Weekend Coffee Share (2/4/17)

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#WeekendCoffeeShare is graciously hosted by Diana at ParttimeMonsterBlog.com.


If we were having coffee, I would tell you I’m feeling conflicted this morning. When I take part in the “Weekend Coffee Share,” I literally sit down with my morning cup of coffee and share what’s on my mind. I don’t preplan a topic and I sometimes surprise myself with what comes out.

Today, my mind is on so many things, I don’t know which of them I want to write about. I want to be lighthearted and talk about the Super Bowl, and post photos of my dog, and tell you about my latest DIY home impairment project.

But… I’m also thinking about how the country in which I reside is imploding. The saying, “It’s like watching a train wreck,” comes to mind. The destruction happens almost as though in slow motion, car by car by car (or day by day), and even though it’s hard to watch, you just can’t seem to look away.

I’d love to unplug from the media and ignore all the politics. I’d love to try and remain apolitical. And I feel strangely guilty for being “inconsiderate” in “harping” on my “opinions.” For being a malcontent, when I imagine my readers here or my “friends” on Facebook would rather read something humorous or warm and fuzzy.

But I read something yesterday that basically said that ignoring the declining conditions in the world – ecological, economical, political, ethical — is a luxury that only the privileged in life can afford. Or think they can. Major paraphrasing there, but that’s what I got out of it.

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Of course, once a (literal) train wreck starts, you can’t stop it, and maybe we shouldn’t look away. Maybe we need to witness it, look for our own culpability, be there to help pick up the pieces and offer aid in the aftermath.

The metaphorical train wreck can be stopped, and I think we have an obligation to do what we can, to witness what is happening, to look for our own culpabilities and be there to help. It’s not fun by any means. It doesn’t sit well with morning coffee and croissants. It may seem overwhelming.

Or it may all sound like hyperbole. Like Chicken Little running around fretting that the sky is falling. I would still suggest we not look away, because there’s that other fable about the boy who cried wolf. One day the wolf was really there, and no one saw it coming.

And so I leave you with a warm and fuzzy photo of my dog Chules and his anticipation of the Super Bowl, and the humorous suggestion that he is looking bummed because his toy football has been a victim of Deflategate. And I’m off to work on my DIY home impairment project and make the most of today.

There must be a fable somewhere about finding hope amidst the storm.

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Weekend Coffee Share (1/28/17)

#WeekendCoffeeShare is graciously hosted by Diana at ParttimeMonsterBlog.com.


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Women’s March in Portland, OR

If we were having coffee I would tell you it hasn’t been a very productive week. My kitchen is still completely torn up from my DIY remodel. The rest of the house looks like a tornado passed through; a tornado with lots and lots of white fur. And I’m tired of subsisting on frozen dinners because my range is covered by a drop cloth and a grand array of hand tools.

Of course, all of that is totally under my control to change if I just managed to get up off my derriere and do something about it. Okay, I admit I’ve been binge-watching Haven on Netflix. And going to visit my grandkids. Oh, and then there was that little march thing on Saturday. Maybe you heard about it: the Women’s March?

For someone who even has trouble being in a crowded grocery store (no joke), it was a bit daunting to be walking shoulder to shoulder among 100,000 people in the streets of Portland,  OR. But in a last minute text, my daughter asked me if I would go with her.

I wrote back, “No. I can’t,” and as I paused to consider how to phrase the notion that I wouldn’t be able to handle the crowds and it would be too overwhelming to be out and about like that, I looked at what I had written. “No. I can’t.”

And I thought to myself, “Yes. I can.” It would be difficult and challenging, and maybe even completely overwhelming, and I might have to leave as soon I got there. But yes, I could at least try.

So I deleted those two words, and instead wrote, “Sure.” And we went. And I survived. And I’m glad I showed up. And I’m glad the other 99,999 people showed up as well.

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Portland PD monitoring the Women’s March 1.21.17

Did we make a difference? Yes, I think we did. It made a difference for me. In me. It made me challenge my “no I can’t” beliefs, not only about my anxieties, but about my ability to help effect positive change in a country that so sorely needs that right now. I’m glad I went. I’m glad my daughter extended the invitation, even though she probably expected my response to be, “No, I can’t.”

I still don’t plan on going to the grocery store, at least not until my freezer full of entrees needs replenishing. And I don’t know if I will ever join another march. But I did it, and – dare I say – I’m proud.

Now I just need to apply my “can do” energy to house work and kitchen remodeling tasks. But first I’m going to nuke something from the freezer for lunch, and then play with my dog just in case he hasn’t shed enough fur on the furniture. Oh, and then I’ll be visiting my grandkids this afternoon.

Seems I’m just too busy to be productive! Maybe next week…