Overbooked and Understaffed
Lately, life seems to be flying by. This is what things look like to me right now:
Museum of Modern Art/man studying exhibit/New York, New York
Canon Rebel XSI/Sigma 17-70/Handheld/manual focus/manual exposure
I’ve recently discovered that I’ve been grossly misplaced and put in the wrong class at my school, Vincennes University. I was signed up for Public Speaking (via advisor) and added to a course whose professor is now retired, and has been for some time. When I went to submit my assignment, I was told that one of the professor’s cohorts had taken over. When I shared this with the staff that misplaced me, I was told that the replacement class was full.
(Here we go.)
Needless to say, I straightened out the mess, and although I am now officially eight weeks behind in the new class (again, erroneously on the school’s part and at no fault of my own), I am somehow the first in my class to submit my 13 question and answer discussion on various parts of the speech and communication process. I’m not sure if that’s pretty darn impressive on my part or pretty pathetic where my classmates are concerned. Eight weeks in and not one assignment submitted to the discussion board? (I’m hoping I’ve screwed something up somewhere, but that’s not likely.)
Either way, I’m excited to be assigned a professor who is not only proficient at his job, but he’s a little tougher than most, and I love that. High-pressured, extensive assignments are what drive me. I actually asked to be moved out of a class once because the professor stated in his syllabus that a “book” wasn’t necessary in his course, and instead of using any academic references, he chopped his syllabus into six sections and asked that we use that as our “material” for the duration of the class. I reported him immediately and was told that several other students had done the same thing. I wasted no time in being moved into a more challenging class.
I’m also going to be scheduling three book readings for my children’s book, Peanut Butter Soup, in the local tri-city area: all cities that I went to school in. Tomorrow is the actual Read Across America Day, which coincides with Dr. Seuss’ birthday, and while I would love to do the book readings then, I’m so crunched for time I’m going to have to set back the dates to the following week. I ordered three paperback copies today that are being overnighted to me. I’ll be able to sign them and contribute one book per school library. School readings aren’t the time or place to promote your book. (That’s what book signings and media taps are for.) School readings are all about connecting with the kids, planting some very important seeds, and shining the spotlight on the kids and listening to them. It’s also the time to remind yourself (if you’re an author, such as me) that you are not a rock star and it is not about you. It’s all about the kids.
I was told by one of the school’s staff at the last book reading, that she had never seen her class respond to anyone before in such a way. She said it was like therapy for the kids. 🙂 That’s the best compliment that a children’s book author can possibly receive- it was for me, anyway. They also gave me a round of free tickets to the school’s play, and a bouquet of fresh wildflowers. It was the school I went to as a child, and I was incredibly honoured to be able to go back 34 years later and share my life with those kids.
My wildflowers given to me by the school:
Lensbaby Composer pro-Double Glass Optics f/4/Manual exposure/manual focus/natural lighting
“Are you rich?” One of the kids asked me. (I laughed.)
“Are you?” I asked him.
“No, but you wrote a book. You’re not rich?”
“No,” I said to him, smiling. “In fact, I’ve never been rich, and barely had any money at all when I wrote this book.” I said. “You don’t have to have a lot of money to do things you want to do in life. You just have to have the desire and willpower,” I said.
By the time I left one classroom and made my way to the next one, the class had already heard that I sing too, and yes, they made me sing a song, A capella, which I did, gladly.
“Why aren’t you on American Idol?! Dang! You can sing!” One of the girls said.
“Because then I would be all rich and famous and I wouldn’t be here with you. And I’d rather be here with you.” I answered.
It wasn’t a “book reading”, it was an event. I’ve never had a better time in my life.
Tonight Josh and I are headed out of town for some much needed R&R. My mom is under the weather and I’ll be fixing her a delicious meal, finishing up a Behavioral health (model) project, enjoying some ginger & lemon tea with an unhealthy dose of pre-calculus, and cramming in some Jeopardy. (Yes, that’s how I relax…)
…
STRESFUL DAY [Re- Pressed]
STRESFUL DAY. <<<< Click on that if you’d like to read about a breakdown other than your own. 🙂
I have a friend that I nicknamed M&M, (short for Muffins and Mocha) who I absolutely adore. I also love the fact that she is no stranger to meltdowns and she handles them in a way that I have to respect: she announces them in her blog to the whole world.
M&M, you rock. [insert super cool rocker emoticon here]
I’m not even going to hold it against you that you mispelled streSfuL (that was intentional, right?). I have never “Pressed This”, and thought, “Hey, I might as well give it a spin and see what happens.”
Heheh…
xo
Dead of Day
Blackbirds.
5:24 p.m.
Specs: manual focus/manual exposure/ISO 400/ f/10/ Sh. sp./ 1/1000 sec./50 MM
Goodwill Dressing Room: You’re on Candid Camera!
I popped into the Goodwill store recently to check out their summer shirts. Usually, they have an assortment of cute, short sleeved girly-girl summer tops that I love, and I like getting them in the winter before everyone else does. So I grabbed a few items and headed to the dressing room.
I had completely disrobed, when I couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes were on me, somewhere. I searched the walls, surveying for pinholes or streaming light that could be seen shining through- nope. I looked over my shoulder, and bada-bing! There was an evasive, round, black globe, peering right into the dressing room. (Right into the dressing room!)
I tend to have an overactive imagination at times, but I’m not so naive to believe that Quakers are running the security system. All it takes is one rogue worker in security and you could find yourself in somebody’s private collection, or worse even, on the internet.
Here’s the view from inside the dressing room. (Yes, the bathroom bandit has struck again.)
And here’s what I saw when I looked over my shoulder:
I was pretty disgusted. There’s no warning, no sign on the wall about it, and I’m sure if I were to ask management about it, it would be excused away as “policy” and “assured” that the patron isn’t completely on camera (or something to that effect).
Nothing like feeling raped in a public dressing room!
Nice one, Goodwill.
******************************************
And to all of the pervs who keep pulling up my blog because you’re searching for “dressing room hidden cams [insert unsavory female anatomical references here]”- get a frikking life you sick &^%#.
Here. Click on THIS. You’ll thank me later. (Or maybe not.)
The New Blue Do
My son, and his new cotton candy do.
I think it’s rad.
50 MM/manual focus/manual exposure
Charity x 3
Today has been a pretty wild day. I’m still perturbed that Allstate wanted to give me a measly $2,100 for pretty much wrecking my life- temporarily. My conversation with the rep went something like this,
“Mrs. Lindsey, we’re able to offer you $1,700,” said the rep.
“Did you say one, or ten?”
[Rep snickers lightly]
“ONE.”
“Are you serious? Considering that I had to drop two of my classes last semester- with a doctor’s note excusing me from those two classes, had to repair my GPA-”
“Well Mrs. Lindsey, you didn’t actually have something from your doctor saying that the car accident caused you to have to drop out of school,” he said.
“Um, [rep’s name omitted for confidentiality’s sake], the doctor wrote the statement on a prescription pad. It clearly said MVA (motor vehicle accident) along with the names of the two classes right on there. Any lawyer or jury would absolutely agree that that’s legit.”
“Yeah but, we feel that it wasn’t actually the accident that made you have to quit school,” he said.
“Ok,” said I. “First of all, I didn’t ‘quit school’. I simply dropped out of my two most demanding classes due to the pain and stress caused by your client splitting my bumper. Secondly, I haven’t had to drop a class in years. Not even when my house was flooded and cracked in half a year and a half ago and my kids and I were put up in a hotel by the Red Cross. We had nowhere to go, and I had to ask my art friends in Australia for help. They pulled together $650 in an hour and a half, and we were in an apartment days later- and [rep’s name]…I was carrying four classes during that time and STILL didn’t drop any classes.” [And for the record, made all A’s and B’s.]
“Well…Mrs. Lindsey….” [insert more BS here]
I was able to talk him up to $2,100, and what a disgrace. As mentioned before, and somewhere else- you are NOT in good hands with ALLSTATE. No siree….
To the rep’s credit, he expedited things to the best of his ability and Fed Exed the check. I thought long and hard about settling for pennies practically, but, I was able to give my friend Jean (the homeless woman currently residing in an abandoned train car) $100 cash todayand a new cell phone with 750 minutes + text and internet. That in itself made it worth it to me.
I wanted to get my guitar out of the pawn shop and when I got there, I was told that I was a few days too late. The (very cool) guy behind the counter saw my disappointment and told me that he would see what he could do for me. He certainly did. He clicked around on the computer and said that it was still in the backroom, but he wasn’t able to return it. Nevertheless, he checked with his supervisor and was able, by the skin of his teeth, to pull some strings for me. (Um, no pun intended.)
A few minutes later, he came out with my beautiful, green Oscar Schmidt- acoustic electric:
I twisted up a $20 and handed it to the (cool) counter guy.
“Man, you didn’t have to do that. Here,” I said.
“I can’t take that,” he said, making funny faces in the direction of his boss.
I shoved it under the massive day planner on the counter and said, “The world would be a better place if there were more people like you. Here. Take it.”
And smiled and walked out.
I wasted no time in giving the guitar to Josh as a gift. ♥
I also gave each of my kids $50 for some spending money. We were in a grocery store parking lot and saw a man asking for change. Naturally, he hit me up.
“Hey, weren’t you at the Haven house?” I asked, shaking his hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, returning the smile.
I dug through my purse and gave him the equivalency of $3.00. I can’t help thinking that he was going to go straight to the liquor store and I really didn’t care. It’s a tough world out there.
“I think I’m gonna call that guy Liquor Store Lawrence,” my son said. I have a lively bunch. 🙂 It was several hours later when we were in Louisville, Ky. (minutes from the Kentucky Derby), and we saw a man on the street who was muttering to himself. He was fairly young with tattered clothes and a shabby toboggan. My daughter saw him looking through garbage cans. It made us all very sad.
“I think I’m going to give that guy some money,” Brianna said.
And moments later, while sitting at a red light in a congested intersection, she bolted from the back seat and sprinted across the street, shoving her $50 into his hand.
“Did you give him your $20?” I asked.
“No, I gave him 50,” she said softly.
“Are you serious, Sissy?!” I asked, not so softly.
“Dude, that’s probably the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen you do,” my son said to her.
I was completely stunned. She became my hero, immediately. To top things off, she was wearing this:
A beautiful kimono looking lingerie gown, with sneakers. 🙂
Not that we were out looking for homeless people today, but homelessness is rampant in this area. I ponder on this Scripture: Withhold not good from them to whom it is due, when it is in the power of thine hand to do it. (Proverbs 3:27)
We popped into the Greyhound bus station so I could use the ladies room. I couldn’t resist the lighting:
SP/ 50 MM 1.8 II/manual exposure/manual focus
I also couldn’t resist snapping these guys on the way out:
50 MM/manual focus/manual exposure
You have to be sneaky to snap pics of people without them knowing it (all while focusing the lens- I can’t stand autofocus and consider it taboo). Something tells me the guy on the right knew I was taking his pic…
It just kept getting weirder as the day drew on. The wind blew fiercely and we found ourselves facing this:
We took a detour and ended up here:
Not only can pigs fly, but pigs fly high. Literally. Look at its bloodshot eyes…
I was able to shoot a rare pic of my son outside of a music store. He dyed his hair blue today, although you can’t see it here:
I never in a million years thought I would be cool with my kid dying his hair blue. I guess I’m mellowing out as I’m growing older.
That’s not altogether a bad thing…
The Caretaker
“Is that a mop she’s carrying?” I asked my daughter.
“Looks like it.”
I pulled the car slightly behind the woman, who was making her way across the parking lot taking slow, methodical steps. I happened to have my Canon around my neck with my trusty 50 MM prime attached and ready to go. I went to work quickly, snapping away shots of this curious woman- I didn’t know at the time that she was homeless. It was Valentine’s Day. My daughter, who knows me all too well, said, “You’re not going to stop…”
“Of course I am,” I replied.
My daughter then realized that it was the same woman she’d had a previous encounter with, and not a friendly one at that. The woman had been using a grocery cart and my daughter had recognized the store and had asked her about it, while passing her on the street. The woman fired back a few semi-obscenities and continued on her way.
“You’re going to help her?” she asked.
“Yep.” Said I.
It was then that I recognized her. I had shot the residents at the Haven House (homeless shelter) two Christmas’s before: she was there that day, and allowed me to use her photo as part of the website’s pictorial. I knew that if I approached her with a DSLR around my neck and a myriad of questions, she would be put off. So, I basically rushed her with a big smile and a hug and asked her how she was doing.
“Hey, remember me? We were at the Haven House together!” This isn’t altogether untrue.
I could tell by her expression that she didn’t recognize me, but I held her with my smile and made small talk, making light of my camera. She warmed up to me quickly and began telling me her story.
She wasn’t a junkie, or alcoholic. She was once a registered nurse, who had suffered a series of unfortunate events in her life. She continued sharing her story with me, as we made our way back toward the abandoned train yard where she currently resides. The owner, who is a Christian man, allowed her to move into one of the cars four years ago.
“They call me the caretaker,” she said, pride intact.
“Do you want to see it?” she asked.
“Well yeah!” I said, hardly believing what I was hearing. She went on to tell me that she had no running water, no heat, no air conditioning, no electricity, no medical coverage, no car, no government check, no computer, no cell phone, and very little else.
“You’ve been living here for four years?”
“Yeah,” she said.
It was all I could do to not break down crying. We have a new, fancy bridge that’s being built in our city that’s costing millions of dollars, connecting Indiana to Kentucky. While that’s great and all, our transitional housing program has been cut- lack of funds.
“What’s your name- first name only?” I asked her.
“Jean.”
“Jean, I’m Birgitta.”
And we traded another smile.
“I can’t make any promises Jean, but I’m going to see what I can do for you. Tell me what you need; can you make me a list? I’m going to see what I can do to raise some money for you, ok?”
She made a small list of things, such as AAA batteries and other miscellaneous items, and I gave her my home and cell numbers.
“If there’s anything you can think of, call me, ok?”
Jean shared more of her story with me, and the plights of trying to receive medical treatment while being homeless. Our city’s main hospital, Clark Memorial, has an extended emergency room: the Behavioral Health unit. Because substance abuse is such an endemic problem in Southern Indiana, people who are thought to be mentally ill or exhibiting behavior associated with substance abuse are directed immediately to that area of the ER, and without question. They tell you that it’s simply part of the overflow area where they put people when it’s crowded. Because homeless people are stigmatized much of the time, and filed away quickly straight over to Behavioral health, many homeless people don’t receive the necessary treatment they need.
“I fell off my steps 10 days ago. Look,” Jean said.
She raised her shirt and pulled her pants away from her hip, revealing several large, yellow-green bruises that covered her backside.
“I can’t go to Clark Memorial because they’ll stick me in Behavioral Health.”
This too made me want to cry. I mustered my strength and fought to maintain my composure so that I could finish conducting the interview. Just then, two men with kind eyes and a pair of crutches came walking down the tracks, toward her train car.
“Here ya go, darlin’,” said one of the men to Jean.
And then Jean looked like this:
I introduced myself to them, quickly establishing the necessary street repoire that states clearly, “I’m one of you guys.”
After another quick round of shots, sans the gentlemen, I trotted back to my car, ending our rendezvous. I went back later that night, with a bucket list of things that I wanted to try to do for Jean, and a hot bowl of homemade chicken soup. As I made my way down the dark tracks, it was bitterly cold, and the desolation was palpable. I knocked on Jean’s door and she answered quickly.
“Yes? Who is it?” her voice carried a note of dignity and hospitality. She made her way to the door with a flashlight in her hand.
“It’s me- Birgitta. I have something for you.” I said. “I think you should know that I make the best chicken soup on this side of heaven,” I said with a smile.
That was two days ago. Last night was teeth-chattering freezing. I cried off and on throughout the evening, thinking of Jean in her train car; no lights, no heat, no t.v., no company.
When I mentioned online college, aka distance education, Jean had taken great interest. Having been a registered nurse, she might like to further her education, just as I’m doing. Josh happens to be in possession of a standard size construction trailer. It’s an 8×20 with a built in kitchen nook that looks like a diner from the 50’s, along with a tiny bathroom, door included.
I literally AM the poor, but I can’t keep something that might be of use to somebody else, especially in Jean’s situation. I’ve talked Josh into giving it to Jean, if she’ll be allowed to have it there. At least it has windows. I’m not going to let her know beforehand, but if she can have it, we’re going to fix it up with a bed, pictures (that I can provide myself, being a photographer and all), and other necessary amenities. I love surprising people. 🙂
I’m going to petition several small businesses and ask if they can donate their services (cell phone, laptop, wireless printer, etc.) so we can help Jean get her life back. I have a children’s book I’d like to market and promote, as well as a music album/CD I’d like to compile (being a singer/songwriter musician) and a virtual art gallery to create, but I’m putting everything on hold for a bit so I can at least offer Jean some reprieve. I have a lot of irons in the fire: it’s something that I’m used to.
Did I mention that I have an intestinal virus? And, TMJ (my jaws crack and pop like Rice Krispies when I open and shut my mouth it’s so bad, and extremely painful), scoliosis, and of course, the arachnoid cyst on my brain stem. The car accident back in October compacted every one of these afflictions- I have nerve damage as a result, along with other damaged areas. I’ve been so sick these past few days. (The insurance company, Allstate, who represents the lady who split my bumper, has offered me a paltry $1,700 for my pain and suffering. Um, are you for real Allstate? After I had to drop out of school last semester (with a doctor’s note), repair my GPA, have suffered unthinkable pain and suffering to my overall alignment- in my vertebrae, not my car) and am barely able to hang on to this semester due to all of the stress…and they offer me $1,700. Unbelievable. No, you are NOT in good hands with Allstate.
I could get a lawyer and duke it out for a year or so, but that would mean that I would have to go through the “doctor gauntlet”, being referred here and there. I know the drill- I’m a research hound and stay up on many things.
Poor J- he’s hurting everyday as he continues his decompression therapy several times per week. It’s no picnic! I’m concerned about his liver- he takes a lot of Ibuprofen, but basically, he lives uncomfortably and in pain much of the time. The car accident has absolutely turned our lives upside down.
Because I refuse to take prescription pain medication, and/ or anxiety medication, doctors aren’t sure where to go with me. They’ve suggested a number of medications for me to try, but the majority of the meds double as anti-depressants (the latest fashion in chronic pain meds) but I refuse to be a guinea pig after Topomax almost killed me. They’re quick to diagnose you with a conversion disorder if you’re a chronic pain sufferer, which in short, translates to “it’s all in your head”. (Which in this case, it is. Literally.) I’ll take my chances with cayenne pepper, ginger, green tea, a mile walk (when I can squeeze it in), and other homeopathic avenues.
As much as I regret it, I may have to cut my own throat and take the offer from Allstate simply because I want to set Jean up with an Android cell phone with a paid one year contract. That would at least give her a lifeline to the outside world via the internet.
I’m not driven by money- never have been- never will be. I am, however, going to add a PayPal tab here in this blog (up at the top, later), temporarily, so that whoever may have it upon their hearts to contribute to Jean, will be able to. I’m hoping to be able to collect at least a few thousand dollars for her. This is my target list for Jean, and what I’d like to get for her with outside help:
Medical coverage for 1 year
Inexpensive, but descent car
Paid car insurance for 1 year
Smart phone (Android) + 1 year paid coverage (internet)
Battery powered printer (wireless printer accessible from Smartphone)
Small Generator with (some) gas
Water filtering system (portable)
Laptop
Jean has given me permission to work on her behalf: Lord knows somebody needs to.
She’s grateful for all of the help.
Josh is going to use his awesome talents and make her a homemade walking stick/cane. We’re going to go soon and select a sturdy tree branch so that he can smoothen it, stain it, and shellac it. It’ll be another nice surprise for her.
If you’d like to make a monetary donation, the PayPal email address is: osakade@yahoo.com
Any and all contributions for Jean will be documented, systematically filed, and then made available for public viewing. Thanks again. 🙂
Now I’m going to go and collapse.
p.s.
The breakup letter worked. It’s been difficult, but I haven’t chewed on my cheek/tongue since I “dumped it”. (Hey, whatever works.)
xo
Breaking Up is (not so) Hard to Do
Dear bad habit,
I don’t know how to tell you this, but I just want to be friends I want to break up with you. You know I love you! And it’s not you- I swear- it’s me. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t like the way you’re constantly attacking me, and it’s like I have no time to myself. What you’re doing to me seems harmless, but it’s abuse, and I will not stay with somebody that abuses me. We’ve been together for 35 years. I know I’ll never see you again after today. I can’t say that I’m sorry about that. Goodbye. And thanks for everything.
-Birgitta
Van Gogh
A Van Gogh palette in the sky…
F/13
1/200 sec.
manual focus/manual exposure
50 MM 1.8 II/Rebel t3i
ISO 100
2.9.13
This one’s for you, M&M. xo
Charity
I’m not going to post a tab here, so that I can collect donations for myself. Although I would have good reason; since the recession, I spend much of my time scrimping and scrapping, much like many other people I know. But I’m quick to remind myself that there are lots of people who are worse off than me.
My heart is close to the homeless, particularly those in my town. Southern Indiana is chocked full of homeless people living under bridges. Many have lost hope completely; others, simply don’t know how to change their circumstances. I’m a former resident of the Haven House, which is the homeless shelter in my town.
Because of the discipline and structure that I gleaned from staying there, I was able to carry those valuable tools with me throughout my life. While I was in a housing program, known as, Transitional Housing, I was able to write my children’s book, “Peanut Butter Soup“, to inspire kids to reach for something greater in their lives, as well as having the opportunities to reach them in the areas of anti-bullying, being kind to the obese, the elderly, and impressing them to respecting all people of different races, creeds, and religions.
I’ve never let my limitations or titles placed upon me by others to define me, or hold me back in life. I want to do what I can for my community, and really change the system, because it is obvious that the current one is not working.
But I’m only one woman, and as much as I’d like to do, I simply cannot do alone. I’ve been able to accomplish quite a bit without a penny in my pocket: I simply do not give up. But, that said, monetary donations and contributions are crucial where the reconstruction and rebuilding of others’ lives are concerned, particularly those who are homeless.
For these reasons, I am posting the website address to the homeless shelter in my town, the Haven House. This particular shelter is very close to my heart, as are the residents. Many of the residents are caught in the vicious cycle of ongoing, perpetuated tragedies. If we can bring more money into the program, we can develop better programs that will not only help the residents there, but give them the life skills they need to succeed in life.
There is a Donate to Paypal tab located at the site. Any and all contributions are distributed directly to Haven House Organization, so that the funds can be allocated as needed.
Thank you so much your your care in this matter, and thank you in advance if you would like to contribute. Every penny makes a difference. I’ll be posting a tab at the top of the page here, so that it acts as a permalink, and will remain there.
♥
Photo Therapy (part 3)
There is a heck of a lot of chaos going on behind the scenes in my family right now, and I don’t mean my immediate family (altogether), but outside of my four walls. I live an interesting life for sure. Because of my walk that I’ve walked, there are those few family members that will always want to dig up bones in my graveyard.
I say go dig your own graveyard and leave my bones alone. I’ve made peace with much of what’s happened to me in my life. Some things, caused by my own stupidity- others, caused by those who cannot let go of their pasts. Sadly, I know many people who live in their pasts. It’s true that I rarely visit mine. I have memories, sure. Good ones, and lots of them. But I don’t hang on to the things that hurt me, and I certainly don’t invite others to a bitter banquet so they can feast on my rags. I’ve given all my rags away, to people who are much worse off than me.
I really do not understand how people can think they’ve got it so bad. And if you think I haven’t lived through some wicked stuff, you can read my Bio. We all go through trauma, disease, famine, humiliation, and other facts of life, but to grovel in a pool of your own vomit, and to stay in it by choice, so that others can pity you?
Moving on. I’ve sadly had to block several of my family members (again) because they simply cannot stop hating. Hate! Hate! Hate! It blows my mind.
I blocked them because I believe you have to put the negativity out of your life. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. But you don’t have to sit down and have tea with it either. I take my cue from Jesus, yet again. He was asked to come to the house of distraught parents. Their daughter had died. When He came to them, He told them that she was only sleeping. (I love that part.) They laughed him to scorn, the Bible says. Can you imagine? People wailing and grieving and seriously hurting, and then there are those who take pleasure to mock and laugh at such a time.
What did he do? He didn’t tolerate it one bit. That’s what. He tossed them out of the house, and he “shut the door”. I know when to shut my door. It may seem that I’m angry, but don’t mistake my strong stand in life for anger- I am grounded, completely, and pretty unshakable in my faith.
I have to regroup quickly when people are gnashing on me so viciously. I’m only human. Just because I’m a Christian doesn’t mean I don’t have anger and all of those other things. If you punch me in my face, I may punch you back and just say I’ll repent later. I’m still working on that “turning the other cheek” thing.
But on that note, I do know when to walk away from people who claim this or that, but cannot stop devouring you. I do know how to shut my door- Jesus taught me that one.
When I feel these things in my life, I choose to do things that are constructive. It does no good to sit around and stew in it, and really, you have to act quickly, because rage is like a cancer. It will eat away at every cell of your soul, and it feels so good to pay them back, but you’re only hurting yourself in the end. Every arrow that flies out returns to you. Make sure you send good arrows.
I choose photography. When I go out into a scene, I compose my surroundings. Photography forces me to change the way I see the world. I have to choose a focal point. (That takes your mind off of the wrong focal point.) No matter what you’re feeling, you can go out and capture a view of the world that is altogether different than the way you feel.
Bitter people chewing on my back has been my catalyst for change many times, to do good for others. It gets me out of that dark place, and pushes me toward my art- singing, writing songs, playing my guitar/keyboard and, photography- all of which allow me to see and feel beauty. I can choose to be happy, no matter what.
And so I am. 🙂
I’m not one to toss around rose petals (like Joel Osteen, no offense to him, love him truly, but he’s happy like…….10000% of the time. Sorry Joe, my car breaks down routinely and we’re scrimping for toilet paper half the time- it’s REAL up in this household if ya know what I mean…).
And so, I take pictures. Not in spite of, but because of all of the family chaos lately, I went out and shot this sunset. I’ve never been a landscape photographer and I’ve never been fond of “sunset shots”. It’s not that they’re not beautiful, I’ve never had the necessary growth as an artist to appreciate them, that’s all. I do now.
Who knew that the cruelty of my enemies would be the very thing to help me see beauty?
Thank you enemies.
And that is how I turn things around.
♥
On Christianity and Gay People
Well, if there are any other post titles that grab attention more than that one, I’d like to see it.
Lately, I’ve been angry. I can admit it.
I think of my sister, and I’m filled with rage, completely.
She is super- hyper-spiritual- and a hypocrite.
Hey, I call ’em like I see ’em.
We’re all raised Pentecostal in my family, and I know many people that have been raised Pentecostal, and are bitter. It’s a long story.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve become jaded. I’m sure of it.
I still cling to my fundamental Pentecostal beliefs. Believe me. But I’ve also been introduced along the way (in life) to a host of new kinds of people. Artists. Not only “artists”, but “flamboyant artists” who will march proudly in gay parades. I don’t agree with that, however, simply because, it’s freaking wrong to be full of yourself. Gay, OR straight. Have a dose of humility about ya, huh?
The problem I have is this. Not with the gay stuff- I get that. Contrary to my family, or the way I was raised to believe. I have learned along the way, that these people who are stigmatized, are very good people. They laugh, they love, they cry- they hurt- just like I do. My heart is very big. I am wrapped around their pain. I love my friends, truly.
Some of the most supportive people who have been by my side in life over the years, have been gay. I must say, my heart has been moved, and in a very big way, for the plight of my friends who feel ostracized and outcast by society- a society who cannot accept them for who and HOW they are.
Yes, my heart breaks for them. And don’t even get me started on all of the people I know who claim that they are “Christians” yet they slag on gay people. Really? So then, how does that work, that Jesus went to the possessed, the sick, the blind, the deaf, the dumb, the ME and the YOU- and healed them…put His very hands upon their heads…and what. Went His way?
I hardly think so. He was weakened every time He touched somebody new. His virtue bled out of Him and He was weakened. Believe me when I say, that there were plenty of Scribes and Pharisees that allowed Jesus to come into their homes- and hosted a party in His favour. They had heard of Jesus’ healing powers and stuff- they were intrigued. He entertained them. Not only that- He actually made a few friends out of them in the process. Also- He chastised the crowd. He let them know that their sins were no less than others’.
I love Jesus for that. He made friends with blind people. Deaf people. Possessed people. Gay people. Prostitutes. And many others of questionable reputations.
If you know somebody, who says they’re a Christian, and they “hate gay people”- ask them how they’re going to get into the Kingdom of God with all of that hatred?Just saying. That as a Christian community, it’s high-time we stop using gay people to thrash out our hatred, people who are “different”, and start loving ALL people, of ALL races, religions, beliefs, and sexes.
If you are reading this, and you feel mocked, scorned, unloved, or cast out- please feel free to write me at: rushingthunder@yahoo.com
It’s time we stop HATING. Entirely.
You are loved. Whovever you are.
Please know that. 🙂
And on that same note, if you’re a Christain, and you feel that you’ve been a target or hated by a gay person wrongfully, please. Have patience.
This thing goes both ways. Try to open your eyes and see it from either point of view. And I say that to either party.
xoxo
Taken tonight, at Deam Lake. Indiana
Yes, I am that Woman you Saw on TV
Ever since I spoke at the mayor’s office the other day, things have been a little weird. And by weird, I mean like, weird looks at stores and such. I generally do go shopping in my pj’s, but so does everyone else in this town. I never get more than a quick glance if I’m in my pj’s, but really, it’s winter, and it’s something that I only do in the winter; my coat covers me entirely.
I went to take care of my business the other day, and at several establishments, this was the response when I walked in, “Hey…I saw you on TV…”.
It’s a little surreal. I swear my voice was all shaky and nervous sounding but I was told that I sounded confident and strong. I wanted to drive my message home, “There is a direct correlation between homelessness and substance abuse, coinciding with the what’s known as the co-morbid factor, or, a preexisting condition of mental illness, which makes recognizing and defining mental illness challenging while trying to separate it from substance abuse.” Throw homelessness into the mix and you have several mirrored factors that entangle one another.
I noticed when I got up behind the podium, that none of the speakers before me had mentioned substance abuse where homelessness is concerned. There was talk of funding naturally, and while funding is crucial to change, so is targeting the source of the problem, which in many (if not most) cases, is substance abuse.
I announced that I’ve resided at a homeless shelter 13 times in my life (years ago), and was able to later build a website for my city’s homeless community without one penny to rub together with another. My message wasn’t about funding. I did that without any money at all.
I also mentioned that I would like to see homeless people helping other homeless people. Get up off your butt and work with the kids- be a good influence- plant good seeds in them that they’ll be able to take with them throughout their lives! When I was homeless, I taught the children how to play the guitar and the piano. I had arts and craft projects in the day room and taught them how to draw and make paper balloons. Later, when the shelter had no piano, I was able to have one donated from a church. I also donated copies of my children’s book, Peanut Butter Soup, to the kids there. I wanted to impress upon them that homelessness doesn’t have to mean hopelessness. You can’t sit and do nothing and expect your life to change. Oftentimes, it’s not the homelessness that is even the worst of the situation, it’s the mindset that accompanies it. Some homeless people are very bitter- they think the world owes them something and they have a chip on their shoulders. Believe me, I’m an expert in the area of homelessness and I’ve learned a great deal from people while living in the shelters.
Many homeless people are full blown junkies, and you better believe they’ll buy their dope before they even consider saving up for a place of their own. Giving a homeless person a house seems like the solution, but their substance abuse issues need to be addressed in tandem, otherwise, they’ll never gain the necessary tools they’ll need to rebuild their lives.
I mentioned in the meeting that unless a person goes outside of him or herself and actually does something for somebody else, there’s almost no way that they’ll ever be able to help themselves. When you do something good for someone else, your goals change. It’s not about “you” any more. Many people don’t have the drive to set goals for themselves and follow through. When you choose to do something good for somebody else, that goes into overdrive, and on top of that, you feel needed. Just because someone is homeless, doesn’t mean that they can’t volunteer at a home for the elderly, or go to a Boys and Girls club and be a mentor. You don’t have to have a home to be active in the community! I know what I’m talking about because I speak from experience. I’ve been able to get more done in my life without a penny in my pocket that I ever did when I had money in the bank.
After my speech, several news men came up and asked me my name. I later found out that I was on several tv stations and quoted in an article. My kids get a kick out of it, but it made my day when my daughter said, “Mom, I’m really proud of you.”
That’s the best feeling in the world. 🙂
So, to all of the people who’ve been giving me strange looks in the grocery store, yes, I am that woman you saw on TV, and yes, these are my pajamas!
Best Salad Ever: Southwestern Asian with Green Curry Dressing
It’s 4:56 a.m. and I just made the best salad I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been watching Chopped for years now, and must say, I’m a much better cook for it.
Here are the ingredients:
Salad:
Marinated skirt steak/cooked medium rare/cut into thin strips
Baby Spring Mix (greens) which include: green leaf, mizuna, green romaine, tango, green oak, green chard, baby spinach, arugula, frisee, tatsoi, mache, red chard, red leaf, lolla rosa, red romaine, red mustard, radicchio, red oak, and beet tops
Sliced scallions + white onion heads
Yellow corn
Portabella mushrooms/sliced
Red and yellow peppers/sliced
Dried cranberries
Toasted pumpkin seeds
Avocadoes/thickly sliced
Vine ripe tomatoes/quartered (6 small ones)
Fresh Gorgonzola cheese
Dressing
Vanilla yogurt (preferably, Greek)
Mayonnaise
Green Curry paste
Fresh lime juice
Kosher salt
Fresh cracked pepper
Since I created this salad, there’s no actual name for it. I suppose I’ll call it a Southwestern, Asian salad, with green curry dressing. It’s unbelievably delicious with an abundance of freshness and various layers and depths of flavour.
After grilling the skirt steak (medium rare), I let it rest for about six minutes. That locks all of the juices in. I then broke apart the fresh portabella mushrooms- I like my food rustic. No measuring is necessary. (I eyeball everything and it’s always just the right amount.)
Start cooking the mushrooms over medium-high heat with extra virgin olive oil. Throw in the sliced scallions, along with the white onion heads. I like my scallions to be fairly large- in fact, everything is cut or broken up into liberal pieces. It’s prettier that way, and you can savor what you’re eating- it’s not all mangled up like a chopped salad.
Slice up some red and yellow peppers and throw them in with the mushrooms and onions- again, big, generous pieces of everything. Toss in some fresh, yellow corn and braise the veggies until they carmelize and get a good roasted colour on them. Slice up some vine ripe tomatoes, along with some avocadoes- mix them up with the greens. Add some dried cranberries along with some toasted pumpkin seeds. Add some fresh gorgonzola cheese. Next, mix some mayo up with vanilla yogurt- about 1/4th of a cup each. Add a squirt of lime juice, some kosher (or sea) salt, three teaspoons of green curry paste, and some cracked black pepper. Mix.
Mix it gently together, the salad with the dressing. Voila.
(This goes well with a toasted baguette, thinly slice, flash-fried in olive oil, finished off with fresh rosemary and cracked black pepper.)
We topped off our late night feast with a fresh Au Jus pear and a blood orange.
Josh and I had tried to sleep earlier, but I was lying there thinking about food. I was going to snack on green grapes and fresh mozarella balls, but ended up making this salad on the fly instead. I can’t begin to describe how delicious it is: it’s all so juicy and fresh.
Is it really 5:27 a.m.?
Good grief. Time to hit the hay.
School is kicking my butt.
Au revoir…
Spring Mill Park in the Wintertime
Brianna, J, and I headed out to Spring Mill Park today. The place was completely abandoned (which was perfect) so we had it to ourselves. I have to say, I wasn’t missing the cheesy period costumes (women churning butter, old men at the apothecary, etc. etc.).
It was an excellent opportunity to get reacquainted with shooting in monochrome using the 50 MM + all manual controls (focus, exposure, etc.) I’m a stickler for manual focus.
Speaking of period costumes, here are a few shots from today:
That’s right. Real men carry their womens’…necessary things.
The heart of Pioneer Village.
An interesting growth atop the entrance to the garden.
Josh composes a shot using the trusty “road warrior”, also known as the Canon G3.
A quick self port. in the ladies restroom. Yes, those are pajamas…
Josh carries Chance in his jacket. All together now…”Awww….”
And this is why I’ve fallen in love all over again with the 50 MM. This bench shot is straight out of the camera. (Had to lay on my back in the snow to get the shot- but I got it.)
f/3.5
ISO 100
1/49 sec.
manual focus
manual exposure
m o n o c h r o m e j u n k i e † 