Do something!

Last week we went out to dinner with a couple of women my sweetie knows, at their request. They knew I was heading back to Canada soon, and so the gesture was made to say good bye and extend good wishes. About  3/4 of the way through dinner, one of the women asked politely, "So, Rebecca, how have you occupied your time since you've been here?"


Now, I'm a contentious person, but not argumentative. I'm thoughtful, and while easily roused, I can think before I speak. My sweetie, as I found out later, was much more annoyed than I was. Either the question or the attitude, or both, struck us both as less innocuous than it might first appear. I, however, paused, then said:


Well, first of all, I've raised a puppy:

And during that time, I helped build a fence:

This fence was built from scratch, including digging the post holes and cutting, measuring, and nailing all the pickets individually. It covered 175 feet in total.

I also helped renovate the ensuite bathroom:

Basically, this bathroom was a wood floor with a tub enclosure. Nothing of what you see in this photo was present prior to the renovation. None of it.

In addition to raising a border collie puppy, I was deeply involved in socializing and training Hank, to be a more settled and socially acceptable dog:

Throughout December, I worked on the final edit of my soon-to-be-released first novel, Everything Pales in Comparison.  And throughout October to now, I've done exhaustive research for my second novel, Falling.

And if all that wasn't enough, throughout all of that, I've nurtured a budding relationship with a woman who is the most wonderful person I've ever met, to the point where we consider ourselves in a serious relationship. Worthy of marriage. Which the state of North Carolina, and the United States of America, so far, will not grant us.

So, when asked, "How have you occupied your time while you've been here?" I can at least honestly respond that I have not just been biding my time, doing nothing, waiting for...something. I have been doing something. Many somethings. Because that is who I am. That is what I do. 

Something.

If I were to ask her how she has spent the last 5 months, I'm not so sure she could say she has accomplished so much. But I have. And I told her so.

Because this is what I do.

Something. 

As opposed to nothing.

Get to know me before you judge me.

People say such stupid and asinine things when they don't know you. Like, "I hope you find peace and happiness, Rebecca." This was said to me recently in response to a comment to a blog post (not mine) that really shouldn't have happened. By someone who doesn't know me at all, but thought they had something wise to contribute. 


In 1998 the amazing Akita dog I raised, from the time he was five and a half weeks, died. He was not quite 12 years old. Truthfully, he was euthanized. I made that decision. He was riddled with cancer. He was with me in Vancouver, BC at the time. He collapsed one day, after a lifetime of perfect health. I received a phone call at work from my then girlfriend's roommate. I rushed home, reassured him, took care of him. I called my vet in Winnipeg that evening for a referral. When I took him to the new vet, a very caring and thoughtful man, x-rays revealed numerous tumours. Nothing could be done. Two weeks later, on a sunny Saturday morning, I asked Cutter if he would like to go for a car ride. He said, "Yes, please." He'd always loved car rides.


I fell apart when Cutter died. Completely. I'd never experienced that kind of loss. I cried for days, months, years. I still have his ashes in an urn, and I still do not know what to do with them. It's not that I'm holding onto them, him. It's that I still haven't found the perfect place. The perfect place still seems to be with me.


As an adult, I missed a lot of things with my dad. As he aged, I often wasn't there. I moved around a lot. A LOT. I was rarely in Manitoba, and when I was, I was rarely with him. The latter part of that statement had everything to do with his wife. Who supposedly was my mother, but of course I don't call her that anymore, nor view her as such, having disowned her many years ago (for anyone who is reading this and doesn't know, I was adopted, and that's a whole other story).


The thing was, I came to understand that the choice was not wholly mine, to be apart. When I did choose to visit him, it was understood I was only visiting him. I was cordial to her, but I really was only there for him. That was understood, by all parties. But his choice not to visit me, when he surely could have, I came to understand as well. We all make choices. And if you love someone (and I'm sure he loved her), you choose to be with who you love. He chose her, to be with her, and not with me, and as an adult, I came to accept that. And over the years, I've analyzed this, and come to understand that this did not hurt as much as some might think. But for many years I did not look at it analytically. I just accepted it. 


Just before he died last year, I visited him in the hospital. One of those weird, uncomfortable family gatherings (and we have a big family, and it was a small hospital room), which I'd never thought to be a part of. I detested it. He could barely speak, but he was cognizant. He smiled so very brightly at my appearance, he was so happy to see me. I hadn't seen him in a year. But he was still my dad. Still the man I'd always respected, perhaps not known as well as I'd wished to, but someone I'd gotten to know very well in the relatively short time I'd had with him. The next morning he asked, as well as he was able, to go home. The doctor present referred to my dad as, "Dad." I despised the doctor for this, was hugely offended and told that doctor off. As I recall, that didn't go over so well. 


Less than two weeks later my dad died.


I didn't fall apart at my dad's death. I had decided after the death of my dog, whom I had raised from a wee pup, that since I had a choice, I would choose to distance myself from my father's death. Because I had the choice. And because I didn't want to fall apart. Because I was quite certain that my father's death would undo me. I did not want to become undone. So I worked it out. To not spend as much time with him as I maybe could have (and a lot of that had to do with his wife, whom I could not abide). It was deliberate. It took years.


I made a choice. 


If you ask anyone who (really) knows me, you will know that I chose wisely. 


Do I regret it? Honestly, no. 


I miss him. So very much. He was a very wonderful man, a restless man (which may account for why I was so restless for so very long), not a big man, but you never noticed that because he came across as so large. And the time that I spent with him mattered. We often had the most amazing conversations. I miss those conversations. We had things in common. We both wrote. And thought. And those things matter more, than that I didn't spend as much time with him as I could have (I refuse to say should have).


So to have someone say something superficial and asinine like, "I hope you find peace and happiness, Rebecca," because I actually chose to address their comments, in their blog, makes me realize that some people like to toss off such phrases because they simply like to talk, to get in the last word, to simply hear or see (in this internet age) themselves speak. In my world, if you have something worthy of saying, you say it. Like my dad did. If you have nothing worth saying, don't say anything at all. You're much better off that way.


Everyone is much better off that way.

Be careful what you wish for

She's a shocking puppy. She always has been.


At four and a half months of age, she is just now settling down enough that her promise shines through more clearly. But from the time she was 6 1/2 weeks old, when we brought her home, until now, she has been, at times, quite wild, very willful, dominant, challenging, foolishly playful, yet so attentive it's startling. She's unlike any puppy I have ever raised.


I've raised German Shepherds and Akitas. I've adopted a Border Collie/Sheltie cross from the Winnipeg Humane Society. All of my dogs have been intelligent, singular, single-minded, but basically biddable (yes, I know, an Akita, biddable? But mine were, trust me).


I read extensively when I decided to raise a puppy back in 1985, and discounted most. I've based my training methods largely on published works I've read by Rutherford and Neil (How To Raise A Puppy You Can Live With), Dr. Ian Dunbar (I once attended a workshop of his), and the Monks of New Skete (The Art of Raising a Puppy, How to be your dogs best friend). A few years ago I thought Cesar Milan had worth, but have since revised my opinion. I've read L. David Mech's books on wolf behaviour, and based a lot of my training methods on wolf behaviour, as a result of his research. There were (and are) many books published by so-called trainers and behaviourists that I perused and discounted over the years. It takes a lot to convince me, in all things, but most certainly when it comes to dogs.


She does this thing, when she's listening and learning: she cocks her head at a certain angle, and her ears, which have yet to decide if they will actually stand up or always be at half-mast, are most expressive. I will say, "Sam? Be ready. Pay attention now." And she does. She cocks her head, usually to the right, and her ears will lift, yet pull back, her body tenses...but it's her eyes...


She has the most beautiful eyes. Because she's a red, her eyes are almost golden. And she has the most intense gaze. When she wants something, or she's learning, her eyes burn into mine intently, as if she is trying to focus her want, or discern my meaning, my words, my next move.


When she was 8 to 12 weeks old, she was very impatient, and her impatience came through most often when we would ask something of her she did not want to do...like sit, or down, or don't bite, or...whatever she was doing that was unacceptable. She would look at me and stamp her right paw. Hard. I'd never seen a puppy do that before. She would stamp her paw and then "woof"...and I would be hard-pressed not to laugh, because I was so astonished, and I would say, "No, Sam, enough," and then ask again whatever it was I'd been in the process of asking (my training is always in the form of a request, not a command).


She still "woofs". She has a wide range of vocalizations, most of which are very soft. Most of which, since she is usually not far from us, she makes sure she comes close to deliver. With her intent golden gaze.


I've never raised a Border Collie. I've always thought of them, always thought I could, or would, or might. I read a book this past Christmas by Donald McCaig, "Eminent Dogs, Dangerous Men," and there was a quote about tails: Foolish tail, foolish dog. Sam has a foolish tail. This made me laugh and laugh. I sometimes think Sam is a very foolish dog.


But Sam, as I've said, is like no other puppy I have ever raised. Out of a litter of three, we chose her because she was brave. Her sister, another red, was very shy and retiring, and was not so flashily marked. Her brother was black and white, and we did not want a male. Sam was very bold and very friendly, and very flashy, and even though it was over 100 degrees F, she kept bunny-hopping up to us. And so, of course, we chose her.


She likes to rampage through the house, when we decide to free her from the kitchen where she was confined until she had gotten the hang of house-training (this took longer than expected, but she's fool-proof now). She likes to think she can jump and run like a big dog, but she lacks the co-ordination and doesn't care. She loves people. Other dogs scare her, big or small, and she barks at them. She now knows what she should do, but will look at us, with that head cock, and do the opposite of what we ask her to. We tend to laugh and bluster. 


She is growing into a very beautiful young dog. I look at her, and I look at the woman I love, and I say, "I always wanted a border collie. A red border collie."


And she says, "Well, now you have one."


And I say, "I know. Thank you."


Sam was her Christmas present. Not mine. But she may as well have been.

Puppies will always be my safe place.

I spend time between time.


It's odd. How I'm present, yet project forward.


I've lived most of my life elsewhere, but feel more grounded here.


If you know me, you know I am not well known. Difficult to know. Next to impossible. Really.


Puppies makes sense to me. Except the current puppy. Who makes the most amazing sense.


I once thought of running away from home...but didn't know where to go, since I didn't know if I could escape what I was running from (I was 12).


I am capable of violence, but not the violence that frightens others (although it does). The violence that frightens me.


People like me. But I'm sure I don't quite know why.


Sometimes I like people. Just because.


You should never assume anything about me. Ever.


I like cats. Just that. I like them.


I like snow. I don't like cold.


If I could choose, I would choose blindness over deafness. 


Children are priceless. But I seem to prefer those under 3. (Have I mentioned I don't play well with others?)


I'm not happy about getting old. It hurts.


I don't like it when some people decide that you are no longer an important part of their life. And just leave. Without explanation. After 20 years.


I do not like complainers. Don't complain. Fix what you are not happy with. Or shut up.


If you want my honest opinion, be prepared to hear the truth. Or stick something in your ears so you can't hear me. Or...don't ask.


Puppies will always be my safe place. Always.

Don't tell me what I can or cannot do

Today I was reading Independent, a local publication in Chapel Hill NC, just browsing through it, while I ate my breakfast in the 501 Diner. I came across the Letters To The Editor section...and for some reason, one particular letter snagged my attention. I read it, and was very affected emotionally by it. Let me share it with you:


Re: DOMA


On May 8, 2012, the citizens of North Carolina will vote on an amendment to the state constitution titled the Defense of Marriage Act, providing that "marriage between one man and one woman is the only domestic legal union that shall be recognized in the state." The board of Community Church of Chapel Hill, Unitarian Universalist, goes on record in the strongest possible opposition to this amendment. 


Amending the defining document of the state is a serious matter. What is proposed is denial of a right of citizenship--and a human right--to thousands of our citizens. Implications of such laws have been well documented. They can include denial of such rights as that to be with one's life partner at a time of serious illness as well as a great many other restrictions. In 1964, with the Civil Rights Act, our nation's law rose above a history of discrimination on the basis of race. We must not now enshrine discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in our state constitution.


We stand with other churches committed to human rights and with all those concerned with justice. We urge all who share such concerns to vote against this amendment.


Board of Directors
Community Church of Chapel Hill,
Unitarian Universalist


Reading this letter out of the blue caused me to get very choked up. I am not familiar with this denomination, but the words are those that should be spoken aloud to everyone who is in support of DOMA. Why doesn't everyone think this way? It is reprehensible to me that anyone could support something like DOMA, let alone those in the position to "put it up for a vote". Put what up for a vote? Something that all those heterosexuals with entitlement issues take for granted? How about we take away your basic rights and privileges, and treat you like a second class citizen, and see how you like it? 


It's beyond me how a crowd of discriminatory assholes can take away from a huge section of the populace that which they themselves are granted without question. To them I say, "Fuck you." To the writers of this letter, I say, "Thank you." And to all who think and feel as they do.


Which should be everyone.

Just the facts, ma'am.

I do not understand why some people continue to confuse what one chooses over what one obviously cannot choose.


I was reading a blog post today, and it dealt with, among other things, veganism, and drinking. A comment was made, with regard to "lifestyle choices," which I thought was not properly applied.


Let's get some things straight.


Unless you have, from birth, not been able to eat meat, or poultry, or fish, because your system rejects it without fail, you have "chosen" vegetarianism, or veganism. That is a lifestyle choice.


If you have been raised Catholic (or any other religion), and rejected it, that is a lifestyle choice. By the same token, if you have not been raised to embrace any religion, then later do so, that is a lifestyle choice.


If you choose not to drink, or to do so, that is a lifestyle choice.


If you abhor wearing pants, and choose not to, ever, or only on occasion, that is a lifestyle choice.


See the pattern here?


Please note: You can choose something that goes against your natural inclination. You can. I could choose to have intimate relations (read: sex) with men (many women do, gay or straight), but that goes against my natural inclination. I'm actually not that comfortable with men, nor do I feel safe in the presence of most men. My lifestyle choice then, is to not have frequent contact with men if I don't have to.


Having said all of that, it is entirely possible, I suppose, that one's natural inclination is to not eat meat (or attend Catholic church, or drink alcohol, or even wear pants), from the time one is sufficiently cognizant of what feels inherently right; that to do so feels utterly foreign, and one only does so because to not do so would be to buck the social norm. And one must fit in, right?


And so, when it comes to a definition of "lifestyle choice," who decides what fits within the parameters of that definition? Or if there are parameters at all? This, then, is why there is so much confusion on the topic.


But make no mistake, there is lifestyle, and then there is life.


To clarify: My life would never feel complete were I with a man. I would not feel complete. And therein lies the definitive difference.


I will tell you this one other thing: I have conclusively, and without fail, been attracted to, and fallen in love with, women. I did not have a choice in my sexual identity. I no more had a choice in that, than I had a choice in my eyes being brown, or my build being slender. I knew from a very young age that I had brown eyes and always would, that I was scrawny and always would be, and that I liked girls and always would. I found certain males attractive, but those males, in retrospect, always had feminine qualities, and females were always infinitely more attractive, even so. 


And so, once again, I think it safe to say, if you don't know what you're talking about, you should keep your mouth shut. If you have some conclusive proof, of one or the other, by all means, speak up. Show us the facts.


Otherwise, just shut the fuck up.


And those you are persecuting and tormenting and judging will thank you for that.

Survey says...

I am the worst sort of person to be in customer service.

I've learned this more clearly over the years, but I knew it from the time I was 16, and began my first job with a drive-in A&W, in a smallish town, where I found I was very unsuited for waiting on people who ordered burgers and fries and onion rings, to then devour them in their cars, and to barely thank me, or not thank me at all, for bringing them their meals.

I learned, over time, through various other customer-service oriented jobs, that I am ill-suited to deal with people who think they have any right to demand something of me, without a "please" or "thank you". 

I do not like rudeness, or bad manners, or judgmental comments, looks, or behaviour.

For many years, on the advice of my dad (poor advice, in retrospect) that I should not go into journalism (there would be no jobs for a woman in the field, he advised), I trained and worked as a dental assistant. I would not recommend this field to anyone. Talk about under-appreciation. Working for anyone who has an ego that is undeserved and rarely earned, and is usually only gained by who you know, not what you know, can't have any kind of good outcome. Oh, and let's not forget that the only benefit working for a dentist is that you get (questionable) free dental care. Few dentists provide any kind of benefits for their employees.

Customer service has its place, I do not argue that point. And some people are genuinely suited to it. I admire those people. I, however,  am not one of them.

My life lately has taken on an almost bohemian flare. I am perfectly comfortable with it. I gave up everything a few years ago, by choice, and I do not regret or miss anything. I do, however, still need to earn a living, and so I have taken on various temporary positions.

The most recent has been with a company which conducts surveys, procured through other companies under the guise of "customer service." It's an evening and occasional weekend job, which works well with my writing schedule. My job is to attend my computer-generated phone list, and conduct my survey. Most people are perfectly willing to participate in the survey. I am well-spoken, articulate, and polite.

Well, mostly polite. I have found that, when faced with certain rude individuals, I am as unsuited for this job, as I am for any customer service position.

For example, there was the call answered by a male, who, before I even completed my spiel, launched into a tirade against me. "Where did you get my number?" he demanded. I assured him it was computer-generated, that I did not have a compiled list before me. "And what the hell are you selling again?" he demanded. I assured him that I, personally, was not selling anything, that I was merely voicing a survey. "And what the hell if I say 'yes', what am I saying 'yes' to, and what are you going to do with it?" he demanded further irately.

That was all it took.

"You know what?" I said, rather tightly. "Forget it. I'm not doing this." I moved my cursor over the "End call" button.

"What? Wait, what?" he interrupted, sounding dismayed.

"I'm not doing this with you," I told him, annoyed.

"What? Why?" He sounded even more surprised.

"Because I don't have to," I told him acidly. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to. Good day, sir."

"No, okay no, wait," he spluttered. "I'm sorry, that was--I'm sorry, I don't mean to be ignorant, please, continue."

I said nothing, cursor still poised over the "End call" button.

"Really, please, I didn't mean to be ignorant." He now sounded very contrite. He paused a beat, then added, "Really, I'm sorry, continue, please, let's do the survey."

"Fine," I said shortly. And so I did. And he was very pleasant throughout. He even apologized again at the end. I was stiffly polite when I thanked him.

Now, obviously, I'm not supposed to act in this manner. I'm supposed to do my job, and put up with people who are rude and have bad manners (technically, that's not exactly true; we don't have to put up with rude behaviour, but most surveyors do not have the gumption to answer back). And it's possible these calls are monitored (I assume, but don't know the regularity of such), but frankly, I don't give a flying fuck. No one has the right to treat me, a complete stranger who is only doing their job, in such a rude manner.

There have been other such receptions, but very few (I could include a few other examples, but you get the gist, and it would make this post overly lengthy.) For the most part, people are receptive to calls that are customer service oriented surveys, and are fine with giving their opinion. For those individuals who are not so receptive, given the chance in the face of their rude behaviour, I respond scathingly in part and do not put up with it. As I said, I am not the sort of person who should be in anything even remotely resembling customer service. While I certainly understand I must earn a living, what I am doing is hardly anything even close to offensive, and I refuse to be treated like some sort of parasite.

So the next time you receive an unexpected call, keep in mind that the person on the other end may only be conducting a simple, short survey, which may actually benefit you, the customer, in the end. There is no call for rude behaviour. Should you choose to be rude, you may get me on the other end, and I will give you back as good as I have received.

Which you quite likely deserved.