I'm coming to the end of 4 days in the Highlands. No, not the Scottish Highlands, the Highland Park area of Five Points South in Birmingham, although, there was a guy actually playing a bagpipe outside the church on Sunday morning. He was wearing a green plaid kilt and everything. The bagpipe music being played on a beautiful fall morning outside a grand old historic church in the middle of the square behind the fountain surrounded by trees in full fall colors was breathtaking. That experience alone was worth the trip.
I stayed at the Hotel Highland, formerly the Pickwick Hotel. Five Points is one of my favorite places in Birmingham. The whole area feels like a park, especially in the fall when all the leaves have changed color and it is gorgeous. One of these days I'm going to buy a "real" camera so I can have my own photos of it. My room had a great view.
Speaking of "colorful" I met some interesting people on this trip. I met a successful young, black enterpreneur while I was outside in the courtyard. He's self-made, energetic and reminds me of an up-and-coming Donald Trump. He invited me to dinner that evening and we had sushi at Surin West. (I don't normally "like" sushi unless it's tempura but both the super crunch and the crunchy shrimp were to die for. (I also never say "to die for" but sometimes you just run out of adjectives.) He just randomly stopped and said hello and introduced himself because, he said, he could tell I had a good heart, which is cool. I didn't read anything into it. If he was trying to pick me up he was going to have to be a LOT more obvious than that. Engineers are dense (ok, stupid....we're stupid) when it comes to reading people. I can't believe how many people don't know that!! Plus he has a fiancee he's been dating for 15 years who is very successful and very wealthy. 15 years????? That is one patient woman.
I've been trying to work on my "harmless as a puppy approachability". I had just finished watching the movie "10 Things I Hate About You" and that girl, Kate, was me in high school: smart, sarcastic, and with a shield of invincibility; possessing an odd combination of frailty and venom so that you weren't sure if I was going to start crying or punch you. Most stayed away but the few who were brave enough to try became bosom friends. I should have suspected something about myself years ago when I saw the original "Taming of the Shrew" at the Shakespeare Festival and wondered why everyone was so hard on Kate.
Follow-Up to this post: Thursday, Nov 29th:
Last night when I wrote the phrase "bosom friends" I was specifically thinking of my friend Jenn. She was the first person to ever use the term to describe our friendship. She chose it because when we met in 1999 we bonded over the fact that almost 30 years ago as children we'd both loved "Anne of Green Gables" (long before the series became popular in the mainstream). In the story, Anne Shirley and her friend Diana were bosom friends. I haven't heard from Jenn in a year. We lost each other when I moved here and eventually changed cell phones. I had written down all the numbers from my old cell and I'd been adding them one-at-a-time to my new cell as I called people. But when I called Jenn her cell had changed too. We'd both disappeared into the void. Guess who called me this morning at 8:00am? You guessed it....Jenn! She got married and moved to a different state. She said she'd been missing me so she called a mutual friend who then called another mutual friend. I've missed her too, but I didn't think of the words "bosom friend" till last night. I have no doubt that it was a shared thought between us. I only wonder which one of us thought it first.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Fact-Checker
Back when I was thinking of becoming a journalist I always thought it would be stressful to have to get all the facts right all the time, mostly because the entire public would be scrutinizing whether I had it all right or not. As an engineer I work in facts all day long, but when I'm on my own time and especially when I'm blogging I tend to place more emphasis on "feelings".
Yes, I do have feelings. Even though my Meyers-Briggs type says I'm an INTJ; I think my thinking-T becomes a feeling-F whenever there's no work to be done. Just like my introverted-I becomes an extroverted-E whenever I'm feeling very comfortable in my surroundings or with a particular group of people or when I'm giving a performance and I'm well rehearsed. It also changes when I've been socializing a lot or, conversely, spending a lot of time alone. In other words, these two characteristics, my T/F and my I/E are VERY circumstantial.
As a consequence my blog, though mostly factual, contains some statements that aren't so much facts as they are my feelings about the facts. For example, when I said I drove 800 miles a week to North Platte, that's not a fact. If you look at a map of Nebraska, North Platte is actually 285 miles away from Omaha, which makes it 570 miles round trip. But there were several times when I was taking Dale Carnegie that I had to make the round trip twice in one week which means I drove 1140 miles. So I kind of mentally averaged all of my trips over the twelve week period and kind of came up with 800. It wasn't even a conscious mental calculation, just a swag.
Another example is from my post about Baker's grocery store. I think (and I'm not checking to see) that I said there was something like 24 inches of space for my groceries. I don't know what I said and since I'm blogging it's not "fact-check time", it's feeling time. I only know that it felt like it was only a few inches and that's what matters most. But it is a fact that my stuff didn't fit. Probably only about 1/3 of it did.
So you know, most of it is true, but sometimes the facts take a backseat to my feelings. I'm no journalist but I think I'm probably as accurate as one and I don't even have fact-checkers.
Yes, I do have feelings. Even though my Meyers-Briggs type says I'm an INTJ; I think my thinking-T becomes a feeling-F whenever there's no work to be done. Just like my introverted-I becomes an extroverted-E whenever I'm feeling very comfortable in my surroundings or with a particular group of people or when I'm giving a performance and I'm well rehearsed. It also changes when I've been socializing a lot or, conversely, spending a lot of time alone. In other words, these two characteristics, my T/F and my I/E are VERY circumstantial.
As a consequence my blog, though mostly factual, contains some statements that aren't so much facts as they are my feelings about the facts. For example, when I said I drove 800 miles a week to North Platte, that's not a fact. If you look at a map of Nebraska, North Platte is actually 285 miles away from Omaha, which makes it 570 miles round trip. But there were several times when I was taking Dale Carnegie that I had to make the round trip twice in one week which means I drove 1140 miles. So I kind of mentally averaged all of my trips over the twelve week period and kind of came up with 800. It wasn't even a conscious mental calculation, just a swag.
Another example is from my post about Baker's grocery store. I think (and I'm not checking to see) that I said there was something like 24 inches of space for my groceries. I don't know what I said and since I'm blogging it's not "fact-check time", it's feeling time. I only know that it felt like it was only a few inches and that's what matters most. But it is a fact that my stuff didn't fit. Probably only about 1/3 of it did.
So you know, most of it is true, but sometimes the facts take a backseat to my feelings. I'm no journalist but I think I'm probably as accurate as one and I don't even have fact-checkers.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Mary & Martha
I just went back and read "Genesis" and realized that my sister and I sound like Mary and Martha. Are all sisters this way? There was never any doubt in my mind that her openness was a blessing. I like to think I am not so much like Martha because I did know and appreciate this about her. If my sister had been around when Jesus was in human form she would have definitely been worshipping Him more than anyone around. More than me. Foot-washing with perfume and using her hair to dry his feet? That was so her. You think it's beautiful when you read about it, but that's only because you're reading it. When you see people like this in the flesh you almost never recognize them for what they are unless, like me, you are looking for them and sometimes even then they're hard to recognize.
Unlike Martha, I would never have complained that I was doing all the housework and she was wasting time. I kept my eyes on my own paper. I would have enjoyed every minute of what I was doing and if I found myself not wanting to do it I would have just stopped. That was the thing about both of us that we had in common. I'm glad we figured it out before it was too late. I can remember praying about our differences and worrying that it would forever separate us. "Just love her as she is" the answer came back loud and clear. "She's doing the best she can with what God made her and if she could do any differently, she would." So I stopped wanting her to change and I just loved her.
This picture of her was taken on my wedding day. At her funeral one of her friends told me that she'd come home afterward the happiest she'd ever seen her. I think my wedding day was when she finally realized that my way could lead to happiness too. There was a moment in the ladies dressing room at the church when it was just the two of us alone. "I love you sissy", she'd said in that childlike way of hers. "I love you too, Pearl" I'd said wearily. And with that exchange I think we each finally achieved a blend of our two kinds of love; her emotional kind and my practical action-oriented kind finally morphing into two loving, whole, well-balanced women.
Unlike Martha, I would never have complained that I was doing all the housework and she was wasting time. I kept my eyes on my own paper. I would have enjoyed every minute of what I was doing and if I found myself not wanting to do it I would have just stopped. That was the thing about both of us that we had in common. I'm glad we figured it out before it was too late. I can remember praying about our differences and worrying that it would forever separate us. "Just love her as she is" the answer came back loud and clear. "She's doing the best she can with what God made her and if she could do any differently, she would." So I stopped wanting her to change and I just loved her.
This picture of her was taken on my wedding day. At her funeral one of her friends told me that she'd come home afterward the happiest she'd ever seen her. I think my wedding day was when she finally realized that my way could lead to happiness too. There was a moment in the ladies dressing room at the church when it was just the two of us alone. "I love you sissy", she'd said in that childlike way of hers. "I love you too, Pearl" I'd said wearily. And with that exchange I think we each finally achieved a blend of our two kinds of love; her emotional kind and my practical action-oriented kind finally morphing into two loving, whole, well-balanced women.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Genesis
If you haven't been around since the genesis of my blog then you won't know why I started it. I deleted all of that. But I keep feeling compelled to put it back in.....to explain myself. You see, that's why I'm here in the first place....to be open. So I'm going to put it back, "my genesis" and leave it once and for all....
It all started when my sister died. She had always been the expressive, emotional one. I have a sister who is three years older and a brother who is one year older and, to my mind, they always seemed to be alternate versions of myself. They were sort of "what ifs". My sister was what I would have been if I hadn't been afraid of all the scrutiny and punishment we experienced as children. I admired her because she had the courage to face her deepest desires and to express them to others and to hope, actually hope, that those desires could be met. Well, it was either courage or lack of self control. This doesn't make any sense, does it? Let me start again...
We were raised by our grandmother. She was a good woman in her way; a smart and brilliant woman. But she was the product of an old southern "slave culture", and when under duress she reverted back to that. She raised her own 15 children the way white slave owners raised children: with strictness and without affection. But she knew in heart that was wrong so she tried to temper it as much as she could.
When she took us three away from our mother for reasons of her own, she was way too tired and stressed to bother with trying to be gentle, what with having to raise 15 kids of her own. So she raised us three with almost no gentleness and no affection, not as a white slave-owner would raise their own children, but as actual slaves. I didn't understand this until I read the work of Frederick Douglas and realized that the descriptions of his own childhood sounded almost identical to my own even though I grew up in the 70's and 80's. I won't go into any more detail than that. If you want to know more about it read his autobiography. But the end result was that we three were raised as subhuman with almost no understanding of what a human being ought to want and feel. So we had to figure out our humanity on our own, in our own ways.
My sister went about doing that by seeking physical affection from whomever would offer it. She was always writing love letters and poetry. She left herself wide open and vulnerable. She was often punished, beaten, or ridiculed for her troubles but that never seemed to deter her, as if her creativity had a life of its own that was worth risking her well-being. I saw her behavior as a lesson in what not to do. My reaction was to do the opposite. No one knew what I was feeling or thinking if I could help it. I was very guarded, very protective. I trusted no one and everyone in a way, with a very limited trust, because I wouldn't let anyone get close enough to actually hurt me. She, on the other hand, was constantly being hurt. I can't say that I envied her, but she did live, in my mind, a life of much greater freedom than I did. She was always taking huge risks and exposing herself, but she did exactly what she wanted. I was very cautious and took the path of surest success regardless of what I actually wanted to do. She danced, wrote songs, wrote poetry, stripped, club-hopped. I focused on school, got straight A's, got the easiest scholarship available to me, went away to college and took up engineering because I knew it would allow me to support myself. It didn't matter that I had a greater interest in english literature, politics, and journalism. Law school was too expensive and might require me to go into debt. Journalism paid too little and would require me to be more creative than I thought was possible. My pleasure never figured into a single decision I made and her pleasure was the sole basis for every decision she made.
When she died I realized that I hadn't needed to explore pleasure because she had been doing it for both of us. With her gone, I felt cut off from the world. I finally had to face how closed off I was and I didn't like it. I felt starved for self-expression. I missed her poetry and her songs. I needed something. So I started this blog to learn to become more open; to trust people; to take the risk of exposing myself and to face the fear and know that I could live through it.
It all started when my sister died. She had always been the expressive, emotional one. I have a sister who is three years older and a brother who is one year older and, to my mind, they always seemed to be alternate versions of myself. They were sort of "what ifs". My sister was what I would have been if I hadn't been afraid of all the scrutiny and punishment we experienced as children. I admired her because she had the courage to face her deepest desires and to express them to others and to hope, actually hope, that those desires could be met. Well, it was either courage or lack of self control. This doesn't make any sense, does it? Let me start again...
We were raised by our grandmother. She was a good woman in her way; a smart and brilliant woman. But she was the product of an old southern "slave culture", and when under duress she reverted back to that. She raised her own 15 children the way white slave owners raised children: with strictness and without affection. But she knew in heart that was wrong so she tried to temper it as much as she could.
When she took us three away from our mother for reasons of her own, she was way too tired and stressed to bother with trying to be gentle, what with having to raise 15 kids of her own. So she raised us three with almost no gentleness and no affection, not as a white slave-owner would raise their own children, but as actual slaves. I didn't understand this until I read the work of Frederick Douglas and realized that the descriptions of his own childhood sounded almost identical to my own even though I grew up in the 70's and 80's. I won't go into any more detail than that. If you want to know more about it read his autobiography. But the end result was that we three were raised as subhuman with almost no understanding of what a human being ought to want and feel. So we had to figure out our humanity on our own, in our own ways.
My sister went about doing that by seeking physical affection from whomever would offer it. She was always writing love letters and poetry. She left herself wide open and vulnerable. She was often punished, beaten, or ridiculed for her troubles but that never seemed to deter her, as if her creativity had a life of its own that was worth risking her well-being. I saw her behavior as a lesson in what not to do. My reaction was to do the opposite. No one knew what I was feeling or thinking if I could help it. I was very guarded, very protective. I trusted no one and everyone in a way, with a very limited trust, because I wouldn't let anyone get close enough to actually hurt me. She, on the other hand, was constantly being hurt. I can't say that I envied her, but she did live, in my mind, a life of much greater freedom than I did. She was always taking huge risks and exposing herself, but she did exactly what she wanted. I was very cautious and took the path of surest success regardless of what I actually wanted to do. She danced, wrote songs, wrote poetry, stripped, club-hopped. I focused on school, got straight A's, got the easiest scholarship available to me, went away to college and took up engineering because I knew it would allow me to support myself. It didn't matter that I had a greater interest in english literature, politics, and journalism. Law school was too expensive and might require me to go into debt. Journalism paid too little and would require me to be more creative than I thought was possible. My pleasure never figured into a single decision I made and her pleasure was the sole basis for every decision she made.
When she died I realized that I hadn't needed to explore pleasure because she had been doing it for both of us. With her gone, I felt cut off from the world. I finally had to face how closed off I was and I didn't like it. I felt starved for self-expression. I missed her poetry and her songs. I needed something. So I started this blog to learn to become more open; to trust people; to take the risk of exposing myself and to face the fear and know that I could live through it.
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