The Art of Being Human

It was like a bad bluegrass joke about what happens to a banjo player when…only it wasn't a joke. A banjo player I know got decked.  More than one person thought he had it coming and dismissed it until it happened again and there was property damage. Jack justified what he did by calling Dan a bully.  That’s the problem with violence, it’s easy to justify and it’s never the answer, never. I don’t think Dan is a bully, just not very bright about how to be part of a group. He says things that are insensitive, but rarely really mean, like I said, not very bright.  I've questioned how to deal with him over the years; mainly I've ignored him in the name of tolerance and let the group handle it. But, when is enough enough?  How much bad behavior should we accept in the name of tolerance?  And is that even tolerance?   One definition of tolerance is the unconditional love and acceptance of another being. I don’t know about y...

I was in a that man done did me wrong state, and I do mean state.   The women in life urged restraint for my sake. “Throttle back, Deb before you say something you’ll regret.”  That advice came too late to do me any real good.  I was mad and that made me right. And I’m a woman, double right. Isn't that how we think? Come on, be honest. If you’re a woman don’t you secretly think you have the inside track on relationships and emotions? Because that’s how it works right, if you are a member of the select group you’re right and everyone else is wrong. A friend and neighbor who embodies the soul of calm wisdom suggested a walk through the woods as a balm for my wound too tight mind.  We caught up on our lives and the news in the neighborhood then she gently suggested that my unhappiness was not the result of anything anyone said because that was done and did. My unhappiness was the result of the judgment I was knotted up in.  I came to an abru...

The bluegrass jam I go to on Thursday night started the way it often starts, with  a bowl of chili and conversation with a couple of friends that brightened my day. Then the night took a dark turn. Out of nowhere, someone I called a friend unleashed a barrage of offensive and sexist remarks. During a break in the music Richard told a rude story about what he wanted from a woman.  I cringed inwardly and dismissed it as a good man being momentarily stupid. When he told me that my singing sounded like Willie Nelson I said something, and big surprise the remarks got worse. When the guy who was leading the jam asked me what I wanted to sing I barely got the words out when Richard yelled, “THAT’S NOT BLUEGRASS . IF YOU WANT TO SING THAT SONG FORM A BAND!” I’d had enough and packed up to leave, but Richard wasn't done yet. “I love you, but it’s tough love. You need to hear this.”  Before I could respond to that he said, “I’m tired of people not giving me respe...

SFC Legend hated me and I don’t blame him, but his hate and how he handled it taught me a valuable lesson about differences, respect, and common goals. When I joined the Army women were still a separate branch, The Woman’s Army Corp, which was in the process of being dissolved.  More fields were being opened up to women and I ended up being one of a small group of women to go through the Quartermaster School . When I finished my course I was asked to stay on as an instructor because I was a woman and I had a background in education. Makes sense right? Except that most of the instructors were typically experienced NCOs with several years of experience in the field. It’s easy to understand why some members of my team were less than thrilled when I joined them. It was an interesting time. The most interesting part of it was my relationship with a man who made no secret about how much he  didn't  like women in general and me specifically being in ‘his’ Army. When SF...

Is it just me or do people seem starved for recognition and appreciation, hungry for simple acknowledgement of their existence? This is not the look at me, look at me, look at me self esteem thing. I think it's sincere.  We all want to feel like we matter in the lives of others. We want to belong and feel connected and we should all feel that way. The problem is that an easy way to feel powerful and like we matter is to sling complaints and vitriolic diatribe like a short order cook slinging hash browns at Waffle House. We are generous with criticisms and stingy with praise. A woman I work with gave me what I consider to be a high compliment when she told me that I see the best in people. It’s part of what makes me a good teacher. I try to be generous with praise and lavish encouragement and compliments on people. Hey, it’s free. A sincere thank you goes a very long way. As John Maxwell said, “encouragement is oxygen for the soul.” I’ll be honest with you though...

Things were going really, really well. I received a glowing observation from my boss, I had a new red dress to wear and a fun evening planned. Then I walked into meeting and was verbally bitch slapped. The how and why doesn't matter. It never does. What does matter is my reaction, it left me reeling. After becoming thoroughly pissed off and hurt I did what we all do, I ‘vented,’ I blamed, I judged and lo and behold I didn’t feel any better. I felt worse. Imagine that, being negative didn’t help. I finally just shut up for half a second and heard myself say, "I don't want to feel like this.” A Course in Miracles says, “I am willing to see this situation differently.” I did want to see things differently if only because if I continued foaming at the mouth like a woman possessed I was bound to do something someone would regret, probably me. And as a friend of mine likes to remind me, I wouldn't look good in an orange jump suit. I prayed that I might see what happe...

Maybe it was because I had been singing a lot of bluesy songs, for whatever reason I had a bad case of the blues. The blues as in let’s have a pity party for one and sing a sad song. The blues as in life is terrible whoa is me. The blues, you know the mood that sneaks up on you to steal your joy.  Sometimes I like the blues, it’s an interesting mood to sing, sing not live.  I wasn’t in the mood for the blues though.  I had a busy week and just didn’t have time for it. Then it got worse, anxiety joined the party, pounding on the door demanding entrance into my life of bliss. What the fresh hell! The anxiety was especially disconcerting because I believed, (for about a half a second), it’s omen of impending danger and doom.  Then in the pause of a breath Grace entered the fray and laid a calming hand on things.  Maybe something horrible was going to happen, sometimes it does, and like a lot of people I will occasionally get a sense of that before it happen...

He was a little too much of everything I didn’t want or need in my life and yet I found myself flooded with love every time I was around him. I’m talking about love now, not lust. I do know the difference. The first couple of times it happened I chalked it up to a round of steroids I was taking for a sinus infection.  They filled me with such euphoric good will for everyone that I had to stop myself from declaring my undying love to the mail carrier. My friends thought I was a nut. I thought I was in the middle of a spiritual transformation. No, just steroids.  Two months later my sinus infection was a thing of the past. The feelings were still there though and they were not feelings I wanted to act on for a whole slew of reasons and no small amount of common sense. Let’s face it, if we all acted on every feeling we have half of us would be in jail and the other half would be hanging from the rafters and dancing in the streets. It’s awfully easy to justify doing w...

  I smile just thinking about her. She was a wisp of a thing, 4 years old at the most, decked out in bright red and yellow bathing suit with a ruffled bottom and a smile that was contagious. I watched her saunter to the diving board with all the confidence in the world, adjust her plastic water wings then leap sprawl legged off the diving board into the water with a satisfying splash. I loved her attitude and recognized a kindred spirit even though mine is occasionally MIA.   When she climbed out of the pool I went over and introduced myself. “My name is Debra. I just wanted to tell you that I love your attitude, you rock!” She tossed her blonde braid over her shoulder and gave me a big thumbs up before heading back to the diving board. I asked her heavily tattooed and pierced dad where she got her confidence.   He smiled, got quiet for a minute then looked down at his arm decorated with a green dragon and said, “I’m not very conventional.”      Is ...

                                           Last week I went out to dinner with some friends to celebrate the beginning of summer.   What should have been an enjoyable evening wasn't.   I spent too much money on too much food that I didn't want and didn’t need. The worst was that I didn’t enjoy any of it very much.   It made me sick, literally. Wallowing in misery led me to thinking about why I do what I do, not just with my time and who I spend it with, but with money and food. Why do I find saying no to myself so difficult?  I have a camping closet filled with stuff I use regularly and stuff that is just stuff and don’t even get me started on shoes.   I danced around with why unsuccessfully and finally decided that I didn’t really care why. I just wanted to create a different experience for myself. Now, there’s a powerfu...

I didn’t even know I was doing it until I wasn’t doing it anymore. A simple shift in perspective that came about because of a fiddle lesson I took with David Ellis.   My fiddle playing was a hot mess.  I always felt like I needed to apologize for being a poor fiddle player because in my mind a good fiddle player played a lot of notes really fast.  The fact that I couldn’t do that without scaring cats and young children didn’t stop me from going at it like I could.   When David listened to me play he said, “That was interesting.”  I guess he forgot that I was a teacher because in teacher language that means, man have we got some undoing to do. His first stab at undoing my mistaken belief about what made a good fiddle player was to tell me a story about Alison Krauss. In one ear and out the other. Then he tried a story about a bass player I know and respect. Didn’t care.  In my mind a good fiddler played a lot of notes really fast and that’s what I wa...

They say that gratitude is the highest form of prayer. I think enjoying your life is a form of gratitude. I want to enjoy my life and treasure its moments even when it’s hard. The easiest way for me to be able to do that is to keep my life free of negativity. Negativity is a complete soul suck. Nothing good ever comes of it. Two years ago I went on a  90 Day No Negativity Challenge.  I simply needed would  a little break from all the negativity that seemed to be swirling around me. I was eventually nudged into what Thomas Merton calls the wilderness of my own interior journey. If we are lucky we take that journey several times in our life time. The challenge was a defining time in my life and I’m still experiencing its impact. On the surface not very much has changed. I still teach school, drive an old truck with music cranked up too loud and sing better than I fiddle. I paddle when there’s water and time and try to keep the house from falling down around my ears. I...

Every woman needs a good mechanic, a good hairdresser and a good bar and The Redlight is my good bar. That’s what I told Bill who owns my favorite bar a few weeks ago.  When he handed me my beer he said, “I’d think a woman like you would need a good lawyer too.”  I told Cheryl that I didn’t know what he was talking about and she laughed.  We both know that left to my own devices I would probably dance with the devil come what may and to heck with the consequences.  Actually, there’s no probably about it if the not so distant past is any indication.  And I’ve noticed that not much about that seems to be changing with age.   Why not and what the hell are still two of my favorite attitudes that  just seem to slide on naturally with a pair of cowboy boots, a bright scarf and  eyeliner that I’m partial to. I know myself and because I know myself and my propensity to gravitate towards trouble disguised as a good time I know that I need emotional ballas...

I was playing  in a bluegrass circle and had already sung all the bluegrass songs I wanted to sing and called out Walking After Midnight, one of my favorite songs to sing. “Are you going to sing that song the way it’s supposed to be sung?”   Evidently Bruce didn’t approve of my interpretation of it and that’s all it could ever be, my interpretation because in case you haven’t noticed I’m not Pasty Cline.  And that’s pretty much what I told Bruce before a guitar war broke out over how to play the song.  It’s kind of hard to sing when the guitars are having a war. I decided a very long time ago that the best thing I could do was just be the best me I could be even when I’m not sure what that is.  That’s not always a popular approach to take.  There’s always someone who wants to tell me how I should sing, dress, act, teach, or be. And they act like their perception of reality has more value than mine.  It doesn’t.  It took me awhile to embrace...

   Watching The Mystery of Love video was just what I wanted after a hectic week, something I could half pay attention to while I finished a knitting project. When Frieda called I put the sound on mute.  She cut right to the chase.  Her father, never a nice man to begin with, had delivered an emotional hit and run severing all ties with her over a dispute about an inheritance, a pittance of one at that. Go figure.  The fact that Frieda is over fifty and was not the least bit surprised by her father’s most recent diatribe did not lessen the sting of his words.  Frieda’s other friends all urged her to strike back and let him have it.  She wanted to know what I thought.  I said the first thing that came to me.  “I think you should let it go. Nothing will be gained by lashing out and if you do your soul will suffer for it. Let it be.”  I’m not entirely sure I knew what I meant by that when I said it.  It had a ring of truth to i...

  I hadn't seen Laura in years and I can’t say that I was all that thrilled when I ran into her in front of Trader Joe’s over the holidays.  When I first met Laura we were both teachers…. with a difference. I liked teaching even if I wasn’t overly fond of the state of education at the moment. Laura, on the other hand, was one of those teachers who acted like being a classroom teacher was the booby prize in education and I was the biggest booby of all. One of the first things she said to me last month was, “You’re still teaching? I left teaching years ago. I guess some of us just need more from life.”   Some things never change.  The hard truth of the matter is that Laura reveled in her discontent and it contaminated everything she did. No matter what she did or where she was it was never enough.  She was like a whole bunch of people who treat the work they’re doing like they’ve stepped in something nasty. They make it very clear by how they do t...