher (of course, I won’t get into names) who has created a confrontational environment in the classroom, and as a result students are afraid to ask questions. It’s clear this teacher wants to consider herself sarcastic, when in fact her students perceive her as a bully.

A few weeks ago Elizabeth told us about how this teacher frightened a very shy student in class by asking rapid fire questions aggressively and then continuing to prod for an answer when the student wouldn’t or couldn’t. This and other issues with rude teachers prompted us to share unsolicited parent feedback with the principal via email. Then, just last week, this same teacher turned her fiery consternation on Elizabeth. Liz asked a question in class (after being out the previous day), and the teacher answered by leaning right into her face and yelling at her so loud Elizabeth could smell her nasty breath! She was intimidating and threatening, and everyone in the class heard her shout, “NO! We’re not gonna do that yet! We don’t even have what we NEED to do that yet!” Wouldn’t it have been more appropriate to say, “We’re not there at this time”? Obviously, not yelling would be preferable. So, Leslie and I made a formal complaint to the principal and asked how it would be handled.

We attended a round table meeting just a day or so ago with the principal, the teacher, and Elizabeth. This is apparently part of the formal complaint process. Prior to our meeting and after having personally confirmed our claim by interviewing more than a handful of students who witnessed what happened, the principal shared our email message with his teacher. In our meeting, she responded with what I thought was slightly genuine, albeit definitely well-rehearsed sincerity. I’ve conducted many meetings around staff conduct at work, and I find often times they know when they’re crossing the line. This kind of person may take immediate responsibility for what they’re hearing, and claim they didn’t mean it, but it’s usually to cool down the heat. To them, it’s a calculated risk.

Judging from the principal’s direct communication over the table on what is and isn’t acceptable behavior in a teacher, I’m wagering they had an off-line discussion. The teacher shared that she had a group meeting with her classroom prior to ours and gave them a “safe word”. She asked them to call out the word “banana” each time they felt threatened or intimidated. Isn’t this putting the responsibility for her conduct on them? I’m pretty sure safe words are reserved for bondage and discipline or S&M games more so than for school. Also, in our meeting, the teacher was open and verbal about needing Elizabeth’s approval. “Didn’t I use your work as an example, Elizabeth?” Ha. Ha. She wanted everyone to laugh it off, but it was clear to Leslie and I that she needed the strokes, even from a kid. Leslie wanted to make some salient points about teacher's ethics, which she did with grace and intelligence.  I wanted to make sure we were heard and was satisfied.  Elizabeth knew we had her back.  In the end, we all felt better for having met.

I’ve discovered that bullies are a curious bunch whose modus operandi is to make their bad behavior your responsibility. It’s happened to me at work and in friendships. It can happen in loving relationships, parents do it to their kids, it obviously happens between classmates, and now we’ve experienced it with a full grown adult and student role model. Of course, it also happens for tragic reasons such as sexual or physical abuse, when young children are robbed of their empathy and compassion. But that is a much deeper topic. Currently, the television show “Glee” addresses this with both humor and pathos, and I’m just so impressed with what they’re doing. Take Sue Sylvester, for example. She is a role model for brazen bullies hiding a golden heart. They’re also addressing bisexuality in students, homosexuality, and with the character Karofsky, they’ve taken on what can happen when an individual is personally conflicted about these things. It explores how that confusion can be acted out as real threats and violence.

The average bully wants your attention, expects that you will agree with them, and will go to great lengths to make you when you don’t. What motivates this behavior might be a fear of feelings like inferiority, unworthiness, or sexual ambiguity. I find that beneath the crusty exterior of a bully lies an intense childlike desire for attention.

It is the nature of a bully to make their problem your problem, and to belittle your efforts, actions or experiences, in order to make theirs feel superior. Whether or not we choose to take on that burden is entirely up to us.

*          *          *          *

Read more about cyber-bullying here and here.

Liberated by a Legacy Firm Drone

This morning, I woke up thinking about the dungeon that was my previous job.  I worked with some terrific people, and while the thought of that place still irritates me immensely, and I’d much rather never have to think of it again, I wonder about them from time to time.

Coincidentally, a colleague and my former counterpart in Los Angeles called to check up on me earlier today.  She’s a nice, genuinely caring individual.  Like me, she did not get the job she applied for, but the company kept her on an additional six months to do real estate work her replacement isn’t qualified to do.  Her replacement, by the way, is a secretary from the other side of the merger, and she has no operations experience.    My previous counterpart informed me that my replacement is an employee from the other side of the company, too.  So, I looked up this successful candidate on LinkedIn, and it seems she has no operations experience either.

Our perky colleague and former counterpart in Houston, a real firecracker, is still being strung along.  She began the interview process just after Christmas, about the time I did, and was informed a few weeks ago the race is on between her and one external candidate.  A man.  That external candidate was in the office she manages interviewing yesterday with a high level executive.   My perky colleague, however, was not invited to do the same.  This high level interview happened in her office, behind a closed door she could see from her desk.  It lasted about 45 minutes.  When I spoke with her today, it sounded as though she were one Tinky Winky band-aid away from flying into a billion tiny pieces.

Leslie and I were sitting in front of Peet’s coffee when I got off the phone.  I was drinking the usual afternoon latte, a habit I haven’t tried to break yet, as I considered what I’d been told.  The general consensus might be that across what was “our” geography, the position my counterparts and I applied for and didn’t get has been filled with outrageously unqualified candidates from the other side of the “merger of equals”.  In fact, the entire action looks perfectly premeditated. 

It took a moment for this new perspective to sink in.  At first I sat there, my head racing, feeling irritated and stressed out all over again.  To date, I’ve considered this a learning experience, which is what I tell myself when I’ve been intensely fucked and can’t find a hidden benefit.  Then the tears fell.  If they knew all along they would replace us with legacy firm drones, what was the point of all this?  Why tell me I’m a strong candidate only to shoot me down later?   Was it so we wouldn’t miss the pleasure of banging our heads against the confusing ambiguity they called change management or so we could enjoy being de-valued as our responsibilities were stripped slowly with little explanation?  Oh wait.  It was so we could fully imagine the terror of being unemployed in what is undoubtedly this century’s most dramatically publicized and fear inciting recession; thereby being scared shitless enough to do whatever they asked us to do and willingly overlook the strong possibility our efforts might be for absolutely nothing.

Suddenly, I realized this lets me off the hook.

Over the last three weeks, I’ve worked on living with the learning experience theory above, and wondered how long it would take my confidence to bounce back.  My outer Donna, the big girl, was aware of the set up and knew it was not to be taken personally; but inside … well, that was another story.  My inner Donna, the little girl, fretted and even obsessed over the certainty of what I did wrong.  The job was only a quarter of its previous responsibilities, and would be surrounded by rude and inconsiderate peers, but this seemed inconsequential.  What did I do that made me inadequate for this job?  Suddenly, that little, red head, freckle face Donna, the unconfident girl with buck teeth and a dorky pom-pom hat, was liberated from the burden of her self-imposed unworthiness by the knowledge that the firm hired people who weren’t even close to qualified, and probably had plans to dumb it down all along.

A company that treats support services with disdain and utter carelessness is a nightmare to work for in a post-merger environment.  The professional staffs who don’t meet their numbers won’t hang around long.  But because support services don’t generate revenue, those staff might as well wear targets and wait to be picked off, terminated due to cost savings.  As the new firm approaches its utopian state, this will increase with the integration of real estate locations and sophisticated self-service human resource, benefits, and finance systems.  Finally, the end result will be a largely automated and highly sophisticated internal services function that sits just one hop, skip, and a jump away from complete and total outsourcing.

If I were still working in the Shared Services dungeon, I'd start mustering up what dignity I have left; because if the process of elimination doesn't wear you down, the ferocious job market certainly will.

Good luck.

D❤

Create Peace: More on Cyber-Bullying

Create Peace

Read the first post on this right here!

From where we sat in the van watching our daughter leave school grounds, Leslie and I could tell Elizabeth had a good day and was in a good mood.  We were so relieved.  


We're in the midst of our first experience with cyber-bullying, the details of which are here.

When I called the school’s principal, I didn’t know if he would support me or blow me off.  The truth is school administrators have no responsibility over what students do on their own time, and so cyber-bullying and other negative activity on the internet falls into a grey area school administrators don’t have to be bothered with.  But, this principal took notes on my concerns during our conversation.  He asked me questions, wanted details, and said he’d reach out to Elizabeth at school, even though there was a good chance she would be hesitant to say anything.

They met with Elizabeth just before the last class of the day.  He brought one of his guidance counselors, a woman, to break the ice, and in fact, she did most of the talking.  They went into all of Elizabeth concerns, including the teachers and how mean they are.  They asked if she wanted to come to school, and she gave them an honest answer:  No.  She spoke truthfully about her feelings, including who she thought left those nasty messages on Formspring.   Our daughter wasn’t threatened by their conversation, and she very well could have been (in which case she’d have clammed up big time), so I know they did the job right. 

I’m glad I called the principal.  Even though Elizabeth said she didn’t want us to interfere, I can see how important it is to her that we did.   We also decided to leave her Formspring account just the way it is. 

Eighth grade haters, beware.

We’re on to you now.

Eighth Grade Cyber-Balderdash

Well, it finally happened.  Elizabeth has been attending school for 10 years including pre-K and this is the first time we’ve encountered cyber-bullying that is intense enough to get us involved.  It happened on Formspring, which for 8^th graders is like glazed donuts to a diabetic; irresistible but deadly.  Formspring isn’t like Facebook.  On Formspring, anyone can leave anonymous posts unless you've tweaked your account to prevent it (and most folks don’t know it’s possible).  On Facebook, everyone knows who you are, so haters leave major insults at their own risk, which means, most of the time they don’t bother.

I was first introduced to Formspring by a high school age student we know in Connecticut.  She is a Facebook friend who posts links to her Formspring dialogue regularly.   It is disturbing.  Boys ask for a blow job, and she LOL’s.  Girls call her slut, whore, and douchebag, and she LOL’s that, too.  We mentioned what was going on to her mother and haven’t heard from her mom since. I guess when she said, “Let me know what’s happening online”, she didn’t really mean it.

Formspring Sucks!

Elizabeth is attending 8^th grade in a school that is 85 percent Asian.  So, on top of the usual 8^th grade dramatics, she takes considerable flack for being white.  Ironically, she NEVER takes any abuse for having two moms.  She’s been accused of trying to act Asian, dress Asian, and taking Asian boys away from Asian girls.  This is a lame insult, if you know Elizabeth.  She is extremely sensitive to any kind of racism, and doesn’t hesitate to get in our faces if even remotely Archie Bunker-like words slip from our lips.  Have you ever been lectured by a 13 year old?

Last night, someone posted a verbal assault on Elizabeth's Formspring profile. By 8^th grade standards, it was epic. Elizabeth discovered it just before climbing into bed, and she was devastated.   The hater covered her breasts, her body type, her sense of humor (how she paints a mustache on her finger and holds it under her nose), her standards of friendship, personality, and then capped on her for hanging out with another group of kids who reported hate her now, too.  Of course, she was also accused, once again, of wanting to be and acting like ... yes, you guessed it, an Asian.

Leslie and I went to bed upset.  Eighth grade is hard enough.  The teachers are mean as hell, as if being so was a prerequisite to teaching.  The ones that aren’t mean are lazy.  And a goodly number of them take any opportunity to yell at and insult classroom students.  Hey folks, we realize this hasn’t been a banner year for State of California education, but what made you decide to leave your maturity at the door?  Many of these individuals seem to forget that teaching is more than a job.   Remember, these are the teachers who’ve kept their position when so many others are let go, implying they have tenure or are the cream of the crop.  You would think so, anyhow.

Leslie and I slept on it, and we started our morning as usual.  Despite being recently laid off, I get up early, which is what they say avoids the gaping maw of unemployment depression.  Elizabeth was quiet.  She had to be at school 45 minutes early for detention because she was off sick on Friday, and didn’t get her political cartoon assignment.  Whatever.   See what I’m saying about mean? 

Well, we are certain we know who the hater is.  This girl, an Asian girl, hung out with Elizabeth for two years before blossoming (and bludgeoning) hormones and other girly shit split them up.  My guess is that when they split, Elizabeth was supposed to go crawling back, and one might say she did the first time they had a problem.  She opted to be the bigger person and broke the ice.  The second time, however, Elizabeth had enough, opted in favor of her self-esteem, and found new friends.

I am personally very familiar with this hater’s M.O.  I was the buck-toothed, red-head fifth grader who got her ass kicked regularly after school.  Girls in 7^th grade handed me notes about how ugly I was and how I smelled bad.  I had a girlfriend in school, and she did the same thing to me.  She had an expectation of my behavior when we argued and when I didn’t comply, she let me have it.  I know all about it, but I didn’t have supportive parents backing me up.

Elizabeth does have supportive parents, and when I spoke to the school principal today he was very concerned.  We’re going to deal with this assertively.

It’s not okay for anyone to pick on our little girl.

Watch out, haters.

10 Seconds in Heaven: A Bunny Tail (I mean, tale)

Dis bunny iz not happy
(photo by Liz)

I managed to avoid going on a "bunny reconnaissance mission" with Elizabeth last night. She is determined to stage a coup and rescue the rabbit we caught Sunday from its careless owners. It is, indeed, very cute, and yes, the way its owners are treating it is borderline negligence ... but I don't want any bunnies. We did the bunny thing already when Elizabeth was in kindergarten.


In 2001, we had two bunnies. First there was the boy, Clever Rabbit Nibbles, who was very sweet. He was a brown sort of color, and had a lovely disposition. Then, we got Miss Lucille, who was black and white and named after the teacher Elizabeth had at Montessori pre-K. This bunny wasn't so sweet. She started out sweet, but she also used to run around the living room chewing on things until she happened upon some electrical wires and nearly electrocuted herself. After that she wasn't so nice. Have you ever heard a bunny snarl? It's a scary thing.

We kept Clever and Miss Lucille on the back lanai in South City. It was sort of an outdoor living space off the third bedroom and very lovely. They each had their own extremely roomy cage, and despite our veterinarian's many warnings about leaving two bunnies of the opposite sex together for any length of time, we did ... once ... when I was cleaning cages. It took Clever only moments to realize there was no barrier between he and his beloved, and so he and Miss Lucille had their 10 seconds in heaven, which is all the time it takes for bunnies. The female bunny or doe ovulates on command at any time. It's not like a dog. An un-neutered female dog will go into heat once every six months if you're lucky and, as a responsible owner; all you must do is keep her off the streets and in a diaper. A doe, on the other hand, drops an egg any time a buck smiles at her. In about three weeks we had three more bunnies.

Elizabeth and Miss Lucille,
the snarly doe

Miss Lucille had three of the sweetest little babies, and she hid them for the longest time. This is what rabbits do in the wild. They go to great lengths to hide their new born babies, who at birth are naked, blind, squeeling little cheeze doodles. Elizabeth called me at work one day so excited about seeing them finally. And they really were the cutest things you ever did see. So, then I had five rabbits to clean up after, until they got too big to house any longer.

We managed to find homes for each of the babies. Domino went to a store, Vanilla went to a third grader from where Elizabeth was going to school. The third one, Clever Jr., went to a private home, as well. Then, due to circumstances beyond our control, we had to find homes for Clever and Miss Lucille, because having so many rabbit cages on the lanai with all that tasty rabbit food started attracting other critters ... ew.

Rescued!

We were ready to be done with the rabbits for a time, I think. But it was very fun, and we got some outstanding photographic moments out of it. I have the most beautiful picture of Elizabeth with the babies in a basket, but for the life of me I can't find it.

Now, we've got rats ... er, ratties, as they're called. But they're both female.  No worries there.

D❤

My New Year's Wish

I'll be 50 in a few years.


When I hit 60 or so, I want to be Endora.

I want to lounge blithely on bannisers, come and go in a loud clap of thunder and smoke (typically with the drama turned up), get away with indulging my every whim, and fly through the ethers with my daughter, who will be dressed in all black to offset my purple and green (which, by the way,are my signature colors and always have been).


This is my New Year's wish ... make it so!


D♥

MY FIRST MEDIUM READING

I am fascinated by mediums, people who are able to speak with the spirits of our deceased. John Edwards, Lisa Williams, and the ever debated Sylvia Browne march across my lens from time to time on television; and there is a medium by the name of Felix Lee Lerma living right here on the Castro in San Francisco. My friend, Jen, who passed away last January, went to see Felix in 2008 and raved about the reading she received. If you’re plugged in, you can’t miss television shows like “Medium” and “Ghost Whisperer”, which is produced by the famed James Von Praagh. If we consider the overwhelming emergence, the intense visibility, of such a talent at this particular point in Earth’s spiritual history, our natural curiosity about bridging the gap between this world and the next won’t be such a surprise or nearly as shocking.

I’ve entertained the possibility of being read by a medium on many occasions, but something always came up as I pursued it. Okay well … maybe it was part skepticism and part nerves, too. But then, one year ago, SpiritCaat, a woman who I am connected to on Facebook, was looking for new opportunities to practice her skill, so I volunteered.  I’m so glad that I did.

SpiritCaat, whose given name is Lisa, approached our reading with open attentiveness and honest communication. She was looking for repetitive symbols in her work, clues as to common themes, and how they compared to true messages from beyond. I was impressed with how pragmatically she approached the very lofty topic, and how she tied past readings to mine (confidentially, of course) in order to learn more about her gift. I had no expectations as to the reading’s outcome and considered myself an open book, so my overall experience was very positive.

My great aunt Phyllis spoke to me through SpiritCaat’s otherworldly and intuitive connection. She is my grandmother’s long lost and deceased sister, and confirmed who she was by offering up her mother’s name directly. There is no way Lisa could know that my great grandmother’s name was Grace.

My grandmother, Thelma, is in her late 80’s, suffers from dementia, and hangs on to this life ferociously for many reasons. She’s been in a rest home for over10 years, and has been at death’s door regularly, only to pull back at the last minute as though reluctant to depart. In fact, she is anchored to this world by some very strong emotions and a lack of faith that I learned to recognize when I was in Connecticut with her for two years in 2007 and 2008.

Phyllis offered reassurances as to Thelma’s passing, but then it became apparent her multi-dimensional message was specifically for Tootsie, my grandmother’s youngest living sister. Tootsie is in her early 80’s, is very together (despite having bad knees), is very chipper, and very aware of and a little freaked out by all the death around her, no matter that it’s age appropriate. She grapples with unresolved issues regarding my grandmother, who was like a mother to her, and whose unsolicited and inappropriate opinions often caused familial friction.

She and I discussed SpiritCaat’s reading, and she asked many questions. She walked me through all the biggest issues she has with my grandmother, helping me to understand. Finally, with the knowledge that Phyllis and their mother were there to help her cross over, we agreed it was appropriate to prepare for Thelma’s departure (which has yet to occur, by the way). Tootsie was so relieved and reassured that she cried.

I have one last tidbit on this reading. In the beginning, when SpiritCaat was “warming up”, I was doodling around on my notepad (determined as I was to take notes), clearing my thoughts, and opening my mind. I wrote “ding dong” on the pad, which meant nothing to me at the time. It turns out, as my Aunt Tootsie confessed; she hears a door bell ring just before receiving big news about a family member. Nobody else hears it. Only she does.

Even when other people are in the room.

Of course, Tootsie’s doorbell rang only just prior to receiving my call.

This fascinating tidbit was further confirmation of the genuine nature of SpiritCaat’s gift. What greater gift than healing could a medium offer.

Read more about SpiritCaat’s offerings by visiting her New Age Encyclopedia here , and her primary website here.


Originally posted one year ago on September 1, 2009, this article has been editted.  Both photos in this article were swiped from SpiritCaat's Facebook page.

MORE FRANCINE

OH, FRANCINE!

Visit the one and only Francine at

http://www.donnalouisefaber.com/!

You know she wants you!

TEMPERANCE
CARD #14
KEYWORDS: Flexibility, Moderation, Transcendence

The magic of the Tarot lies in its timeless symbolism. When we look closely and contemplate tarot symbols, they help us awaken intuitive channels and unlock the secrets of our higher selves. The Great Mother gave us more than a tool for divination. She provided us with a visual roadmap to understanding as we navigate our way through a constantly changing world.

The tarot’s major arcana cards represent universal experiences that we all go through, no matter what our background or how we were raised.

Change, like death and taxes, is something we can count on but don’t necessarily look forward to. It often affects us directly in very tangible ways igniting a series of internal changes in its wake. When circumstances push us through hoops, doors, and open windows, we are pulled out of our comfort zone. We may react strongly, with unexpected emotions, and we may find ourselves acting out in unanticipated ways. Stress, after all, can do strange things to even the most stable individual.

In this modern, pop-culture rendition of the Temperance Card, actress Catherine Deneuve is an angel praying serenely over a chalice of flowing water. Her classic beauty and peaceful repose reminds us to slow down. The birds in this card signify the elements of air and thought, and they remind us to respond rather than react. Insinuate the intellect wisely when the raging waters of emotion threaten to carry us away. Catherine’s praying hands are held up to her forehead, indicating the third eye, which is open. In this, she acknowledges that integrating internal change is critical to maintaining emotional stability. She is also secure in the knowledge that the watchful Raven (the eyes of the Morrigan or Dark Mother) is a representative of the Goddess, who is always watching over us.

It is no coincidence that the Temperance Card falls between the Death Card (#13) (transformation through change) and the Devil Card (#15) (enduring problems) in a tarot deck. When viewing the major arcana in a linear fashion, it becomes apparent that the placement of this card gives us an opportunity to deal with and process emotional change. Take time to watch for signs, markers, totems and patterns that are significant to our personal journey. These signals point the way. Let go of what should be released, such as failed relationships, unsuccessful work arrangements, and uncomfortable or awkward circumstances. Know that irreconcilable differences or contradictory opposites, whether they are inner archetypes stretched by duality or personalities that make working together difficult, can be transcended.

Concurrently, these issues can isolate us when ignored. They keep us from moving forward by instilling fear and making us too frightened to take emotional chances again. When left to fester, they become the even bigger issues that vex us symbolized by the Devil Card (in which case a hearty sense of humor is very helpful).

When the Temperance card appears in a reading, remember the words fluidity, agility, and flexibility and go with the flow.



Read more about the creative process here.
View the Major Arcana Gallery on my art site here.

REFLECTING & REAFFIRMING

I’m feeling kind of strange today. We had a lovely, long holiday weekend over Christmas. All I did, around the Christmas prep, was relax and spend time with Leslie and Elizabeth. Elizabeth and I did a great puzzle together, too. It was glorious. Here in the office, although it is very quiet (not many people here, and those who are seem really pooped), there is an air of anticipation. Merger angst, I think.

I feel as though I should be doing something with this quiet energy, creating something, somehow working with the quiet vibe to do art or something else active. I found myself fighting with this, because my muse is very quiet right now. Francine (my muse, or internal inspiration, who emerged visibly in my art, and so I've given her this name) is in there, I can feel her, but she’s quiet. How unusual for her … and for me.

I’m going to be revolutionary and make a conscious decision to “go with the flow”. Rather than rail against the vibe, I’m going to ride the bliss and do some personal reflecting.

As 2010 approaches, riding a wave of transformation and reformation, I ask myself the following questions: What am I releasing, and what am I embracing?

I found out just how sneaky stress can be when we were looking for a home to purchase. We had a difficult time finding something in this crazy market while juggling personal financial uncertainty. Couple that with a merger announcement at work (merger = possibility of job loss), and you’ve got yourself a reason to stress. And so I did. I experienced more of the thinning veil I referred to in a previous post (written some time ago). Probably experienced more thinning of the hair, as well. Even though I tried not to make an ass of myself, I’m not sure I didn’t. The good news is that it all turned out fine, and the people I got stressed with either didn’t notice or forgive me. We found a place to buy that works for us, things at work got more solid again, and I made a friend in the process. Someone I’ve known *before*. In this, I acknowledge my need for friends, and after a long period of releasing unhealthy relationships from the past, I am eager to shower new friends of the heart with all the love, support and encouragement I have!

At work, the merger has provided opportunities for my work to be visible on higher levels. Leading an implementation sub-team is very rewarding. Mergers do indeed imply a possibility for job loss, but they also imply great opportunity through change, as well. I’ve worked my tushy off, and will admit to having a significant emotional investment over how my hard work may or may not pay off in the end. I haven’t seen a raise in salary since starting here, and while that isn’t surprising given the economy, it sure would feel good. Unfortunately, the time taken up by this work prompted me to give up my place on the school PTA, which I’ve always enjoyed. That made me sad for a while, but it was time to let it go. In this, I acknowledge my competitiveness, ambition and drive, and I cast a web of healthy expectation over the efforts I’ve planted like seeds. May they grow to manifest healthy fruit in the new year!

I launched my art site, which I’ve written about in volumes here. Doing so was a significant step for me. I plan to continue creating with great fervor, and am excited about it! There was a time in the not too distant past when my muse was completely absent! I’m glad she’s back, and with a vengeance! Over the new year, I want my art to be embraced by those who know me, and those who don’t know me.

Last, but certainly not least … I found myself quietly pondering my parents and siblings over the past holiday. I’d like to extend a special thanks to Facebook for changing their security settings so subtly no one noticed others can see all their pictures and even their wall if settings aren’t in place.

I know. I’m a voyeur. I just can’t help it.

Both of my brothers are younger than I, and I’m no longer on speaking terms with either of them (for various reasons). The youngest seems very happy with his family and in his new home. It’s like he was given another chance to make his life satisfying, which is something he never got growing up. There is a picture of my mother on his site, too. A recent one. I got no pleasure out of seeing how unhappy and unhealthy she looked, but at least she had someplace to go for Christmas. The other brother didn’t make the annual Christmas pilgrimage to Connecticut this year, and rather tried to find homesteading where he lives. This is a first for him, and he’s over 40 now. He didn’t post any photos of his holiday, so we are left guessing. Usually, when he’s got something going on, he shares. I hope he’s doing alright.

For my brother, Curtis, I wish continued happiness with his new family, and all the prosperity life has to offer. For my brother, Donald, I wish a softening of emotional defenses. I hope he lets someone in enough to make the family I know he desperately desires.

I’ve come to terms with putting these relationships aside. They do not fit for me any longer, aren’t healthy for me, and so I’ve let them go. I indulged myself over the holiday by peering into their world, but after trying for years to make it work, I don’t spend much time worrying about it any longer.

Let this be my greatest wish for 2010. I wish that the past remain in the past, and I support myself in the releasing of those burdens.

I think if I had to identify one thing that I’ve learned about who I am, it would be this: I am human. After spending the first half of my life over-achieving and paying the price for it, I want to relax and little and allow myself those human vulnerabilities. I mean, these are things that have always been there, but I denied them, ignored them. So, this year, I am going to embrace myself with all the vulnerabilities and wierdness that being me entails.

With this, I usher in a year of balance. I *expect* myself to pay more attention to the careful balance of my family, work and other activities. I *expect* myself to take better care of my body, bring my health back into balance, and to start by walking frequently. I also *expect* myself to consistently and outwardly demonstrate that balance to my family and friends, so they know I am thinking of them as much as I think of myself.

More than ever, I *expect* a prosperous and happy 2010!

And I wish you all the same.

So much love,

D~

Would you like to know me better?

Visit Donna L. Faber: Creating is Breathing and my FB Fan Page.

Visit my other blogs, When Isis Rises and Every Woman is a Witch.

Follow me on Twitter.

No, I’m not too full of myself! I just want to connect!

EMERGING ART: The Queen of Wands

My panties are in a twist.

I've got a lot going on at work (finally!), stuff coming up for the PTA, family life to balance, the upstairs waiting to be cleaned ... and this piece of art calling me to task on a regular basis. I mean, I should be happy. When I'm bored, I'm miserable and prone to trouble. The other side of that coin is having too much to do. I'm not complaining. Well, I am a little ... but it feels good. Even if my panties are in a twist. It feels good.

This is what I'm working on right now, all whining aside. I originally called it "Donna & Gregor" and yes, it is a self-portrait of sorts. Then, I thought maybe "Strega & Guardian" made better sense. Then, the other day, first thing after awakening, I looked at it and realized it was "The Queen of Wands", which is all about spirit. The dragon, to me, is the ultimate symbol of spirit. This Queen's key words are "I know myself" which is also very much me. I do know myself. I have no illusions about who I am.

So, I present, for your consideration a work in progress called "The Queen of Wands".


~please click on the image for a better view~

FROM OUR WORKSHOP: Bernadette Rides The Moon

Bernadette Rides The Moon © October 17, 2009 (New Moon in Libra) by Donna L. Faber. All rights reserved. The original is approximately 8" x 8", on Strathmore Bristol Smooth, done with pen & ink and Prismacolor markers. Then, it was cut out and digitally enhanced. This piece was done for a client who has achieved a new plateau of self-empowerment and wishes to commemorate it with a tattoo. She was drawn to the image of a woman riding the moon, but wanted something more personal to put on her shoulder permanently. This image reflects that client's desire (her name is Bernadette or Bernie to her friends), and has similar physical characteristics, as well, right down to the long red nails. She is riding a moon that looks just enough like a biker to be cool, not to mention personally appropriate. Also, while purple is Bernie's favorite color (which is why the moon is purple), I wanted the woman to truly *pop* from the picture. I believe the juxtaposition between heavy purples and flesh tone achieves that.

Here are photos of the piece emerging ...

Categorically, commissioned art can be a creative challenge because it puts a fence around my creative expression when typically I let it run free range. It was my challenge to attain the "essense" of what Bernadette wants to convey with this tattoo, understand where her head is at, and really get a "feel" for her as a woman at this point in her life. I achieved this with a couple of email messages, a few pictures, and one 15 minute phone call. Bernie is a great communicator, so I got a lot out of our conversation.

Those of you who know me, know that I have a personal relationship with the moon, and believe the Goddess resides there. When a woman comes into her own in any way, shape or form, she is, in fact, acknowledging and honoring the goddess within her. This image, the woman on the moon, is a more visual presentation of calling down the moon, acknowledging the goddess, or realizing our power within.

I hope this image is everything Bernie wants it to be.

With Love,
D~

FROM OUR WORKSHOP: Don't Tell Me To Stop

Don’t Tell Me To Stop © October 4, 2009 by Donna L. Faber, Full Moon in Aries. This piece is done on Strathmore Bristol Vellum, 100 lb. paper, with Prismacolor markers and Pips. The original is about 10” x 13”. It hasn't been scanned. It's been photographed.

Acknowledging the Muse Within

A woman’s heart is an ocean of secrets. This is something I know from experience. What you see on the outside, the way she looks or moves, the way she expresses herself, her barriers, restrictions or vices, work, hobby or daily routine never adequately represents the treasures hidden away within. Too frequently, we restrict ourselves in the expression our heart’s delight. What’s more, society doesn’t provide for or accept the many ways our hearts wish to express themselves either. Our rules are stringent and unforgiving. Our hands are tied and as a result so are the rest of us.

I rail against this, and hope that the change our world is undergoing, this spiritual shift, will transform this repression. I hope that through a spiritual awakening, all women will embrace who they are and share their gifts with the world without fear or hesitation.

There is something inside of me that resents this restriction intensely, and I know that if I ever let that part of me out of the bag completely, my life would never be the same.

I fall in love frequently. Some times I fall harder than others, but when I do, it’s just as genuine as the very first time it happened to me at 16 years old. Each love I experience seems perfect for the object of my desire; however, it’s not always permissible to express it. Instead, I try to the best of my ability to honor the divinity in everyone and hope that is enough.

Is it?

There is a woman inside of me that refuses to be stifled when it comes to love. She flat out refuses to be repressed. Love in its truest form must be as sensitive and empathic as it is reciprocal. But this lady is a love hammer that refuses to act contrary to her truest nature. Even though I know that love shouldn’t be used as a bludgeon, this archetypic female doesn’t know how to do it any other way.

This is Francine, and she is one of my greatest muses. Not to be confused with inspiration, which is something on the outside that gets my attention, a muse is the internal emotion that prompts me to create. Francine is the part of me that rails against repression, and so consequently, she is the dynamic force behind so much of my art and writing. She beats the inside of my psyche with her clenched fists, she runs rampant in my dreams, whispers in my ears, and reigns over my day dreams at work, home and on the bus. In the car with my family, if I drift away unhearing, Leslie asks, “Hello? Are you there?” It is Francine pulling me away from the here and now as she rattles the bars to the cage I’ve put her in and has me swooning in the arms of my latest obsession.

So, this piece is done to acknowledge my inner love hammer, Francine … that’s why I call it “Don’t Tell Me To Stop”.

Because she never will.

EMERGING ART: Don't Tell Me To Stop

Don’t Tell Me To Stop © October 2, 2009 By Donna L. Faber
Full Moon in Aries (almost)