50 years ago, I started on a life-changing path

I realized recently that, exactly 50 years ago, I was in kindergarten. It was at a time when kindergarten was a radical idea in most of the USA - most kids were NOT in kindergarten, because there weren't that many and it wasn't required. I also attended preschool there. And for that, my mother got some pushback from her in-laws, my paternal grandparents, who felt strongly that she should stay at home with her children all day. And this radical idea of pre school and kindergarten was embraced by a Baptist church in my hometown in Kentucky. Yes, a Baptist church, one that my family didn't even attend. I miss those days when Baptist churches were radical in the right ways...

I loved kindergarten. My teacher was "Miss Pat." We sang, we had naps, we had snacks and we learned our letters via the Letter People (Mister T had Tall Teech, Mister M had a munching mouth, Miss A was sneezing "Achoo", etc. I remember one class where we each got to be a country. I wanted desperately to be Mexico, but wasn't - and I don't remember what I ended up being. 

This experience, plus Sesame Street, plus my grandmother reading to me regularly, is where why my vocabulary grew so much. It's where I learned to ask fully developed questions and to be able to explain more, being able to talk about my cat or a movie I saw or something I wanted to be someday. I was a sponge, and at last, I was getting to drink in knowledge - something I was oh-so-thirsty for. I liked being on my own, learning to manage my own things, my own "work space." And I loved playing with other kids - the kids in kindergarten were so much nicer to me than the kids in my neighborhood. They didn't bully. We all just seemed to want to have fun, and we wanted everyone else to have fun too. 

I remember only three students though: Demetrius, my mother's favorite, who I met again in junior high as DD, the most popular guy in school; a young girl with red hair who didn't seem to understand the concept of ownership and thought everything was hers for the taking; and a guy whose name I never forgot, I don't know why, but in his 30s, he was involved in either the murder of a woman of the disposal of her body, and killed himself as police were closing in. 

I remember the Fall of that year, when I started first grade, and watching some of the kids who had not gone to kindergarten: they were screaming, wrapped around their mother's ankles, begging to be taken away. They struggled in the classroom. In each grade, every time I would watch them talk back to a teacher, try to cheat on a test, or struggle with reading aloud, I'd wonder if it was because they didn't go to kindergarten.  

I'm so grateful that my usually very conservative mother put me in pre school and kindergarten. It should be an experience every child has. 

Ongoing recovery from creeps

In August 1989, I was the target of profound creepiness as I walked to work. I don't want to say more, but the incident was creepy, it was violating, and it was emotionally scarring. He never touched me - never even got out of his car. But every woman - every woman - knows that creeps don't have to get anywhere near them in order to make a woman feel like she has no safe space. It's what creeps do. 

I walked quickly the two blocks to work, angry and disgusted and wanting to get away quickly but, you know, not make too much of a fuss. I told the receptionist, a dear friend, what had happened and said, "But since he didn't get anywhere near me, and didn't threaten me, I don't even know if I should call the police." 

She picked up the phone and called the police as I ended my sentence - there would be no discussion about whether I should or shouldn't. I'm grateful for her decisiveness. 

I gave my report over the phone, and then went into the bathroom. I was starting to feel sick. And discombobulated. And frightened. And filthy, like I was covered in muck. A few minutes later, my friend came in. And slowly, other women started trickling in. Word was spreading what had happened. And 10 minutes later, we were all sitting in a circle on the bathroom floor, and they were each sharing all the times a stranger had been creepy. They all had stories - while jogging, while at the public library, while at a bar, while at a swimming pool, and on and on. And I realized they were all still affected by whatever the incident - or incidents - had been. It made me feel profoundly better to know that these women, all incredibly strong willed, all with the ability to be even more pushy than me, had all been the target of a man trying to reduce them, trying to humiliate them, delighting in hurting them. 

They were all adamant that I had done the right thing in calling the police, and that my feelings, all of them, were absolutely valid. I will love them all to my dying day for their understanding and compassion. 

All of this came back today, more than 30 years later, when a neighbor experienced quite an aggressive creep as she left a volunteering gig. Sadly, the police who saw the man make a sudden, illegal turn literally threw up her hands, looked amused and drove away - yes, my friend saw the police officer do this. Also sadly, no one witnessed the man being aggressive with his car, or heard him say what he said - so there's nothing they can do. As she said, the police seemed like they had other things they'd prefer to be doing, and didn't seem too worried about the inaction of their sister officer. Which is typical of the police of the town where I live in Oregon. 

I've done what I can to help my friend emotionally and will continue to, always. I wish she could come back with me, in time, to that magic circle of women, and have her moment of comfort and care and affirmation from those wonderful people. 

A last note about my own situation: four days later, the man who targeted me was waiting for me again in his car as I walked to work. I hurriedly ran to the guard booth of a parking garage and began screaming "Call the police, call the police!" The police came and weren't as friendly as they had been on the phone - after all, the guy hadn't touched me, I hadn't even looked into the car this time as I passed, I'd just RUN. They asked me at least three times why was I so upset.

A day later, the creep who targeted me murdered a bank vice president. He abducted her a short distance from where he'd targeted me. He attempted to rape her after abducting her, she ran, and he shot her at point-blank range. 

Listen to women. Hear us. And take our fear seriously. 

For Six Months, Let's Force Civilization on Facebook

We could all shake up Facebook - and maybe even derail it entirely - by quitting it. And Facebook needs a shakeup - a drastic shakeup. Facebook created algorithms that have amplified hate and misinformation. People are seeing an onslaught of misinformation about vaccines, about COVID-19, about nutrition, about elections and more BY DESIGN. 

But many of us stay in contact with friends and family through Facebook. We know about people moving, changing jobs, births, deaths and more because we follow our friends on Facebook. That's essential info. And until a better social media platform comes along, we're just not going to switch back to email. 

So I want to challenge you to commit, for six months, to making Facebook a better place. It doesn't mean not posting opinions or debating. Not at all. It means making this commitment:

For the next six months, I will work to increase the amount of positive and/or real, first-person content on Facebook, in order to disempower the negative elements on the platform. I will not be less politically active or avoid posts about things I am angry about, but I will counter that with content that’s uplifting to both myself and my friends and colleagues. For the next six months, I will help make the platform of value to ME, personally, regardless of what its owners and “sponsored content” might do.

For the next six months, I will post:

• photos of myself having a nice time, whether that’s in a beautiful exotic place or my backyard.
• photos I took myself of sunrises, sunsets, and skies and weather I find interesting or beautiful.
• recipes I have actually tried and liked, and I will comment about when I tried them and why I liked them.
• dates and information for events happening in my community I want others to know about, from a high school band concert to a farmer’s market to a yard sale.
• funny or insightful things my family or neighbors have said (not memes).
• photos of my own pets, or photos I have taken of other people’s pets.
• anything I’m proud of in my life, whether it’s learning to play something on a piano or not forgetting to put the trash out.
• about a class I’m taking.
• about a book I’m reading.
• about a TV show I’m watching.
• about a movie I enjoy.
• about an album I’m enjoying.
• about a memory that has made me smile (not a meme).
• dates to help people in my community be more civilly engaged: deadline for registering to vote, how to find out if you are registered to vote, date of upcoming school board meeting, date of upcoming city.
• council meeting, date of a candidates’ forum/debate.
• photos from around my neighborhood.
• anything that celebrates one of my own family members or neighbors or friends.
• news about my new home, my new job, my new project, whatever.
• questions I think my friends can help answer.
• anything I’m grateful for.
• how much I’m looking forward to any sporting event, movie, vacation, whatever.
• my broken TV, my plate that I just broke on the floor, a flat tire, whatever, with a comment about how I’m dealing with it, or how annoying it is.
• a photo of my new shoes.
• a photo of the old, worn hiking boots I’m throwing out and a comment about all the places they’ve been.
• the ridiculously long line you are dealing with in the course of your day.
• apologies for anything I posted that turned out not to be true.

That will make Facebook a place where regular humans are creating most of the content that we see - not algorithms, not AIs, not some big marketing firm. 

I am also going to keep posting those things which some brand as "negative." Those are part of who I am. Those are part of meaningful social discourse.  I will post the following "negative" things if I want to, however, I will post much more of the aforementioned group of topics than this:

• memes that make me laugh or think.
• memes that make me laugh or think.
• my own political opinions.
• special offers from businesses I support (free drink with the purchase of a hamburger!).
• things I’m angry about.
• things I’m sad about.
• things I am scared about.
• things I think are dangerous.
• things I don’t like.
• jokes.
• sarcastic observations.
• criticisms.  

I will NEVER post:

• something I claim is mine but is actually the work of someone else.
• unverified news. 
• unverified quotes.
• something that gives me a strong emotional response as I read it UNLESS I have made absolutely sure it's true and, after doing so, I believe it's something people need to read too. 
• results from any online quiz that isn’t a quiz by a verified news organization, a nonprofit organization, a research institute, etc. (“Here’s what color my name represents…”
• answers to questions on pages that are not my friends that ask questions like, “What food do you hate at Thanksgiving every year” or “What was the name of your childhood sweetheart.”

Ready to make the commitment?

British Bluegrass

So, now that Tom Hiddleston plays guitar, sings and yodels (per the Hank Williams biopic), and Benedict Cumberbatch plays a little banjo (per The Power of the Dog), when are they starting their bluegrass band? & what will it be called? & where do I get tickets?

Let's start a rumor they will be debuting at SXSW.

Name ideas:

• Hiddlebatch
• Sherloki
• Thames River Pastie Boys
• Lonesome Bluegrass Brits
• Foggy City Bluegrass Blokes
• British Biscuit Boys
• Front Porch Crumpet-Stuffers
• The Hiddlebatch Boys

First two and the last one are other people's ideas. I think the last one wins.

F*ck, Ted Lasso!

Various people bugged me for years to watch Buffy: The Vampire Slayer (the TV show, not the movie). And I refused. Why would I watch a show with such a dumb name, one that was obviously about some girl all full of angst over some gorgeous vampire, season after season? Little did I know I had predicted the dumb Twilight books and movies with those thoughts. 

I gave in when, living in Germany, a box arrived of taped episodes from a friend who was tired of my nonsense. So I watched - and learned Buffy: The Vampire Slayer was one of the smartest, most complex, creative shows ever on TV. At times, it really hard to watch, because it was the worst moments of high school and university, presented in demon-form... but it was cathartic. And SO fun. 

No one was telling me I should watch Ted Lasso, but I just kept hearing how it was so brilliant. And I SO did not want to watch it. Because, for what little I knew, it was a series making fun of Americans, making fun of having a positive, upbeat outlook, of trying to be a good person, of trying to be nice. I expected a series where snarky, smart British people would continuously roll their eyes at the stupid overly-positive American football coach. And I just didn't need it in my life. 

Now, let's be clear: I am a snarky and somewhat smart person and I have rolled my eyes at stupid overly positive American football coaches. And I'm darn good at British accents. 

I'm so glad I didn't read any reviews of the show. I'm so glad I stayed away from anything written about the show. And I'm so glad I accidentally subscribed to Apple+ for a month because I thought the Beatles documentary, Get Back, was on it (nope - it's on Disney+). I thought, okay, what the hell, I'll watch this damn show. 

How good is this show? I watched season one of Ted Lasso in 24 hours. Stefan hates TV. He hates movies. He's already watched half of season one - yes, I'm rewatching it. He watches an episode and then says, "Let's watch another." HE NEVER DOES THIS. 

First off: you can watch all of Ted Lasso for $5. Yup, just $5. You can get Apple+ on whatever advice you use to watch Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, whatever. I use my Roku device. It's the best $5 I have ever spent in my life. If you are thinking, "Oh, I'll just wait for this to be on regular TV", it will NEVER be on regular TV, because of it's incredibly adult language and adult "moments" - there's no nudity, but there are... moments. 

If you haven't seen it, and you are maybe sort of kind of thinking about it, please don't read anymore. Please just pay the damn $5 and watch it. You don't want to know anything more about it than you might already know. Trust me. Just one thing: you may need subtitles. Whew, those are some strong accents... 

I knew I was going to write about this show. I just didn't know when. But tonight, after a particular moment in Season Two, I had to write. And if you know me, I bet you know the moment. 

I have always wanted to be buoyant. Effervescent. With no apologies. And around certain people, I could be: as a child, I could be that way around my paternal grandmother, who never said, "Oh, stop being so dramatic." Who never mocked me and called me "motormouth." Who never rolled her eyes at me. Every time other family members, or friend, or teacher, made those little mocking comments, I'd get a little more withdrawn. And by the time I was at university, I had the moniker of being angry and quiet by a lot of folks. I was good with it. It beat being made fun of. 

I held back being me for so many years. And if you knew me in high school or at Western or in New England or Austin and you don't think of me that way, you don't think of me as withdrawn or cautious, congratulations: you were so wonderful to me and made me feel comfortable and I decided to let me guard down. Or you were an ass who made me comfortable just to mock me later - there were those, certainly - and you suck eggs for that. But most everyone else, especially everyone in California, saw a very scared mess who let every humiliation chip away at her, who second-guessed everything she said or did, and who often didn't say what she wanted to say or do what she wanted to do, for fear of judgment or rejection.  

Austin, Texas healed me from hurts that I never thought I'd overcome. And Germany, and my wonderful friends at the United Nations, and my polar opposite that I married: you cut me loose. And I will always love ya'll for it. For about a decade, I was me, no apologies. I was Ted Lasso. It was terrific. 

Then I moved to Oregon. I was still that person. I was Ted Lasso. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart. 

Oregon - the entire state, as well as, specifically, Forest Grove and Portland - worked hard to kill Ted Lasso. They have driven me right back under that dark cloud of reservation since moving here in 2009. 

I'm tired of the smug comments about my accent. I'm tired of watching people bristle when I try to participate in an event or meeting. I'm tired of saying, "Good morning" and watching people - NEIGHBORS - drop their eyes as they pass, or cross the street when they see me coming. I'm tired of saying "Thank you!" and watching people smirk or frown. I'm tired of moments like this. I'm tired of two-faced Oregon friends who pretend to care and behind your back are delighting in all that they think is wrong with you. I'm tired of being dismissed again and again from consideration for a job or inclusion simply because I'm not a Pacific Northwesterner. I'm tired of being Carol fucking Milford in Gopher Prairie, Minnesota. 

I was more welcomed in Kabul. 

Combined with the almost 63 million people that voted for a misogynist racist, fascist and wannabe dictator - I was just done. Fuck all ya'll. I decided I would be the person who walked down the street not making eye contact, not saying hello, and crossing the street when I saw someone coming - which I did long before COVID. When all the anti-vaccination bullshit happened, I wasn't surprised - have you not been listening to people for the past damn decade? When people were surprised at the return of book bans, of white people pulling guns on peaceful protestors, of the insurrection at the capital, of a governor creating his own militia, I was the one who smirked. I was the one rolling my eyes. 

It was so much easier not trying to be nice, and letting loose anger when I felt it. It really was. That part, I enjoyed very much. I even felt good being smug. But it was sad not believing that you should just be you and screw what anyone thinks. Not believing that, in fact, people really are, at their core, good at heart. Not believing.   

And now I'm watching Ted Lasso. It's the best-written, most thoughtful, hilarious thing I have seen since Sherlock. I put it in the top five best things on TV ever. When I've teared up while watching, until tonight, it's been from joy, or from feeling touched by a beautiful moment.

But tonight, I cried. Very hard. Noises were made. And I have to take a break for a few days before I continue Season 2. And, again, if you know me, and you've seen the show, you know why. But maybe now, if you've seen it, you also know why I was so bouncy in my late 30s and early 40s. I knew that I knew Ted Lasso, but I couldn't figure out why I knew him so well. Now I know.  

A show about goodness, kindness and hope. About being nice. Things I'd almost given up on.

Also, a show that is a complete refutation of toxic masculinity. Wow, THAT was so needed now.  

Still not sure if I'm going to start saying "Good morning" again though. 

Maybe it doesn't get better?

I loved the It Gets Better campaign created by Dan Savage and Terry Miller to discourage suicide among LGBTQ youth. Reflecting on one death in particular in his Savage Love column, he wrote, "I wish I could have talked to this kid for five minutes. I wish I could have told Billy that it gets better. I wish I could have told him that, however bad things were, however isolated and alone he was, it gets better." 

I believe the message is realistic and appropriate and right on - and not just for gay teens. I loved how the message was picked up by so many people across the USA to tell all young people suffering from isolation and in fear - gay or not - your life will improve, things do get better after your teen years. 

I believed in the campaign because I believe it is the truth, that if you can survive the bullying, harassment, insults, belittling, fear and insecurities of your teen years, you will get to leave that situation and be more in control of your life as you move into adulthood. It gets better. It's true. 

Now, I'm in my 50s. And things are dire in ways that are a lot like those teen years. And I'm not sure it gets better. 

For women in our 50s, it seems that society, from TV commercials to TV show characters to activities promoted to our age group, believes that our lives are supposed to be focused on our children or grandchildren, or going to a local casino. The idea that some people over 50 might not want to limit their lives to those roles, or not have those roles at all, is met with confusion and disbelief. I had a person tell me I should check out the local senior center because there's a lot going on. Here's what I found: bingo, free lunches on Fridays, a monthly accordion concert, workshops on how not to get scammed on the Internet, and a bus that leaves every morning for a nearby casino, and returns every evening. If those appeal to you, good for you, but to me, I'd rather watch paint dry. 

Most every woman I know in their 50s is struggling with mental health issues. We're experienced professionals - managers, program directors, journalists, graphic designers, human resources specialists, accountants and on and on - yet no one wants our expertise. I'm seeing women all around me pushed out of our careers. I'm not able to find work worthy of my skills and expertise and I'm not being taken seriously in job interviews. Doctors don't listen to me during appointments. We're also ignored when trying to get involved in activist work or even just when trying to get service, especially in a crowded bar or restaurant (pre-COVID, of course), we get funny looks when we show up at Marvel movies or kayak lessons, and for those trying to date, forget it: men in their 50s want women in their 30s, or younger.

And the pandemic has made things even worse. 

Referring to her anticipated disappearance on her upcoming 50th birthday, the writer Ayelet Waldman said to an interviewer, 

I have a big personality, and I have a certain level of professional competence, and I’m used to being taken seriously professionally. And suddenly, it’s like I just vanished from the room. And I have to yell so much louder to be seen.

It me. 

Among the many reasons I love riding a motorcycle is because when I tell people I ride, or they see me next to my motorcycle or carrying my gear, THEY SEE ME. Suddenly, I'm a living, breathing, interesting person, worthy of attention and respect. I would ride even if that didn't happen, but I absolutely love it when it does. Also, I believe what I've spent on motorcycles, equipment, gas and travel expenses is a lot cheaper than a decade of therapy. 

But not every women can take up motorcycle riding - or wants to. And I won't be able to ride forever. And I can't ride every day. 

In so many ways, I'm feeling like I did as a teen. I feel invisible. I feel like I don't matter. I'm feeling like life is passing me by. Whereas when I was a teen I felt like good years were too far in front of me, out of reach I feel like good years are too far behind me, that they aren't coming back. 

It gets better isn't working for me, or for most women in this age group. Because we don't see how it can be true. 

If you read this blog in 2018, you know I've experienced this feeling for a while. 

Also see Gen X, struggling for employment? I hear you

Here's what I think "senior" centers should actually be, FYI. 

I have had a most rare vision.

I love saying various actors' names into my Roku device and seeing what movies or old TV shows might be available for free. 

And it was in doing so that I found the 1968 A Midsummer Night's Dream for free on Pluto TV last night (via my Roku device), featuring a lot of very young British actors that are now giants of stage and screen: David Warner as Lysander, Diana Rigg as Helena, Helen Mirren as Hermia, Judi Dench as Titania, Ian Holm as Puck and lots more familiar faces, all young and fresh and earnest and fearless. (you can easily guess which name I had used to discover this, if you know me at all)

I watched about half of it (I was sleepy). 

It's VERY primitive in terms of filming and special effects (think high schoolers in the 70s filming with one super 8 camera, or in the 80s with videotape). It's clear that they had to dub it later because they didn't have sound equipment, and the dubbing still makes the sound muddy. I think they wore their own clothes (or no clothes at all). They filmed almost entirely outside (no budget for lighting for anything indoors). There are no fade-ins or fade-outs, special effects are done from quick jump edits and lighting that looks like flashlights, and on and on. 

And yet... it's really wonderful to see how British actors just GO FOR IT, go all-in regarding their performances, damn the poor filming quality, damn the lack of any budget whatsoever, damn how cold they were in most of the scenes. They hold nothing back. It's delightful.

But let's face it: Mark Lamos' 1988 production of A Midsummer Night's Dream at Hartford Stage in Connecticut ruined all productions for those of us who saw it, because his was PERFECT!!! There are a couple of staging choices he made that I cannot get out of my head, like how Titania delivers the line, I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again, sitting astride Bottom in the most provocative way... I've never seen a production that interpreted that line that way. 

We need theater. We need it SO MUCH. We need to sit in darkened theaters or fully lit public parks or and empty field or, really, anywhere, together, and see people pretending to be something else, delivering a compelling story. We need to laugh together, cry together, be delighted together as we share in the experience. 

We are all losing our humanity because of this damn virus and the people who refuse to get vaccinated.

Also see my 2012 blog about loving Shakespeare, when I was trying to read all the plays. 

And my blog Lovin' the Bard has been the most popular personal blog I've ever written.