“You’re Going to DIE Eating This!”


Scene: Last night, Chipotle Mexican Grill, where I tend to stop on Fridays for carry out.
Me: Minding my biz, ordering my bowl, “No rice, no beans, extra cheese, sides of sour cream and guac.”
Person in line behind me: “You’re going to DIE eating this! Sour cream AND Guacamole AND extra cheese?”
Me: “I’ve lost 40 pounds eating like this.”
Person (stranger, mind you): “That’s a lot of fat!”
Line server: “She eats her all the time and she’s losing weight!”
Person: (crickets)

I do eat a non-keto meal every so often, but everything else in the above  meme? True for me. Also:

  • My Type 2 Diabetes is now in remission.
  • a1C: 5.4
  • 40 pounds: gone.
  • My go-to restaurants for meals I can eat and lose weight: Chipotle (with sour cream AND guacamole AND extra cheese, mean girl), Porkie’s in Apopka, 4Rivers.
  • Cholesterol: 195
  • Triglycerides “perfect” -in the words of my endocrinologist.

You get the drift.
My brain is clearer, my memory is sharper. There are studies that show that ketones are excellent for brain health and even significantly improve symptoms of dementia. In my case I hope to prevent it by eating this way. I am not a doctor. If this is a concern for you, here’s a podcast that breaks it down:

2 Keto Dudes-the one about Dementia

Actually, this podcast is an excellent source for Keto information. If you are curious I’d recommend you start with episode one and work your way through.

2 Keto Dudes Episode 1

Fat is not your enemy. I do not even worry about how much fat is in the food. Results of that non-worry-refer above.

Nope, I’m not pencil-slim. I’m on several meds, four of which have weight gain as a main side-effect. I’m planning to be healthy enough to rid myself of most of these meds by retirement. My current plan is to allow the way I fuel my body to aid in not just the getting healthy part, and not needing the meds, but with continued weight loss. I did see myself recently on our school’s video camera, and for the first time since I was probably 14, was not upset by how I looked (though that may have to do more with my hard-fought battle for some kind of healthy self-esteem than my actual size, lol).

For me, exercise is also vital. Fortunately I love to move. But for me, it’s not just vital for weight loss, it’s just necessary for brain/body/emotional well-being. That said, during the six weeks that I couldn’t workout much because of a bunch of leg vein procedures, I did gain 15 pounds, so yeah, there’s that. If you are in Orlando, come with me to Jazzercise Mills 50. You will have the best time and meet some remarkable and inspiring souls. Then they will become your friends and your life will be better for it.

Why write all this? Because I’ve had several friends ask about the Keto way of fueling the body. Because I’ve had several others (including complete strangers at Chipotle, wtf?) who have advised that I was doing something unhealthy (may I again send your eyeballs to results at top of post). Because when I was first diagnosed with Type 2, I was given the diet by my GP from the American Diabetes Association that recommended as many as 300 carbs a day, most of which are supposed to come from grains. I followed it diligently for a long time, during which I gained 60 pounds, lived in Brain Fog, moved like a (non-cute) sloth, and watched my blood-work become more horrendous with every check. I cried in the Doc’s office, to which he responded, “Well, Diabetes is a progressive disease; keep up this diet and exercise, and I’ll prescribe a higher Metformin dose.”

No. Just no. Nix on the “progressive disease” part.

Time to hit the research, and hit it hard. Time to get out of the ADA brochures and recommended diets and find alternative information that was not conspiracy/hearsay/friend-of-a-friend based, but had science (in which I believe, fyi) and studies (published in reputable sources, rather than on “What Doctors DON’T Want You to Know!” blogs) to back up the science.

Found it. All roads led to a Ketogenic way of eating. I found the above-mentioned podcast to which I’ve been listening for three years now. I like this one because they publish links to the science/research in their show notes, and they have a huge and terrific forum where people can share their experiences and support each other. And they’re fun.

If you’re still reading, you’re either very polite, care about me, are a Keto person, or have not much else to do at the moment. It does make me sad that those who stopped reading two sentences in are most likely those who think I’m going to die eating Low-carb, High-fat. Confirmation bias is a thing.

Sometimes education and research and yes, facts + evidence, trump confirmation bias.

(also, staying kind with your words and staying in your “I-didn’t-ask-for-your-mean-comment” lane at Chipotle, or in the Staff Room, or your niece’s dinner table, or the grocery checkout? Those are just the right things to do.)

Peace and Low Carb, friends.

Pass the Compassion, please…


(when your whole country is a trigger, it’s hard to dodge the bullets)

Well, happy Thanksgiving, all!

(DISCLAIMER!  By ‘you’ I don’t mean YOU -unless the ‘you’ fits. This is how I write-for me, “one this” or “one that” is cumbersome and too formal for most of my topics.)

I have a bit of advice for you as you prepare to sit down with family and friends and instead of speaking your gratitude, would rather expound on the ubiquitous, never-ending stream of sexual abuse/assault/harassment stories that abound in our nation right now:

Don’t, unless you’re going to speak with non-judgment and compassion.

Seriously, don’t. Unless you’re willing to open your mind and heart and listen? Willing to have the uncomfortable and honest discussion? Willing to stop victim-blaming? Willing to prioritize empathy over your need to dominate the conversation/be “right” in an argument, or, for some, validate your own previous behavior? Nah, today, especially, is not the day.

Why?

(DISCLAIMER again: I’m not espousing that the topic shouldn’t be discussed, ever. On the contrary-honest and fearless exchanges on this subject, had they not been avoided, could have saved countless {and I do meant countless, having seen all of the “me, too” hashtags} girls and boys from life-altering trauma. Talk about it. LISTEN about it. LEARN about it. Early and often, please.)

Because tensions are high. Because in some families, confrontation is the deal during family get-togethers. Because copious amounts of alcohol. People get really stupid when they drink, while still perceiving themselves and their behavior as perfectly rational, and of course, ‘right.’ Because one person’s victim conspiracy theory comment is another’s trigger. Yep. I said it. The “T” word. Because, to use another term at which some people  now scoff, family should be your “safe place.” Whether it be a thoughtless comment, or a relentless victim-blaming  tirade, you could really be stabbing somebody in the heart.

Because, if you’re in a large group situation, no matter what your political leanings (and I still don’t get how sexual abuse became a partisan topic), chances are very good that one or more of these are the case:

  • Someone at the table has experienced molestation, an assault, or harassment, and you just weren’t chosen to be in on the story, or that someone hasn’t chosen to speak yet.
  • If someone at the table has been molested, it’s very possible that the perp is at the table too, passing you the mashed potatoes.
  • The victim (who will be referred to as ‘survivor’ from this point) is already tied in knots at the notion of sitting at this table (whether perp is present or not) and trying to act normal.
  • The survivor has been emotionally shredded for weeks now, as there has been nothing else discussed on talk shows, in kitchens, or in the news-the topics of sexual assault and pedophilia are inescapable. While there is so much good in women and men coming forward and speaking their truth, the consequence for survivors is the daily or hourly re-living of events that slice and dice more keenly than whatever you’re using to julienne the veggies for your feast.
  • The survivor across the table is so tired, and just wants to enjoy a few hours of peace and fellowship with her family before the next news story about the latest accusation comes out and fuels the cycle of brain-fry/heartbreak.
  • Your aunt/sister/mother/cousin/brother has spent weeks/months/years/decades wondering: what her life could have been like without the disaster; what greatness she might have achieved without the anchor of (unearned) shame weighing her to the floor; what it might have felt like to enjoy her thin-ness when she was; why being pretty was a crime or being an ounce overweight was the ruination of a woman; how faithful he could have been had the church not been a place of horror; what self-esteem feels like; what good could have been done with the tens of thousands spent on therapy and meds; what ‘normal’ is; trying not to cry when his friends talk about ideal childhoods. Wondering why people say, ‘such a long time ago, just get over it!’ when apparently it’s only the survivor’s club who knows that getting over “it” doesn’t happen.  “It”  became part of what molded her into the person she is.  It’s one of many aspects, to be sure, but those who lived through it have permanent scars, and those scars are burning right now. You could douse the flames just a little if you choose:
  • When you bloviate about party plants, what the governor thinks, what Jane Curtin signed, the “He totally denies it!” proclamation, or the more local “what was she wearing?” “was she drunk?” analysis, the person who just passed the green bean casserole uses every ounce of self-control she had not to bean you with it. His mind is short-circuiting and he’s making the healthy promise to himself to never attend a family function ever again, for his own sanity’s sake.
  • If Drunk Uncle begins a rant, be the one to exclaim, “New Subject!” if that’s the best you can do. Better yet, first tell him he’s wrong, then change the subject. Your table mates will (silently, most likely) thank you. The survivor(s) at the table will take a breath and smile a little, knowing s/he has a champion in you.

Think:

  • Trying to function unscathed for the last few weeks-trying to avoid teeth-grinding, sudden tears, nightmares, or flashbacks? Nearly impossible. The survivors need major consideration and compassion right now. Just because you haven’t heard about it doesn’t mean that your sister, cousin, mother, aunt, or grandparent-isn’t holding it together by a thread.
  • As in the meme above, if you would prefer a probable pedophile to a Democrat in Alabama, might be a good idea to keep that gem of a notion to yourself, no matter whose company you’re enjoying. It also might be a good idea for some introspection, but I digress.
  • These overindulgence-fueled conversations can make a survivor, for a few moments, anyway, forget about how steel-strong he really is and how relentlessly courageous she is at her core.  It puts a survivor back to a place he or she has chosen to transcend; this place may fit your comfort zone because it’s the world you recognize, but for so many, there’s no comfort in that particular familiar.
  • As ever, as always, kindness matters. It matters more than political bent, more than your desire to score verbal points over your nephew, more than your ego or your biases.

Choose kindness today. So many people, survivors or not, will be Thankful for it.

Peace, friends,

Compassion, friends.

Courage, “club.”

*New comment below; it’s a must-read! Thanks, Lisa King.

Visit:

No More Website

Rainn.org

 

 

 

It’s my Party, and I’ll post if I want to!


“Well, I SAW it online, so…”

This post is borne of the “furious-typing-Kermit-the-Frog” moment I had last night, aimed at someone I love, and is also my reaction to a whole passel of re-posted and inaccurate posts that hit my newsfeed this morning that are drivel passed off as actual news.

Read first for context:   https://goo.gl/oUvJh5

Repeat after me, 3 times:

“These memes, unverified stories, and mislabeled/doctored photos are hurtful, incite anger, perpetuate prejudice and spread lies.

These memes, unverified stories, and mislabeled/doctored photos are hurtful, incite anger, perpetuate prejudice and spread lies.

These memes, unverified stories, and mislabeled/doctored photos are hurtful, incite anger, perpetuate prejudice and spread lies.”

I will admit to posting a few unverified stories over the years. Not many, but it has happened. When called out, I have apologized and deleted the post.

It doesn’t matter to me what party or agenda the BS meme or ‘story’ supports-if it’s inaccurate or unkind, it’s inaccurate or unkind.

A couple of hints: if the source (hint: the word “source:______” is located at the bottom of the post, or if you’re forwarding an article you can tell whether the article is from a verifiable news source/show or simply a blog/opinion show) is an email from Drunk Uncle with a million forward arrows and has multicolored flashing ALL CAPS, or if the post has any version of:

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Deafening Silence: White Silence and Alton Sterling


This. Break the silence.

(Excellent words, but not mine. Re-blogged from another writer)

 

Form Follows Function

I want to start by being very specific about who I am talking to; this post is meant for people who look like me, those of us with white skin.

Many of you woke up this morning and heard the news about Alton Sterling, the 37 year old man who was shot and killed by the police in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. The sickening feeling in your stomach probably hit you hard as you watched the cell phone footage of a police officer charging and tackling Sterling to the ground. You knew what was coming next. And, within seconds you saw it: the police officer mounts Sterling like a UFC fighter. There is no confrontation. No struggle. Sterling is subdued and then another officer yells “Gun. Gun.” The officer on top of Sterling pulls his gun and within seconds fires multiple rounds killing Alton Sterling.

This morning my Facebook feed…

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…what was that Statue of Liberty thing again?


The height of vanity, isn’t it, to reblog myself?
I was revamping my blog, going through posts and cleaning them up, when I got to this one that I wrote SIX years ago. It wasn’t terrorists that fueled the mean then, it was the fear of a drop in property value, which, wow. But it points to a different truth-do we just look for a reason to not welcome those in dire straits, because we might-gasp-have to sacrifice something in order to do so? I stand, during this Syrian refugee debate, in the same spot as I did with Haitian refugees six year ago.

also, this: Award-Winning Marine Just Tweeted A Perfect Response To The Syrian Refugee Crisis

"...but I'm not the only one..."

Give me….who?

“The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?”

-Pablo Casals

Boggled. That is my mind right now–befuddled and boggled.

I read the comments section (I know, the last thing ANYONE sane should do is read the comments) that follows an online article about Haitian refugees being flown into the states, both adults to come stay with family members already here, and children and babies here to be taken in and adopted by Americans.

I’m not going to add any power to those comments by quoting them. You know the drill: a bunch of powerless ignorants who think if they spew enough garbage, someone will finally validate their existence. Hate and bigotry are their drugs of choice.  It blows my mind to read such drivel.

Basically, the sentiment is that we should NOT be taking in our  human brothers and…

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No, You’re Not Imagining It: 3 Ways Racial Microaggressions Sneak into Our Lives — Everyday Feminism


We are NOT Post-Racial. Hard to look at? I'll bet it's harder to be on the receiving end-ALL the time.
We are NOT Post-Racial. Hard to look at? I’ll bet it’s harder to be on the receiving end-ALL the time.

I posted this piece on my Facebook page as well. The truth and civility with which it was written are stunning.  I encourage you to read every word, even when it feels a little uncomfortable, even when you recognize that there might be things that need to change in your paradigm, the worldview you were raised to find acceptable, and/or your own behavior.

Thanks to Everyday Feminism and Anni Liu for the amazing essay.

Peace, friends.

Click the link below to read this eye-opening piece.

No, You’re Not Imagining It: 3 Ways Racial Microaggressions Sneak into Our Lives — Everyday Feminism.

Speak up, even when it's scary. Staying silent so as not to 'rock the boat?' Another Microagression.
Speak up, even when it’s scary. Staying silent so as not to ‘rock the boat?’ Another Microagression.

This happened only 40 years ago.


(I copied/pasted the following article because the comments in the article’s page on the web had sunk into the usual troll hell of who is MORE Christian, and had little to do with anything other than a bunch of people who had taken over the comment section to proclaim their holiness and wish brimstone upon anyone who disagreed.)

This happened during OUR lifetimes. I was 11 at the time. The Supreme Court of the United States is pondering some big decisions this week. I am posting today in honor of my LGBT friends who deserve equality and civil rights–overdue to the point of being ludicrous. I stand with you this week as you, as we, wait for what I pray is a triumphant shift in the heartbeat of our country.

WARNING: I posted both photos from the article, and one of them is a graphic sledgehammer to the gut. So for those of us who need a perspective check, THIS is what real persecution looks like.

“Remembering the UpStairs Lounge: The U.S.A.’s Largest LGBT Massacre Happened 40 Years Ago Today
June 24, 2013 By Terry Firma

The 24th of June in 1973 was a Sunday. For New Orleans’ gay community, it was the last day of national Pride Weekend, as well as the fourth anniversary of 1969′sStonewall uprising. You couldn’t really have an open celebration of those events — in ’73, anti-gay slurs, discrimination, and even violence were still as common as sin — but the revelers had few concerns. They had their own gathering spots in the sweltering city, places where people tended to leave them be, including a second-floor bar on the corner of Iberville and Chartres Street called the UpStairs Lounge.

That Sunday, dozens of members of the Metropolitan Community Church (MCC), the nation’s first gay church, founded in Los Angeles in 1969, got together there for drinks and conversation. It seems to have been an amiable group. The atmosphere was welcoming enough that two gay brothers, Eddie and Jim Warren, even brought their mom, Inez, and proudly introduced her to the other patrons. Beer flowed. Laughter filled the room.

upstairs1

Just before 8:00 p.m., the doorbell rang insistently. To answer it, you had to unlock a steel door that opened onto a flight of stairs leading down to the ground floor. BartenderBuddy Rasmussen, expecting a taxi driver, asked his friend Luther Boggs to let the man in. Perhaps Boggs, after he pulled the door open, had just enough time to smell the Ronsonol lighter fluid that the attacker of the UpStairs Lounge had sprayed on the steps. In the next instant, he found himself in unimaginable pain as the fireball exploded, pushing upward and into the bar.

The ensuing 15 minutes were the most horrific that any of the 65 or so customers had ever endured — full of flames, smoke, panic, breaking glass, and screams.

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Better Ingredients? Better People: An open letter to John Schnatter and Everyone I Know.


I’ve been watching the mean memes about John “Papa John” Schnatter go around, with everyone swearing to never order from him again because it will apparently cost 14 cents per pie to give his employees healthcare, and he said in an interview that he didn’t want to raise the price of a pizza-he’d rather cut jobs and hours than to participate in the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act.  Here’s one of the memes:

So a rich guy has a big house. Not a newsflash.

As a liberal, I’d like for the vitriol to NOT be coming from us. As a human, the idea of someone having a catastrophic health event, and no coverage,  is unthinkable. As a person of some intelligence, I get that Obamacare may well cost businesses a little extra, and I don’t think it’s ridiculous to pay 14 extra cents for a pizza to help a whole lot of people keep their jobs, their hours, and have health coverage.

Everyone’s screaming about people paying their ‘fair share.’  Our President says that we are the ones that will make the change. He means all of us.  I was a victim of an unscrupulous sub-prime loan broker and my struggle to keep my home, and for many years, to keep my kid clothed and fed, is fodder for another post. Suffice to say that good old Papa John, with his easily find-able 25% off promo codes, was a hero more than once. A $9.59 large pizza?  Four meals. Price change to $9.73? Even can handle that.

Papa, will every one of those 14 pennies go to healthcare coverage for your employees? Will every single one of those pennies insure every single one of your 16,000-plus workers? Then do it. Raise the price and don’t slap the employees who helped you ‘build that’ in the face. Care about them enough to give them care.  You’re a hero to no one by threatening to fire people and cut hours so you can pay instead, thinking then the healthcare law won’t apply to you. Be a leader and take care of your employees. Petulance isn’t attractive and it doesn’t sell pies.

If you decide to do this, I’m in. I will make Change with a little change. Look, in order for all of this to fall into place, everybody’s got to pitch in, not just the guys with houses like the one in the pic (is that a moat?). It IS going to cost businesses, small and large, extra to comply with the requirements, and in order to even STAY in business, some will have to pass part of that cost to consumers. Some businesses will try to cry “Obamacare!” and price-gauge, no doubt.  My guess is they will be outed pretty quickly. I do not agree with pretty much anything Papa stands for politically. I also don’t think 14 cents looks like a fleecing. And I would still buy the occasional pizza.

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Paws to reflect


“Life is life – whether in a cat, or dog or man. There is no difference there between a cat or a man. The idea of difference is a human conception for man’s own advantage.”

~Sri Aurobindo

Shelters are filled to overflowing with sad and frightened animals. The suffering they experience in the bleakness of their cages, their grief at being separated from their humans, their babies, or their mothers, their confusion and fear just before their ‘euthanization–‘ all of those energies are released into the universe, enlarging the dark cloud that hovers over not just humanity but all beings. The pain we feel (or avoid by changing the channel and burying our heads) when that dog-gone (yes, intended) Sarah Mclachlan commercial comes on and makes us cry-that is an organic, authentic, primordial cosmic hint:  we can do better for our planet-mates. We must do better.

ending their nightmares, one animal at a time.

I have come, through the magic of Facebook, to know a peaceful warrior by the name of DJ Chandler. I would only mangle her bio if I tried, but if you’re curious, no doubt you can find her online. I was inspired to share her with you because she is personally responsible for the diminishment of the toxic cloud of confusion due to her tireless efforts to find forever homes for shelter animals on Death Row. She organizes people to pull the animals from high-kill shelters, shows us how to contribute to their veterinary expenses, finds foster homes,  and arranges animal transport from shelter to vet to foster to new home. She has also rescued and fostered countless dogs, cats, and horses herself.

Their physical injuries are mended. Their fears are (sometimes very slowly and painstakingly) allayed. Their sadness is loved away. The cloud dissipates just a little more as each cat starts to purr again, as each dog puts his head on his new human’s knee for the first time and looks up with trepidation and-wavering-trust.

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give it away, give it away, give it away now.


 

“The good we secure for ourselves is precarious and uncertain until it is secured for all of us and incorporated into our common life.”

-Jane Addams

“Hey, I’ve got mine.”

“I’ve earned this.”

“Nobody’s taking anything away from me.

“Let them take care of themselves.”

Almost 15 years ago, I was just beginning the single mom chapter of my life. I’d just built a house for my son and myself. Not long after we moved in, my household income took a major hit and I found myself treading water, holding my kid above my head as the sharks circled.  I was thrown a lifeline by someone I’d never even met, the father of a friend.

This man is not an educated man, in the official sense of the word. But he tips the scale on wisdom.

This man worked over 40 years in what would be called an unskilled profession. But he was skilled at his job, and demonstrated a work ethic that was rewarded by his employer as if he was an executive.

This gentleman, in his blue collar custodial job, saved diligently and had put together a nice-sized nest egg for his retirement. In other words, he’d “got his” –and had earned every penny, every accolade, and had every right to enjoy his retirement by taking it easy and looking out for number one.

Instead, he put $1000.00 in a plain envelope and told my friend to give it to me.

My friend had mentioned my circumstances to this hero in passing, and he decided to help. A couple of weeks later he surprised my friend with the envelope, who then floored me by putting it in my hands.

Did I mention that I never had met this man?

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Ode to a Cool Cat


a feline original.

“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”

-Albert Schweitzer

This cat. The one and only Fluffy, so named by my 6 year-old sister and my 8 year-old self, was one in a million. Just a baby when we got her; she was snowy white, skinny, and, yes, fluffy all over. She was alternately Tigger-bouncy and Pooh-snuggly. I use the Winnie-the-Pooh analogy very deliberately because for the next 16 years, I was her (Christopher) Robin and she was my Pooh. She was my Peace.

She slept on my chest at night from the start. Even when she reached her adult weight of 16 pounds, every night she purred me to sleep. I’ve yet to find a better sleep aid than breathing to the rhythm of that cat’s contented purr.

She learned to fetch a little foil ball. Her  Scooby-Doo skids when she hit the wood floor –they were as comical when I was 18 as when I was 8.

She internalized our school schedule-from 3rd grade through college. My mom said that about 30 minutes before my sister and I were due home, she’d leave her window perch in the sun and start lurking at the front door. We were always greeted, not with the aloof “what’s your name again?” attitude that the uninitiated project onto cats, but to an almost puppy-like joy, with more purrs, meows, and an unapologetic “where the HELL have you been?” (yes, I speak Cat).

If I was getting yelled at, there appeared  my snow-white protector, slinking around my ankles and wailing in protest. A lot of arguments would end in giggles because you just had to laugh at her bravado.

She listened to thousands of hours of my guitar-playing and singing. I was Linda Ronstadt, Stevie Nicks, Karla Bonoff, and Bonnie Raitt-she was my audience of thousands.

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A World that Supports Everyone


will the circle be unbroken?

(graphic: UNICEF)

“Peace comes from being able to contribute the best that we have, and all that we are, toward creating a world that supports everyone. But it is also securing the space for others to contribute the best that they have and all that they are.”

-Hafsat Abiola

I love the second sentence of that quote. I keep reading it over and thinking of ways that we do, and don’t, secure space for others to contribute. Either way, it can take just a small act to do either. See if any of these ring true (and when I say ‘you’ in this essay, I don’t mean YOU, fine reader–it just makes for a smoother read than the impersonal “one”):

NOT securing space for others to contribute the best that they have and all that *  pick an -ism. Sexism, racism, age-ism, class-ism, partisan-ism. ANY sentence that begins, “I’m not prejudiced, but….”

* stealing the credit for someone else’s idea at work or school.

* allowing competitiveness to overshadow your efforts or those of others. The end doesn’t always justify the means, especially if the “end” you’re aiming for is attention/praise/accolades  for yourself.

* dominating class discussions, dinner table conversations, happy hour banter,  and meetings with your own discourse while no one else can get a word in and be heard.

* wondering why all those earthquake victims have to come to “our” country.

* name-calling and put-downs of any kind.

Looking back on what I just typed, I see that the above examples would actually be detrimental to both parts of the opening quote–anyone who’s perpetrating any of the above is sabotaging self as well as others’ abilities to contribute the best that they have.  Just goes to prove: what you do for others, you do for yourself as well. What you do TO others, same story. If you stomp on others to get to your perceived “top,” whatever that may be, being on top will be pretty bleak (and no doubt very lonely) indeed.

So. How can we contribute the best that we have toward creating a world that supports everyone? And how can we secure space for others to do the same?

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…what was that Statue of Liberty thing again?


Give me….who?

“The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?”

-Pablo Casals

Boggled. That is my mind right now–befuddled and boggled.

I read the comments section (I know, the last thing ANYONE sane should do is read the comments) that follows an online article about Haitian refugees being flown into the states, both adults to come stay with family members already here, and children and babies here to be taken in and adopted by Americans.

I’m not going to add any power to those comments by quoting them. You know the drill: a bunch of powerless ignorants who think if they spew enough garbage, someone will finally validate their existence. Hate and bigotry are their drugs of choice.  It blows my mind to read such drivel.

Basically, the sentiment is that we should NOT be taking in our  human brothers and sisters who are in such desperate and dire need. Property value apparently trumps compassion. Prejudice trumps being charitable.  Entitlement trumps generosity. An accident of Providence, namely being born on American soil, trumps following  the Golden Rule, a version of which can be found in virtually every religious denomination’s teachings.  Narrowness and fear trump TRUTH.

Here is my truth. I do not care if any of the refugees are uneducated. It doesn’t mean that they have any less brainpower than we do.  On the contrary it just means they haven’t been to school. Joe Comment, on the other hand, may have gotten through 8th grade, but his ignorance is evident with every word he types.

I don’t care if English isn’t their first language. Interesting though, how many Haitians speak English.  Gotta be pretty smart to speak two languages. That’s more than I can do, and I’m a pretty bright girl.

Property value?  What about Human value?

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…without Borders


 

(AP Photo/Jorge Cruz)

“I am part and parcel of the whole and cannot find God apart from the rest of humanity.”

Mohandas Gandhi

On the news I see pundits talking about the aid that’s going to Haiti in a way that makes me think, “I’m sorry, WHAT?”

They’re comparing dollar amounts between countries, percentages per capita, percentages of the total aid sent so far. Who’s given the most? Wow, Israel’s doing this? How many troops have WE sent compared to how many troops THEY’VE sent?  Obviously THEY are sending this because of (name political outcome goal here).  Let’s analyze this leader’s words about the earthquake (on a side note, my analysis of Pat Robertson’s words: STFU).

This is Robin Frisella, reporting from the comfort of my kitchen, where I have electricity, a phone, food, and a roof over my head.  The most horrible tragedy has occurred and killed maybe two hundred thousand of our brothers and sisters. Those who survived the quake  are bleeding, crying, and dying from thirst. They are trapped alone under buildings. They are looking for their mommy and daddy.

Shame on the media outlets, once again, for looking for a way to gain ratings by inciting discord. Shame on anyone who is listening to that drivel. Take notes when the Aid organizations are listed, take a pee break when the talking heads start deciding who’s the biggest giver, or speculating on the political motive behind each country’s donations.

THEY (WE) ARE GIVING WHAT WE CAN, AND THEY (WE) ARE GIVING BECAUSE WE CARE.

We are giving because we don’t want our two-story houses to collapse upon us. We are giving because we can’t imagine what a disaster of this magnitude would do to us. We are giving because in between the analysts, we see the photo of the little girl who is in the hospital clutching her doll with her unbandaged fingers. We are giving because we can imagine how it would feel to be on top of a pile of rubble, desperately digging with bare fingers to get to our child.

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“you are the weakest link”


never too late to fix the chain.

“No matter how big a nation is, it is no stronger that its weakest people, and as long as you keep a person down, some part of you has to be down there to hold him down, so it means you cannot soar as you might otherwise.”

-Marian Anderson

The chain is no stronger than its weakest link. Our national (for me global chain, you know I’m not fond of borders) chain is full of ‘weakest links,’ those who are keeping people down, and by doing so are denying themselves their own flight into true freedom.  Some I consider to be in this category (but great news! If they stop doing it, they return to shiny, unbreakable forged steel immediately):

Anyone who still uses the antiquated and antipathethic “they just need to pull themselves up by their bootstraps” pontification.  The people they’re talking about don’t have bootstraps, or boots, or the means to acquire them. Anyway, they don’t need boots so much as compassion.

*Try buying boots when you’re followed and given the evil eye the second you walk into a store.

*Try buying boots with the food stamps you’ve been forced to use because you left an abusive husband and brought 4 kids and a cat with you and you’re all sleeping on a cousin’s screened porch.

*Try buying boots when you’re ashamed to go into the store in your unwashed clothes -can’t do laundry because you don’t have running water.

*Try getting a job to buy boots when you don’t have clothes to wear to the interview.

*Try buying boots when no one in the store will talk to you because you are clearly homeless and as such you are assumed to be schizophrenic or alcoholic, or both, but you’re just another college-educated victim of the sub-prime fiasco and lost your home.

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