R-E-S-P-E-C-T

A person's capacity to show their respect for others tells you a lot about the person.

My wonderings of respect today were brought on by a few conversations I had about my workplace. I love my work because I work in a fun place, where I am respected. And in all honesty, if I, as a seventeen year old girl, can be respected by my co-workers, two guys in their mid-thirties/early forties, then I think I have it pretty good. (I'm talking just about the guys I work with in the kitchen because they are most relevant to this post, not because I feel disrespected by my bosses)

I'm respected because I know when to haul ass and speed up and when I'm not doing something, I ask what I can be doing to be most helpful. My co-workers know this about me and so they respect me for my work ethic. But I like to think that working in a sometimes hectic kitchen is better than normal office relationships. We interact with each other a LOT and it really is a team sport, so respecting each other is important, and knowing each others likes and dislikes when it comes to jobs is important.

What I pride myself on a bit more, however, is that I've seen these guys trash-talk other employees at other time, (not that said employees didn't deserve it) and the fact that they feel comfortable enough with me that they can give me their honest opinions on someone's work habits. I don't feel like I'm ever being talked down to, which is something I really appreciate. We're told as kids to respect our elders, and I like the fact that with most elders, you can easily work out a mutually respectful relationship. I think it's easier to respect someone older than you because, chances are, they are smarter, stronger, and more educated than you are. When you can show respect to someone younger than you, it's the mark of something even greater and more important.

That's one of the reasons I think I'm popular among children in the 10-14 range. I don't treat kids like silly little kids, I treat them like my peers (for the most part). I play with them and respect them. You can't expect others to take you seriously or respect you if you don't show them the same kindess and consideration. Especially when you want to have a serious relationship or conversation with them. If you want to have a meaningful conversation with someone about religion or philosophy, you have to respect each other.

Wow. I have said the word or variations of the word "respect" now so many times that I don't think I can continue this post, even though I could talk about said word and the meanings of it for hours.

Sorry for my semi-depressing post yesterday, it wasn't a great day for me. (I know, surprising)

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

There's no one else to blame

The deepest scars are the ones we make in ourselves.

The times we hate ourselves, blame ourselves, yell at ourselves, hurt ourselves, lose ourselves.

I think the worst part of the scars we make ourselves is how we feel obligated to fix those wounds by ourselves. We feel like because we were able to break something or hurt something in us, we shouldn't ask for help about fixing it.

But we can't do that by ourselves. Hating yourself is the worst kind of hatred you can experience. How do you make yourself open to the love of others if you don't love yourself?

There's a lot of questions about self-love that I don't have the answers to. I wish I did; they would make things so much easier.

Sometimes all we can do is just get by. Somehow, we have to do it. Even if that means sitting in front of a TV all day watching sad movies and eating ice cream.

All we can do is try and remember that there's a light at the end of every tunnel, even if we think we've blown it out ourselves.

Because we really are all loved by someone. So when you're feeling down, remember that person or those people who love you.

If no one else, remember me.

I love you all, despite the fact that I don't know who some of you are and I may never meet you or see you or touch you or laugh with you.

Love.

-T.A.D.

Secret candy

The title of today's blog is also the title of a song/poem by an artist I really enjoy. Her poetry always makes me think, and I've thought out several topics that I could talk about based on lines from her songs. Today's lyric is as follows:

"I ain't got no 'tience this time of year/for all you frat boys dissin' on the queers"

July has begun and June is over, and so another year of pride parades have happened all over the country. My sister and I used to go with our dads to pride every year, but I haven't been in several years. We have relatives that live across the country and so our summers get packed full of trips and visits. I love visiting with my relatives, but I do regret not being able to show my support at Pride. I am passionate about equality, and I find it to be a great injustice that my parents aren't allowed to be married.

I feel extremely lucky to have been raised in the environment that is my family. I have learned that families come in all shapes, colors, sizes, and many different mixes of parents. I've lived in Seattle for the entirety of my remembered life (other than flashes), so I have been fortunate in that regard as well. As a whole, the greater Seattle area is very progressive and open to homosexuality.

I don't want today's post to be about my family situation though. I want to talk about the issues in a broader sense. Shortly after pride, I was on Facebook. A friend of mine had her status as a link to this article. I read it and was amazingly moved by the content. In case you don't want to read it, here's a quick overview: this year there was a different kind of Christian demonstration at some pride parades across the country; namely Chicago. Groups of Christians went wearing black t-shirts that read "I'm sorry" on the front of them, and carrying signs that said things like "I'm sorry for how the church has treated you."

I know that Catholicism and many of the other major religions say that homosexuality is wrong, and I've listened to many arguments about how God created man and woman to be together. But I know from my own experience that love is not meant to be curbed or stopped. I look around at all the "wrong" in the world, and I cannot bring myself to believe that any two people loving each other is anything less than beautiful.

I only wish the rest of the world could see that sometimes.

I think it's easy to stand back, not knowing anyone personally who is gay or lesbian or bi, and say that it's wrong. I think it gets much harder to say that something is wrong when someone you love or at least know is doing it.

Anyway, amidst all the stories that come out after pride about demonstrations where people carried signs that said "God hates the fags," this story really touched me.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Listen to your heart

Today I'm going to talk about thinking with your head and with your heart.

There is a wide spectrum between head thinking and heart thinking, and I would say that most people find a place in a median section. I like to think that I'm someone who is pretty balanced between thinking with my head and thinking with my heart. I'm probably slightly more towards the heart side of the spectrum, but I'm definitely in the middle 1/4 of the spectrum. It's something we learn as kids I think. At first, everyone thinks with feelings, and so we get hurt and learn from those hurtful experiences. Sometimes people decide that listening to their heart more is more helpful and sometimes people decide that listening to their head is more helpful. I've finally found the right balance (for me) of head and heart, but it was a long time of trial by error. Everyone comes to a place on the spectrum.

The real trouble, in my opinion, is when the place people find is at the very ends of either side of this spectrum. Let's make up an example.

[DISCLAIMER: while these examples are based on people I know, I am drawing the extreme examples from a variety of people I know, so neither "Friend 1" nor "Friend 2" actually exists. I don't personally know anyone at the very very tips of the spectrums, so this example is exaggerated]

Friend 1, let's call her Jill, is a head thinker. She prefers science and logic. Emotions don't make much sense to her, and she puts them aside because they cloud her judgement. There's nothing wrong with this way of thinking, but what I see as the problem is that her inability to understand her own emotions translates and spreads into an inability to understand many people's emotions, including but not limited to Friend 2. Jill has problems communicating her own feelings with herself, let alone the people she is close to, and this can be frustrating to the people in her life. Jill also finds herself very distant from situations, and she almost observes herself as merely a bystander, watching from the sidelines.

Jill has one friend in particular who she has a very hard time relating to.

Friend 2, let's call him Joe, is a heart thinker. He prefers to make judgements based on his feelings and what he feels is right rather than what people are "supposed" to do. He relies on his emotions for most decisions he makes. Again, there's nothing really wrong with this way of thinking, but Joe has some problems of his own. He finds himself very vulnerable since his emotions are so "out there." He is easily hurt because of his tendency to take most things personally. Joe has great difficulty distancing himself from situations. He puts himself in the middle of conflicts and so gets hurt. He, like all people, makes mistakes sometimes, and when he does, or when people around him do, he finds it hard to let go of the emotions surrounding past mistakes.

Jill and Joe have a hard time getting along. Joe feels hurt, as though Jill is distancing herself from him on purpose, and so he is constantly wondering what he's done wrong. Meanwhile, Jill is pretty much oblivious to the difficulties Joe is having, so when he mentions them, she claims that his feelings are absurd and inaccurate, which, while they are, is something that hurts Joe's feelings even more. He feels like she doesn't make an effort to understand him and thinks that Jill would be better off if she listened to her feelings more. Jill thinks that Joe can be silly about some things and she thinks that he would be better off if he used logic more.

Which one is right? Well, I think they both are. Jill needs to make more of an effort to understand her own feelings so that she can relate more to her friends. And Joe needs to think things through more and distance himself.

I have been Jill-like and Joe-like in different times in my life, and I'm much happier in my Joel state: a mixture.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

P.S. I feel pretty accomplished now. Today is officially my blog's one month birthday. To my readers: even though you are small in number, I love you so much and thank you for your support. This is so much fun to do, and I love knowing that there are some people out there who read my blog daily.

The bombs bursting in air

Phew!

Just got home from a spectacular fireworks show. Fireworks have some sort of magical property about them that turns even the oldest and most jaded adults into infants again. Everything is "oohs" and "aahs" and pretty colors and lights.

I mean no ill by this, merely an observation. And I fit into the stereotype. We had new shapes and colors and effects this year that I've never seen in firework form before. One particularly awesome rocket exploded into a cube shape. How crazy is that?!?

About seven years ago my moms discovered a mini-park that is so close to the show that we could see, and probably swim right up to and touch, the barge from which they were firing the rockets. We did the whole shebang today, including getting there insanely early (we stocked up on games and food) to bag nice seats. I have never felt quite as patriotic as I did watching those fireworks and thinking about this country two and a half centuries ago. There is something insanely wonderful about being so close to fireworks that with the almost but not quite ear-splitting explosion, you feel a vibration, a pretty sizable one, in your chest. I could go on about how amazing fireworks are for a while.

My dog does not agree. At all. This is the first 4th that I've had her. Last summer I was traveling and she was at home with my dads. My step-dad told me that she wasn't a fan. Ha. Ha. I'm sure if I had asked he would have told me that this translated into the fact that fireworks seem to be hell on earth for my poor pup. Knowing that she didn't like them, my step-mom, who's last dog was also "not a fan" advised that we give her half of a chewable (citrus flavor, yum) Dramamine. Knowing my dog as well as I do, I knew she would have been more than happy to eat it by itself, but to be nice, since I thought it was going to knock her unconscious (don't worry, it's safe) I coated it in peanut butter.

On the off-chance that she would be up (I thought to myself) I put her food dish in her crate with her, since we left before her dinner time. Still, seven and a half hours later, it remains untouched. Stacy is physically vibrating with anxiety and cannot stop panting. I tried to take her on her normal nighttime walk around the block, but one rocket blew and she took off like a bullet back to the door. Poor girl.

Damn. Fireworks pack a punch when you have canine hearing, especially when you aren't the calmest dog on the planet to start.

Her negative reaction, however, hasn't wiped the glorious memories of those awesome (using the original meaning of the word awesome) rockets.

Happy 4th of July! I feel pretty confident in my Google Analytics report that tells me that I haven't had a single reader from out of the country yet, so to my fellow Americans, may I say happy Independence Day.

Just remember: alcohol + fire + explosions = disaster.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

Hard day's night

Or rather, a hard day's day.

I've had a long day and it isn't even over yet. I only have sixteen minutes to write a decent blog post. At six, a close and wonderful family friend is coming over and we are celebrating his birthday by eating a delicious chicken pie outside in the sunshine.

I worked today, from 9-4:30, and now, sitting down after a shower and a change of clothes, I feel human again. I also feel refreshed, happily sleepy, and excited for the rest of my evening. I work for a small bakery/cafe'/catering company called Two Tartes, run by two family friends. This summer we are debuting at our local farmer's market, which is Saturday.

I worked at Two Tartes last summer as well. I work the counter and the register sometimes, but more often I am sloring. Slore is my unofficial title at Two Tartes. To slore (or slut/whore) is to work the dishwashing station. The wonderful thing about sloring (I say wonderful with sarcasm) is how delightfully hot it gets. The sinks are situated right behind the counter where our crockpots sit, happily holding their delicious and hot soupy contents. The kitchen space in general is pretty tight, so I'm incredibly close to the oven and stove as well. Last summer we were reaching record highs in my area (luckily I was off that week). Add the location to the hot water you use to wash dishes and the hot pots and pans you get handed every three seconds, and you're practically baking. Then add the sanitation machine, which goes up to ridiculously high temperatures, and you become a human crockpot yourself.

If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen. Working gets pretty crazy sometimes, because in addition to our weekday hours from 7-3, we cater, so we have a lot of food going in and out of the cafe'. Despite the heat and chaos, I actually love working at Two Tartes. We have delicious food, which, despite my protestations, my bosses refuse to take out of my paycheck, even when I treat friends, I get paid well, I love the people I work with and serve, and when I leave at the end of a seven hour shift with my pay clamped in my sweaty fist, I feel like I've really earned it. As Patrick can attest to over at Stand Back, working with ones' hands and really laboring is something we all should do at some point.

I think hard earned money is something that we can appreciate more. I, for one, treasure the money I really earn much more than money given to me as a gift. NOT THAT I REJECT MONEY. But there's something different about money that you put your back and sweat and sometimes blood into (mostly when people decide to be really stupid/mean and dump sharp knives into your EMPTY basin of hot soapy water). I keep my work money separate, and I either put it in the bank or buy something special with it. I'll be working more this coming week, so I might have some fun stories to share about the joy of sloring.

Sweet! I have a minute to spare. Sorry about the kind of chaos in this post. Facebook, here I come.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.

You can't always get what you want

Have truer words ever been spoken? If you try, as the Rolling Stones were clever enough to add, chances go up exponentially. Oh wait, that doesn't sound right.

No matter. My point remains the same. You can't walk around expecting the world to give you what you want. In life, you have to try to get things, and to get places too. You don't just stand outside your house expecting to get to the movies, unless of course you are obscenely rich and have a limo driver named Bob with a suit. If you are obscenely rich, go ahead and ignore this blog post. If not, and you are like normal people who have to make an effort, please, keep reading.

If we don't expect to get places without effort, it seems common sense to expect that effort would also be needed to get things. Whether it's something you can buy, like a book, or something someone gives you, like help, if you don't at least ask, there's as likely a chance of a snowball surviving in hell as you actually getting it. I've learned that this rule applies to both the material and the intangible. Today I'd like to talk about the intangible more.

If you're like me, but I hope for your own sake that you aren't, asking can be the hardest part sometimes. I have far too much pride for my own good, and far too much of the family stubbornness. Often asking for help repulses me to the point that it's easier to do whatever it is I need help with on my own. I've learned, however, that asking for help usually makes more sense, and I've been making an effort to do it more often. Sometimes, I've had to concede, there are things you can't do by yourself. It's not just asking for help that's tough though. Sometimes I find that I get so worried about being rejected that I merely won't ask. This seems like a good idea, right? If you don't ask you don't have a chance of being rejected. However, the never-ending questioning that comes after that, and the glimpse of a future full of "what if"s and "if only"s is even worse.

The point is though, that you have to ask. Even if you think it'll hurt. Because of my family situation, my grandfather never came out to visit us. He would even make sure that he and my grandmother were away whenever my step-mom would come with us to the beach house where we vacation. However, last summer I worked up the courage to ask him something. I asked him to come out for my graduation. He agreed. It was all heightened by the fact that he was undergoing surgery for stomach cancer soon, so I basically made him promise on what could have been his death bed. Luckily it wasn't, and this year when I graduated, he was there to capture every minute of it on film.

If I hadn't asked him to come, he wouldn't have. He didn't come for my sister's graduation, and I truly believe he regrets that now.

I've had a few opportunities in the recent past that have taught me that maybe it's okay to ask more often. I guess that while I've had the whole "you have to sing for your supper" thing down for the tangible things, it's been a little harder for me with the immaterial things. Those are the more important ones. And they often require the most effort. But they also offer the most reward.

When I started this post I actually had a good idea of where it was going, but I ended up here. As I warned in my first post ever on this site, I'm kind of a verbal thinker, so I think as I write.

I think I said what I wanted to say though. For the most part.

Cheers,

-T.A.D.