I've soliloquized on my idea of friendship before, what it means and the levies assessed by claiming friends. But this morning I couldn't sleep so was lying in bed letting my mind graze and it hit upon the peculiarity that is Facebook and its 'friend' basis.
If you want to connect to someone on Facebook you 'Friend' them which, in and of itself is weird since 'friend' is not a verb outside of Facebook. Yet it has become a common part of the cultural lexicon. 'I'll friend you, 'k?'
It's weird and it's phony, like Styrofoam phony, and I really don't like it, but I am caught up in it just like most of the people I know.
There are lots of words that mean that you know someone. There's nodding acquaintance which is pretty clear. You recognize someone you see regularly. Perhaps, but not necessarily, you know their name. You're barely or not on speaking terms because you don't know them well enough for that so, as you pass by you make eye contact and nod.
There are acquaintance with whom you exchange verbal greetings, "Hi, Phil." "Hi, Bill."
There are colleagues, the people with whom you work and collaborate. That can be within a department or across departmental lines. It's primarily a business relationship with give and take and shared labor. You might talk about personal stuff, but it's little things, nothing deep or intimate.
There are co-workers, those people with whom you work but don't necessarily work closely. You see them most days. You'll stop to chat about superficial things like, 'man, it's cold out there today!' or 'how're you, today?' Just the very basics and little or nothing personal.
There are work friends, the people with whom you do a little more than just brush by with a few platitudes. These are the people with whom you share some of yourself, open the window to your outside life a bit and let in across your personal threshold. You may not ask them to sit down and make themselves comfortable, but you at least let them inside to stand in the vestibule. Perhaps you share a table at lunch or hang out with them during a break. But that's as far as the 'friendship' goes. Once the five o'clock whistle blows, you're each off to your other life with a wave and "I'll see you tomorrow!"
Then there are your friends - the real world friends. These are the people with whom you choose to spend time, not because you have to because you're working together within the confines of business, but because you want to. Perhaps you did meet at work, or maybe at school or the gym or church or some other place. It's a chosen relationship - you chose them, they chose you and bingo, a budding friendship that develops over time into something with meaning.
When push comes to shove they have your back. When life throws lemons, they're there to help pick them up and make that lemonade. Then, once the lemonade is made they'll stand by your side and build that stand with you and help you sell it. If you need a shoulder or a shelter, they're there, arms held wide. If you're wrong they'll tell you so. If you're right but have been wronged, they'll tell you that, too.
Given the construct of Facebook and it's society of 'friends', it is really strange, almost otherworldly. It tips the concept of the word 'friend' onto its head and turns it inside out and backward.
How many real world friends do you have on Facebook? And I don't mean nodding acquaintance, acquaintance, colleagues or co-workers. I mean real honest to God friends who have your back and meet the criteria of the life / lemon / lemonade stand.
How many people of the 'friends' that you have there have you ever met or spoken with outside of the confines of the interweb in the past three months?
Some people on Facebook seem to collect 'friends' like confetti. They're not particular about who the other person is. They just want to see how many people they can connect to. Perhaps they view it as a contest? Whoever dies with the most 'friends' wins or something.
I don't know. All I know is that the friending and unfriending and all the rest of it on Facebook is phony and empty and cold.
Now Facebook didn't create it's 'friend' concept lightly. Saying 'friend' brings warm connotations, a hint of a relationship closer than acquaintanceship, although I'm willing to wager that the vast majority of 'friends' on Facebook are little or less than real world acquaintance. It's just not as inviting to say, 'I'll send you an acquaintance request, okay?'
And it's funny because the friending / unfriending is willy-nilly. In the real world, if someone 'friends' someone, it's because they've met face-to-face. They've moved from nodding acquaintance through acquaintance to become something more. In the real world friends chat one-on-one and share personal things - likes, dislikes, time together. In that realm if someone unfriends a friend, everyone knows it. The parties involved and everyone who has meaning in the lives of both parties hear about it. The break-up is loud and public with crying and hugging among the parties and their real-world friends.
On the interweb when 'friends' break up it goes down with nary a ripple.
Recently, we had a situation at work where someone with some authority posted an inner-thought. They were faced with an unpleasant task and, instead of keeping it off the interweb, they let it off leash and the pitbull of half-a-hint took off running. This person had 'friended' a bunch of co-workers and, because of the inter-relationship created by Facebook, all of the co-workers saw this post. Which was inflammatory in the sense of security.
For me, seeing that, I shrugged because I've been through the wringer, the mill, the whatever you choose to call it and I've survived. Not in the same situation, of course, but I have come through intact and ready to fight back.
At this point I liken work to being in a chicken factory. If you're there, there's damn all you can do about the outcome. All you can try to do is be the best chicken you're capable of being so the powers that be don't decide to hook you to the line with a Bad End.
So, knowing that whatever this person was having to do was going to happen whether I liked it or not, I shrugged and went about my business.
Others, however, got all excited and worked-up. I still don't know what happened, but one of my co-workers, one of the sensitive and anxious, caught me in the hall and asked if I had seen that post. I had. Then they asked, 'did you get un-friended, too?'
It was as if this person was resentful because the other person had abruptly unfriended everyone associated with the company. It was a bad break-up, I guess.
Curious, I went online and checked and, sure enough, this individual who had posted what should have been kept private was no longer in my list of friends. I hadn't even noticed. Which means, when you look at it that way, we weren't really 'friends' at all, were we?
Now, I hope you have a friendly day with someone you can look in the eye and say, 'I'm glad to know you.'
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Thursday, December 31, 2015
Friday, November 27, 2015
Well, That Was Interesting
I hope you had a great Thanksgiving, surrounded by friends and family. That your turkey or whatever your family served was perfect, the sides were all delicious, and nothing and no one got out of control.
As is as much a tradition anymore as turkey and dressing, we watched football - accompanied by the yelling and screaming previously mentioned in my post of last Saturday.
Cam Newton and the Panthers are amazing - an 11-0 record, beating the Dallas Cowboys quite nicely.
In that game, it was upsetting to see Romo go down on the same shoulder that was broken a few weeks ago. He probably would have been better served by the docs, the trainers and the team ownership if they had given him even a couple of more weeks of rehab to rebuild the muscles and ensure the bone was fully healed. As it is, he went down, his wife was horrified - there was a camera shot of her, head down and crying - and the x-rays are inconclusive.
Later that evening was the flip-side of horrible. Brett Favre had his number retired at Lambeau Field and his childhood hero, Bart Starr, was on hand to celebrate with him. A really excellent moment - on Thanksgiving or not.
Closer to home we had a delicious dinner and then... Yeah. It seems there is almost always an 'and then' accompanied by the opening strains of Beethoven's Fifth - dadadaDA without the follow-on. In case you're not sure, here's the first movement - it's the first couple of bars I'm using as my horror movie warning theme:
Is it any wonder that some musical aficionados refer to that first movement as the "Fate motif"?
Anyway, I had misgivings when hubby came back from the store with a selection of items not on the shopping list. Five bottles of wine, a bottle of Bushmill's Irish Whisky, and two bottles of Drambuie. Anyone else see a problem here? And, hubby is a self-admitted alcoholic. He's been on the wagon for weeks and last night, he fell off - HARD. Really, really hard and he's in a world of hurt this morning.
Even though that's private information, it's something that's common enough among the general population that I'm not afraid to share.
I don't "drink". I indulge, in moderation, but know the signs quite well. When the tip of my nose and my lips get numb, I'm done. No more - just water please. Last night we shared two bottles of wine, with him drinking the lion's share - a glass-and-a-half+ to my one glass - and I was on the cusp. I thought (as in actively thought) about his offer of Bushmill's and decided to have a little. About a finger's worth, and that was enough. From there, I stopped.
And this is, I think, the difference between an "addictive" personality and a non-addictive personality. Hubby is the former. I am the latter. He says, because it's comforting for him to say, that I'm as much of an alcoholic as he is. But I'm not.
We shared the two bottles of wine, then he went to the Bushmill's. He had a glass of that, then decided to add some Drambuie and see how that went down. Another glass of whisky with the Drambuie and... wham. Instant inebriation and it wasn't pretty.
If he had not brought the liquor home last night I would have been a touch, but no more than a touch, disappointed. After all, what's a nice dinner without a little wine? But why on Earth he had to bring home more than a bottle or two is beyond me.
We had chicken for dinner, so a nice dry chardonnay or a crisp sauvignon blanc would have gone well, with a slightly fruity wine for "dessert" - and that would have been enough. What possessed him to buy any more is a mystery to me, and one I'm not allowed to explore. I've tried to explore it and have been routinely slapped down hard for my efforts.
Even last night, when he pulled the Bushmill's from the freezer (which is where he likes to keep it, so it's nice and cold), I asked, "Are you sure?" and he said with practiced joviality, "What's your problem?" My problem.
It's my problem because I can't help but wonder why he's doing this to himself. My problem because if I had said one syllable more he would have lost his temper and told me to 'shut up', or words to that effect. My problem because this morning he's going to be in a bear of a mood and caring for his mother will fall to me. Which is fine, really, but she's fussy and particular and she will fret and fuss and ask a million questions for which I mostly have no answers.
The 'where's * son *' is easy. He's in bed, sick as a dog and hungover. It's after nine o'clock in the morning and he's in bed and will probably be in bed until 10:30 or later.
'What's wrong with him?' is easy, too. She was there. She saw some of the aftermath - the stumbling and staggering and slurring. She didn't see or hear the upstairs bit, but that's just as well.
However, there are a plethora of other questions she might ask, for which I have no answer. Things like, 'why did he drink so much?' Well, yes, I could answer that question. Because he's an alcoholic with all the self-control of a seven-year old left alone with Bill Gates's credit line in a Toys-R-Us. But, for domestic peace, it's better I don't get into that. There are too many potential answers, none of them good.
At six-thirty last evening he announced he was going upstairs, to bed. She followed about a minute later, announcing her intent and going into the bathroom.
In the living room, I turned her bed down, adjusted it (it's got a motorized mechanism that raises the head), got her water, did the lights - bright lights so she can find her way from bed to bath and back in the middle of the night. At seven I was left alone in the family room.
Honestly? It was pretty nice. No blaring television. I turned the volume down and changed the station to the internet radio station I prefer (kdfc.com - all classical, all the time with no ads, just announcements because it's a publicly funded station). Then I spent a couple of hours relaxing and letting the peace of the house steal over me. At nine I went up to bed and was settled in, after getting Sam taken care of, at nine-thirty.
This morning I'm a little drowsy, but no more than that. I finished my whisky and started in on water, and stayed on water all night. Had some more this morning, so I'm in fine shape.
Later today I'll head out and do the errands - after the Black Friday madness has a chance to calm a bit. I don't have to go to any of the malls, thank God. Just to Costco and PetSmart and Safeway or Raley's. Typical errands but I have to do them today because Sam's out of cat food as of this afternoon and if I'm heading across town to do that, I might as well stay across town and do the Costco run. Safeway and Raley's are both between here and there, so it's just another stop in my trip. Easy-peasy and then I'll be done with errands for the weekend.
So - there's a window into my world on the day after Thanksgiving. I do hope that yours was more pleasant, less dramatic and full of satisfaction and great memory makers.
Have a lovely day today, too, okay?
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
As is as much a tradition anymore as turkey and dressing, we watched football - accompanied by the yelling and screaming previously mentioned in my post of last Saturday.
Cam Newton and the Panthers are amazing - an 11-0 record, beating the Dallas Cowboys quite nicely.
In that game, it was upsetting to see Romo go down on the same shoulder that was broken a few weeks ago. He probably would have been better served by the docs, the trainers and the team ownership if they had given him even a couple of more weeks of rehab to rebuild the muscles and ensure the bone was fully healed. As it is, he went down, his wife was horrified - there was a camera shot of her, head down and crying - and the x-rays are inconclusive.
Later that evening was the flip-side of horrible. Brett Favre had his number retired at Lambeau Field and his childhood hero, Bart Starr, was on hand to celebrate with him. A really excellent moment - on Thanksgiving or not.
Closer to home we had a delicious dinner and then... Yeah. It seems there is almost always an 'and then' accompanied by the opening strains of Beethoven's Fifth - dadadaDA without the follow-on. In case you're not sure, here's the first movement - it's the first couple of bars I'm using as my horror movie warning theme:
Is it any wonder that some musical aficionados refer to that first movement as the "Fate motif"?
Anyway, I had misgivings when hubby came back from the store with a selection of items not on the shopping list. Five bottles of wine, a bottle of Bushmill's Irish Whisky, and two bottles of Drambuie. Anyone else see a problem here? And, hubby is a self-admitted alcoholic. He's been on the wagon for weeks and last night, he fell off - HARD. Really, really hard and he's in a world of hurt this morning.
Even though that's private information, it's something that's common enough among the general population that I'm not afraid to share.
I don't "drink". I indulge, in moderation, but know the signs quite well. When the tip of my nose and my lips get numb, I'm done. No more - just water please. Last night we shared two bottles of wine, with him drinking the lion's share - a glass-and-a-half+ to my one glass - and I was on the cusp. I thought (as in actively thought) about his offer of Bushmill's and decided to have a little. About a finger's worth, and that was enough. From there, I stopped.
And this is, I think, the difference between an "addictive" personality and a non-addictive personality. Hubby is the former. I am the latter. He says, because it's comforting for him to say, that I'm as much of an alcoholic as he is. But I'm not.
We shared the two bottles of wine, then he went to the Bushmill's. He had a glass of that, then decided to add some Drambuie and see how that went down. Another glass of whisky with the Drambuie and... wham. Instant inebriation and it wasn't pretty.
If he had not brought the liquor home last night I would have been a touch, but no more than a touch, disappointed. After all, what's a nice dinner without a little wine? But why on Earth he had to bring home more than a bottle or two is beyond me.
We had chicken for dinner, so a nice dry chardonnay or a crisp sauvignon blanc would have gone well, with a slightly fruity wine for "dessert" - and that would have been enough. What possessed him to buy any more is a mystery to me, and one I'm not allowed to explore. I've tried to explore it and have been routinely slapped down hard for my efforts.
Even last night, when he pulled the Bushmill's from the freezer (which is where he likes to keep it, so it's nice and cold), I asked, "Are you sure?" and he said with practiced joviality, "What's your problem?" My problem.
It's my problem because I can't help but wonder why he's doing this to himself. My problem because if I had said one syllable more he would have lost his temper and told me to 'shut up', or words to that effect. My problem because this morning he's going to be in a bear of a mood and caring for his mother will fall to me. Which is fine, really, but she's fussy and particular and she will fret and fuss and ask a million questions for which I mostly have no answers.
The 'where's * son *' is easy. He's in bed, sick as a dog and hungover. It's after nine o'clock in the morning and he's in bed and will probably be in bed until 10:30 or later.
'What's wrong with him?' is easy, too. She was there. She saw some of the aftermath - the stumbling and staggering and slurring. She didn't see or hear the upstairs bit, but that's just as well.
However, there are a plethora of other questions she might ask, for which I have no answer. Things like, 'why did he drink so much?' Well, yes, I could answer that question. Because he's an alcoholic with all the self-control of a seven-year old left alone with Bill Gates's credit line in a Toys-R-Us. But, for domestic peace, it's better I don't get into that. There are too many potential answers, none of them good.
At six-thirty last evening he announced he was going upstairs, to bed. She followed about a minute later, announcing her intent and going into the bathroom.
In the living room, I turned her bed down, adjusted it (it's got a motorized mechanism that raises the head), got her water, did the lights - bright lights so she can find her way from bed to bath and back in the middle of the night. At seven I was left alone in the family room.
Honestly? It was pretty nice. No blaring television. I turned the volume down and changed the station to the internet radio station I prefer (kdfc.com - all classical, all the time with no ads, just announcements because it's a publicly funded station). Then I spent a couple of hours relaxing and letting the peace of the house steal over me. At nine I went up to bed and was settled in, after getting Sam taken care of, at nine-thirty.
This morning I'm a little drowsy, but no more than that. I finished my whisky and started in on water, and stayed on water all night. Had some more this morning, so I'm in fine shape.
Later today I'll head out and do the errands - after the Black Friday madness has a chance to calm a bit. I don't have to go to any of the malls, thank God. Just to Costco and PetSmart and Safeway or Raley's. Typical errands but I have to do them today because Sam's out of cat food as of this afternoon and if I'm heading across town to do that, I might as well stay across town and do the Costco run. Safeway and Raley's are both between here and there, so it's just another stop in my trip. Easy-peasy and then I'll be done with errands for the weekend.
So - there's a window into my world on the day after Thanksgiving. I do hope that yours was more pleasant, less dramatic and full of satisfaction and great memory makers.
Have a lovely day today, too, okay?
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Monday, November 9, 2015
A Last Word & Then Off to Other Things
I really do love my writer's groups. They are so supportive and encouraging. I said I was 'feeling guilty' for having bailed on NaNo as quickly as I did, and almost immediately got scolded, told it isn't necessary.
I know it's not. And that's why I said I'm not wearing it. I will not wrap myself in the Guilt flag and parade anywhere. Starting and finishing were both personal choices based on where I was at the time.
Where this feeling comes from, and I do think 'guilt' is the wrong word for it, is from having said I would do something and not doing it. I don't like it when someone commits to do something and doesn't follow through, and I especially don't like it when I've made a commitment and don't follow through. That's the failure. Nothing more, nothing less. I committed - promised if you will - and didn't do it. That's the hair shirt that's rubbing me the wrong way.
As for NaNo, I have zero regrets. I tried something new. They kept shoving 'rah-rah' pom poms up my nose along the lines of persistent messages of 'You can do it! We have faith!' I hate 'rah-rah' crap. It's impractical and annoying, so that bugged me because every time I logged into the site there were another couple of messages. Honestly, it makes me want to rip their pom poms out of their hands, pluck the stupid things bald and shove 'em back.
Encouragement is all well and good, if it's purposeful. A broadcast message of 'we're cheering for you' really isn't much of anything except a waste of time, energy and attention on both sides. Don't need it, don't like it, so there.
So. Enough about that.
We're having another Water Falling From The Sky event here. We got a little yesterday and more today and it's lovely. Not lovely enough that I want to go out and wander down the street in it as I did a few weeks ago, but it's nice to sit here and look out and see the street is wet.
Naturally there have been accidents. People just do not understand that when it's raining the roads are slick. One woman died because she was speeding and lost control, swerving into the other lane and being hit. Another was, according to the CHP, trying to 'drift' and lost control. And those were just local in Sonoma County.
It's been long enough since I've driven in the rain that even though I know better, I got a little carried away on my way in this morning. Going around one curve I felt the back end of the car slipping around. I wasn't even going particularly fast, but I felt it start to slide. Accelerated a little (front-wheel drive) and then, once it was back under control, I slowed down even more. Made it safely and in one piece, but it was a warning.
Yesterday hubby and I got to the next-to-the-last of the house clearing out. We got the attic done and MAN, am I too old for this! Most of it was hands and knees stuff because the ridgeline is not where the stuff was stacked. It was along the edges, between the rafters so I spent hours stooped over or crawling. Lifting, shifting and moving heavy boxes in that position is torture.
I have a greater appreciation and respect for miners after that. The only good news is that yesterday was cool and rainy. I still spent a couple of hours feeling like I was stuck in a sauna on high, but I hate to think how much worse it would have been if it had been a mild day, or worse - warm. And it was nice, really nice, to be able to hear the tapping of rain on the shingles while I worked. Like Chopin's 'Raindrop Prelude' without the piano.
Still I was really warm and only the fear of fiberglass fibers kept my shirt on (imagine Bridget Bardot in her prime - it's far more attractive than reality). But, while I was crawling and stooping and shifting and grunting (yes, some of those boxes were REALLY heavy), I was wondering why it is that home builders don't insulate the spaces between the rafters immediately under the roof.
That extra layer of insulation would probably help keep the house cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter and the exercise of installing it wouldn't be that hard. A net membrane or breathable fabric stretched between the rafters to hold the insulation strips in place would do it. But, that's just how my mind works while my body is doing something else entirely.
What's astonishing is how much crap we had jammed in there. No wonder finding things or getting them out was well nigh impossible! Old chrome framed modular furniture that had been broken down into its constituent parts. Our daughter's old crib and mattress (why we kept the mattress for twenty some years is beyond me). Box after box after box of toys and stuffed animals. A whole lot of stuff (read: junk) but most of it is now down in the garage slated to be pitched or donated.
What halfway surprises me is that the roof didn't come crashing down from all that weight. Particularly during the earthquake we had a few months back. It didn't though, so that's good.
Now I need to call my daughter. We found a box of Legos and a little chair that doubles as a stool and some other things we think her new baby might be able to use. In the case it's more a matter of first refusal than anything. They're planning on moving out of state because they can't find anyplace affordable to live around here and job opportunities are much more prevalent up in Washington. They may not want this stuff, but we'll offer it up and see.
After yesterday, I am stiff and sore this morning. I managed not to whack my head on anything but did catch my shoulder, my arm, my hip, my thigh and various other body parts. I have a couple of bruises and sore muscles - stooping over for two hours is not my usual posture and I'm feeling the effects of it today. Despite the super-duper ibuprofen I took last night and the valium to help keep my muscles from tightening up I am still not entirely comfortable today.
One thing about being in an auto accident from which you walk away, the medics give you lots of good stuff that sometimes comes in handy. These are leftovers from last year when I got rear-ended and was diagnosed with 'severe whiplash'. I only took a couple in the days immediately after the accident, and since I don't pop pills at every excuse, I have these in my dresser drawer for when I really, really need them. Last night was one such time and I am very grateful to have them. I slept well, which is what I needed most.
Now, with life more or less back to normal, I'm going to wrap this up and starting thinking about the changes I want to make to 'Shady' to get it finished. That goal is still two months off - I've set the time, with plenty of time between now and then so there won't be loads of pressure. Let's see if I can make that commitment stick!
In any case, I hope you have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
I know it's not. And that's why I said I'm not wearing it. I will not wrap myself in the Guilt flag and parade anywhere. Starting and finishing were both personal choices based on where I was at the time.
Where this feeling comes from, and I do think 'guilt' is the wrong word for it, is from having said I would do something and not doing it. I don't like it when someone commits to do something and doesn't follow through, and I especially don't like it when I've made a commitment and don't follow through. That's the failure. Nothing more, nothing less. I committed - promised if you will - and didn't do it. That's the hair shirt that's rubbing me the wrong way.
As for NaNo, I have zero regrets. I tried something new. They kept shoving 'rah-rah' pom poms up my nose along the lines of persistent messages of 'You can do it! We have faith!' I hate 'rah-rah' crap. It's impractical and annoying, so that bugged me because every time I logged into the site there were another couple of messages. Honestly, it makes me want to rip their pom poms out of their hands, pluck the stupid things bald and shove 'em back.
Encouragement is all well and good, if it's purposeful. A broadcast message of 'we're cheering for you' really isn't much of anything except a waste of time, energy and attention on both sides. Don't need it, don't like it, so there.
So. Enough about that.
We're having another Water Falling From The Sky event here. We got a little yesterday and more today and it's lovely. Not lovely enough that I want to go out and wander down the street in it as I did a few weeks ago, but it's nice to sit here and look out and see the street is wet.
Naturally there have been accidents. People just do not understand that when it's raining the roads are slick. One woman died because she was speeding and lost control, swerving into the other lane and being hit. Another was, according to the CHP, trying to 'drift' and lost control. And those were just local in Sonoma County.
It's been long enough since I've driven in the rain that even though I know better, I got a little carried away on my way in this morning. Going around one curve I felt the back end of the car slipping around. I wasn't even going particularly fast, but I felt it start to slide. Accelerated a little (front-wheel drive) and then, once it was back under control, I slowed down even more. Made it safely and in one piece, but it was a warning.
Yesterday hubby and I got to the next-to-the-last of the house clearing out. We got the attic done and MAN, am I too old for this! Most of it was hands and knees stuff because the ridgeline is not where the stuff was stacked. It was along the edges, between the rafters so I spent hours stooped over or crawling. Lifting, shifting and moving heavy boxes in that position is torture.
I have a greater appreciation and respect for miners after that. The only good news is that yesterday was cool and rainy. I still spent a couple of hours feeling like I was stuck in a sauna on high, but I hate to think how much worse it would have been if it had been a mild day, or worse - warm. And it was nice, really nice, to be able to hear the tapping of rain on the shingles while I worked. Like Chopin's 'Raindrop Prelude' without the piano.
Still I was really warm and only the fear of fiberglass fibers kept my shirt on (imagine Bridget Bardot in her prime - it's far more attractive than reality). But, while I was crawling and stooping and shifting and grunting (yes, some of those boxes were REALLY heavy), I was wondering why it is that home builders don't insulate the spaces between the rafters immediately under the roof.
That extra layer of insulation would probably help keep the house cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter and the exercise of installing it wouldn't be that hard. A net membrane or breathable fabric stretched between the rafters to hold the insulation strips in place would do it. But, that's just how my mind works while my body is doing something else entirely.
What's astonishing is how much crap we had jammed in there. No wonder finding things or getting them out was well nigh impossible! Old chrome framed modular furniture that had been broken down into its constituent parts. Our daughter's old crib and mattress (why we kept the mattress for twenty some years is beyond me). Box after box after box of toys and stuffed animals. A whole lot of stuff (read: junk) but most of it is now down in the garage slated to be pitched or donated.
What halfway surprises me is that the roof didn't come crashing down from all that weight. Particularly during the earthquake we had a few months back. It didn't though, so that's good.
Now I need to call my daughter. We found a box of Legos and a little chair that doubles as a stool and some other things we think her new baby might be able to use. In the case it's more a matter of first refusal than anything. They're planning on moving out of state because they can't find anyplace affordable to live around here and job opportunities are much more prevalent up in Washington. They may not want this stuff, but we'll offer it up and see.
After yesterday, I am stiff and sore this morning. I managed not to whack my head on anything but did catch my shoulder, my arm, my hip, my thigh and various other body parts. I have a couple of bruises and sore muscles - stooping over for two hours is not my usual posture and I'm feeling the effects of it today. Despite the super-duper ibuprofen I took last night and the valium to help keep my muscles from tightening up I am still not entirely comfortable today.
One thing about being in an auto accident from which you walk away, the medics give you lots of good stuff that sometimes comes in handy. These are leftovers from last year when I got rear-ended and was diagnosed with 'severe whiplash'. I only took a couple in the days immediately after the accident, and since I don't pop pills at every excuse, I have these in my dresser drawer for when I really, really need them. Last night was one such time and I am very grateful to have them. I slept well, which is what I needed most.
Now, with life more or less back to normal, I'm going to wrap this up and starting thinking about the changes I want to make to 'Shady' to get it finished. That goal is still two months off - I've set the time, with plenty of time between now and then so there won't be loads of pressure. Let's see if I can make that commitment stick!
In any case, I hope you have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Thursday, October 29, 2015
A Moment of Truth
Generally, when I write this little missive every day, it's as much an exercise in just writing as it is in relating little things going on in my tiny corner of the great big world. Like the letters to my mother, it's a means of opening the door a bit so she knew I was well and happy.
Since she's been gone since 2012, I haven't really had a release for these things. Since starting this in April I have, and it's been helpful and pleasant - a means of sharing good news and not so good stuff.
Today, however, I got to thinking about other things. Friends I miss, people who called me friend but who, for whatever reason, didn't really seem to be fully invested in 'friendship' as I define it. Even family hasn't been entirely 'there', so that's why. It's the why behind this post in which I'm going to open the door to a little bit of me today.
In my lexicon, friendship has a specific meaning. It's not a marriage or dedicated relationship, but it is a more than a 'when it's convenient to me' relationship.
I have few friends. It's not because I'm not friendly or rude or unpleasant. It's because I'm selective.
If I call you 'friend' it means that I will drop what I am doing to pick you up if you've fallen - but I expect the same in return should I need it.
If I call you 'friend', I will write to you, call you and listen when you need an ear or a shoulder. But, I expect the same in return, to the same amount.
In that case, if it's one hundred percent reciprocal, it's a 1:1 relationship. If I send a message or write a letter, I expect one back. My time and energies are just as limited anyone else's, and if it's down to a 2:1 or 3:1 exchange - it's not worth it to me.
Because of this attitude, I have stopped communicating with all of my 'friends' from past lives, which is sad and sometimes, like today, bothers me.
See, what happened, from my perspective only, of course, is this.
In 1995 I was hired at a company. I met some wonderful people along the way and I was there for seventeen years - until 2012 - when I was laid off because the company was downsizing. They had two people competing for the same position. One worked for the man who had the need, and I wasn't her. Ergo sum. And it was fine because I was getting stale in my job and it was time for a change.
However, in all those years I met several people who called me 'friend' and whom I called 'friend'. What was eye-opening, and more than a little sad, was that once I was laid off, those 'friendships' ended. Oh, we had lunch together once, but the e-mails I sent - well over a dozen - went unanswered.
Granted, I was on unemployment and spending my days looking for work - Craigslist and about a dozen other websites, crafting letters and refining my resume - so the e-mails were broadcasts to those I considered 'friends'. What upset me though, was the utter lack of response from those who had said, specifically, 'oh, let's stay in touch!'
Yeah. Like when you break up with your boy/girlfriend and you say, 'oh, we'll still be friends'. Riiiiight. We all know how that generally goes. And this was no different.
Twice in the following years - from then to now - I received some bare nod of a message. Along the lines of 'hope you're doing well, let me know how it's going' and nothing more. In other words, take your time to tell me what you're doing but I can't be arsed to reciprocate.
To me, this is not a friendship. This is something else and, frankly, I'm not sure what to call it.
I have the same approach to family.
My sister, for instance, after a silence of more than a year even though I sent her e-mail after e-mail until I gave up in late 2012 / early 2013 sent me a birthday card earlier this month. In it is a message that I took pleasure in receiving. I have the card on my bookcase at home. I have not, however, answered because that would re-open the door to the 2:1 or 3:1 or 4:1 communications.
Oh, we would start off at 1:1 but, and I can state this with certainty since it's been a repeated result, we would get to the point where I send one, then another, and perhaps a third with no response. With all I have going on in my life, and the limitations on my time and life expectancy, I don't have time for that kind of communication.
In a sense, a very big sense, this little blog I do every day fulfills that need to communicate. I hardly ever get comments on my posts - and that's fine. I've said it before, this is a rather selfish endeavor. If you stop by or trip over it on your way past, stop to peek in and take a look, that's great. But I do this, genuinely, for me. And if that sounds narcissistic and self-centered, so be it. It's real - which is how I roll.
So what's the point of this particular post, you ask? I don't know. Because I'm thinking of it. Because I miss those relationships but I'm not willing to sacrifice myself to try again when I know it will probably fail again. Because it's been bugging me. Whatever.
It's there. It's real. It's me and I won't apologize or retract. It's up to you, now, to decide how to take it.
Have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Since she's been gone since 2012, I haven't really had a release for these things. Since starting this in April I have, and it's been helpful and pleasant - a means of sharing good news and not so good stuff.
Today, however, I got to thinking about other things. Friends I miss, people who called me friend but who, for whatever reason, didn't really seem to be fully invested in 'friendship' as I define it. Even family hasn't been entirely 'there', so that's why. It's the why behind this post in which I'm going to open the door to a little bit of me today.
In my lexicon, friendship has a specific meaning. It's not a marriage or dedicated relationship, but it is a more than a 'when it's convenient to me' relationship.
I have few friends. It's not because I'm not friendly or rude or unpleasant. It's because I'm selective.
If I call you 'friend' it means that I will drop what I am doing to pick you up if you've fallen - but I expect the same in return should I need it.
If I call you 'friend', I will write to you, call you and listen when you need an ear or a shoulder. But, I expect the same in return, to the same amount.
In that case, if it's one hundred percent reciprocal, it's a 1:1 relationship. If I send a message or write a letter, I expect one back. My time and energies are just as limited anyone else's, and if it's down to a 2:1 or 3:1 exchange - it's not worth it to me.
Because of this attitude, I have stopped communicating with all of my 'friends' from past lives, which is sad and sometimes, like today, bothers me.
See, what happened, from my perspective only, of course, is this.
In 1995 I was hired at a company. I met some wonderful people along the way and I was there for seventeen years - until 2012 - when I was laid off because the company was downsizing. They had two people competing for the same position. One worked for the man who had the need, and I wasn't her. Ergo sum. And it was fine because I was getting stale in my job and it was time for a change.
However, in all those years I met several people who called me 'friend' and whom I called 'friend'. What was eye-opening, and more than a little sad, was that once I was laid off, those 'friendships' ended. Oh, we had lunch together once, but the e-mails I sent - well over a dozen - went unanswered.
Granted, I was on unemployment and spending my days looking for work - Craigslist and about a dozen other websites, crafting letters and refining my resume - so the e-mails were broadcasts to those I considered 'friends'. What upset me though, was the utter lack of response from those who had said, specifically, 'oh, let's stay in touch!'
Yeah. Like when you break up with your boy/girlfriend and you say, 'oh, we'll still be friends'. Riiiiight. We all know how that generally goes. And this was no different.
Twice in the following years - from then to now - I received some bare nod of a message. Along the lines of 'hope you're doing well, let me know how it's going' and nothing more. In other words, take your time to tell me what you're doing but I can't be arsed to reciprocate.
To me, this is not a friendship. This is something else and, frankly, I'm not sure what to call it.
I have the same approach to family.
My sister, for instance, after a silence of more than a year even though I sent her e-mail after e-mail until I gave up in late 2012 / early 2013 sent me a birthday card earlier this month. In it is a message that I took pleasure in receiving. I have the card on my bookcase at home. I have not, however, answered because that would re-open the door to the 2:1 or 3:1 or 4:1 communications.
Oh, we would start off at 1:1 but, and I can state this with certainty since it's been a repeated result, we would get to the point where I send one, then another, and perhaps a third with no response. With all I have going on in my life, and the limitations on my time and life expectancy, I don't have time for that kind of communication.
In a sense, a very big sense, this little blog I do every day fulfills that need to communicate. I hardly ever get comments on my posts - and that's fine. I've said it before, this is a rather selfish endeavor. If you stop by or trip over it on your way past, stop to peek in and take a look, that's great. But I do this, genuinely, for me. And if that sounds narcissistic and self-centered, so be it. It's real - which is how I roll.
So what's the point of this particular post, you ask? I don't know. Because I'm thinking of it. Because I miss those relationships but I'm not willing to sacrifice myself to try again when I know it will probably fail again. Because it's been bugging me. Whatever.
It's there. It's real. It's me and I won't apologize or retract. It's up to you, now, to decide how to take it.
Have a lovely day!
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Oh! The Glory of Water Falling From the Sky!
It has been far too long since we have seen water falling
from the sky in these parts. Last winter I think I could count, in a period of
six months, perhaps five days of rain, maybe ten, but almost certainly no more
than that.
Today it’s raining and it’s glorious! I’m so excited by the look and sound of it that I did
something I would normally never do. I went out and I walked in it. Just a short jaunt down the street to the other office and back. Enough to get wet and have to use paper towels on my hair to get rid of the water.
It felt wonderful on the skin and in the
nose because the air is soft and damp, everything smells rich and full. It’s
beautiful.
Normally I don’t walk in the rain because I don’t like being
cold. Even if there’s the promise of warmth at the end, the being cold is
something I don’t like, so I ordinarily avoid it; particularly if it means
sitting around in damp clothes waiting for them to dry. As I did this afternoon.
I will watch rain from an open window, breathing the smells
and feeling the damp. I will snuggle under blankets and close my eyes just to listen
to the tapping on a roof. Rarely do I deliberately go out and just walk, but I
did today and then I was cold but it was so
worth it.
It is a double-blessing because of the fire up in Lake
County. With the rain falling here, I’m sure it’s falling there, too. With any
luck, it’s at least knocking the flames down and, with a bit of good luck, it
will be enough to let the firefighters get a handle on the thing before it
dries out and heats back up tomorrow. Over the weekend, we’re projected to have
our normal ‘Indian Summer’ weather of hot days and cool nights.
Maybe we'll be extremely lucky and this rain front will reach across and have an effect on the Butte fire that's burning in the Sierra Nevada foothills.
One of the ladies with whom I work who was displaced came in
to work today for the first time since the fire started. She still hasn’t been
able to get into her property to check on things. Her landlord, a fire chief in
the area up there, did go and check. As of two days ago, the house was still
standing but the fire circled back. According to the information she has, it
missed again, so she’s been twice lucky. A benefit to living near the bottom of a hollow - a low point in a fold of the hills.
The poor thing though! She looks worn out and fragile - as she well
might. Her hair and clothes smell like smoke. I know, because I hugged her. I'm not normally a hugger - I like people but I only hug those I know well. Today, though, I was so
happy to see her safe and well I couldn't help myself. She’s an emotional wreck and cried when we
hugged, cried again when I walked her back to the office and she was greeted by
everyone there.
This too shall pass, but it is a salutary reminder of how
important friends are. As I said the other day, we have been lucky in that none
of our employees have lost their homes, so far as we yet know. Others have not
been so lucky, and that is terribly sad to know.
Be safe and well. Hug your friends and family and be thankful for what you have.
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)