tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14875904801629672172024-02-07T16:11:02.438-08:00Nanakoosa's Place For Women With a PastWelcome Survivors, Rebels, Rogues and Rabble-Rousers. Free Spirits, Flaky Feminists, Misfits and Mischief Makers. For all Women who Choose a Unique Path, who Dare to Dream...this Space is for You!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-26174009328857883272016-12-12T09:10:00.000-08:002016-12-12T09:10:02.331-08:00My Inner Child is a Total Dork Part 1<br />
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This post was inspired by a photo of me, age 2, standing in front of our apartment on Amy avenue in Whiting Ind. The snowsuit is large and puffy, the waistline was as high as my great Bompa's right up under the non boob. It was new that year. By next year my wrists would be red and exposed and I'd have to wear my Dad's socks to fill the gap between boot and snow pant. An entirely different and colder, but no less awkward, presentation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5AnaZgW65g0CuWjEx9gDIIh0-PGpWU06wLBUcN9nzjCyeI9wxrx8zKNqe1m_Ihk-6MB8NXkUVOEPj4gdthmN9uIapDLXCNEPzIFsh5Fi35tvNG0Zr8lIlT1kNTSF63sNRSf1tsX0Fyc5/s1600/FB_IMG_1481561703191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5AnaZgW65g0CuWjEx9gDIIh0-PGpWU06wLBUcN9nzjCyeI9wxrx8zKNqe1m_Ihk-6MB8NXkUVOEPj4gdthmN9uIapDLXCNEPzIFsh5Fi35tvNG0Zr8lIlT1kNTSF63sNRSf1tsX0Fyc5/s320/FB_IMG_1481561703191.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note Bompa's waistline. </td></tr>
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Zoom ahead 55 years. There is snow on the ground. The dogs really need to go out. If they don't they will essentially say "fuck it" and pee on the floor. If this happens a Geo political situation that dwarfs anything the Russians have will escalate in the house hold. A skirt is quicker to throw on over pajamas than jeans, so I've gone with the flowsy elastic waisted thing I've had since before by kids were born. Elastic was never destined to live this long. Never Mind! I rip the hair tie (and a chunk of my scalp) from my head and fashion a "bikini knot", yeah let's go with that. No time for real boots so I shove my feet into the fugs, or fake uggs. These too have seen better days. The sole is unevenly worn at the insole, they make my feet look sad. Frowny feet.<br />
The dogs are circling, in opposite directions. I am bound by their leashes, bound like a frowzy toppling maypole. I unwind the dogs and as I stand up the glasses that have been perched on my head fall backward and onto the floor. The bigger dog immediately steps on them, and when I tell <span style="background-color: yellow;">her </span> to stop she does (good girl) but then grinds the lenses a little into the floor as she shifts nervously waiting for instructions. Or trying not to pee. The glasses don't matter now, nothing matters now but avoiding world house war three. As we scuffle down the dark back stairs my skirt begins to slip ever so slowly and my untied hair is covering my eyes. I am more animal than human now......but we open the door and there is it, snow. Shining and glittering in the universal language of magic. I probably have the same goofy smile on my face as I did 55 years ago<br />
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© 2010-2016 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-798738155930523032016-11-22T04:19:00.000-08:002016-11-22T04:19:05.674-08:00Fallen Angels and Reluctant Saints When you work with youth you get a lot of very nice compliments. People say things like :oh the work you do is so important" and "I bet those kids really appreciate you" and even, god forbid, "You are a saint"<br />
It's important to note that these well meaning kind gestures almost always come from people who do NOT work with youth. If they did there would be a few things they would understand. Like the fact that sometimes when discussing a case with a co-worker, you might refer to a teenager as a "complete dick" or some other colorful descriptive term. Like the fact that on many occasions you find yourself nearly dissociated in the midst of chaos and arguing questioning all of your life choices up to this point and considering that throwing your keys on the desk and walking out the door might be your best chance at salvaging what is left of your life. That you look at your paycheck in comparison to your student loan debt and realize that you will never be able to pay even the interest. That you will probably never own a new car or a house (unless you are lucky enough to be partnered with someone who has made more lucrative career choices)<br />
A very good friend and co-worker of mine once responded to the old "you're such a good person" platitude with the best response I've ever heard. He said, "no I'm NOT a very good person, that's why I do this work" I understood his meaning behind that. It was not intended as a sort of self flagellation an atonement for mistakes made earlier in life, but rather an affirmation that it takes one to know one. In order to be fully present and empathetic with troubled youth, having a history of one's own troubled youth goes a long way. It goes a long way in having the strength and resilience to let the insults roll off your back, because you have probably hurled similar insults at adults in your day. You understand that the testing they put you through is merely their way of finding out if you will care for them unconditionally or if you will turn your back on them and abandon them as so many have done before you. You know that they crave the same things you craved yet resisted when you were a troubled youth. There is the promise of some redemption, some healing of your own wounded child if only you can give them the kind of guidance you were denied. But don't expect accolades from the ones you nurture, they are more often than not likely to reject your acceptance, because it goes against everything they have experienced so far. No we don't do this for accolades and appreciation. In fact many of us don't even really understand why we do it, we just do because it's something we feel driven to do. A calling perhaps, a compulsion, maybe if you've been lucky, a tribute to someone who helped you out along the way.<br />
So, please, when I tell you what I do for a living don't tell me what a wonderful person I am. Don't attempt to canonize me. Just say thanks. The appreciation for a job well done goes a long way in any field.<br />
And it wouldn't hurt my feelings if you ever have the chance to lobby or appeal for better pay for youth workers. We make on average 10 to 20 grand less per year than teachers. And we don't have a union (in fact the National organization that represents social workers seems to recoil from the idea of unionization...we're supposed to be in this for the love of the work, not much more. And while we do love the work, (who would go back to the place that just yesterday triggered a massive existential crisis if they didn't? ) we work very hard and for not much more than fulfillment of that nagging compulsion to be where we are. We are not saints, we are simply following out destiny.<br />
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© 2010-2016 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-70166426693809099062015-12-20T20:40:00.001-08:002015-12-20T20:40:07.960-08:00A Minor Inconvenience - reflections on 12/19/2014<div dir="ltr">
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It wasn't my first time in jail. After all I am a woman with a past but I wondered if the very different circumstances that landed me there would color the experience in a lighter hue. After all, my previous jail experiences were, shall we say, not unreasonable. I did break the law, I was stupid about it and I was very, very drunk. At that point in my life I was quite often very, very drunk. I can even say that for the most part I was in the wrong, I needed intervention and frankly I'm a better person for the experience. See, like many people who run afoul of the law I was lost in a mix of untreated mental health issues and coexisting alcohol and drug abuse. <i>Unlike </i>many people, I was fortunate enough to be offered an alternative to sentencing at a very effective and holistic treatment program for women. But that was after enough time in jail for me to learn a few things. <br />
Probably the biggest lesson I picked up on is that my jail fears were way off base. For most people the biggest fear of jail is the other inmates. You know all the horror stories and jokes, I don't need to repeat them. In reality most people who are in County jail are not murderers and/or rapists eagerly rubbing their hands together at the prospect of "fresh meat". If anything my grand entrance to the dorm with my arm load of fresh bedding and false bravado, was pretty anti climactic. Most of the women barely looked up from their game of cards or tv show or whatever it was they were using to pass the time. When someone finally did approach me it was an older woman with a gentle and motherly nature who took me under her wing, telling me that since I'd just missed canteen day she would hook me up with coffee for the next few days. Within minutes we were in her cell sipping lukewarm instant coffee mixed with "hot" tap water, looking at photos of her grandchildren. Like any grandmother she was beaming with pride and full of stories. She was clearly an elder, both on the inside and out, and by befriending her I managed to secure a fair amount of space for the remainder of my stay. </div>
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In the 9 weeks I spent there, I came to know all the women in my unit. I heard their stories, stories of children at home, of boyfriends who convinced them to take the rap because they had a clean record and were less likely to do hard time. I heard histories of abuse and dehumanization that often began in infancy within the family and of disenfranchisement by a system that has no compassion for women who don't fit the "norm" (whatever that is) in the community. The vast majority of my cellmates were in for victimless crimes, mostly involving drugs or alcohol, self-medication. Some were in for bad checks or other forms of "fraud" that were the only options available to provide for their children. The vast majority of these women were black, because the vast majority of people who end up in jail for crimes like that are black and usually poor. Women who were casualties of a racist and classist system that is devoid of compassion, devoid of accessible and meaningful services and resources. A system that punishes the mentally ill and re-victimizes the abused.</div>
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That experience was nearly 20 years ago and in that time I managed to get clean, return to college to earn a Master's Degree in Community Counseling and find employment in a rewarding career advocating for the kind of women I'd grown to know, and care about, on the "inside"</div>
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On December 19, 2014, I was arrested for protesting the very system I'd grown to understand was responsible for robbing these women of their freedoms, their families, their dreams. In my eyes this experience would be different. I was different, I was supporting a "noble" cause, and certainly I'd be out within an hour, no problem, piece of cake. Or so I thought. The minute I walked through that door into the justice facility all my self righteous pride and illusion melted like a January thaw. The sound of those metal doors slamming behind you, the clanging of the CO's keys, the angry voice commanding you by last name only to do as you are told brought me right back to that time two decades ago. If you haven't experienced it it's difficult to describe accurately the immediate effect of depersonalization that occurs the minute that door slams. It was as if all I'd struggled to create and nurture in my life was stripped away in an instant. </div>
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Does this sound melodramatic of someone who ultimately only spent one night in jail on a relatively minor misdemeanor charge? Out of context I'm sure it would, and rightly so when there are so many behind bars serving decades for "crimes" that are often ultimately the result of a broken system that creates broken people. People who were never offered the opportunity for a second chance that I was given simply by being white, educated and somewhat middle class, It was in reality, much like the protest for which I was arrested, a minor inconvenience. But then again, both the protest and the arrest were symptoms of a much larger and insidious system that decides that some people are worth less than others if they are even given any thought to at all. </div>
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I know I'm fortunate to have that advantage even if it often creates an internal discomfort, a conflict that I can only reconcile by creating minor inconveniences in the hope that they will someday bring light to the greater injustices in our society,<br />
© 2010-2015 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-73161016283708148672014-06-14T21:45:00.002-07:002014-06-14T21:46:10.186-07:00Blogging Blah Blah and Being an OddballI haven't been a very good blogger lately have I? Well, maybe I've never been a very <i>good </i>blogger, but I haven't been a very productive blogger. It can be fun in a way, writing down your thoughts and having the ability to share and to see what others think, that bit is fun. It seems as though within the last few years everyone has decided to be a blogger. Fair enough, everyone has an opinion, and ideas and we all like to share and communicate. Now that things like facebook and twitter have become more than just a diversion or a bit of a treat they seem to have morphed into our daily process of interacting with others. They feel like a necessity. Up in the morning, have your cup of coffee or however it is you start your day and then right to the device to check up on your facebook. Lunchtime, check your facebook. Home from work..facebook. Ooops my phone dinged, someone replied on facebook, better see what that's about. And all of a sudden the world is awash with our thoughts, ideas and opinions. It's all out there, forever. Every bad mood, every little disagreement, every lunch someone ordered at the deli, every latte at Starbucks, every cute face your dog made (guilty) you get the point, it's almost like why have a blog when our lives are moment by moment recorded, out on display, reviewed and critiqued every day?<br />
Of course there are many brilliant minds and amazing writers who do have blogs worth reading. Why bother trying to get published in an industry that is overwhelmed and frankly probably highly controlled for content? Write a blog.<br />
Then there are people who really, really just like to hear themselves talk, no shortage of those, and they can reach a much larger audience with a blog. Why limit your rants to friends and family who have all heard what you have to say a zillion times?<br />
I am fascinated by how different the world is for young people who have always had the internet. And smartphones. For them instant communication with a relatively unlimited audience is just the way things are. They can't imagine having to wait to use a telephone to confess some deep dark secret or some bit of exciting news to their best friend. Or having to wait for a piece of mail to arrive in response to a letter you sent a week earlier. Or the intimacy of the sweaty piece of paper cautiously being unwrapped while hiding in the bathroom stall at school awaiting the answer to the big question 'do you like me?'<br />
I'm only a bit nostalgic for those times. Really I thrive on the ability to be able to have instant responses. I'm thrilled by the fact that some of the people I have the most stimulating conversations with are people I would never have known before the internet, and who I may never meet in person. I care about these people and I know they care about me. I've always been a bit of an oddball and good friends are hard to come by. I think many of the people I've grown close to online are cut from the same cloth. When I was so sick and miserable on treatment for Hepatitis C I found groups and individuals who offered real support and understanding because they knew exactly what I was experiencing. It was a wider base than I could have had access to by going to the one and only support group that was offered in town and consisted of about 20 people at best. In my experience, being an oddball, in a group that size I'm lucky to find one or two who really clicks with all of the aspects of my life not just the topic of the group.<br />
So ok, I've been an inconsistent blogger. I won't say bad, I won't say great, I just am who I am, quirky, oddball, whatever. I am a voracious communicator, although I'm not even sure 'voracious' fits in that context, but it's my blog so I'm using it that way. And isn't that the beauty of all this. We can do it our way, so long as we're not claiming to be experts or speaking on a topic that requires study and expertise. If I am an expert in anything it's doing things in my own oddball way and encouraging others to embrace their own eccentricities. So this post is dedicated to all my friends, near and far, in person and online, I am so grateful for you all and for your humor, honesty and courage to be yourselves! Thank you for being you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhV68CtbQVSkCwnSLr8PF6rpXCxZX_kwqfL3CwkA2HxIVpOaiXrGZTDrsuQeIWCc8xf642A8u9qzKId54X3hDo_L7W90xhrOUXRhs6EEwgRFGKYlUWLnKmtjEufDHHkwlmrBExESXcF0LE/s1600/blessed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhV68CtbQVSkCwnSLr8PF6rpXCxZX_kwqfL3CwkA2HxIVpOaiXrGZTDrsuQeIWCc8xf642A8u9qzKId54X3hDo_L7W90xhrOUXRhs6EEwgRFGKYlUWLnKmtjEufDHHkwlmrBExESXcF0LE/s1600/blessed.jpg" height="143" width="200" /></a></div>
Peace and Love,<br />
Jenny<br />
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© 2010-2014 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-42629780316183083632014-05-18T21:46:00.000-07:002014-05-18T21:46:55.206-07:00Pharmaceutical Sexy"These are the years of your life when you know who you are...and you should live like it" This line is from an ad for Viagra or some equivalent product.<br />
The reason middle aged and older people are comfortable with who we are and choices we make is, in my opinion, largely due to the lack of hormones that these products attempt to stimulate or simulate. It's quite simple, us older people are more wise and confident because we are not constantly obsessing about how to get laid!!!!<br />
Granted I'm not sure how Viagra works, but it is only one of a few products and schemes designed to enable older adults to 'feel sexy', and perform sexy.. There is HRT (Hormone replacement therapy) for women which is designed to help with the symptoms of menopause and presumably is of some benefit in preventing certain types of cancer. I did not choose to try this option myself, but I don't hold it against anyone who does especially if their menopause symptoms are interfering with daily life. I have heard some women, including a celebrity or two, advocate HRT for the youthful effects. Some are cosmetic, apparently hormones can stave off some of the changes that effect the aging process, but I've also heard women gushing about their increased sex drive. I guess this comes in handy for celebrity women who seem to wear young men on their arm like fashion accessories, but most of us don't need to keep up with a 20 something libido. Speaking for myself when recalling my own libido at ago 20 something, I'm not so sure I'd want to revisit that intensity. Hey it was great at the time and I took ample advantage of the opportunities but 30 years later I am just naturally inclined to save my energies for other things.<br />
I'm not saying that once we hit a certain age we ought to become celibate, close up shop completely, but like so many other interpersonal relationships things do change with age and experience. And to give credit where credit is due this change in my activities is not entirely the result of some inner peace and harmony or great spiritual awakening, it's pretty much quite simply a change in hormonal composition. It's a change I can live with and since I was one of those people who seemed to have an overflow of hormones in my youth, it's actually been a relief. It was hard work keeping up with all those demands my body kept insisting I fulfill.<br />
So you all rock on with your pharmaceutical hornyness if that makes you happy, for me I'll take the peace of mind.<br />
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© 2014 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-35476055833720065162014-03-24T22:56:00.001-07:002014-03-24T22:57:17.306-07:00Long ass winter<p dir="ltr">Yes it has been, literally and figuratively. I opened my blogger account for the first time in over a month and there are a half dozen unfinished drafts.<br>
This winter has sapped me of my soul I swear. <br>
It's really rather unpleasant to have the experience of going outdoors become physically and emotionally painful. <br>
I don't know what my issue is but I've been labeled as depressed, chronically fatigued and a few other trendy diagnoses. All I know is that there are periods of time when I have no energy and no motivation. It's not as though I'm particularly unhappy at these times, I'm just not that into doing much. And that's the average day. On the bad days my body resists any plans my brain might consider. It doesn't just resist, it aches, it refuses, it calls a general strike. <br>
It is in winter that I feel like a bear, I just want to eat a lot of fat and sleep. <br>
I'm waking up and emerging from hibernation now and feeling my creativity re emerging as well, and not a moment to soon, I was beginning to bore myself. <br>
Happy Spring and to those of us in the southern hemisphere, Happy Autumn! </p>
<p dir="ltr">Peace</p>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-27761391794434771962014-02-14T22:15:00.000-08:002014-02-14T22:15:27.590-08:00Deep Winter FreezeoutI haven't been much into blogging lately. It was very fun at first. Social Media can be a scrapbook or story journal of one's life, but one you get to share with complete strangers as well as friends and acquaintances. It's a fun way to reality test your perception of yourself, getting feedback from someone who you will probably never meet in real life, someone who has nothing to gain or lose by being completely honest in their reactions to your thoughts and or artwork etc. is simultaneously liberating and risky. In the long run it's probably therapeutic for me to do this from time to time. I do like to have the opportunity to bounce my ideas and feelings off several diverse others and have them share their experiences with me<br />
If your reaction carries no cost as well, you are free to risk being thrown for a loop. We can learn a lot about ourselves by being thrown for a loop, caught off guard, called on our shit. Our friends are less likely to do this for us for various reasons that I'm sure we're all aware of.<br />
That's all cool for a while, then you start to realize that every damn person in the world has an opinion and some are more alluring than others. For me the type of storytelling or editorializing varies with my current state of mind and mood. So I'll read one blog for a bit then switch to something else for a while.<br />
That type of selective yet interactive way of relating to other people can provide us with interesting opportunities to learn from the way we interact with others.<br />
Especially now when I don't get out and meet new people like I used to when I was young or even when I was in school or working. When I was on Interferon/Ribavirin treatment for Hepatitis C for a whole year I was so sick and weak I hardly ever left my bed. My computer was my door to the outside world and other people, especially since I was able to find other people, from all over the world, of all ages and backgrounds, who were experiencing the same thing I was. It's very difficult to understand how that treatment effects you unless you have been through it. It's a great comfort to have people who truly understand.<br />
I just wanted to check in with an update and see how everyone is doing. I've been doing a lot of reading and writing, not blog writing, other stuff, and battling with cabin fever or the temptation to retreat into total hibernation. I'm trying to appreciate the beauty of winter as often as possible and I'm fortunate to not have to be out n the wicked cold if I don't want to, at least not very much.<br />
Next month I'm off to California with my daughter to visit my Mother and Brother! Good times ahead!<br />
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© 2010-2014 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-10008788913988538922013-12-13T13:10:00.002-08:002013-12-13T13:10:52.713-08:00Soul's Choice<br /><br />Why are we here? What is my life purpose? Does any of this matter? These are the kinds of questions that most mid-life people begin to ask ourselves After havng established a career, education, family and all the things young adults create for themselves there comes a point where we begin to question life's bigger picture.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />There are people who say that we each come into this life with a pre chosen plan, a lesson plan more or less. Many of these people describe human beings as spiritual beings on a human journey, each soul desiring to experience the full range of human BE-ing. This is a handy answer for the conondrum of human suffering and cruelty. These difficulties don't really amount to much in the Big Picture, they tell us, other than to fulfill a souls desire, or curiosity for experience. Some people argue that Karma operates as a system of checks and balances, explaining our misfortues as "making up" for some sin or debauchery we may have committed in a past life. Others (and I lean more toward this philosophy) view the Karmic journey as an adventure where the soul samples from a variety of experience in order to better understand itself.<br /><br />There is a certain amount of comfort in this perspective and most days I am willing to accept that this may be true, if not somewhat oversimplified and watered down to our bland and infantile human taste.<br /><br /> It is also believed that we each have otherworldly companions, spirit guides or guardian angels, who assist us as we navigate through life's journey. Just as we humans tend to anthromorphize our animal companions I wonder if we do the same for our multidimensional counterparts. Of course it makes them easier for us to imagine as they stand around in some pre incarnation planning session reviewing past lives and considering options for future incarnations, much like one might page through a housing brochure or one of those style magazines in the hair salon.<br /><br />Imagine catalogs for occupation, physical appearance, potential parents and for what geographical location to be born into. Picture one discarnate soul peering over the shoulder of their student browsing the chosen handbook<br /><br /> "ooooh rural India..tsk, I dunno are you sure about that? I hear it can be a little rough over there, not much to eat you know. On the other hand the life expectancy is pretty low so you may not have to put up with it for too long, and they are an attractive race as a rule"<br /><br />The question of free will comes to mind. Supposedly all of us spirits or souls or however you want to refer to us choose our circumstances willingly, but so we do so independently? Or do the oversoul overseers, over-oversouls, actually guide us along the way.<br /><br /> "Excuse me there, I can't help but noticing that your last 5 or 6 lifetimes have been spent in rather well to do circumstances with two lifetimes spent as a Rockefeller. You have had access to unlimited resources and somehow managed to escape both the bubonic plague and the influenza epidemic of the early 20th century. Might I recommend a stint as an unemployed single mother with a disabled child, you know just to balance things out a bit? Go for the complete experience?"<br /><br /> Personally I think that not having all the answers is part of the 'fun' of life, part of the plan. Questioning, dreaming and wondering is also part of the plan even if we aren't meant to find concrete answers, the thrill is in the chase, as they say. I can appreciate that, and I can appreciate not knowing how it all turns out. I'm not one of those people who skips to the end of a movie or a book...although I might like to have a chat with the author given a chance. That's why, next week, I'm having a session with a woman who channels akashic records, the otherworldly record of All That Is. Despite my open mindedness and willingness to explore life's mysteries using a variety of non traditional methods I am always a little bit skeptical. But I look forward to hearing what she has to say and if it resonates with my Truth. For me it really doesn't matter much whether I believe she does have access some vast mystical registrar of deeds and hall of records or if she simply is able to intuit what I need to hear. As long as it has meaning to me and can offer some guidance on my life's journey, I'm good with that.<br /><br />
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<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-42417799613538147432013-11-02T15:19:00.000-07:002013-11-02T15:19:37.173-07:00Life With Family<br />
<br />
The Universe or fate or whatever you want to call it has a funny way of taking the reins whenever I make plans. I'm not much of a planner; setting goals isn't something I normally do on my own. One could argue that more practice on my part might subdue the universes hi jinks, but that's my old school superstition talking, I think. Anyway, I recently came to a point where I realized I really need to do something to rectify my unstable financial status. I came up with a few ideas, plans to pay off some debt a little at a time, with the ultimate goal of bringing my bank account current so I can apply for some credit.<br />
I was rather pleased with myself and my new-found sense of adult responsibility. I began to believe those positive affirmations we all hear ad nauseum. I am responsible, I am capable, I am lovable. A regular Stuart Smalley, oh yes.<br />
My sunshiny radiance was short lived. The first sign of impending gloom came within 24 hours when my internet got suspended. I had paid the bill but failed to notice the 15 dollar a month rate increase. It helps to read your bills before you pay them I guess. Then no sooner than I had completed my indignant call to the internet provider I received a call from the electric company. It's that time of year where the moratorium on shut offs begins so they are out to settle up as many accounts as possible. I usually carry some balance until energy assistance comes through, but due to the brief but disruptive hissy fit in Congress such programs were put on hold for two weeks.<br />
I couldn't help but feel just a little demoralized. All of a sudden I was in the midst of that gnawing feeling that no matter how well intentioned my plans I was doomed to struggle every day to keep my head above water. Not to mention the thought that if there were some sort of emergency I'd be screwed. Living on the edge wears away at you a little at a time like the proverbial drop of water on the stone. In addition to my often uphill battle with money I carry on in an equally challenging war with depression. Its always lurking just around the corner and financial worry feeds that beast very well.<br />
Depression peeked it's head around the corner and began whispering it's usual litany of condemnation.<br />
I am an adult, I should not only be able to support myself but should be able to help my adult children out if they need it too. But where do all these shoulds that Depression is so fond of come from? Who writes your script Mr Blusey Buzzkill?<br />
For one thing they come from a different era. A time when jobs were plentiful and food was affordable. They also come from a culture that puts a somewhat narcissistic value on independence and individuality. John Wayne type stuff. The American way, ghosts of a culture that no longer exists. It's the privileged middle class white culture (a thing of the past for most of us) that says every nuclear family has their own home and every individual has their own bedroom equipped with a tv, game system and whatever else they 'need'. One thing my daughter learned by dating outside of her ethnicity is that many people commonly live with relatives. Nursing homes are a last resort and even daycare for children is provided by live in family. For those who have struggled family has been the glue that held them together, financially and emotionally. This same daughter, lives right across the street from me had an experience similar to mine, well laid plans for security that unexpectedly washed away from right under her feet. As we lamented our 'family curse' over coffee the inevitable and logical conclusion became clear. Her apartment is big enough for another person and if each of us cut our rent in half we could be left with some money after paying the pipers. We spend much of each day together anyway and I am my granddaughter's homework helper. We made the decision that I would move in with her. Or as she reassured me, we would move in together.<br />
I'll admit I went through a couple of days of feeling defeated, feeling I had somehow screwed up my life as the whispers of impending depression continued to swirl around my head like gnats, persistent but useless. Ultimately I came to the conclusion that despite some mistakes I've made in the past, I really have done my best to stay respectfully afloat during the past few years of unemployment. Once that sense of shame faded I was able to see the benefits and joys of being a real part of a family again. All the things like meals together, story time at bedtime, move nights and even the chaos of disagreements are the fabric of family life and I have missed that these past few years. Empty nest is real folks, and for those who can afford to travel or develop exciting hobbies and interests maybe it doesn't feel quite so lonely, but I'm not one of those people right now. Having half the financial burden I've been carrying might allow me to enjoy some of those middle age benefits and I get to have the family part too. Best of both worlds.<br />
So here I go into the next chapter, not a step back but forward and I am able to welcome it with expectation and open arms.<br />
Wish me luck.<br />
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© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-72407740318243411602013-09-09T01:05:00.000-07:002013-09-09T01:05:37.827-07:00No Sounds of SilenceWith my apologies to Simon and Garfunkel<br />
<br />
Hello insomnia my old friend<br />
It seems I've met you once again<br />
There was a dream while I was sleeping<br />
and the image is now fleeting<br />
and the vision that was dancing in my brain<br />
scant remains<br />
but there's no sound<br />
of silence<br />
distant sirens scream and whine<br />
the cops must be working overtime<br />
and the drunkman in the alley still sings<br />
of nonsense things<br />
and there's no sound<br />
of silence<br />
<br />
rise from bed and curse oh damn,<br />
the kitchen clock reads 3 am<br />
and the dog next door is barking at the bum<br />
who only hums<br />
and there's no sound<br />
of silence<br />
<br />
restlessly I pace the floor<br />
and stub my toe against the door<br />
and I struggle not to cry out in the night<br />
it wouldn't be right<br />
to break the silence that my neighbors must know<br />
as they sleep, face in pillow<br />
<br />
To my computer I will go<br />
to seek out someone I know<br />
perhaps from across the sea<br />
another timezone it may be<br />
a time where the sun shines in the day<br />
far away<br />
and I will find<br />
no more silence<br />
<br />
Alas the battery is uncharged<br />
the distance now looms large<br />
and the night sky is fading to the dawn<br />
oh what went wrong<br />
I only wanted<br />
silence<br />
<br />
<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-56946660199747423522013-08-25T21:29:00.000-07:002013-08-25T21:29:01.422-07:00Single, Widowed, Divorced Female Seeks SelfI tend to be one of those people who posses the innate ability to make other people feel good about <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dcH2DyCj6WwxuvJCt9ESyLIuShRqMXro-YnynwlSwWBELWX6ktw9p-BeZkFk5fexGAfKeSabE67o1_QoGd3iO4blBHzDswOiEwIhpRikWcoqovjAnckwGY8_FTruKar7-1z_1_21zYPC/s1600/smokeylady+vintage+image+graphicsfairy004b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1dcH2DyCj6WwxuvJCt9ESyLIuShRqMXro-YnynwlSwWBELWX6ktw9p-BeZkFk5fexGAfKeSabE67o1_QoGd3iO4blBHzDswOiEwIhpRikWcoqovjAnckwGY8_FTruKar7-1z_1_21zYPC/s200/smokeylady+vintage+image+graphicsfairy004b.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
being single. I can effortlessly produce the rationale for utilizing time alone to truly know and appreciate ones self. I tell people, and I truly believe, that when the time is right the right person will appear and that until that time forcing the issue is likely to upset the delicate balance of the universe and result in a mismatch that is doomed to fail. On my moodier or my more manic days my advice may arrive more crudely packaged, swathed in darkly cynical humor but the general idea is the same: just don't sweat it-enjoy the present as it is-someday your prince will come and if not you'll be so busy enjoying the present moment you'll never notice. I don't just say this stuff to make people feel better, I really believe it.<br />
It's so much easier to reassure someone else that to grace ones self with the same comfort.<br />
Most times I am reasonably happy being single...although I must admit the word 'single' kind of makes me cringe. There's something about it that implies that it is a temporary condition, that one is either actively seeking a permanent partner or is out to get laid as frequently as possible. "Swinging singles", a dated phrase from my youth, is indelibly etched in my mind. Although I have to say when faced with the options on identification forms, it feels better to say that than it does to say 'divorced'. My divorce happened so long ago I feels like it shouldn't count, like there should be a statute of limitations. I've considered "widowed", the sympathy it would garner is tempting and it sounds far more intriguing than the other two, especially at my age, I would simply have to over look the fact that my husband passed away over a decade after our divorce so that's kind of a white lie as they say. "Never married" is a nice option they sometimes offer. It carries an air of mystery....why would a woman of her age never have married and what kind of exciting free spirited life did she lead? hmmmm? But that would be more of an actual outright lie, not so white.<br />
No matter how you slice it or what you name it I am indeed, unpartnered, single, divorced and in a way widowed (but not really) and all of a sudden it's starting to feel lonely. Maybe it was exciting for a while because it was different. After all I have been in some sort of relationship for most of my adult life. I tended to go rather quickly from one to the other and in some cases had that little overlap just to make sure I didn't have to wonder what to say on those information forms. Now, in the past decade or so, the stretches between relationships seem to grow longer, quieter, more comfortable. And in those stretches of time, my requirements to change that status become more refined. Over time they have 'refined' to the point of being almost absurd in their specificity as my life becomes more settled in routine and quirky habit less welcome to change or disruption. There are fewer points that are negotiable. The dog sleeps on the bed. The butter stays out on the counter. I'll pick up my underwear when I damn well feel like it and maybe I do want to be up at 3 am reading. On the other hand there are so many areas where I am extremely flexible and/ or easy maintenance. Never forget that you as the potentially partnered, are half the equation.<br />
Just for fun I started a list of characteristics that I would want in a mate. This is a pretty common exercise in counseling or other self help type programs. Optimally the list then gets divided into negotiable and non negotiable traits at some point, but I figure why bother even messing round and including non negotiable in the first place right? Just cut to the chase. So anyway, I started my MANifesto, got about a dozen items into the list, realized I was describing myself and that's when I left off. Haven't touched it since. It's still there of course and like all good manifestos it probably should sit and stew in between additions so that's what it's doing now. At least until I can come up with some non physical i.e. obvious trait that would differentiate this person from myself. Otherwise I may be stuck being my own dream date. Maybe I'll just start filling in my own name in that space that says "spouse", it probably wouldn't be the worst fib on the form.<br />
<br />
<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-49899694963360532182013-07-29T17:30:00.000-07:002013-07-29T17:30:40.351-07:00The Importance of Being BradleyI'm feeling almost sick waiting on the verdict of the hearing. I don't write about politics or the news <br />
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very often on here. There's plenty of that to go around and more than enough opportunity to voice my opinions on such matters. For here, I tend to focus on the personal and that which is personal, yet shared, among my peers. But in my heart this case feels personal and it has since the story first broke, when I first saw that very young man being led in handcuffs to what would become a seemingly endless confinement to a tiny cell. I've spent time in a holding cell, about 48 hours, and it damn near drove me mad. I can't even fathom what two years in such a place would do to a person.<br />
I know there are a lot of people who care and who do take it personally as well. This case and it's outcome will be a turning point in our country, just as the release of the Collateral Murder video was also a turning point. Those of us who know veterans and have heard their stories weren't terribly surprised by what we saw. Most vets will tell you these things, and worse, much worse, happen all the time. There was something that was disturbingly 'safe' about having that knowledge restricted to a select bit of the population. Like incest, you want to keep it hidden away and that first confession, no matter how healing it is, feels like having a layer of skin ripped off.<br />
I had a friend who was in Vietnam who told me about taking trophies, human ears, and wearing them strung around their necks like jewelry. War does that to people, it makes them do things you would never imagine them doing. This man was one of the kindest most caring people I knew and yet he had at one time sliced ears right off peoples heads. He told me that if someone was in the road when a truck of troops came along that person would be run over and left to die. It didn't matter if that person was a child or an elderly person, which they usually were. There were other things too that he wouldn't talk about but I can imagine.<br />
Most people don't want to know these things. I don't want to know these things and yet I feel it's my duty to know them because I live in a country that perpetrates more war than any other. I want to know these things so that I never forget why I oppose war in any way possible, even if most of them don't feel very effective.<br />
There's another layer to this story and it's even more personal. I have children about Bradley's age. I have always taught them principles of honesty and integrity. You know, do the right thing and you will be rewarded, at least if only with the knowledge and satisfaction that you took the high road. How can I tell them that now? How can I tell them to intervene if they see injustice if they see an innocent young man go to prison for life for doing just that? It's one thing to teach your kids that life isn't always fair but this goes far beyond unfair.<br />
Obviously Bradley's parents taught him the same kinds of values, and now they have lost their son because no matter how this all turns out he will never be the same guy.But in the midst of all the grief and anguish I hope they will always be proud that their son changed this country forever in a way that needed to be changed. The scab has been ripped off, the flesh is still raw and now its up to us as a nation to decide how to heal the wounds of war and injustice.<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-34373674065681488222013-07-20T16:33:00.001-07:002013-07-20T16:33:59.526-07:00Noisy Neighbors and Nocturnal NusanceI am jarred awake, torn from the peaceful fog of slumber, by the sound of the back door slamming. Heavy boots pound up the stairs sounding like a petulant toddler stomping. Over my head boots drop to the floor in a way that sounds as if their owner had held them high over head before letting them succumb to gravity. Scenarios play through my mind. In one neighbor grins sadistically as he does this chuckling like Bond Villain. In another he watches like a simpleton, a strand of drool sliding from his dopey grin, as the shoe falls, marveling at the miracle that is gravity. Does he do that? I wonder, hold them up high and drop them? Why?<br />
Now footsteps, not steps, stomps, hammer overhead back and forth back and forth. Who does that? walks back and forth through their apartment over and over again. We have been plagued with ants again this summer. My more generous self speculates that he might be exterminating the little pests, one sorry ant at a time. But again this is something small children do, not grown adults with tattoos and chest hair and girlfriends who screech like banshees during sex. Thankfully it sounds as though the banshee has not accompanied him home this evening. Maybe this is the cause for the petulance.<br />
I have already complained, both to my neighbors and when that failed, to the landlord. To their credit, the neighbors no longer have late night parties, they no longer play loud music into the wee hours of the morning; music that drowns out, to them, the cries of "Bro open the door" that emanate from somewhere in the back patio. I am grateful for that, I really am and now I wonder am I asking too much of them? Am I being unrealistic to expect that someone simply <i>walk</i> up the stairs, that they close the door rather than slam it? I also remember than in my youth I was not always the quietest most ideal neighbor. A simpler interpretation of Karma might say I have it coming, to lie awake every night at bar time pondering the ethics of neighborliness.<br />
Sometimes I plot revenge. Depending on my mood it can range from whimsical pranks to homicidal conspiracy. I decide against homicide figuring I might want to save that for a situation more worthy. The mind wanders down dark paths in the sleepless middle of the night. As I finally drift off to sleep I send silent prayers to the gods of ants hoping they will venture upstairs and invade his breakfast.<br />
<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-29385683546383035812013-07-07T19:26:00.000-07:002013-07-07T19:26:30.599-07:00TeeVeeLandIt was one of those "I don't want to do anything that requires thought" days. Those are the kind of days <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFvPTmYoWHPFBSkSm8QWnUsd02sxf2QS5PqEE8kEThNY9XqdhNSeJX3offSGWdC-TNazEBa1nhu8YsrmpIobse4Akwat0Az5j_wF2VvNZgcGA0UzA1nvbaLMJzt4us39mbRl94QXMGg-6/s1600/1000385_567305619986993_1975430005_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFvPTmYoWHPFBSkSm8QWnUsd02sxf2QS5PqEE8kEThNY9XqdhNSeJX3offSGWdC-TNazEBa1nhu8YsrmpIobse4Akwat0Az5j_wF2VvNZgcGA0UzA1nvbaLMJzt4us39mbRl94QXMGg-6/s200/1000385_567305619986993_1975430005_n.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">as long as they're not divorced!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
that cause me to keep a tv in the house. I'm not going to pretend to be one of those people who drapes themselves in the cloak of superiority as they declare "I don't watch television, it's corporate brainwashing" or whatever their reasons are, but as a matter of fact I don't watch a lot of t.v because frankly it is kind of corporate brainwashing. There are days, however, when you just want to tune out and tv is really good for that. When I do watch I tend to choose the classic tv channels, reviewing all the shows I watched as a kid. You know, just in case my brain didn't get sufficiently soaped the first time around.<br />
I prefer watching the same shows that were comforting to me as a kid, which were not necessarily the ones that aired during that era. I realized I mostly watch reruns of reruns, shows that were already in reruns when I was a child. This is especially relevant when it concerns family themed programming. Since my early childhood was spent in the 60's the shows that appeal to me are the ones that aired in the 50's. "Lassie", "Leave it to Beaver" and "Father Knows Best" were among my favorite family themed shows. These kinds of programs have often been criticized for portraying unrealistic images of the modern american family. They sure weren't representative of MY family, but that was part of the appeal. Some shows that aired later in the 60's and into the 70' made an effort to portray a more diverse family structure. The Brady Bunch was a blended family and The Partridge Family was headed by a single mother but those programs featured parents who were widowed, not divorced. In the late 60's having divorced parents singled me out as a minority among my peers and in a nonexistent demographic in T.V. land. One was more likely to have a Witch for a Mother or Martian for an Uncle than to live in a broken home as they were called in those days. I resented the half assed effort to portray a non traditional family that didn't include the reality of divorce as a cause for the unique structure of that family, it felt like a kind of betrayal and a cowardly one at that.<br />
In the days before "reality tv", an oxymoron if there ever was one, tv was meant to be different that real life. It was there as an escape, a break from reality, a little mental time out. This was before people spent the majority of their day staring at the tube. When kids spent more time playing outside or engaged in other activities like board games or role playing games. I feel like a crabby old lady as I write these words..."back in my day..." but I do believe that peoples relationship with tv was different back then. I was fortunate to have parents who encouraged other activities but also allowed for some indulgence. I learned that tv was a pleasure, like candy, to be consumed in moderation and not as as steady diet. That is why the indulgence of television seemed like it was meant to be sweet, fluff, junk food empty calories, the chocolate cake that June Cleaver presented every afternoon as her golly gee whiz boys burst into the sunny yellow kitchen after a long day of school.<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-6537622446558911992013-06-23T22:25:00.000-07:002013-06-23T22:25:45.163-07:00Life's WorkWhat is the first question people typically ask when you first meet?<br />
"What do you do for a living?"<br />
For those of us who are not formally employed, running a business or in school that question can evoke some less than comfortable emotions. In our culture we are defined by our occupations almost more than by anything else we do. Even parenting, that vital consuming and essential role is not 'enough' in today's world. I have my own feelings about <i>that </i>but that's another topic for another day, and besides my children are grown so I can no longer claim Motherhood as my profession anyway.<br />
It has been over two years since I have had a full time job and I've begun to adapt to this status. I have also learned some clever ways to respond to the big question, some of them are reasonably graceful. But before I was able to do this I needed to be okay with my status in my own heart and mind. Even now the level of being ok with it can fluctuate depending on other things that are effecting my mood and sense of self.<br />
You would think that with unemployment rates holding steady over the past several years there would be less stigma surrounding unemployment and to a certain extent there is. What clearly is not acceptable to most people is the condition of being at peace with unemployment. The prevailing assumption is that if one is unemployed you must be desperately searching for work and quite possibly willing to accept any opportunity that is presented. The old "McDonalds is always hiring" mentality. As a matter of fact they are not always hiring, and even if I were willing to subject myself to the humiliation of working there they certainly aren't hiring grown women with Masters Degrees. McDonalds aside, I am frequently given well intentioned suggestions as to where a person with my employment history and qualifications can apply for work. Sometimes, if I feel up to it, I will let the person know that I have applied at each of the places they suggest...and I have. Sometimes these jobs require a State licence, most require a car and insurance (I have neither) and many of them have interviewed me but ultimately chose another candidate. I honestly did put in a good year of applying and interviewing after my last job ended. I even applied for hourly wage service sector jobs, finally omitting my hard earned education from my resume so I wouldn't be considered overqualified. Still no luck. While age discrimination is illegal, it's nearly impossible to prove. I read somewhere the other day that Social Security claims have risen by 20% among people between the ages of 50 and 60 since the economy crashed or fell or whatever it did. There are plenty of other statistics that point to the fact that people my age are not getting hired to fill the scarce jobs that are available.<br />
When I finally had applied for every Social Work/Advocacy/Case Management position in town and had nothing but a folder of rejection letters to show for it I decided I might as well take on the grueling yearlong medical treatment for a disease I've been carrying around for many years. During that process I was able to qualify for Social Security Disability and Medicare, just in the nick of time as my Unemployment was about to run out. So that kept me pretty busy for a year and since I looked and felt like death not quite warmed over no one bothered to ask if I was looking for work.<br />
Now after all this time I really am not all that fired up to go back to work 40 hours a week. I am, in fact, downright happy to be not working.<br />
So what do I tell people when they ask me what I do? Admittedly I often do recount the years I spent as a Youth Advocate then later as a Domestic Violence Counselor. It was hard work and I deserve the credit. But what do I do now? I'll tell you.<br />
I still help out people in crisis and frankly it's much more effective and rewarding without having to document and maintain statistics for every single step of the process.<br />
I read and watch documentaries and I learn something new every day.<br />
I care for my animal companions.<br />
I spend time with my family.<br />
I stop and smell the roses, literally, and the trees and the grass and the earth.<br />
I meditate and dream.<br />
I have gotten to know myself and I realize I actually rather like who I am.<br />
I write stories and draw and practice arts and crafts if I feel like it.<br />
I grow things and make things.<br />
I am learning my family history.<br />
I volunteer in the community and put energy and effort into social causes that I hope will help make the world a better place for future generations.<br />
I thoroughly experience life in all it's beauty, dullness, excitement and unpredictability.<br />
I appreciate every day I have been given even the crappy ones.<br />
It's a pretty good job if you ask me and I even like my boss.<br />
<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-34704040716521560252013-06-11T09:35:00.001-07:002013-06-11T09:35:30.776-07:00LabelsThe notion that labels are restricting and limiting to our perception is really nothing new. What surprised me recently was to discover that this truth applies internally as well as socially. I have always hesitated to wear labels because I felt they would imbue an observer with preconceived notions and assumptions about who I am as a person. I did not realize however that I could do the same to myself.<br />
I thought I had a pretty good handle on my self image at least within the confines of my own mind. I figured I could call myself any name in the book, in my own mind and it wouldn't matter because I knew better. Labels don't only apply to the self however, they also include relationships with others and describe how we relate to the environment around us. SO when I found myself referring, in my own mind, to an old friend as an ex boyfriend (he is both and old friend and an ex) I realized I began responding emotionally with a much more limited range of behavior than I would if I had thought of him as an old friend. In fact applying that label restricted my thinking and awareness to that short period of time that we dated and eliminating the many years that we shared friendship. I realized I was holding back in a way that I wouldn't for a friend. I am pretty gregarious emotionally with friends but with exes, I am like most people a little more cautious about my reputation, I guess you'd call it.<br />
<br />
The way we define relationships or the meaning we ascribe to those relationships also changes over time. At a recent social event I witnesses two women, sworn enemies over a mutual attraction years ago, bonding with the familiarity that is bred by shared history. Time heals all wounds and it sure as hell puts things into perspective. Those unforgivable crimes of the heart we perpetrated in our youth eventually become nothing more than a brief chapter in the narrative of our life. Just as our Mothers assured us as we lamented about not having the right clothes or the latest hairstyle,"ten years from now you won't even remember what you were supposed to be wearing, much less care", the labels we assigned to our relationships, much like the ones we were supposed to have on the back pockets of our jeans, have faded from memory. What's left is what we wear now, in the present and if we can wear it well, with style and grace.<br />
<br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-26812730519529737832013-05-20T22:20:00.000-07:002013-05-20T22:20:15.634-07:00Point of View or Point of You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br /><br /><br /> “People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.” Ralph Waldo Emerson<br /><br /><br /><br />We interpret the world through the filter of our own experiences, prejudices, emotions and even our current mood. Given the latter factor our opinion or interpretation, is subject to change at any given time. What was tolerable one day may be the proverbial last straw on another day. Hopefully as we gather experience collecting tidbits of wisdom and useful knowledge along the way, our lens becomes wider and our opinions of the world become more welcoming and forgiving, less inclined to judgement or criticism. This is one of the benefits of getting older. While young people tend to think of themselves as open minded and 'liberal' they also tend to assume that older individuals are stuck in their ways, more inclined to judgement and inflexibility. If only they knew that for the most part the opposite is true. Yes, we are more secure in our convictions on matters that matter and our boundaries are clear were they need to be. We have constructed those beliefs and boundaries after years of trial and error and probably several mistakes along the way so if there appear to be areas of inflexibility they exist for a reason. Naturally there are exceptions to any rule of thumb but from what I can see the people who are rigid and harshly opinionated in their older years were much the same in their youth. It was that stubborn my 'way or the highway' reluctance to empathize that blocked the flow of incoming experience and wisdom that should be the highlight and grace of older age. Once a jerk always a jerk barring some life changing event that shatters the ego long enough to let in the light.<br /><br />SO when I see people of any age rushing to judgement, hastily dismissive of ideas that don't fit in their world view, I wonder what insecurity it is that maintains that rigid point of view. I realize that this sounds a bit condescending so let me go on record as admitting that I have been extremely judgmental, reactionary and critical at times in my life when I was insecure and unhappy. It was only after learning to accept myself along with my flaws and imperfections that I was able to do the same for others. In fact I tended to be much more forgiving of others than of myself, so you can only imagine if I was looking down my nose at someone else the kind of criticism I put on myself.<br /><br /> It was in one of the lowest points in my life as I was taking stock of Things That Made Me Miserable I realized that my crappy attitude toward others was high on the list. This bitchiness, this tendency to gossip and bad mouth other people just didn't ever feel right. It wasn't a characteristic that I felt was inherently a part of Me, but was rather a bad habit that had emerged as a result of own my unhappiness. It was an attempt to cope with my disappointment with myself which quickly added to said disappointment rather than making me feel somehow 'better off' than those I criticized. <br /><br />If I picked on someone who was in my opinion worse off than me, it was because I hoped it would distract from my shortcomings. This is a common phenomenon among alcoholics/addicts; there's always someone who drinks more or earlier in the day or diverts more money from their household budget or whatever scale you're using to measure and rationalize your own use. <br /><br /> If I tore apart someone who was doing better than me it was because I was envious but didn't dare admit it. It's preferable to paint success undesirable than as unattainable. 'Unattainable' admitted defeat and fear, fear that I would never be as well off, as educated, as pretty, as smart or as happy as that person seemed to be. Of course my appraisals of these peoples situations were likely to be inaccurate having been drawn on a small number of superficial observable factors. What did I really know about their lives, especially when I was pretty confused about my own life or my potential or even my own character?<br /><br />Nowadays I still have flaws of course, we all do, but I am far more likely to admit it and to accept them as part of the ongoing process of living and learning. I am not defined by my mistakes and imperfections but rather by the way I choose to respond to them and the same goes for others. I am secure enough in my values and beliefs that I do not feel threatened by others that might differ from mine. Many things can be true at once and my truth is no less valid than someone else's even if they differ. It is when we can accept our imperfections forgive our mistakes and go with the flow that we are able do the same for others. Our point of You is our point of view. <br />
© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-50350247426268048842013-05-15T18:01:00.000-07:002013-05-15T18:01:37.940-07:00Little Big Changes<br />
I am not a goal setter, or a go getter. I rarely make plans and when I do I allow enough flexibility to wiggle my out if needed. Until recently I didn't have much concept of a future of any sort, not one that I could envision with any clarity or certainty anyway. When I make changes in my life it's not because I decide to do so. Changes happen in my life because of external circumstances or simply because it feels like the time is right to make a change. I operate on intuition and heart rather than intellectual organization that's just my M.O. or to use the parlance of our times my O.S.<br />
When I decided to quit smoking last month it was because I simply decided, no I felt, it was time to quit. Combined with the external circumstance that I was broke and I couldn't really afford to smoke that week, and if I was going to go a whole week without smoking then I figured I might as well keep running with it. That just made sense. If I had intellectually decided that I should quit smoking for health reasons for example, and set a date to do so, it never would have worked. I know that many of the popular methods for quitting work that way and for many people that works. Those are the kind of people who can plan things, organize tasks into achievable objectives that lead to long term goals. That is a good system for some people, but not for everyone. For me that kind of thinking would be a set up for failure, but that's okay! Really it is. And I'm not alone, there are many people like me who need to do things in our own way and at our own pace. We still get things done. We may not get them done in a predesignated time frame leaving behind a congruent linear paper trail that justifies and records our every step in the process, but that's okay too.<br />
People like me just need to find non traditional ways to make a living and otherwise get by in a culture that increasingly values mechanistic linear thought and design. And we very often don't appear to be doing much since we don't produce documentation or concrete evidence of our progress. But guess what? that is okay too.<br />
Anyway recently I have been feeling little big changes happening in my approach to life. Stopping smoking is probably the most observable and measurable achievement but the others are no less important. You may have noticed, or maybe not, that I haven't been blogging as much. That's because part of this process I'm going through is placing me in a frame of mind that is more reflective than productive. I am in a mood of keen observation which needs me to be more quiet. I'm listening to the world more than I am talking about it. I don't have much to say but I have so much to see, think and to feel. And I am finding myself more active not so much in a way that anyone would notice, but I am more actively engaged and present in what I choose to do. Quality over quantity is the name of the game right now.<br />
I'm paying closer attention to my relationships with people (and dogs) in my life. I'm more attentive to the world around me especially my immediate environment. I'm enriching my mind and my imagination by reading voraciously and by watching documentaries about places and people that are unfamiliar to me. I can't explain how or why but I believe that all this is very important to my role in my family, my community and maybe in the Big Picture as well.<br />
So if you wonder what I've been doing, I'm paying attention. I'm making Little Big changes. And I hope I'm developing a better more meaningful Me.<br />
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© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-65896412960014260342013-04-24T22:10:00.000-07:002013-04-24T22:10:00.825-07:00I quit smoking and placated my Shadow.<div>
<br />
I've done It several times before, which tells you that I didn't always stick to it. It was always something stressful that gave me the excuse to start again, a crisis, a new job, a new boyfriend (who smoked) all convenient invitations to fall back on a familiar means of coping. Like any other addiction true recovery is achieved when we have invested our energies in adopting other ways of coping with triggers. And once we have created those habits we must decide definitively that the old ways are no longer an option. There are some substances and behaviors that I have placed into the never an option category. These are the methods that for me carry so much risk with them that any perceived benefit is heavily outweighed. One of the risks that I have deemed unacceptable is the knowledge that I would not easily or willingly surrender the vice once I had picked it up. Some chemicals or situations are just that seductive and once their claws are embedded in your soul their removal is both terrifying and painful, as is there continued presence. Cocaine is probably the best example of such a substance, for me anyway. Dangerous relationships with unpredictable men is another. Once I go willingly into either of those traps I surrender more than my freedom, I surrender too much of my Self. There is some safety in knowing this about myself, knowing I will never allow myself to lose that much of Me again.<br />
Smoking hasn't hit that level of classification yet. I don't know it it ever will. Indeed it doesn't carry the immediate dangers that the other two possess and maybe that's partly why. Another reason is I need to feel somewhat at least, in control of my choices. Right now I choose not to smoke and for many good reasons. I do have, in the back of my mind, the caveat that I could some day choose to smoke again if I wanted to. It's not something I dwell on but it's there in the shadows like a safety valve.<br />
I don't know if most people in recovery do this, categorizing different substances or behaviors into levels of avoidance but do know some people who do. People who follow strict recovery programs tend to be more rigid in their self regulation, and that works foe many people. But what works for some does not work for all. There is no one size fits all for abstinence and recovery.<br />
Substitution is another issue in the recovery process. Just as some heroin addicts will refuse to use methodone or suboxone to transition off opiates, some smokers see cold turkey as the only way to quit. I have been using nicotine gum to get me past the really bad cravings. I will move on to plain gum or candy as I eventually have removed the habitual part of smoking from my routine. As a cost I will have to undergo a little more withdrawal as I eliminate the gum from my daily routine. For me that's okay. Others would prefer to get it all over with at once and for them that's okay too.<br />
One thing I do know, based on this experience with quitting and with all the others that came before is that changing a habit means parting with a little piece of Me. There is a part of me that is associated with smoking and there is another self image that is a non smoker. Naturally the Smoker is a reflection of my Shadow self and the non smoker is a more mature Wise Woman Self. I do strive to be that Wise Woman, but sometimes I have rather high expectations of her and that is something I have to keep in check. Wisdom does not equal perfection, but rather is a condition of knowing how to gracefully negotiate imperfection. In mastering this quality there is room for acknowledging and managing the Shadow in all her manifestations (because after all smoking is only one of her manifestations). I do acknowledge that I like the cocky, snarkey somewhat bitchy bit of me that likes to smoke. She just doesn't give a shit about what anyone else thinks, she's that kind of girl. She's sassy and spunky and she is a tough defense against the things that might hurt or make me feel vulnerable. We need those defenses sometimes. But we can also summon them in other ways. In fact I know in my heart that that which protects me from emotional harm does not need to sacrifice compassion in doing so. The non smoking Me can do that. The non smoking me is more compassionate because she cares about my health and she cares about my children and grandchildren and doesn't want them to learn from me that smoking is a way to cope with stress. In fact that Compassionate Wise Woman has been growing stronger within me ever since I quit using street drugs years ago. Smoking was part of the deal I'd offered my Shadow when I gave all that up. It was so easy to rationalize smoking because after all 'at least I'm not doing cocaine'. So that worked for a while. But now enough time has elapsed and I have become more comfortable with other wiser and more compassionate parts of myself that we can let go of this one more thing.<br />
Please know that what I am explaining is my personal journey with all the parts of Me. It will be different for everyone. I do hope that no one reads this and comes away from it with the notion that I said that smokers cannot be compassionate or wise. I think most of you are more clever than that. I also know that there will be some people who this resonates with, people who relate to the different personalities or manifestations of personality that we all have within us. We all have our own inner crowd of characters and our own ways of communicating with them. It's how we solve our problems, how we make our decisions about what is right for us at any given point in our lives. If you don't consciously do this I highly recommend it. It can be fun. You can even give parts of you different names, make them into characters as you would if you were writing a story. Draw pictures of them if you are the type who likes to draw. Or if not you could even find pictures in magazines that might represent different faces of you. This kind of thing doesn't resonate with everyone and that's cool too. I just know for me it is something that has helped me make changes through most of my life...and I have made some pretty significant changes over the years, but I have always managed to keep my sense of Me, the sum of my parts, intact. </div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-70419940793376922882013-04-15T03:27:00.000-07:002013-04-15T03:27:09.547-07:00 Am I In A Slump?I have three drafts in my post queue and not one of them feels acceptable for publishing. In fact two of them don't even feel suitable for editing. For once in my life I have very little to say and although that feels like a slump as the title says, it's probably not a bad thing.<br />
One thing I've learned over the years is to pay attention to my own cycles. The ebb and flow of energies represents the natural pace of being human. Just as nature has her cycles of germination, growth and harvest so do we. Sometimes we have a lot to say or energy and ideas to contribute but those energies and ideas have to come from some fertile ground. Any farmer knows that their fields must lie fallow periodically or the soil will become depleted. We human beings get pretty caught up in the cycle of production we are told we always have to be doing something, working on something or we are somehow not valuable. On one hand we cry out for a sense of meaning and belonging but we rarely slow down long enough to just Be.<br />
There is a quote that tells us we are Human Beings not Human Doings and we like that notion, but how many of us would respond to the ubiquitous question 'what do you do?' with 'I am'. What kind of reaction would be get? I imagine someone waiting as if for a punch line for the rest of the statement to cut through the awkward silence that would follow. Insert rim-shot soundtrack here.<br />
Life is a bit like a conversation, I think. We don't want to do all the talking. That makes for a pretty irritating interaction. Sometimes we need to listen. Sometimes we need to listen more than at other times. This is one of those times. I'm listening to my inner voice and that voice is telling me to listen to others. To observe, to take in and mull over, to process and to do it quietly. Maybe I'm on the verge of some great epiphany. Maybe I'm about to produce something wonderful, some lasting contribution to humankind. Maybe.<br />
Or maybe I'm just a Human Being.<br />
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© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-892186801243277672013-03-24T20:32:00.000-07:002013-03-24T20:32:31.288-07:00So Happy TogetherIn an effort to dispel the bluesy feeling I had all weekend I turned to one of my best weapons against sadness...music. My old friend who has seen me through dark days and lonely times. The most recent funk having been born of frustration with the cynicism, inertia and insensitivity I had been encountering of late could only be conquered by it's polar opposite; peace, love and freedom. I needed to reconnect with my inner flower child, the free spirited little girl who was lucky enough to grow up in a decade and an environment where the adults around me spent their days making music and art, wearing flowers in their hair and life was a seemingly endless party. Our house was frequently visited by people who had made pilgrimages to San Francisco and returned with tales of communal living, concerts in the park and some other experiences that, although I didn't quite understand at the time seemed to leave them feeling very complete and at peace with the world.<br />
As with most music genres many of the popular songs are about love, or some close approximation anyway. As I went through the playlist of some of my early favorites and sang along I felt, for a brief moment, a fleeting sense of sadness that I have no one to sing these declarations of love and devotion to. But I realized that one person alone shared all the memories that accompanied these songs. One person knew all the secrets they evoked, which songs were matched with which crush, which break up, which life event. One person knows what song was playing when I lost my virginity (well okay, two but I have no idea where the other is or even if he's still alive). While songs croon of lifelong love, few of us are lucky enough to experience that ideal. There is only one person we spend our entire lives with...ourselves.<br />
This is not the first time I've written about this topic. I had posted a blog about spending my first single Valentine's Day by being my own Valentine. And I probably have a few more out there. It is something that has taken me nearly a lifetime to truly grasp and a few more years to accept, that I am my best friend. Yeah it sounds cheesy but, trust me, I have enough dimensions to my personality to keep it interesting. So today as the music lifted me out of my gloom, pulled me off the couch to dance through my apartment waving my arms around like a damn fool and singing "so happy together..." I was singing to the only person in the room, the only person who knew the exact moves to the accompanying dance that I've been doing the same way for over 40 years. Me.<br />
http://youtu.be/9ZEURntrQOg<br />
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© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-74707957464578303312013-03-17T14:44:00.000-07:002013-03-17T14:44:32.005-07:00Random Thoughts<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwN4eBGtXtKzIcbQiBIj7fgR47ntnktQ1y-D4L6SuzQ-CVUCHp7eNEtvRTLiD6lF_NtntByN5S0X_62pYCyqrXghG98mDqkHrqr07wsiPOFhtk7RIM9FQ5C_wrx_VffuYwhF5NlGVvNiq/s1600/551893_3840461970438_602646561_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQwN4eBGtXtKzIcbQiBIj7fgR47ntnktQ1y-D4L6SuzQ-CVUCHp7eNEtvRTLiD6lF_NtntByN5S0X_62pYCyqrXghG98mDqkHrqr07wsiPOFhtk7RIM9FQ5C_wrx_VffuYwhF5NlGVvNiq/s200/551893_3840461970438_602646561_n.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cats..they may just keep us sane</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><br />I'm in a bit of a writing slump lately, but never at a loss for something to chatter on about. Therefore this weeks blog will consist of some of the noisier chatter that's been going on in my mind this week.<br /><br />People are upset that the new Pope isn't into gay rights or equality for women. Any man who is going to make his way up the ranks in the Catholic Church is not going to do so flaunting a Liberal Feminist agenda. Let's just be glad that he cares about the poor.<br /><br />Positive Thinking does not mean that we don't have negative or worrisome thoughts. It's more about how we cope with them. In fact until we live in a world where everyone functions in a state of constant bliss and generosity, worrisome and 'negative' thoughts are a means to survival. If we never imagined anything bad happening to our children, how would we protect them from the events and people that might harm them? Don't beat yourself up for having 'bad thoughts', you are human. Don't think for a moment that this makes you a less spiritually evolved person. Authenticity is spiritual. Honor yourself, that's real spirituality.<br /><br />Although there are rational discussions to be had in the gun control argument, the people who would engage in these conversations are largely ignored by the media. We are also drowned out by the polarizing extremists on social media and in personal conversations. This is unfortunate because in a complex and diverse society the most practical solutions will be those that evolve from rational thought, not extremist reaction.<br /><br />War is an ugly shameful enterprise that Americans have become immune to because it has always existed in some form in our history. Remember all those movies that came out in the post Vietnam era, like Platoon, Full Metal Jacket and Apocalypse Now? They can be difficult to watch, which is precisely why people should watch them. We need to be reminded of the true cost of war, not the cost in dollars, mind you, but the human cost.<br /><br />Too drunk to say no also means you're too drunk to say yes. The young men in the Steubenville rape case have been handled with kid gloves through this entire process. If any good has come of this situation it is that it has shed some light on just how absurd the rationalizations and excuses for rape sound in print and in the media. Because they are absurd...in reality.<br /><br />Sometimes life feels overwhelming. We all feel this way from time to time. Give yourself a break. Indulge in something silly, something fun. This is why the internet is full of cats. Cats appeal to us because of their cool self indulgent nature. Take a lesson from a cat today.<br /><br />That's it for this week. I hope I can regain some focus and start blogging more consistently again soon, but in the meantime, I'm taking my own advice and am lightening up on myself.<br /><br />Peace, Love and Cats!<br /><br />© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-73465498851767715282013-03-12T09:48:00.000-07:002013-03-12T09:48:00.858-07:00The Boob Tube<br /><br />I swear I'm not one of those pious and condescending people who boasts about not watching television. You know the type, I'm sure. These people practically nullify the merits of a untelevised household with their sheer arrogance and intellectual snobbery. I did however, go for nearly a year without having a tv in my house. Not because I'm morally or intellectually superior but because I didn't have the funds to buy one and it really wasn't that important to me (or I would have managed a way to afford one) In that year I watched plenty of tv but on my computer and therefore was able to be selective with my viewing. I was also, for the most part, able to avoid the bombardment of advertising that is seen on network tv.<br /><br />Recently one of my daughters gave me her old set, a pre-digital model which involved needing a converter box, another hand me down. Then about 2 weeks ago my computer had an unfortunate meeting of minds with a cup of hot chocolate. There I was, no netflix, no X-files reruns, no YouTube jackassery, so I turned on the tube.<br /><br />Within an hour of reengaging myself with my old friend I was convinced I needed to run down to Victoria's Secret and buy a new bra. By the next day I was squinting in the mirror at my wrinkles and uneven skin tone. By day 3 I realized that if this relationship were to continue I was going to have to mute the ads or change the channel when they appeared. Since staring at a muted screen is rather boring, I quickly rediscovered the senseless joy of channel surfing, the champion sport of the attentionally deficit.<br /><br />This is when you know you have a problem; when you're not watching with intent and purpose but are beginning to 'turn', like a zombie or old milk. Having acknowledged I had a problem I immediately set out to find a handy source of rationalization to accommodate my viewing pleasure. This is when I discovered the retro channel. Ah, childhood memories. I Love Lucy, The Rifleman, Gunsmoke and Dragnet. Wait, Dragnet? Did I like that show even then? Heck no, but I remember it was always good for a few laughs when nothing else was on. And let me tell you, it still is.<br /><br />Aside from the hipster ironic television enjoyment I discovered there is some pretty decent programming available, on PBS of course...any snob will tell you that. But seriously since network tv went digital and has had to compete with cable they have upped the ante on many of the public tv stations from travel shows to arts and crafts to documentaries.<br /><br />Now I'm back online and able to be more discriminating in my viewing choices I'm not giving up my tv time. Like all pastimes it can be productive, mediocre or just plain unhealthy but as long as we can maintain some perspective and discrimination we're okay. Just skip the ads.<br />
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© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-56397976984139105322013-02-14T22:03:00.000-08:002013-02-14T22:03:19.759-08:00From Acceptance to Love-Your Relationship With You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeAKI8tQ0m0wJCOFpiyUT5le7T_vVhpELWMnNeC0QjydlpnsjZ-pJBDmaLuSNc0Sp497_IefVU8raDP1pbA6VRskwnOlSDl5G6FplxsGiZDUZ2pXzTK9t68mePygFGgDtuSE2lHmGYowj/s1600/RetroArrowValentineGraphicsFairy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheeAKI8tQ0m0wJCOFpiyUT5le7T_vVhpELWMnNeC0QjydlpnsjZ-pJBDmaLuSNc0Sp497_IefVU8raDP1pbA6VRskwnOlSDl5G6FplxsGiZDUZ2pXzTK9t68mePygFGgDtuSE2lHmGYowj/s200/RetroArrowValentineGraphicsFairy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Self-Acceptance...it's a good thing, no? It's one of those goals we all strive for as we travel the path to maturity and well being. I was thinking about the term and decided something didn't quite feel complete. Being a word nerd I looked up the dictionary definition and here it is:<br /><br />ac·cept·ance<br /><br />noun<br />1.the act of taking or receiving something offered.<br />2.favorable reception; approval; favor.<br />3.the act of assenting or believing: acceptance of a theory.<br />4.the fact or state of being accepted or acceptable.<br /><br /><br />I don't know about you but this sounds a little less than enthusiastic. Not much passion or joy is implied here is there? Kind of like a 'I'll take what I can get' feel to it. There is clearly a sense of something being at least okay, tolerable. I think we can admit that accepting something, or someone, as being okay is indeed better than revulsion dislike or hatred.That is why acceptance is the first step we take as we learn to heal. We have to move past defeat, guilt and/or self loathing to the next phase which is to acknowledge that we are okay.<br /><br />But it shouldn't end there. I think that for some of us, for me anyway, we kind of become contented in the acceptance stage. Maybe we start to take ourselves for granted as someone we can live with, or tolerate...but come on can't we do better for ourselves than that?<br /><br />Think about it this way, if someone you care about very much introduced you to their new partner and the partner said "oh I can accept them" would you think the relationship had a snowballs chance in hell of evolving into a lasting and devoted relationship? Probably not. Wouldn't you likely find yourself thinking that your loved one could 'do better than that'? We hope and expect that our loved ones will be loved and respected in the way we believe they deserve, and we expect that love and respect to come from someone else.<br /><br /> When you think about it who on earth do we have the only guaranteed lasting relationship with? Ourselves! From cradle to grave there is one human being you will wake up with, get through the day with, rely on to make all the decisions and suffer or enjoy the consequences...it's you.<br /><br />We think of a relationship as something that involves two or more people, but in reality we have a relationship with ourselves. Most of our daily survival needs, eating, dressing, bathing, etc. are self administered (as long as we are physically able) Our personal thoughts are conversations with our self. We have private jokes that only we understand. We even have conflict; sometimes. Quite often our mind, heart and body are not on the same page and we must negotiate a compromise. Each persons perspective or perception is so unique that there we truly do have our own version of any story in our history.<br /><br />We spend so much time and energy in our lifetimes examining and perfecting our relationships with other people, but how often do we even consciously acknowledge the relationship with ourselves, much less actually put any thought or effort into that relationship. <br /><br />In this this most vital relationship that is essential to our survival why is it so difficult to actually feel Love? It sounds corny and maybe even a little weird, I know. When we hear the term 'self love' most of us probably think of masturbation..We think of self love with a lower case 'l', not of self Love.<br /><br />So let's think a bit about ideal love and partnership. What would we expect in terms of how we would want to be treated and how we would treat another. What do you have to offer to your lifetime companion?<br />© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1487590480162967217.post-2064349961253130332013-02-09T11:26:00.000-08:002013-02-09T11:26:03.504-08:00What Did You Say?<br /><br />In the words of my Grandma and Grandmas everywhere, "there is a time and a place for everything".<br /><br />I'll admit that a while back our society had become a little over zealous with political correctness, almost to the point of absurdity. I think that's beginning to level out, leaving behind a healthy awareness of how we use words to describe other people and their life circumstances.<br /><br />I will also admit that I do possess a rather dark sense of humor and will sometimes say things that would seem shocking, insensitive and in generally poor taste to the average person. In fact, I say things that even I consider to be in poor taste but when I do it is within context and with people who understand my sense of humor. There are some jokes that are reserved for a select few friends and family who 'get it'. They know me well enough to know that the humor is way of buffering a subject or incident that is probably incredibly painful. They know that I have come to a point where I can no longer feel the raw truth and need a way out or I will become overwhelmed with despair or worse, anger. Social Workers, Medical professionals, police officers and others who work with the darkest, most depraved examples of the human condition all understand this phenomena. So do most survivors. In a way we have license to use this brand of humor, much in the same way that lesbians can call themselves dykes, or blacks can say 'nigga' (although there is some disagreement on the use of those terms within those communities)<br /><br />There are some words and phrases I see thrown around rather frequently that seem to take hold as quick and easy multi-use reactions. Some of them are just lazy, some are irritating and others can be outright hurtful. But because they are so ubiquitous and so handy we use them without giving much thought to their meaning or origin. Here are a few of the most frequent and offensive examples.<br /><br /><br />"I got raped by the IRS"~ No you did not. Rape is one of the most traumatic experiences a person can endure. Paying taxes does not even come close.<br /><br />"Don't drink the kool-aid"~ Maybe you're too young to remember Jonestown. Maybe you don't even know that's the origin of that expression. It was one of the most horrific mass murder/suicides in history. Look it up.<br /><br />"Are you crazy/ O.C.D/ dyslexic?"~ Maybe I am. Maybe someone close to me is. It's something that people have to cope with every single day of their lives, making adjustments and accommodations just to function. It sucks.<br /><br />"They must be on crack"~ I'm pretty open about my drug history and I will tell you that of all the drugs I've toyed with crack is the most devastating. If there is such a thing as Evil, it is crack.<br /><br />I'm not trying to censor anyone and I repeat I have a pretty grimy sense of humor myself but I do think that when we throw around statements like this we need to be aware of what it is we are referring to. Words do have power and people have secrets that they choose to keep personal and private. It is estimated that 1 in 4 women has been a victim of some degree of sexual assault. The chances are you know someone who has been raped, even if you don't know it, so when you decide to complain about your taxes (or anything else) think about your choice of words. You never know who you might be hurting. Thank You.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />© 2010-2013 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/"><img alt="Creative Commons License" style="border-width:0" src="http://i.creativecommons.org/l/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/88x31.png" /></a><br />This work is licensed under a <a rel="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/">Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 United States License</a>.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00319369089858745560noreply@blogger.com0