Black & White Argyle

Friday, August 21, 2015

Soapbox

It's a soapbox day today. Are you ready? No? Well, get ready. 

There were limited cafeteria options at work today because of some party in the park that an affiliate was hosting (which I never heard about and did not go to), and usually I'm not pleased with work cafeteria food anyway, so I opted to walk across the street to the mall and take my chances at the food court. (And considering yesterday's thoroughly disgusting Chinese food fiasco, this was a mighty feat for a second day.) ANYWAY ... 

I got my Mexican food (kind of hard to mess that stuff up) and went to a more quiet corner and sat where I could people watch while aimlessly surfing the apps on my phone. The apps got boring quickly, so I ate lunch while I people watched. Great fun. If you've never sat back and watched people you should try it some time. It can get pretty comical. When I'm with good friends who are also people watchers, we've made up conversations between the people we're watching. It gets crazy fairly fast. What - that doesn't surprise you? Huh. 

My lunch was good, so nothing to complain about there, but as I sat there watching people interact, walk by, get their food, find places to sit, chat with their friends, etc. I had this overwhelming realization that we're all SO different. There were tall people, short people, skinny people, larger people, round shapes, straight sticks, curvy figures, white people, Asian people, Latin people, African people, adults, kids, moms and dads, and everything in between. As I stewed over that realization, I also realized how easily it was to judge them all for one thing or another. 

That one is really tall. I wonder how they find pants long enough. 
That one is so skinny. I bet they have to buy their clothes in kid's sizes. 
That one is so round and curvy. I wonder if they wear "plus sizes" (I hate that term, by the way). 
That one is so short. I bet his/her friends tease him/her. 
And so on, and so on. 

There were also thoughts about fashion (I can't believe they walked out of the house in that! Whoa - that's a short dress. Good grief, those pants look awful on him.) Now, I get that fashion is an individual thing. What some people wear I wouldn't be caught dead in, but I know very well that much of what I wear is too bland for other people. My aunt tells me all the time when we go shopping together to "get some more color" in my clothes. We have much the same coloring, and she looks great in very vibrant colors (I do, too), but I'm just not as comfortable as she is in those colors. I feel like I'm shouting at people with my clothes saying, "Look at ME!", yet that's not what I think when she wears those colors. It's personal preference, you know? 

As I'm watching all these people and having all these thoughts go through my mind I started to feel small for "judging" these people without knowing anything else about them. It's not that I was intentionally doing it or even doing it with a negative approach. They were just thoughts that kind of rambled through my head. ("Ye shall know them by their thoughts" ... is that a thing? Because if it is, based on today, uh oh.) 

I think what "caused" all of this is, sometimes when I'm not feeling so great about myself, I wonder what people actually think of me. (It's actually rare that I care what anyone else thinks about me. Take me or leave me. What I am is what you get.) Do they think I'm average or kind of pretty? Do they think I'm dressed fashionably or slouchy/frumpy/out-of-date? Do they look at my short pixie hair cut and think I look like a boy/man? Do my ears stick out so they think I look like Dumbo? Is my makeup smearing so they think I look like a raccoon? 

SERIOUSLY? Seriously. 

Not that I felt about myself that way today, but the thought did cross my mind, and then I wondered how many other people do the same thing. Honestly, this probably all stems from circumstances in my own life where people made fun, pointed, stared, whatever. I remember in junior high a particular instance. I have never been thin (or anything remotely close to it), and as I was walking in the hallways during lunch one day with a friend who weighed a lot more than I did, some very rude and stupid boys yelled, "Hey, it's Shamu and her friend, Shamu, Jr.!" Really guys? Thank heavens for me I've also been witty, so I came back with some snarky remark that shut them up. Those same boys were like that throughout high school. They were cruel to this friend of mine. It stopped with me because they knew I'd be vocal back and point out their worst features without thinking twice. Coping mechanism? Probably. Words work though. Sometimes they're piercing. 

And now that this has become a novella, I'll try to get to the point. I realized that as much as I know Heavenly Father loves me, I also know He loves all of His children. ALL of them. Even if they don't know Him or even recognize that He exists. Because He's our Father, He created us as we should be. Sure, we fluctuate in weight, our shape changes as we grow older, our looks become different as we age, but through it all He loves us just as much as He ever did. So who am I to judge what another person is or isn't? Who cares what they're wearing or whether they combed their hair? What does it matter that their personal habits are different than mine? What does height, weight, size or anything else have to do with anything? It doesn't! Heavenly Father sees us as we are now and as we can become. He sees us through "rose colored glasses" (if you will) because He sees our untapped potential as not only human beings, but as His imperfect children. 

As lunch wound down, I found that instead of looking at the outward appearances of people, I was looking more inward. I watched the couple sitting across from me with a set of twin girls (about two-years-old) and a young son (about 6 months) as they tried to get their daughters to eat and keep their son happy all while trying to connect in some way over what was probably his short lunch hour. I watched the young girl sitting across from me as she studied out of a text book and wrote notes furiously as she tried to better herself. I watched as friends sat together and talked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company as they caught up on life adventures, sorrows, mishaps, and joys. I saw an older couple help each other to the restrooms, wait for each other to finish, and walk hand-in-hand back through the mall the way they'd come without saying anything at all to each other, and I knew they were still communicating. 

I think I got a small glimpse of what our Heavenly Father sees in each one of us: His children doing the best they can with what they've got. The reality is we're much more alike than we are different. Even though we're on similar journeys, we're still on different journeys. And hopefully, somewhere along the way, we're enjoying our journey and not worrying so much about what others think or what society says we need to be. 

From now on, I hope I can keep that perspective and, instead of judging those I see, love those I see. I have a sneaky feeling that people watching is going to be much better. 

Thursday, August 13, 2015

I'd Love to Renovate a House

There. I said it. I think it would be so much fun to buy an older home with sturdy bones that was looking unloved and abandoned and whip it into shape. Renovations can be a pain, I know that. It would be still fun, however, to take something from a run-down status to a thriving space. The only problem? I have this thing called a job. And student loan debt. And I haven't won the lottery yet. But when I do ... 

... that whole renovation thing is going to happen. 

DIY is awesome. 

Turning an old door into a coffee table? Yes, please. 
Turning an old dresser into a bench with storage? You betcha! 
Making a wood block lamp? Bring it on. 
Using old windows as photo frames? Easy!
Turning an old shutter into a bill organize or mail holder? Totally cool. 
Using mason jars as hanging lights? Awesome. 
And we don't even need to mention the fire pit I've already discussed. 

There's something fulfilling about being creative and making something new out of something old. Re-purposing is a better way to say it, I guess. 

But you don't re-purpose a house. You RENOVATE. And I would love to do that. 

Busting out walls? Fun! 
Laying new floors? Exciting! 
Shopping for colors and appliances and furnishings? Delightful! 
Gutting bathrooms? Cool! 
Re-doing a kitchen? Exhilarating! 
Demolishing gross cabinets? Awesome! 

We're not renovating our house currently, nor do we have plans to buy a home and renovate it any time soon, but one of these days I've GOT to do a renovation. Even if it's only to say I did it, I want to do a renovation. 

If you're doing a renovation invite me over, okay? Maybe if I kick in your walls I won't feel the need to do it in a home I own. Deal?  

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Did I mention how much I HATE answering phones?

Working in an administrative position you're likely to have to answer phones at some point. In my case, I get a few calls during the week for those I support, but other than that it's fairly quiet ... except on Fridays. Oh Fridays, how I normally love you, but now don't because of the stupid phone calls! 

I cover the phones for another secretary on Fridays so she can have lunch. That 45 minutes to an hour are the worst part of my week - and that is NOT an overstatement. It seems like all the whacky questions come in during that time. All the crazies pick up the phone at once and call me to get answers. 

No, I don't know where the temple sends their "special" linens. 
No, I don't know how you can reach so-and-so on their personal or home line. (And even if I did, I wouldn't give that information to you!)
No, I don't know who pays for your stake's phones or internet access. 
No, I can't see if someone is in their office on the 11th floor when I work on the 4th floor. (Who am I, Houdini?)
No, I don't know what's on the menu at The Lion House. 
No, I can't make reservations at The Garden Room. 

What can I do? I can hang up on you right now. Honestly, I try to be nice and help people as much as I can, but sometimes, dangit, I just can't do what they're asking. The annoying part of all of it is that they've usually been transferred to me from the general number, and the people answering phones there didn't ask enough questions to find out what the person really wanted or needed. GR! It frustrates me to no end. 

Years ago, I used to work as a supervisor in a call center. I would take the escalated calls and try to "make things right" for people calling in with concerns or questions. How in the world did I do that for so many years?! It probably sucked 30 years off of my life doing that job, and I had no clue it was happening. Heaven knows it sucks 30 years off of my life every Friday when those phones get transferred to me. 

The ONLY person I call regularly and actually enjoy talking to is my mom. It keeps me sane (as in: awake) for part of my commute home from work. Once I'm done talking to her, I'm good for at least another 24 hours before talking with anyone on the phone. Why? I don't know. Even in high school I didn't like talking on the phone. My sister would talk on the phone for ages to literally anyone when she was in high school. Not me! You couldn't pay me enough money to talk on the phone for very long. 

Should we chalk that up to my introversion? Yeah, let's go with that explanation. Just don't make me answer any more phone calls!

Friday, August 7, 2015

Rain, Rain, Come to Stay

Once upon a time, I went to Europe with my parents. I had just graduated from high school, and Mom was chaperoning a couple of kids from the high school where she worked. I think originally there were supposed to be more kids going on the tour. (Mom had already done a previous eastern European tour with a group of high school kids when I was 14-ish.) She ended up only having two students go (I can't remember the girl's names, but I can see their faces; one was Sidney, but the other ... I can't remember). 

Because there were so few students going, my mom asked her sister, Kathi, if she wanted to go. Sure enough, she did! And Kathi then asked her daughter if she wanted to go (yes, of course she did!), and her daughter invited a friend. That made a total of eight of us in our tour group (Mom, Dad, me, Kathi, Kathi's daughter, the daughter's friend, and the two high school students from Mom's school). It was a good group, and we all got along great. Somehow, we also ended up knowing others that went on the trip. We had a lot of fun together and really enjoyed seeing the sights. 

We started the tour in England (London), and I loved that place. It rained almost every day we were there. For some people that might be depressing, but it wasn't the rain every day you get in places like Seattle. The rain in London was different; it would drizzle a little in the morning and then let up and turn green and sunny. You could go about your day, have an occasional rainy moment, and be done. At night, it would get drizzly again. It was never overcast enough during the day that it felt depressing. It was more refreshing than anything, and although it was humid, it did cool things off when it got hot. I loved it! 

We've had some rainy days this summer - more than usual. It's made for a cooler summer than normal (no 100 degree days in July - what?!), but it's really reminded me of our time in London. It hasn't rained THAT much, but it has rained enough that it's felt a little like a cool European trip. Too bad it wasn't really a cool European trip .... 

At least we didn't have to see "another damn castle" with all the rain!   

Thursday, August 6, 2015

Abandonment Issues?

When I was a kid, I always wanted to go where my mom and dad went. If they were having a Friday night card night with Huffs and Leifsons, I wanted to be there. If they were going on a date, I wanted to go. If there was a trip to the store, I wanted in. It didn't matter where they were going, I wanted to be with them. 

It continued as I got older. I loved to have sleepovers with friends, but they worked out best when the friends came to my house. Sometimes I could make it through the night sleeping at Shauna's house (which was just around the corner, and through the backyard fence), but even then I usually sneaked home early to say hi to Dad before he left for work. One particular time, I sneaked home to find the doors locked (Dad forgot to unlock them for me when he got up). Instead of bothering the family by knocking, I waited outside in the front yard on the swing set. I stubbed my toe as I came home that morning and sat with it bleeding and gross until Dad opened the front door for me. He actually brought the Band-Aids and Neosporin outside and fixed me up as I sat on the swing. Once he was done with that and we'd had a hug, I went back over to Shauna's and sneaked back up on to the deck and pretended I'd been there the entire night. I don't know if anyone was the wiser or not, but it was the only way to keep my sanity. 

There were other times I had problems, too. I remember sleeping over at my cousin, Kandice's, house one particular night. For whatever reason, I was convinced there would be a fire or a break in or something wrong at my house that I stressed myself out completely. It was around 1:00 a.m. that I finally got the nerve to go into my Uncle Mark and Aunt Laurel's room to ask if they'd take me home. Mom and Dad were probably not too happy about the call in the middle of the night saying I was coming home, but they never said anything to me about it. Mom did take time the next day to reassure me that nothing bad was going to happen to them just because I slept over at a friend's house. 

Later, when we have moved homes and I had grown up a little, there were many times my parents were going some place and asked me if I wanted to come. (They were likely so used to having me around it probably felt weird for them to not have me tagging along.) Anyway, I was trying to assert my independence and said that I didn't want to go. They asked again, and I declined. They let me be a "big girl" and left on their own. 

I sat on the couch and cried practically the entire time they were gone because I had chosen not to go with them, to be with them, or to spend time with them. 

This happened more than once. Much more than once. It went on until I was well into my teens. Pathetic, right? 

A psychologist or psychiatrist might say I have abandonment issues. Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What I do know is that I had a fear of losing the people most important to me. When we lost Dad to Parkinson's and Diabetes and a massive stroke, it was awful. But I survived. That was an important lesson to learn at his passing. I still struggle though. 

Several years ago, before Dad died, I traveled to the Washington DC are to visit Shauna and her family. It was something like a two-and-a-half week trip. It was totally amazing, and I loved every minute of it! But I was so home sick the whole time. I missed Mom and Dad and Bear. I worried about being killed on the plane ride home. I feared for bad things that might happen to Mom and Dad while I was gone. It was worry and fear over things I couldn't control. How is that rational? 

Anyone else have weird things that might be considered "abandonment issues?" I think I'm a healthy, thriving adult with a fairly good grasp on life. Maybe not?