Indifference

As someone who often identifies herself based on her loyalty to the handful of people to whom she is loyal, indifference is the saddest possible state. Sad, as in objectively sad. Sad, as in "wow, it makes me sad that I no longer care about this person." Not sad, as in "this person can still make me sad" ~ because that's not indifference, as we all know.

Once someone has my loyalty, I take a long time to get to indifference. A damn long time. And trust and believe, I am very clear about the path our relationship finds itself. No one will ever say of me "but I didn't know; she didn't even give me a chance." I am loyal to too few people not to fight to remain that way.

In time, though, if my explanations, requests, tears, and feelings aren't heard, aren't acted upon, even I, Samwise Gamgee herself, will stop giving a damn. And yeah, that's a sad thing.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

It Must Be Exhausting

As a well-endowed woman, my bras are important to me. They must offer support and all-day comfort, without giving me the uni-boob of a workout bra. If they are pretty, that's an extra bonus, but since I'm no longer a teenager, cute isn't as important as it once was.

I also wear a color of lipstick that is inexplicably difficult to find. I cannot possibly be the only person who wants a long-staying, dark brown, but not muddy, lipstick. Given the options out there, you would think I was, though.

The other night, we went to the store. I found my lipstick! YAY! I found three ~ three ~ comfortable, supportive, attractive bras! YAY!  When it came time to check out, I realized the jewelry department was still open. This is the store where I wanted to get my ring repaired. So, I sent Lithus to check out while I took my ring to the jeweler. Off he went with my bras and lipstick. Neither of us thought anything of it ~ until he met me back in the jewelry department.

He was chuckling as he stepped up to me. The young women behind the register was so incredibly uncomfortable at a man, unaccompanied by a woman, was buying lipstick and bras. Painfully uncomfortable.

All I can think is how tiring it must be to be that uncomfortable in your own skin, with the people you have to deal with everyday, with the world around you.

Oh, and if you're interested, the bra is Bali's Comfort Revolution wirefree. Seriously, if it applies to you, you need this bra.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I'm Naked!

Last summer, Lithus upgraded my wedding band. Over the course of the last year, that gorgeous stone has gotten loose. So loose, in fact, that one can hear it when a type. Yep, hear it wiggle over the clackety clack of my keyboard.

Since we bought it at a northwest chain, while we were here in Oregon, I took it back in to see if it could be tightened. It could. Yay! They had to send it off. Boo! Still, it was worth it in order to not lose the stone.

I had no idea how much I played with my ring, but apparently it's a lot because I keep reaching for it and panicking. It's a short-lived panic, but there's that momentary flash of terror. Plus, my hand just doesn't look right. Looks...naked.

See? Naked.

Luckily, it'll be back on my finger Friday. Still...I've gotten attached to it.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

From My Heart's Heart

My Heart is engaged. She's a lovely young woman, and, as I've told several people now, I don't say that just because I'm supposed to. I really like her, think she will be (is) a remarkable addition to the family, and look forward to becoming truly good friends.

The other day, she sent me this.

See why I love her already?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Problem with this Day and Age

When I was 18, I knew a young man through theatre. These days, I know he was a young man. Then, he was 26 or 27, so he was very grown and sophisticated. We were both techies, although I acted as well, but he was only ever behind the scenes. He was nice enough, but I wasn't attracted. Then one night, for some reason time has taken away, we ended up grabbing dinner at the Hardee's just the two of us before a show. And I learned that a man who can have intelligent conversation becomes beautiful. A crush was born.

Over the next several months, we flirted, we got shows up, we went to parties, and we hooked up a time or two. I was aching for him to ask me out officially, but he never did. I got more involved with my college theatre and less involved in the local theatre. We kept  in touch, but not much. Until one night he called and asked me to dinner. Only by this time, I was dating someone else seriously. I accepted dinner with my friend, but made it clear it could only be as a friend.

We went to Shaker's. I ordered the chicken cordon bleu and felt oh so grown up. He was moving to Florida to go to work for the Mouse. Getting out of our small town and going to be a professional theatre technician in a professional theatre. He had wanted to see me before he left, say some things he hadn't said.

And he started talking about fear and regret and lost opportunities ~ and asked me what I would have said if he had asked me to go to Florida with him. Now, I want to be very clear. He did not ask me to go to Florida with him. He did ask me what I would have said if he had. I was as honest with him as I was capable of at 19, and explained that I would have dated him ~ had wanted to date him ~ but that I was happy that we were both happy and moving forward with life. We kissed goodbye after dinner and were both acutely aware of everything we had missed. 

After the relationship I was in during that dinner ended, I wrote him. We exchanged a few letters, but by then he was, indeed, out of our small town and had discovered a much larger world. He was dating someone. As happens so often, promises to keep in touch and get together never quite happened. Remember, it was pre-email, pre-Facebook. Even long distance phone calls cost money.

I have no idea what made me think of him earlier this week. Truly, I already cannot remember. Back when he and I knew each other, I would have thought about him, imagined him down in Florida, or maybe moved on to another theatre, or maybe even profession. I would have smiled, wished him well, and kept going. But without anyone who might have known him still in my world, that would have been it. A smile, a happy if imaginary life, and moving on. Except that we don't live in that day and age. We live now. In a world with facebook and google searches and instant access.

I googled him.

And I found two people with his name (it's an unusual name). One was in college. Oooo...maybe that was his son. How cool would that be. And the other... The other couldn't have been my friend. My young man. Because it was an obituary.

Only...it was him. There on Find A Grave dot com. His wife had posted a picture of him with his infant son. And there was no mistaking that smile that hadn't attracted me ~ and then had. He died only 6 years after that dinner at Shaker's. I assume the woman he was dating when we wrote became his wife.

I hope he was happy. I hope they were happy. And I wish, the other day when I thought of him, I had written a life for him where he was still happy, still busy, loving his kids and wife, still hanging lights from a theatre catwalk somewhere and left it at that. But I didn't. Because we live in this day and age.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Let's Just Stop

When I was learning math in school, I would struggle and struggle because I didn't understand why. Why 2+2=4. Why one cross multiplies fractions. Why a train leaves the station at 2:33 traveling 92 miles per hour. Throughout my school and math-learning career, I struggled with the why. Eventually, though, I would finally get to the point where I would remember that the why doesn't always matter. What matters is accepting. Accept that  2+2=4. Accept that one cross multiplies fractions. Accept that the train left the station...

Along those lines, here's what I want to suggest: that we just accept a couple of things. Stop arguing about them. Stop debating them. Stop even talking about them. Just accept that they are bad and stop doing them.

1. Stop wearing black face. Or yellow face. Or red face. Or any other kind of face that isn't your own skin color. "But I meant to be respectful...." "But I wanted to honor the character..." "But I meant it in fun..." Bullshit. No, you didn't. Not any more. Not at this stage of the game. It's a bad idea, regardless of your motivation. And anyone who hasn't lived under a rock for the past 30 years knows this. Don't play dumb; it's not attractive.

2. Stop leaving your children (or pets) in hot cars. They die. There is no such thing as "a quick run in" when your child (or pet) is in a hot car. Cracking a window doesn't matter. Parking in the shade doesn't matter. How long you intend to be away doesn't matter. Your dog would rather be at home. Your child can come in with you. And if your kid can't, then you shouldn't be running the errand right then. 

3. Stop adopting fake gay relationships as a plot device. Either make your characters gay, bring them out of the closet, and embrace it, or leave them straight. Why is two men pretending to love each other and want to make love with each other funny? Here's the easy answer ~ it's not. At best, it's lazy writing. At worst, it's subtle bigotry. 

4. Stop using derogatory words for a group if you aren't a part of that group. White folks don't get to say n****r. Men can't reclaim slut. Straight folks are never hip enough to throw around f****t. "But they say it..." may be true, but it's their word to reclaim. Not yours. This isn't rocket science.

In fact, none of it is. But we aren't getting it, somehow. We're fighting it, fighting with the why. It's time to stop fighting it, and accept it. Understanding doesn't matter. Why doesn't matter. These things are wrong, hurtful, stupid, and ignorant. Stop doing them. 2+2=4. It just does.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Breeding Fear and Disrespect

We were watching CNN this morning and had to turn it off. Not because of the war news out of Israel/Palestine, Russia/Ukraine, or Syria. Not because of fires, death, or famine. Because of the news anchor and the shows being advertised. Not Fox or MTV or E!News. CNN.

The anchor in question was interviewing a representative of Palestine and, in essence, called him a liar. He maintained his cool, but she didn't. The shows ~ original shows created by CNN ~ are about spreading fear. The Killer Next Door kind of thing. Voice overs that say "It takes courage...it takes courage to get out of bed every morning when there is SO MUCH to fear..."

There is an apocryphal story about President Johnson's response to a critical editorial by Walter Cronkite around the Vietnam War, saying "If I've lost Walter Cronkite, I've lost middle America." If that is true or not, we believe it. We believe it, because Cronkite was as objective as a human being can be. We didn't know his opinions about much. We didn't know his emotions about much. And when we did learn them, it mattered and was worth noting.

Truth is we are embracing fear these days. And we have gotten disrespectful and emotional as a society. Objectivity is becoming a lost art. We're doing this all on our own. We don't need our "objective news outlets" to be helping us along.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

*That* Person

You know the person you just can't stand? No reason for it. Other people have no problem with them.  Maybe it's instantaneous. Maybe it grows with time. Regardless, it's nothing you can put your finger on. You just. don't. like them.

It has dawned on me that I am that person. Not for everyone, obviously, but for a woman here in our building. She's our building manager, and more awkwardly, she's the wife of one of Lithus' friends. She's pleasant to me. Professional. But wow...she doesn't like me. She's even tried, and I will give her that completely. 

I stay me. I try not to try to hard. I am pleasant and offer conversation. But over the course of the 18 months we've lived in this building, I have simply rubbed her the wrong way.

That person is someone we all know, talk about, roll our eyes, and sigh over. It's really strange when you realize ~ it's you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Tea in Cedar City

I love high tea. It's a thing I do. Throughout college, my mom and I would go to tea at the Ritz. I've shared with friends, and family; I've celebrated weddings, birthdays, holidays, finals, meeting deadlines, and random Tuesdays with high tea. So imagine my delight when I discovered tea in Cedar City, Utah.

The sign in the hotel window

Truthfully, the entire time we were in Cedar City before, I didn't go because I was snobby. Surely, dahlink, tea in Cedar City couldn't be as good as tea at the Ritz. So why bother? Until I mentioned it to my mother after we had left and she said she was sorry I hadn't gone. It might have been a lovely experience.

Oh...well, yes...it might have been...

So, when we ended back up in Cedar City, I asked Lithus if he would come for tea with me on his day off (they only serve for 2 or more), and he, being a fellow tea aficionado, agreed. We ended up being joined by My-Other-Mac (M-O-M, as opposed to my mom).

And guess what? It was a lovely afternoon.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ or English Breakfast Tea.

Good Men

I am lucky enough to know good men. I don't mean men who are nice enough guys (although I know some of them). Or men who won't take advantage (know them, too). Or even men that you can't really say anything bad about (yep, got 'em in my life). I mean good men. Men who still care about what a handshake means. Men who care deeply, even when it's inconvenient. Hell, even when it may not be in their best interest. Men who are willing to take a little less in order to ensure everyone has a little more. A good man doesn't have to cause himself damage, isn't a martyr, can absolutely stand up for himself and set boundaries. At the end of the day, though, his name means something ~ and it means something good. I learned what a good man was from my father and grandfather, so I learned all this from the best.

The sad thing is every man I've ever met would say he's a good man. And yet, when push comes to shove, there's going to be a reason or rationalization or excuse to not be a good man. To go back on his word, or make the insult, or choose the other path. And then there are these guys...

Lithus. 

AppsRUs. I have no picture of AppsRUs that is good to post here, which is bothersome and needs to be remedied, I realize. The other remedy is his inclusion in this list. See, he was the entire reason this post exists ~ and I still left him out at first. Really, Pobble? Really. A few weeks ago, I got to thinking what a good man he is, and how lucky I am to know him. Which got me thinking about other good men I know. Which got me this list. So, yeah, AppsRUs. 

My Other Mac (to learn more about this good man, read this adventure in Austin, NV)

Bil

The Country Boy (who is practically the world's last boy scout, for god's sake)

The Grill Master

Now, I know it's popular these days to show men as goofy, bordering on idiotic, man-children. Commercials are insultingly full of men who can't quite get it right. Those men aren't a part of my daily life. These guys are. These really good men.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

July 4th

The summer I was 22, my parents came to Boston for the 4th of July. Daddy and I were huge tall ships fans, so we all headed out to see the annual turning of the Constitution (the ship, not the document). I heard somewhere ~ this visit perhaps? ~ that the yearly turnaround is what allows her to stay commissioned, as she must travel a nautical mile every year to maintain status. But that might be myth. Digressing... Anyway! During this day, my mom snapped these 3 pictures:

Throughout the years, I held onto them, kept track of them, tried desperately not to lose them, until finally an old roommate gave me this frame for them. Now, they hang prominently in every home I have. Truthfully, they hang near a door, in case I have to grab them as I leave because of a fire (or earthquake, or tsunami, or hurricane more recently).

Yesterday, it dawned on me these pictures were taken exactly half my life ago. I was 22 that 4th of July. I was 44 this 4th of July. I've lived as long since those pictures were taken as I had before them. It was...curious.

As for this year, it was good. Possibly the easiest 4th of July ever. The fireworks were at 9, so about 8 were wandered down to our favorite spot on the river. Plopped down right there, with tons of room around us.

Lithus went to find frosty drinks, and I was (literally) circled by Curtis. In spite of my best "really, dude, don't talk to me" attitude, Curtis asked if he could sit down. My response (again, literally) was the cliched-only-in-the-movies-does-anyone-say-that-why-do-they-keep-having-characters-say-that-when-no-one-actually-says-that "It's a free world." So he sat and prattled on, drunkenly, about how the Mississippi is narrower than the river up near Detroit and how the zebra mussels are destroying the algae and thus the ecosystem and something something something I wasn't really listening. Although I did have occasion to mention my husband and Curtis didn't flinch. It wasn't until said husband materialized and lo and behold actually existed that Curtis decided he was probably barking up the wrong tree and left. We amused ourselves by watching him work the women in the crowd for the rest of the evening, with never more success ~ and often much less success ~ than he'd had with me.

Then it came time for the fireworks. They were fireworks, and if you like fireworks (which I do) they were lovely. 

Then, because dealing with crowds is something neither of us like, so both of us do well, we waited. Let the area clear. But in doing so, we got to see the Gretna and naval base fireworks from across the river, and watch the Creole Queen head out for her evening cruise. 

By the time those shows were over, the crowd had cleared and we could leave comfortably. We headed to our favorite bar ~ the Sazerac, in the Roosevelt Hotel ~ which was almost empty because everyone else was out being 4th of July-y in the Quarter, and finished the night with a toast.

Here's to the next 22 years of celebrating. May they be as good as the first 22 were.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.