Revel

It comes on slowly - a yellowing leaf here, a ripening berry there, a cloudy day that cools the fire of late summer. Then, all at once, like an avalanche that's finally reached its tipping point, it hits. One day you're walking along the roadside, running your hand across the uncut grass, disturbing the locusts that are ever obliviously at play, and basking in the sun of a seemingly endless summer. The next, you walk out your door and find that it is fall.
There's a tingly magic in the air. The breeze flutters around your face, wafting smells of barbeque and campfires to your nostrils. The leaves rustle as they try to hold on for one last glorious tell-all show. The birds and insects even sound different - no longer do they hum carefree, instead their song has taken on a desperate note "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! We've only got a few weeks left." But, most of all, there's an undefinable feel to the world, and you know. As surely as you know that the sun is in the sky, you know that fall has come.
It's weather that lures you outside on picnics. It calls to you to sit on the dock and share a pipe with an old friend. To seek the hidden muscadines, purple and swollen with sweet, tangy juice, and roll them about your mouth before executing that final, satisfying, pop.The stars cajole you to sit and talk to them during one more glass of deep, red wine. You feel the sudden urge to go barefoot and to lie in uncut meadows, simply breathing in the last hurrah of everything around you. The wind calls you to explore hidden nooks and crannies with it and the now-tempered sun begs you to bask in its fading warmth.Or, it glints and shimmers on the water "It's not too cold yet; one more joyous plunge before you say goodbye." it and the lake plead. Everything is ending, at least for a time, and it cannot bear the thought of not saying a last farewell to you.

Farewell Sunset, 2010

Soon, in a week or two, your very bones will cry out to you that you must prepare for winter. The flurry of  harvesting, canning, baking and making soups and breads to sustain the soul will soon overtake you. But, for these few glorious days as late summer becomes early fall, none of that matters and all you can do is revel in the glory that surrounds.

An Open Letter to My Generation

           I was recently talking to a friend about weekend plans and how I had made commitments to do things with several of my “adult” friends. Mid-conversation, she looked at me and said “you know, I’m really kind of jealous of how many older women have taken you into their lives.” It got me thinking: why is it that I end up with so many friends of an older generation? There’s the obvious explanation – I was raised around everyone from babies to the elderly instead of spending over half my day almost exclusively with people my own age. But, more importantly, I was taught to interact with them appropriately and expected to do so.  I don’t think many of us now in our older teen to young adult years had this kind of education. So, in an effort to possibly correct this at least a little, I’m sharing some ideas about appropriate and inappropriate behaviours and, hopefully, how to end up with friends from an older, more experienced generation[1]. Because living on your own and not having to answer to your parents’ wishes and rules anymore doesn’t mean that you don’t have a responsibility to be a pleasant, enjoyable person for their generation to be around. And honestly, you’re missing out if you don’t take the time to forge friendships with people outside of your own age group.

Be Polite. Being over 18 does not give you the right to suddenly declare yourself an equal with anyone you may meet. Phrases like “yes ma’am,” “no sir,” “please,” “thank you” and “may I” still have an important place in your vocabulary. This will honestly never change. No matter how old you are or what positions or titles you hold, saying things like these is important. It has nothing to do with kow-towing to age or being subservient. It has to do with acknowledging another human being as a person with feelings. I “ma’am” seven year olds, not because I consider them “my elders and betters” but because they are humans and it’s nice. I’m not saying that everything out of your mouth should be preceded or followed by a “sir” or “ma’am” but if nothing ever is, I would urge you to examine your motives for refusing to do so.

           While we’re on the subject, use the proper titles. Unless they have specifically asked you do to otherwise, anyone above the age of about 40 should still get a “Miss,” “Mrs.,” or “Mr.” in front of their name. It is proper and polite, and I don’t care how much you disagree with this or how much you think it undermines your adulthood – do it. It irks me to no end when I hear otherwise sensible people my age refer to my godparents or other more mature friends by their first names – and I will continue to call them out on it every time. It. Is. Not. Ok.

Be Proactive. Do you think older people just come to me and say “please, you’re so wonderful, be my friend”? Heck no. I sought them out. I took advantage of their presence at social situations to get to know them. I offer to hold their babies while they fix their plates at potlucks, I volunteer to help the organizers of things like church dinners clean up afterwards, I go out of my way to make sure to greet them at group events, I sit up front on the transit so that I can chat with the bus driver[4]. And I don’t do this because I’m “networking” – that’s a horrible, self-serving way to look at all of your social interactions. I do it because I want to and because I would feel thoughtless, lazy and rude if I did not behave like this in social situations.

           But, if you really want friends from our parents’ and older generations, it takes more than just being nice in social situations. That may open a door for you, but you still have to walk through it. Let me tell you something, these folks know shit. Ask them for their advice, ask them for recipes, ask if you can just come talk to them sometime. You are not a shining beacon of glory that everyone is automatically dying to be around; if you want their time and attention you must give them yours.

Be Considerate. This is the flip side of my last point. Understand that people lead busy lives. They have houses, jobs, families, and other responsibilities to tend to. So, be considerate of that fact. Don’t show up to their houses uninvited, don’t pester, beg, and demand that they make time for you, and don’t act like they have an obligation to include you in their lives. They don’t. If they do take time out of their schedule to be with you, show a little gratitude. And if they tell you they’re too busy right now, accept that they more than likely actually are busy. It does not mean they don’t love you, or even that they don’t want to see you – it just means they have a life. They are not your parents, you have no claim upon their time and resources, it is not their responsibility to “be there” for you. It’s ok to ask them to include you as a friend, but understand that it is their choice whether or not they do that.

Learn to Listen. Many of our parents were raised with the mantra “children should be seen and not heard.” Justifiably, they hated it and swore to be more understanding and respectful of their own children (i.e., us) and that’s great. But sometimes, they went too far on the other end of the pendulum swing. This has left our generation as a whole with the belief that the purpose of communication is for people to listen to us. It’s not. Communication is about understanding another human being and their point of view. You know who cares about the minutia of your daily life and every childhood story you remember? You. Not friends your own age and certainly not friends who have more life experience and way more interesting stories to tell. It’s nice to share our stories and thoughts, but learn when to shut the hell up as well. If all you’re going to do is yammer on about your feelings on a subject, you might as well stay home and talk to the mirror or a tape recorder. Included under this is “don’t interrupt or talk over people.” It happens during the normal course of conversation sometimes, but try to avoid it, and if you do realize you accidentally did it, apologize and let the other person finish their thought. Again, this is not so much a “dealing with older folks” thing as a “how to not be odious to everyone you meet”[2] thing.

Be Respectful. This is a different thing than being polite, which we discussed above. Let me give you an example. I am pagan, I am thoroughly and openly so. It is not something I hide or something that is open to discussion and input from others. I also have a bit of a potty mouth – and I don’t see that as a bad thing. However, I know that my godparents have issues with both of these things. So, when I go over to see them, do you know what I do? I tuck my pentacle necklace into my shirt, I make sure that what I’m wearing isn’t openly flaunting pentacles or the like, and I watch my language when I’m in their presence. It’s not that they don’t know I have, wear, and say those things, it’s that I’m at their house and therefore respect their feelings enough to leave it alone. If they came to my house, I wouldn’t take my altar down or hide any of the magic things that are scattered throughout my home, but I’m not going to impose those things on them in their home. Don’t get so caught up in “being yourself” or “self expression” that you neglect other people’s feelings. I’m not saying don’t be who you are; I’m saying don’t make a big deal out of it and don’t force who you are on other people[3]. This goes for everyone around you, but doubly so for those who have a bit more right to be set in their ways.

Don’t Make Assumptions. Once again, this is one of those “how to be a decent person” things, but being a decent person contributes to friendships with those experienced enough to know better than to waste their time with self-centered children. Don’t assume things, and don’t overstep your boundaries.       If you’re invited over, it doesn’t mean that you can just show up with your friends, pets, or whoever you currently happen to be infatuated with. If you really feel that you must bring someone from the above categories, at least have the decency to ask if it’s ok first. Especially if the invitation is to dinner – just because someone wants to cook for you doesn’t mean they want to cook for whoever you may drag with you.

          Don’t assume that it’s ok to “drop by” unexpectedly – not even if you “just want to bring a gift.” If that’s truly what you want and the item is perishable or time sensitive, call ahead, make sure it’s a good time, drop the item off, then leave. Otherwise, just wait until the next time you plan to see the person anyway. Insisting that someone make time for you to bring them something, especially if you expect that time to include talking and hanging out, is nothing more than trying to bribe them into tolerating your presence with an entry fee. That’s not being nice, that’s being passively-aggressively demanding.

          Don’t assume that someone is “free” just because you know they’re not at work. And don’t assume that if they are free they want to see you. Sometimes, all of us just want to sit in our house and not see other people – even ones we love. Respect that desire.

           In today’s world of cellphones and constant communication, there is no excuse for “just dropping by.” Call or text ahead; it’s only polite.

           I would like to see our generation not be known for its inability to grow up and function in an adult society. But we have to work to make that happen. We are the turning point – if we don’t learn how to handle ourselves, how can we ever expect the generation below us to do so? Maybe many of us born in the 80s and 90s were subjected to a lot of what could be called “experimental parenting.” Well guys, I hate to say it, but a lot of those experiments were less than successful. I’m not saying the old fashioned way was perfect or that we should entirely go back to it, but manners, common sense, and decency need to make a comeback. Let’s make that happen.

[1]This in no way should be taken as saying the friend I was talking to does or does not do any of these things, I honestly haven’t seen her outside of a college-aged group enough to have an opinion on that matter.

[2] 99% of the people I know who complain about their lack of friends willing to hang out with them suffer from an inability to grasp this concept. No one likes being talked over, and no one likes to have stories – especially not stories they’ve already heard – shoved down their ear canals.

[3] Another area I often see this one violated is the playing of music. The world is not your personal music studio – unless you are in your own home or all by yourself, either find something everyone is happy listening to or don’t play music.

[4] Seriously, those old men and women have awesome stories – many of them are even war veterans. If you ever ride the Tiger Transit, try it sometime. You may be surprised at how lovely your conversations with them can be.

Juxtaposition

Run, run, run. Go to bed too late, wake up too early. Go to work. Hurry to the store. Rush to the other job. Feed the cats. Pacify the neglected bird. Try to find time for cleaning house, laundry, dishes, vacuuming. Try to maintain some semblance of a social life. Run to the university and try to pry information out of the myriad levels of bureaucracy. Run, run, run. Rush, rush, rush. Never get a chance to stop.
Come home, sink my hands deep into the soil. Feel it seep into the crevices around my fingernails. Sift through it, breaking up the lumps and the roots of plants from seasons past. Absorb it; feel the bugs, the microbes, the fungus - the soil as a living organism. Smell the damp, musty richness. Dig holes. Pull seedlings from their pots. Separate the roots. Comfort the pain of separation from a sibling, a parent, a friend. Whisper words of growth, encouragement, and beauty to them. Smell the fresh scent of the greenery.  Slip them into the dirt. Pat their roots. Sing Cat Stevens to them. Breathe. Feel the world slip away. Remember why my spirituality is and forever shall be rooted in the earth.

Christmas is Not a Weapon

     "Merry Christmas!" The middle-aged man shouted at me as he walked past. I was on my way into Hobby Lobby to grab a few crafting supplies to make Christmas and Yule gifts. At first, I was confused by the vehemence and ire in his voice. Sure, I had almost cut him and his wife off as I got out of the car (I didn't see them coming up) but apologies had been said, smiles exchanged, and we had all moved on our merry ways. Until that shout back over his shoulder thrown back in defiance and outright hatred. What had I done to deserve this? Then I realized - my tiny silver pentacle was hanging on the outside of my shirt, where he doubtless would have seen it when we almost bumped into each other. It apparently took him a minute to realize what it meant, and that I was probably the type of person who recognizes more than one holiday during this season. Thus, he threw his "Merry Christmas" at me like the curses his conservative soul wanted to utter.
     Last year, I worked in a drive-thru for a blatantly conservative Christian company. It being the holiday season, we usually offered seasonal salutations to our customers as they completed their business with us and drove away. I found that it did not matter what I said, someone was going to be offended. If I said "Happy Holidays" I would almost invariably have "Merry Christmas" thrown back in my face, accompanied by a scowl. But, even in the midst of the Bible-Belt, saying "Merry Christmas" also earned me glares from people who stuck their noses in the air and, with all the confidence that comes from knowing that you are morally superior and far more culturally understanding than the plebe you are speaking to, corrected me with "Happy Holidays." After the 10th or 11th experience like this, I gave up and just told people to have a lovely day. At least that's not considered offensive - yet.
     People, there are 7 holidays between October 31st and January 1st - and that's not even getting into really obscure stuff like Garifuna Settlement Day or Saturnalia. Some people celebrate all of these, some celebrate some and not others, some don't celebrate at all. Regardless of what you celebrate, if someone wishes you a Merry Christmas, Happy Halloween, Blessed Yule, Happy Hannukkah, or Joyous Day of The Deity-They-Just-Made-Up, they are expressing a friendly sentiment. They are saying "I am happy this day because _________; may you also be happy." Why can't we just take it as such?
     Now, if I know you celebrate Christmas, I'll tell you "Merry Christmas," if I know you prefer Yule, or are Jewish, I'll substitute those holidays for my seasonal greeting. Why? Because I'm not saying it for me. But sometimes, if you're a stranger in the street or someone of similar ilk, I may not know what holiday(s) you hold dear. So, I default to things like "Happy Holidays" (a pleasant catch-all for everything you may or may not celebrate at this time of year) or "Merry Christmas" (which is, after all, the dominant holiday in this portion of the world.) You know what? No matter what I say, it doesn't mean that I am assaulting whatever traditions you love. I'm merely trying to be nice.
     Seasonal greetings are a way of saying "I acknowledge you as a person, and I hope you are happy and blessed." As a society, we've managed to turn them into weapons to hurl at those who we perceive to be our enemies - "the Liberal Left," "those close-minded conservatives," "non-Christians," "backwards rednecks." Can't we just use and accept salutations in whatever form they may come as the friendly greetings they were intended to be? There is no "War on Christmas" or culturally imperialistic hidden agenda. These things we say to each other are not weapons. It's just people, wishing other people well.

Happy Zombie Jesus Day! Or, Why Easter is the Most Terrifying Holiday

My friends and I are always preparing for the Zombie Apocalypse. Whether we are plotting who will be in charge of acquiring which supplies, or arguing over who should be in our survival team (one must possess demonstrably useful skills, be easy to put up with for the rest of our lives, and pass one easy test), it is always at least at the back of our minds. But I realized yesterday that we have overlooked a potential zombie scenario - and we all know that overlooking such scenarios is what gets people killed. So, below are the 5 reasons Easter is terrifying.

1. Jesus rose from the grave. And what do we call someone who is buried and manages to claw their way out of what is supposed to be their final resting place? That's right, a zombie.

2. He brought other dead people with him. Matthew 27:52-53 "The tombs were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the tombs after His resurrection they entered the holy city and appeared to many." In other words, the death and resurrection of Jesus unleashed a plague of zombies on Jerusalem.

3. Even that wasn't the first time Jesus had caused zombies. Ever hear of Lazarus? Yeah, he'd been dead 4 days before Jesus turned him into a zombie.

4. It's in the Old Testament too. Ezekiel 37:14 "Then you, my people, will know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves and bring you up from them." Wait, you mean that zombification has been the plan all along? Sounds like it to me.

5. He's planning on coming back and making MORE zombies. Check out 1Thessalonians 4:16 "For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first." That's right kiddos, Jesus is planning on coming back - and he's bringing zombies! 

So, next time someone says "Happy Easter" to you, just remember that they're really wishing you a happy zombie apocalypse.

Turn, Turn, Turn

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave birth to it comes again.

     Nostalgia stalks me lately. It's waiting in old blog entries, in the halls I walk through, on the balcony of the building next door that I must pass every morning, on every shelf and in every box in my house. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to leap out and suffocate me with memories that can never again be wholly untainted by pain. 

     This town is haunted by ghosts of the living. The young'uns don't see the 6'3" man in a purple kilt sauntering down the hall. They don't hear the Disney songs being sung, smell the heavy cigarette smoke on the 3rd floor balcony, or feel the girl with the dragon tattoos slip up and surprise them from behind. But it's all there. Just beneath the surface, all of these people are there. As am I. I turn around some days, and I see the girl I used to be sitting under the tree, or skipping down the halls. I wonder if they know that they've left phantoms behind. I wonder what I've left behind in my old haunts.

     I was talking to my dad the other day about cycles and the ebb and flow of people in and out of our lives. It seems that I continually spiral through phases of meeting many new people, falling in love with them as people, and then watching the tribe dwindle and be pruned down until it's just me again. It's a beautiful, awful, natural, horrible cycle. But the Wheel turns.

     I think I've begun the long process of saying goodbye to this place. I've lived here longer than anywhere else now. Maybe I've stayed too long. Maybe I'll come back and stay forever. But never again in this particular phase of life. So everything takes on the poignancy of being "the last." The last fall I'll spend here, the last Syrup Sopping, the last time I'll register for classes, my last Halloween as a college student. It makes me treasure each event deeply, even while I'm chomping at the bit to move on to the next phase of life.It makes me difficult to be around some days. This place is profoundly mine, yet it no longer belongs to me. I've poured sweat, blood, and tears into this town - but I'm fading away into nothing more than a ghost. And I see the other ghosts fading as I slip away. For who will remain to remember the glory days? The long, lazy afternoons spent under the Happy Tree of the Happy People, the exploits of the Foy Table crew, Campus Climbing, the dinners in Broun Basement? And do the places that hold those memories become different places when no one sees the spectres that pervade them?

     I walked by the Tree today. There were two girls spread out under it, chit-chatting and doing homework. Making their own memories. Memories that one day they will also surrender to the usurping younger generation of students. And I was happy for them. Happy that they didn't yet know that they were becoming ghosts. Other people now haunt the nooks and crannies that I once loved so dearly. And that's the way it should be. The Wheel turns indeed.

Revisited and Revised

It took me most of the afternoon, but I managed to merge the Google account with my old blogger account - which means that I can actually use this again now. It needs work though. Expect changes and improvements in the near future. Shoot, maybe I'll even remember to write more often.