Passion and Posting

I love The Facebook- it allows me to keep friends in all corners of the globe. Let's face it- most of us are lazy and self centered and really only have interest in what's right in front of us. Occasionally, we miss that friend, who, once upon a time, raced us down the isles of Target in a shopping cart; Or that sassy gal who danced with us in the rain at midnight. Or EVEN that girl you hated who you had a bio class with. We wonder where life took them. Now, we can be all voyeuristic and find out! It is comforting to know that you aren't the ONLY one who has gained 40lbs since high school, and that Bio Class Cow may still be thin, but her children are highly unattractive in comparison with yours (AND she's still doing the sausage roll bangs! OH PA-Leeze!)
It also allows us to connect in some way with family members we DO genuinely care about, but with whom we share little to nothing in common with except unpleasant memories. And when weddings and funerals force us to be together, we always have Farmville to help us avoid the awkward silence. When we wouldn’t know what to say in a phone call or letter, nothing says “Hey, I'm thinking of ya” better than a gifted virtual chicken.
I do observe the Facebook pleasantries. I lob a “Happy Birthday” on the walls of those I may have only met briefly through a friend at the supermarket. I don't go spamming messages, nor “invite” people to fictional events ( sorry, I'm “not attending” WORLD SMELL THE FLOWERS DAY). I try not to be so attention seeking as to cryptically post “OMG, I CAN'T BELIVE IT!!!!” or the like in order to manipulate others into perusing me for information.
The custom marketing is pretty awesome. I do find stuff I like, and if I get tired of seeing annoying pictures of Toby Mac (just because I classify myself as a Christian, does not mean I like crap music) on the right of my screen everyday, I have the power to close the windows marking them as uninteresting, repetitive or offensive. I DO like the “Groupon”, in spite of the recent controversial commercials, and will repost a link if I am totally excited about something (I AM a bit of a coupon whore). 20 bucks for 5 admissions to The Magic House? I am IN. “Like” Chipotle for a buy one get one free coupon? OH YEAH!
When someone posts something with which I find general favor, but have really nothing to say about it, there’s the bless-ed “like” button, used to both affirm the statement that means enough to someone to spout it to the world, and register my valuable opinion without having to go to much effort. And you know what 'they' say, “opinions are like [backsides], everybody's got one”, and something I have in abundance (both in the opinion and [backside] department).
Though most of my personal posts are just random statements to say “hello, world! I'm here!” or images I find amusing enough to share, Facebook is a place where we sometimes register our rather passionate feelings about certain things and spark dialog among people who may have very different viewpoints. While I have seen lengthy comments bantering back and forth about “OMG! Did you see what so and so was wearing at the Grammy's?”many people use Facebook as a platform to make public statements regarding polygamy, human rights, religion, politics, etc... This format of “conversation” is rather dependent on people having the ability to accurately communicate or interperate opinions and ideas in their comments. A lot of the time, I'm just not hip with the cool kids' lingo. Does FB mean 'facebook' or 'fat bastard'? Is 'lol' really 'lame old loser'? I have to figure out if I'm being insulted and don't even know it.
I don't know about you, but I have been actually speaking to someone, where they can hear my inflections and see my body language, and they still took what I had to say as something I never intended to communicate. How many of us when reading an off the wall statement from one of our friends we completely disagreed with, commented or messaged back, “I'm not sure I understand your post. Can you elaborate on what you mean?”. Not me. I look at it and go “Huh?” and just dismiss it, or, if it is one of my 'hot button' issues, I passive/aggressively post the contrary point of view in my own status with a huge obnoxious graphic. Most people are just braver than I am and will comment back how wrong the other person is and give a three point essay why. I, being averse to confrontation- even in written form, prefer my passive/aggressive method.
One of the things I am personally trying to work on is being more compassionate and sympathetic to others. Once upon a time, I took comfort in my Southern Baptist upbringing and whatever the popular christian culture opinion was, was good enough for me. If a pastor was saying it, it had to be the right way to go. If it was on a christian t-shirt, it was gospel and there was no questioning it. There was no other way to look at it, and no grace for those who didn't see things through the same glasses. Frankly, it's just easier to conform and not have to think. But as I have gotten older and faced a few disappointments, owing to my unfair fantasy that people who identify themselves as 'christian leaders' are perfect, I have been forced to think for myself.
Where I would, at one time, only read the headline, form, then declare my ready-made 'conservative wisdom' and PROVE my ignorance, I now read the whole story, and usually have to look between the lines. I am trying to remember to ask myself, “Why would a person do this?” or “What is in their experience that would cause them to make such a statement?” or “Why does this grown woman in 2011 still have sausage roll bangs?” Sometimes, I just get it wrong. I simply misunderstand or make incorrect assumptions- typically based on prejudices I don't even realize I have. I also need to remember that 'tongue-in-cheek' weirdo stuff I mindlessly post on Facebook, just may ignite the fire under someone else's passion and light me up.
SO, if you happen to see me post a link for a coupon to the 'Satanist's R Us' on line store, check to see if it's just spam, my poor attempt at humor, or feel free to ask me “why?”

So.....Not........Fair.

“She's such a smart girl. I can't believe she would walk in front of a train.” A tragic epitaph to a young lady who was beautiful, intelligent and driven.
There have been two occasions in my life that I truly believed I was going to die. Yes, I admittedly am a bit dramatic, but these were not one of my lame pleas for attention. I did indeed 100% think death was here for me. Both of these times were during illness.
The first, I was 19years old. I was living in Houston. I had some really terrible virus that left me with a fever, nasty stomach bug, bronchitis, a double ear infection, strep throat and an acute sinus infection. One of the older ladies I worked with had taken me to a clinic. I remember the doctor had his cold fingers on the side of my neck, looking down my throat and said, “Boy, you sure do feel bad, don't you?”. He then shot me up with penicillin and gave me a fifteen day regimen of Augmenten. Later, I was alone, laying on an itchy sofa, with hot tears stinging the outer corners of my eyes streaming into my hair. I had the words to an old song playing in my head, “Going Home, I am Going Home. There is nothing to hold me here. I caught a glimpse of that Heavenly Land. Praise God, I am going home.” Like I said, dramatic, but at the time very real. I vividly remember telling myself that once I fell asleep, I probably would not wake up. I was at peace with it, so I drifted off. Imagine my slight confusion as my next vision was of a friend throwing my stuff on top of a laundry basket on her hip. She guided me down the stairs and into her car out to her parents home so her mom could take care of me. I was drifting in and out of sleep all the way there. As we merged onto the 288 freeway, I realized I was going to live. I am still grateful (but in my sick way, was peeved about gaining back the 19 pounds I had lost.)
When I was 23, I was less at peace with the idea of dying. My husband and I lived in Riverside with our beautiful 14 month old daughter. She was (and is) the joy and beauty of my life. I had been sick off and on, and must have done something to my neck, because I got to where I couldn't turn my head at all. I came home from work crying in pain, with the worst headache you could imagine, and a fever of 104. I became violently sick and started to break out in hives. My husband called his mother to come get our baby so he could take me to the ER. I was in SO much pain. Our darling girl came over to me to ask if I was okay. I must have frightened her. I was so angry and scared, I couldn't even look at her. I thought, “God, why NOW? When I have a husband who loves me and this beautiful child? Why would you take me now?”. Yes, again dramatic, but, again-at the time- real. My mother in law was in a fender bender on the way to our apartment. We didn't have cell phones in those days, so we didn't know what was taking forever. As soon as she got there, my beloved carried me out to he car and to the hospital, where I was immediately cared for. I must have been having such a fit, they didn't want me in the waiting room. I was quickly administered an IV, and then given Morphine. I could taste it, and my throat started to burn. I felt it closing up and I began gasping for air. In a dimly lit emergency room cubicle, unable to breathe with a sea of activity around me, everything got dimmer. I was rolled onto my side and felt a sharp, electric pain from the middle of my back down into my legs, as fluid was taken from my spine. I reflected back to the time on that itchy sofa, but no peaceful resignation or hymn of comfort came now. This was death, and I was pissed about it.
But, it wasn't death, just a “simple” case of meningitis coupled with an anxiety attack and a bad reaction to Morphine. Some time quarantined in the hospital and two years of fatigue and raging headaches, and I would be good as new.
There have been other times- when passing a gall stone and suffering, was was termed “slow burn appendicitis”- that I WANTED to die, but the grim reaper didn't even hint at showing up to relieve me of the pain then. At least with the pain of childbirth, it's over in twenty hours or so and you end up with a baby!
I think the problem is we have a hard time seeing anything but what is immediately in front of us. Ill and alone, I could see no earthly relief from the attack of the infection on my body. Overwhelmed by a wall of pain and fear, I thought the only thing other side of it could be death. But I was very conscious and afraid of what I didn’t know. There are other times when we think we absolutely KNOW what is in front if us and how to handle it, that we don't heed any precaution. We don't know what we don't know. So much so, we take for granted that there ISN'T anything we don't know. Sometimes, we may see what is, or may be, coming. We either accept it, peacefully or unpeacefully, or deny it. Other times, we are oblivious to even look for it, secure in our routine and ignorance.
Such was the plight of the daughter of a dear friend.
Alana was walking home from school, as she did every day. She had transferred to a high school that offered an International Baccalaureate Program, so every day, she had to take the city bus to and from school. And every day, Alana would cross a set of train tracks to get from her bus stop to her home. Some days, there would be no train and the barriers would be raised dormant. Other days, she would have heard the bells and scurried across before the the barriers would lower and the train would come. And other days she would wait for the 100plus freight cars to slowly make their way across the street, and when finally the last car of the train would pass, she would go around the still lowered barrier to get home and get on with all the things she had left to do that day. On Tuesday, she would follow the same routine she had every other day. This time, focused on the hundred-car-long freighter and the things that occupy the mind of a fifteen year-old girl, accustomed to the sounds of the train and the bells, what Alana didn't see was the commuter train speeding from the other direction.
Alana was a creative 15 year old girl with dreams and typical teen worries and a kind heart. She had been a cheerleader, was an Honers Student with strong convictions, a Humane Society Volunteer, a Compassionate Sister to her brother with Asberger's Syndrome, and a Devoted daughter. She did not come from a family with a lot of means, so she knew in order to achieve her goals, she had to be willing to work hard. With such drive and determination and talent and promise, why would God just snatch her from our hands?
All of us dodge the barriers and close our ears to what's around us. Not considering anything other than what we can see in front of us. All of us take for granted that we know all there is to know. And though Alana's consequences are plain to see, what consequences do the rest of us have that we refuse to acknowledge? Those of us with less drive, less determination, less promise, less compassion? Why isn't it fair?
My own teenage daughter will occasionally sleep over at a friend's house. When she does, we trust she is safe and having a good time, but, when we go to bed, we feel it in the air that she isn' t here. We feel she is missing, but she comes home the next day, and we ask if she had fun, and she tells us “yes”. It is a horrifying thought, that my friend will go to bed tonight, with the feeling her daughter is missing, but she's not coming home tomorrow.
A family friend was quoted in the newspaper article about Alana's death, “She was such a smart girl, I can't believe she would walk in front of a train.”. Perhaps more remarkable is the fact that the rest of THINK we are so smart, it's a wonder more of us DON'T walk in front of trains.

The Potty Rant

Once I saw on Oprah that the least used stall in a public restroom is the first one. I guess, as women, we walk in and naturally overlook the first option. “Nah, I'm sure there's something better down the line”. We don't like to commit- we keep our options open as long as possible. Sort of like, it's the high school dance and the first guy who asks us to go is nice and handsome, but we say no or don't give an answer because we don't want to sell ourselves short . And if they're available, the high school quarterback of stalls is the big handicap cubicle. It's spacious, and if you've overindulged in dairy products the day before and are having a hard time getting things going, you have those nice bars for leverage.(I know, TMI. Sorry). But if the big one is occupied or, unflushed, or there is someone who LEGITAMTELY needs the handicap stall, we go ahead and settle for the closest one. As we've gone down the line, we are suddenly less picky and are at the point when we just need a stall- preferably a clean one.
Now I go into a restroom and think, “well, now that the “first stall” information was on The Oprah Show, is the first stall now the MOST used?” When the anti-germ expert gave her this information, Oprah looked so elated! As though, now she is equipped to avoid all manner of communicable diseases, and was like, “Thank You. You have saved my life”. Then I remembered that she is an Academy Award nominated actress. Knowing this is not going to change her life or habits in any way. Really, when was the last time THE Oprah- Oprah Winfrey had to use a public toilet? Could you imagine, being at the mall, sitting in your cubicle, minding your business, when this hand reaches under the stall and it's OPRAH- “can you spare a square?”. I would be so excited and overwhelmed, I wouldn't even be able to think! I would just grab my stuff and run out – wouldn't zip or wash up or anything. I would be all out of breath and tell my girlfriends, “It's Oprah! She's stranded in the bathroom with no toilet paper! What do I do?”
But that could never happen. Number one, like I'd be in the restroom without my girlfriends! Women like wolves- we prefer to mate for life and travel in packs. Number two, When you hit that level of success Oprah is at, do you even have to use the bathroom anymore? Isn't there some super secret procedure you can pay some exorbitant amount to have someone else take care of that for you? Some type of bodily waste teleportation device?
If it DID happen, you can be sure it would be at Nordstom's because, even if you're not shopping there, they do have the nicest bathrooms. They always have a lounge with magazines, where you can sit and wait for your friends to be done. And the baby changing stations are so well equipped. I was a really young mother- I was married at 21 and had our daughter eleven months later, so I was clueless about baby things. I was so happy that universally ladies rooms even had changing stations. Because if they didn't, what would I have done? Just let her sit chaffing in her diaper until I got home? Certainly not! I'd have to go to the car or something.
When our young family would be out and the need would arise to go to the ladies room, my husband would go on and on about how lucky women were to have such posh restrooms. He made it sound as though men's rooms had a just concrete slab with a drain in the middle of the room, and a communal bucket they all had to use.
Disneyland Park has a FANTASTIC place for babies and young children with several nice changing stations, little preschool sized potty's, private nursing stations, and a section with microwaves and high chairs to feed older babies. Little old ladies in turn of the century costumes could sell you diapers, wipes, formula or binkey's should you need them. We were on a Disney visit in the company of a friend of my husband's who's young wife tragically died, leaving him with two very young children. I thought, “Thank God the park has this facility, because what would this poor man do, otherwise?” I was being so helpful, giving our friend the 411 on the little Potty Place. He looked at me like I was nuts. He said, “I just change them in the men's room” I was appalled! I asked, what does he do, “put a mat on the FLOOR?”. He then informed me, “No, they have changing tables in men's bathroom”.
SO! The secret was out! I was under the impression that amenities in a men's restroom were limited to paper towels, at BEST! I sharply turned to my husband, who was looking at his friend with eyes as big as dinner plates shaking his head. I then asked this friend if ALL men's rooms had changing facilities. He said, yes, malls and restaurants and, yes, theme parks were all equipped with changing tables. My husband then cast his face down in shame. BUSTED!
He was able to pay his friend back for arming me with this information later in the day when we stopped for a snack. Although his friend is good enough to change his kid's own poopies instead of using his charm on an older woman to do it for him, he DID NOT like cleaning up food mess. After telling his children the French Fry Cart was “out of ketchup”, my husband heroically exclaimed, “No, there's PLENTY of ketchup! I'll bring you some. They've got TONS!”
Which leaves me with the comfort that in this world, the bathroom is the great equalizer. Whether you are Oprah, a young mom, or a widowed father, we all appreciate nice restrooms.