Friday Funnies – ‘Cause I Was A Goat Herder

OK, OK, I wasn’t really a goat herder. At least not in the literal sense. It was just a little fun I had with Linkedin.  If you don’t know what Linkedin is, well, neither do a lot of the people who actually use it.

How do I know that? Well, because once in a while I like to test the efficacy of certain operating procedures in my world. This time I wondered about the effectiveness of my notifications on Linkedin, so I made a couple of changes to my profile.  I changed my name to Shelley Miller and I ramped up my rather average marketing title to ‘Goat Herder’.  I also changed my location to Montana for good measure and then I kept that profile up for two weeks.

Goat herder

Montana

 

Do you know what kind of response I got to all these changes in my life? Nothing. Nada. Not even a blip on any social media radar. Is it me? Do I have to really, really up my game to make it in business social media?

Why not? Apparently I can be anything I want on Linkedin anyway. I’m seriously considering – ‘Fire Hula Hooping Rocket Scientist’, tagline: “We light the fire under your landing pads”!

Maybe it’s better to leave plain marketing as is and return to Memey Vice. Let’s face it, this post has gone to the dogs anyway and maybe even a monkey too, but strangely, no goats…

dog fence

Reason has its moments… Guess which one works for Linkedin?

Well played sharon

Don’t ever underestimate a woman, dog… Just sayin’

ya gotta be kidding

Yeah…. no words. Just backing away slowly.

13882698_1436669333013472_568232453088783602_n

I always know how to work a Friday!

13925138_970901479685221_1854415682594404949_n

Whatever gets you over the humps.

cat found

Probably sister to meme #4

Yup Canada

Because Canada, and it’s how we summer, eh?

Have an awesome final August weekend.  Cheers!

RL

Posted in Humor, Lighter Side, Uncategorized | Tagged | 9 Comments

Photo Project: … Reluctant Releases …

Portrait 1Relentless year called
I became a waterfall
I was swirled away

Portrait 2Released old dreams; moved
They commanded me, let go
Heart crushed from goodbyes

Portrait 3New is on its way
Release dross for destiny
All reward is nigh

Portrait 4Trust what angels say
Tears are healing; scars get cleansed
Real love fills all wounds

Life is pushy when it wants the best for you. Sometimes you have to give in & give up, a lot…

When this photo shoot was set up in the spring, I knew I wanted to wear the dress I’d hung in public the previous October 4th as requested by Metis artist, Jaime Black. Her ‘REDress Project’ is an art-based awareness campaign in tribute to missing and murdered Indigenous women. Red dresses represent these women. (See tree photo and background notes here)

I’d chosen to hang my dress under my beloved weeping willow tree. That seemed like a poignant statement in itself.  At the time of that participation, I was soul surfing through a course of life-altering loss, trauma, and life and death events.

In a way, even that gorgeous tree experienced the same before it let loose its majestic beauty. I’d saved it years before from being brutally hacked at when my ex would attempt to eradicate the ‘strange weed’ growing in the middle of our yard.  …  I guess my point is, there was a whole lot of understanding under and within that tree.

So, when I met up with Ms. Nadya Kwandibens, a very skilled and renowned photographer who honored me with her talent, she suggested we head to a local park and search for more of a nature-based/natural background.  When we arrived, she scanned the landscape and then she pointed and said, “There – head over there, I think we should get you under those weeping willow trees”.

Nope, she had no idea of my story, it was just how this particular circle would finish.  It seemed like a good omen and I suppose it was.  I have come through what I think is the greater part of those trials and I have gained new strengths and continue to build them.

From a time I was certain I couldn’t even breathe for another 5 minutes to standing up tall enough to see – that no matter how hard the testing, no matter how hard life knocks at me, I will keep getting up. I know that now, because even when there shouldn’t have been a way I could, I somehow did.

Like my tree, I am still standing.

RL

Photos by Nadya Kwandibens, Red Works Photography
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/discover-challenges/portraits/
You and I, there’s air in between
Posted in Haiku, healing, Life, love, Micro Poetry, Photos, Poetry, Uncategorized, weekly photo challenge | Tagged , , , , | 24 Comments

Robyn’s Dreams – Video for Caribou Legs, A Warrior Against Violence & Tara

A couple of months ago I received a message on Facebook from a guy I’d never even heard of.  He’d seen something I posted somewhere and from that, he looked me up.  Of course, I’d joked that his initial check out was an actual ‘checking me out’.

We laugh about that now, but regardless of the original motivation for reaching out to me, it would be a turning point for the both of us while we were both in the midst of working out some next steps in our own shook-up lives. We’d soon instead be working together for causes near and dear to our hearts.

What we’d learn about each other was that we shared a lot of common history. That our family backgrounds were very similar, the same path of so many of our Indigenous families who’ve been lost to our cultures. Those that then coped with addictions to drugs and alcohol which lead to abuses in every form.

We also learned we both often speak out against the issues of the domestic violence in our communities and more recently, on behalf of the continental issue of our missing and murdered Indigenous women.

Caribou Legs profile

Brad Firth AKA “Caribou Legs”

He is an ultra-marathon runner originally from a First Nation in the Northwest Territories. His name is Brad Firth, but his public persona is ‘Caribou Legs’, a name bestowed on him by a family member in comment to his stupendous running ability.

Brad’s history is quite storied as it is, but he continues to add many amazing and adventurous pages to that book. He’s currently doing that by running across Canada, in stints of 50 kms to 75 kms per day and alone with only a backpack, a small hand drum, and his face decked out in warrior paint.

When Brad contacted me, he’d already started his run from Vancouver, BC heading east planning ultimately to finish his run in St John’s, Newfoundland, a journey of 7,050 km.  I was astonished to learn that he had no support. There was no vehicle following or anyone waiting to meet him at any point, and in fact, he wouldn’t even know where he might be sleeping at the end of a long running day.  He’d actually spent some nights on fields next to the highway, in broken down, but open abandoned barns and even old vehicles. Wherever there was cover from the elements – which many times included heavy storms and severe hail – was good enough.

As far as Brad was concerned, this was just par for the course. He’d just decided one day that he was going to do this run to speak out for his sisters and mothers and daughters in his community.  As compelling as that was, the point most dearest to his heart was that he wanted to honor the memory of his sister who had been killed in a domestic violence event the previous year.

I’m a mother.  As most parents know, there’s an instinct that wants the best and most importantly, the safest avenues for anyone who comes under our wings.  I also happen to have been an event planner for a great part of many of my roles in my corporate and volunteering worlds.  To me this endeavor was awesome and noble, but for God’s sake, surely we could at least, keep him covered in a decent place at night.  Brad initially laughed at my ‘softness’, but he relented. You can’t tell a mom that a good rest doesn’t make a hard journey that much more doable!

More than that, when he entered Alberta, there was an influx of racism-based attention that included calling him into police as a danger, perhaps mentally ill and even a gunman. Safety was moved up the priority ladder.

So, at that time, while Brad wondered if I could help him out in general, I took it upon myself to contact media across the country and start a fundraising campaign for him to, at a minimum, get good enough meals, a safe place to sleep and to help supply him with what he’d need on the road from running gear to educational materials.  Brad is often asked to speak with various groups and treatment centres along the way.  And don’t worry, I will have the link to said fund at the bottom  ;)

There is much more to the overall story which I will share in upcoming posts and actually, there will be links to Brad’s Facebook pages and other stories written about his amazing story so far.

I’m stopping at this point because there was a very unexpected turn in our journey this weekend when my involvement in this issue became much more personal.  I learned that one of my own family members had gone missing and that there was an active police search open.  It was surreal and even more unbelievable because this same family had already lost a woman a few years ago in a case made famous by the name Pickton.  I’ll ask you to look that up rather than detail it now.

I made a short video about what transpired up to and since finding out the news that my cousin was missing.  All that I’ve said so far, helps to make this video more understandable. I post that here as a main point for what I am writing here.

Her name is Tara Ashley Ferguson.  She is missing from and/or around her home town of Grande Prairie, Alberta.  Her family is completely in anguish looking for her and they ask anyone with any information to please call the RCMP regardless of location.  The link to these details are also below.

July 31:  Utterly and happily relieved to advise that Tara has been found and will be home soon.

The work for everything else continues…

Next scheduled post:  August 12, 2016

RL

RCMP looking for missing woman – Tara Ashley Ferguson

Caribou Legs – Running Across Canada For A Cause – CTV NATIONAL

http://www.plumfund.com/fundraising/cariboulegs   I’d originally started a GoFundMe page, but when they started to have technical issues that included not forwarding the donations, I had to move the fund to another platform

 

Posted in Aboriginal Peoples, Domestic Violence, Indigenous Peoples, Life, Missing & Murdered Women, Native Americans, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 7 Comments

Friday Funnies – ‘Cause Poutato Is A Thing!

My friend Randall and I shamelessly descended into punny madness and while desperately seeking humor in a gravy boat, I realized it was time for Friday ha ha’s again anyway.

So, prepare for a little ‘Meme-y Vice’ right after I demonstrate how we fell into the hell of PUN-ishment over potatoes and cheese, a mutual love of poutine.  It all began with this dreamy photo:

Randall: HEY CHEFS! Please make this happen! A twice-baked potato with cheese curds & gravy…I call it, The Poutato! (name needs work).
Robyn:  I’m in! Do we need to start a Go Fund Me page to make this happen?
Randall: There was a guy who had a Kickstarter for potato salad, so why not? Chongo, did we want to start a funding campaign for its development?
Robyn: Damn that Quebec! Going to go wander into the desert of Poutato now, until I reach the poutatoasis…
Randall: When you get there, give me a valholla!
Robyn: Hahaha… will do! Eden though, I won’t share!
Randall: Is it because I am such a pervana?
Robyn: It’s because you’re mostly encraptured…

Remember, I promised punny, not funny, but admit it, you won’t get the thought of the Poutato out of your head for at least a week. On with the show:

Bring it

And if you think this is awesome, you ain’t see nothing till you see our moose gettin’ jiggy wit’ it!

 

Bogey Man Danger

You all know this is truth – for life! For life, man!

ATM convenience

Hot romance material doesn’t get any higher than that!

wtf

Wonder if they asked if she’d like to super-size that?

50 shades of lego

It’s not so much that you can do this with Lego as much as the mind that actually did.

dog digging

Always a tattle tail in every family, am I right?

Who wore it

Who wore it best?

Have an awesome rest of July. Good luck to those who have months of hot political potatoes to endure. See you next week, in whatever form I manage to mash up.

RL

Posted in Humor, Laughs, Lighter Side, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

When Bunk Is Passed As Progress For All, We All Fail

I attended a rally yesterday to protest the continuing efforts to raze the land within the Peace River district of British Columbia and Alberta also known as Treaty 8 territory.  The protests are not about ‘hindering progresses’, they are about speaking against an incredible sense of depravity within the desire to forever ruin the lives of people and all the history of their ancestors for the simple purpose of serving big money. It is unconscionable and especially so because it is unnecessary.

The publicized intention is to flood that area’s prime agricultural and hunting/gathering grounds for the purpose of generating much-needed electricity.  In a word, that’s bunk. Typical BC Liberal & big business bunk.

site c protest july 9

Grab A Paddle- Stop Site C Vancouver protest gathering, July 9 Photo by, Devin Gillan

The basis is greed… spending billions of dollars to build a dam that will serve international need in industries that many people are coming to realize are relics of progress past and are in the midst of being turned away from for the betterment of the entire planet – the purpose is mostly for moving bitumen and tar products overseas.

Story after story has been published about the facts and figures of these points and still the BC Liberal government (a misnomer if there ever was one because this political party is as conservative as the former ruling party of Canada, the Progressive Conservatives) bulldozes on.  Links to a few of these stories are noted below.

I speak to the human side of this issue, about the real people who live there and who are somehow meant to be mere side effects of big business allegedly on behalf of the majority of the population which lives in BC’s lower mainland.

BC Hydro says 73-77% of BC residents support this project. I find it extremely hard to believe that many BC residents support this when most Vancouver residents already understand it is not the clean energy being touted:  “The Site C dam is being built with taxpayer dollars to generate energy for expansion of fracking and the tar sands, contributing to life threatening climate change and destroying precious farmland and artifacts,”  said Audrey Siegl, Musqueam Band member and community organizer, in a release.

Treaty 8 is my ancestral homelands.  In fact, my great-grandfather was a signor on that 1899 Treaty.  Do I think that he and all Indigenous signors believed they’d be signing away their homelands, the very source of life sustenance for their children and children’s children in any manner and for any reason close to what has been happening ever since?  I will ask you instead.  What do you think?

In only one of many examples of what this project for China et al is all about: when a government is paying out $55 million per year to turn off even one working electricity generator that means we have no power supply shortages now or for the immediate forseeable future. In fact, electrical consumption has been going down.  This is a make-work project for some people at the expense of generations of others.  It’s a get-rich project for even fewer.

I do not believe, I simply cannot believe, that the majority of BC and even Alberta residents think they are more important than the grandmothers, grandfathers, their children and their children’s children in northern communities. I think if it were about the devastation of their families and stunning landscape, they’d be vocal and taking action to stop this insanity too.

So, that’s what I’m asking for… that’s what I hope for – that people will help people in their own back yards not have to suffer and succumb to the utter havoc being wreaked against an area and the people who live there for no damned good reason.

Sign the petitions of the noted organizations working on behalf of this critical issue. Send your own letters to the provincial and federal governments. Sign the online works and forward the pages on. It’s that simple.  Surely to God, people can do that much to help their fellow neighbours…because eventually this greedy madness will affect everyone when the bills for it come due.  Remember when so many doubted the effects of climate change? Well this is part of the reason for it.

Please, for the love of God’s green earth – do something.

RL

Organizations you can look up to read about the issues or sign a petition:

RAVEN – Urgent Cause: Stand with First Nations against Site-C – Raven Trust
LeadNow – http://www.leadnow.ca/stop-site-c/
PVEA/Sierra Club/Y2Y – http://www.stopsitec.org/
Amnesty International – http://bit.ly/28Jvlpa
Official Government of Canada petition – https://petitions.parl.gc.ca/en/Petition/Details?Petition=e-324
Wilderness Committee
COPE
The Council of Canadians
KAIROS Metro Vancouver
Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society

Fight Site C – dedicated group

Vancouver protest of Site C dam at Vanier Park

Vaughn Palmer: NDP government would demand independent review of Site C

BC HYDRO SEEKS AN INJUNCTION FOR SITE C

Posted in Aboriginals, Business, Controversy, First Nations, Indigenous Peoples, Life, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 5 Comments

What Did You #%&*@* Say?

So, I was reminded not too long ago that my predilection for profanity was especially evident lately. Lately? Where hath these innocents been?

Yes, OK, I have a mouth and it’s pretty potty at times, but I believe I’ve earned it honestly. I’m sorry, but I cannot apologize for it.  According to even more recent studies than the ones that said swearing helps with pain, they now say my kind of swearing indicates genius level intelligence too.  I wouldn’t lie about that…. I’d swear to it….

So, in that vein, I (re)present an updated story I published a few years ago about passing the gift down…

For about a millennium now it’s been said that kids say the damnedest darnedest things. I know this truth first-hand and I’ve kept a journal to capture a good number of eyebrow raising, head scratching and -are you for real- statements that my son has spouted since he started spouting.

I always encouraged free and open speech with him and I’ve always adored hearing what comes out of that new and unfettered brain.  The only thing I’ve forbidden is swearing.  It’s not that I’ve pretended that swearing doesn’t happen; we’re all aware of its worldwide domination, thus he’s heard such a word or two in the homeland.

He had attempted to copy those words, but only once, (that I know of), OK, technically twice, but the second time was just a noun change.  It happened when he was two and a half.  We were on holiday and his dad was desperately searching our vehicle for the camera before the beautiful tall ships we were watching passed by.  While he was frantically throwing items left and right, he yelped, “Where’s my f*#kin’ camera”?

A couple of hours later, on our way home, I noticed my son frantically looking left and right.  I asked him what was wrong and he asked, “Where’s my f*#kin’ camera”? To be fair, his toy camera did, in fact, appear to be a missing casualty of his father’s earlier desperation.

About two weeks later we were playing tea party and he came out of his room with most of his supplies except one.  With hand on hip and grave consternation, he spoke. “Where’s my f*#kin’ teapot”?  We had a little chat and I have to say he’s been pretty good at finding alternative adverbs and adjectives ever since.

Actually, he would eventually become a little too efficiently aware; he grew into the Soup Nazi of potty-mouth alternatives. Our self-proclaimed lord of language decency worked his moral indignance to a level that drove me to drinkHe deployed a ‘swear jar’, a wretched vessel of confiscated loonies for every swear word he caught, thereby generously cutting into my own happy hour funding. Which also had me questioning my study-confirmed intelligence for having agreed to this insanity.

So, yes,  I can swear like a truck driver.  Actually, I feel that analogy is an insult; I’m certain my stupendous ability could teach a truck driver a thing or two.  Lest you accuse me of hypocrisy, I look at it like being an artist of abstract art who had to first prove that she can paint a real-life landscape before delving into free-flow style. My swearing is not a replacement for regular speaking skill, just occasional, as required, colorful enhancement.  Certainly some days need more color than others.

Also, as a public service announcement, there have been recent studies that state hollering four letter words helps to alleviate pain. Think about that the next time you hammer your finger.  No really, look it up.

swearing hammer guy

OK, back to my son.  What I’ve always told him is profanity is adult language; he’s free to swear when he is 18 or paying the bills, whichever comes first, (not gonna lie – secretly hoping it’s paying the bills).

No, I don’t really believe he will never swear again before he turns 18, but I’m pretty sure he’ll have learned to speak ‘real-life’ English first. After that, if he wants to add a little color now and then, fine, but more importantly, maybe then I can earn some #*@kin’ coins back.

RL

Originally posted on by
Posted in #MondayBlogs, family, Life, Lighter Side, Parenting, Storytelling, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 13 Comments

Margaret’s Baby

During a year of upheaval, reflection and even amazing rewards, a walk back to beginnings can help to return a sense of balance, to find an equilibrium that helps make life make sense again. I’ve been going back to some significant and poignant moments for me for that purpose. One of those periods was returning home after time spent in child foster care. This story was also published a few years ago, but for anyone who hasn’t seen it, maybe something in this will resonate for you too…

Sometimes old memories float up in need of
a little light…
A soul’s whisper to let it go.

curtains-city-skyline4

I was 14 years old.  My mother and I were living in an apartment on the 14th floor of a basic downtown high-rise.  We were there because that’s where she was when I ran away from the last foster home I’d intended to live in.

I threatened to run away and never be found again if they made me go back to that home.  The Department of Social Services, and my unprepared mother, gave in.

My mother had been struggling with escape from an abusive marriage, alcoholism, and no way to fully support her daughters.  That’s how we ended up in foster care just after Christmas that year.

We were six girls, ages two to twelve years.  I was twelve.  They were my sisters, and because I was the oldest, they were also my beloved babies. There was no doubt that having already traversed a very rocky start together, we were a fiercely bonded ‘band of sisters’.

I was quite used to taking care of them, and the house as required, which it seemed was almost always.  So, the demand to relinquish responsibility to the social workers who came to take us away or to the people who were to foster us was incomprehensible.  It was shocking and infuriating and frustrating.

Many nights I’d lie awake planning our escape from that foster home and formulating the many ways I’d find our mom. I usually ended up crying myself to sleep immersed in the despondency of realizing how powerless I really was.

We were all together in that initial home, except the youngest who was instead taken to live with our father – another story for another time.  I was eventually to move to two other homes within a year and a half. Only one sister was allowed to go with me; they gave me one day to choose between the four faces that pleaded to be taken.  Despite everything that we’d already lived through to that point, it was then that I learned that a soul could feel fractured.

In short time, and with little choice, we adapted and carried on as kids are so able. Then two years later, suddenly we were all being taken to visit with our mom at her own new home. The visit went by as quickly as I’d dreaded. When it was time to say goodbye to her, it felt like the beginning of all the bad goodbyes again. I could not return to that pain; the next weekend I bolted for home, for her, for good.

So there I was, on the 14th floor in a small, sparse apartment, a temporary only child, but finally with my own mom.  Life definitely took another turn in my day-to-day. I spent less time with my friends and more with my mother’s.

She had a friend on the 7th floor.  Phyllis was one of those larger than life characters; a hard-drinking party girl, a queen bee who had great pride in being a full-time ‘player’.  She seemed to take my mother under her wing.  She was a louder than life distraction for a young woman bogged down with desperate problems.

Phyllis held court to an allotment of very proud and loud butch lesbians.  They called themselves the girbols (girl boys, hard g).  One of them was Margaret. She was pretty, a large woman, and very quiet. Though she liked to hang out with the crowd and indulged in the same drink and smoke, she alone remained quiet.

I came home from school one day, at the start of spring break, and went down to the gang. There was a brand new baby girl cuddled up in Margaret’s arms.  I hadn’t even realized that she had been pregnant. The baby was so tiny and delicate, and wrapped in a pink blanket.

Spring Break began on a weekend and as on all weekends, it was time to get the girbol party started. I was immediately designated the girl baby’s guardian. I took baby, and all of her required possessions, up to my apartment.

The ‘weekend’ turned into nearly two weeks, during which I had full custody of baby night and day. It’s awesome, as in really awe-inspiring, how easily you fall in love with a child, even as a young girl, and you immediately wish to be everything it takes to nurture them to perfection.

She needed me for everything and I reveled in that.  At night, I would wrap her next to me and listen to her breath and smell the top of her head until I drifted off in true peace. Every minute with her was another moment of reclaimed love. I was once again protector, friend, sister, mother.  For awhile I was me again.

Spring break was over and I’d already missed two days of school, I had to go back.  That morning, I reluctantly took her down to the 7th floor, gave her back to Margaret and left for school.  When I came home, I dropped off my school things and grabbed one of her blankets to collect her. I sniffed her baby smell all the way to Phyllis’s apartment.

When I walked in, I saw Margaret sitting by the window, staring out with the curtains blowing around her. The girbol group was strangely quiet. I asked for the baby and no one said anything.  I went to Margaret and asked. “Where’s the baby”?  She wouldn’t answer, and then I saw her tears.  I was instantly alarmed, even afraid that the baby had gone out the window.

“Where’s the baby Margaret”?  I was ready to cry, but not sure why.

“They took her”, she said softly.

“Who took her”?

“Social Services.  I phoned them today and they came to take her away”.

I know I asked her why, maybe a few times, but I don’t recall an answer.  I doubt she gave one.

I turned from Margaret and I looked at everyone else.  No one would look back at me; they kept their eyes on the floor or each other.  I turned to Margaret again and watched her silently cry for a while.  I walked to the door and quietly closed it behind me.

It was the last day I saw Margaret, or our baby.  I went to sleep that night holding that baby blanket. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t.  Somehow, I knew in my heart then, that no matter how much I dreamed, I was never going to get my family, my  ‘band of sisters’, back in the same way again.

And, we didn’t, not ever in the same way again.

RL

Originally posted on, with original comments 

 

Posted in All-Time Top Ten, family, Grief, healing, Life, Storytelling, Survival, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | 24 Comments

Friday Funnies – ‘Cause, Friday!

Started this funny stuff last month in sheer desperation to catch a breath from duty, dearth (of humanity) and a desire to break out of established molds. You know… what they used to call a mid-life crisis.

I had a good time with it last time, so I decided I’d add it as a monthly gig to my box of ‘shut-up and eat it’, (which incidentally also happens to be a monthly meal for my family too).

I think Forrest Gump’s mom referred to mixed expectations as a box of chocolates, but as my tagline implies, ya never know what you’re gonna get… plus, I want to apply this new word I’ve learned  – whatevs… It’s how you feel when life gives you a big fat break – finally! Could be time for another trip to the tropics soon, but in the meantime… ha. ha. ha…it’s my party, I can fun if I want to.

Croc love

Everyone loves to find a pair of killer shoes!

deer meat cheap

‘Cause the other type is a lot of doe…  …*slipping away quietly now*

 

boneless chicken

…And they’re thinkin’…. thinkin’….

drunk hunter

Or someone who didn’t realize the deal he could get on just the balls….

free would

But only for the Willing…

bar

…and asks, ‘Which way to 2th street“? …

common sense

…. and all these years I thought mom was referring to my wallet whenever I heard her say, “There goes cents-less again”…

CPR

Bahahahahahahaaaaahahaha… … Definitely, my kind of ape-shiz crazy….

Angry animal mine

I tried one of those Facebook test things. I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. None of my exes are though… heh, heh, rawr!

cute angry

Now that you’ve had this unrequested insight into my demented state of mind, I hope I haven’t scared you off from the other regular goings-on around here …

See you at the funny farm or maybe a hot, luscious island. If not, have a fab June or if that’s too tall an order, at least the best weekend you can manage. Cheers!

RL

Posted in fun, Humor, Laughs, Life, Lighter Side, Uncategorized | Tagged | 17 Comments

La Beauté du Jour…. Tanka Lot

Belle

Tres’ récompense for
working the same come-hithers
Bien des champagne
Beaucoup décolletage-filled screens
Non belle special, after all

“Not a Sam-sue, Chris, Dan, nor even a Joe… say Bon Soir, Narcisse”, said the lady.

……………………………..

Message In A Bottle

Called her a lady
’cause east coast friends, north and south
proved that truth for him
Lady knew their secrets though
Wine reveals more than bod parts

 ……………………………..

Gone Fishin’

Tank’d a lot, that lot
and soon enough the angels
moved his lifetime best
to The Only Man worthy
Luck to all fish ‘O plenty…

RL

Photo: Feminine Sacrifices, by RL: partially posterized & colorized.
Posted in Micro Poetry, Photos, Poetry, Tanka, Uncategorized | Tagged | 8 Comments

Yes, I am That Confident – Up Yours!

It was 3 years ago that I posted the Facebook rant that launched my blogging career. Sometimes when you feel a little lost and like you need to meet you again, the re-set button can be as easy as looking into your own life archives. I’m fortunate mine was as easy a start as back to this beginning…

“Well you can’t fix stupid either and you proved that”!!  

Actually, although my blogging life has been an incredibly uplifting experience overall,  it blows me away a little that I’ve been insulted through it too from time to time. …But I digress…

That particular insult was lobbed at me in a Facebook note.  It was from someone who’d had only few superficial conversations with me and no involvement in the situation at hand at the time. Not that really knowing me, nor having full knowledge of the details then changes the bottom line.

I admit I was somewhat shocked at that charged-up energy that came at me. There are all kinds of ways to respond, but at the time I was more engrossed in the event that precipitated the results of her research.

I re-read the post later and those words actually ended up making me smile. They reminded me of a personal motto I used to say: “I hope I’m the dumbest one in the room”.  In return I usually got a look like I’d just confirmed that for them.

Peace

What I really meant was that regardless of whatever endeavor I was involved in, I wanted whomever else I was working with to be wiser, more knowledgeable, and more creative than me.  I was sure that would get me an opportunity to learn something, probably something great and hopefully a lot of it.  Yup, not quite that insult’s target, but I know myself well enough to be confident in what I may or may not be.

That event had interesting timing. Some friends and I had been having conversations about self-esteem and the often misinterpreted difference between assertiveness & confidence or self-centeredness & aggression. There are many examples of how these characteristics are practised, but in our chats we narrowed the illustration down to standing up for oneself.

We partially surmised that self-centredness starts with feeling some sense of entitlement or an innate belief that one can do no wrong. The world better be good to me first or the world is gonna hear about it:

“Don’t confuse my personality and my attitude because my personality is ME and my attitude depends on YOU”.

Awww snap! Or – Aw snap!, snap!, snap!- if they are particularly perturbed. This is more of a passive/aggressive or aggressive/aggressive defensiveness beyond my Psych 101 capabilities, or more to the point, my patience levels. Whatever happened to personal responsibility/self control?

On the other hand, real confidence says I will be good to you and if you are unkind in return, I can walk away with my self-respect fully intact without having to bring you down a peg to accomplish that. I would add that that also exhibits dignity, not an unworthy effort and something I wish I could have attached myself to much earlier in life.

Confidence asks how does whatever this is really matter to my life or me? Most of the time, whatever it is doesn’t make a bit of difference to anything.

Confidence also includes the element of humbleness. It says sometimes I may be wrong, but that does not diminish that I am a good and decent person and I will fix what I can fix about it.  By the way, the fixing action begins with offering genuine apologies, followed by genuine efforts to not repeat the offenses. Amazes me to this day, how hard this concept is for some to grasp.

Self-centredness mistakes the element of humbleness in confidence as weakness. That mistake is the weakness that truly exposes lack of self-esteem.

A little follow up: some time after sending that note, my ‘insulter’s’ defense was that she thought something negative was said about her. I did my best to reassure, but no matter, once her reaction was on the world-wide-web for all to see, the never-intended reason became fact for her anyway.  One less Facebook friend.

Too bad she didn’t take the minute to ask me about my intentions before she posted that over-the-top response.

So yes, it was interesting that that whole scenario played out right in the middle of those chats about confidence.  I guess you could say that a couple of us learned more than we were expecting at the time.

There’s far more to the depth of these issues than I can, or care to, note here, but if you were to ask me what would I say in return to that hotly lobbed insult now?  In short: up your self- esteem!

Yours truly,
Hopefully the Dumbest One in the Room

RL

Posted in Bullying, Confidence, Coping, Life, Self-Esteem, Uncategorized | 13 Comments