Punished For Helping Those In Need

                “We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked, and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for is the greatest poverty.” –Mother Teresa

                What does petty theft, possession of an illegal drug, and feeding the homeless all have in common?  They can all land you in jail in over twenty-one cities in the United States and this number keeps growing.  Since January 2013 over twenty-one cities in our nation have criminalized feeding the homeless.  Some of these cities include Fort Lauderdale Florida, Columbia South Carolina, San Francisco California, Houston Texas, Manchester New Hampshire, among many others.  If you are caught feeding the homeless in these cities without a proper permit, you can face fines up to $500 and up to 60 days in jail.  These permits can be expensive.  In Raleigh, North Carolina in order to obtain a one-day permit to feed the homeless in a park costs an outstanding $800.  Let me emphasize that this outrageously priced permit is only good for 24 hours and that $800 dollars could have been used to feed many families in need. This is just another way for irresponsible municipalities to suck more money out of the people that need it the most though either permits or fines.  Local charities are not abundantly wealthy and a lot of them are struggling, barely surviving off of the donations of the caring but because of this law, many organizations have had to cut back on feeding the homeless due to a lack of funds. Now homeless Americans are starving with little hope of being fed by a compassionate individual or even a charity.  What would be the reasoning behind this? Public officials claim that it is for public safety and health while mayors give out pathetic excuses to try and rationalize these heinous laws.  There laws are an inexcusable abomination. They are cruel, they are inhuman and they are enacted by people who are lucky enough to have never experienced homelessness themselves and do not know what it is like to go hungry. Those entrusted with a position of power should not abuse that power in a cruel fashion by pushing through laws that lead to starvation.

                Laws should be put in place to create a civil and safe society, not to stop compassionate individuals from feeding the homeless and treat the humanitarians as if they were criminals.  When a law is put in place to stop one person from helping another and when a law is enacted to legislate against the better nature of our humanity is when the people that put those laws in place have gone too far and crossed moral lines. The twisted and fallacious logic behind putting these laws in place is the belief that by not allowing the homeless to be fed by the generosity of others, it is somehow going to help lessen homelessness and help increase general public safety; or more cynically will cause the homeless to move to another, more welcoming community to make the homeless their problem while also increasing their own property values. These people see the homeless as a problem and their way to solve this problem is to remove what keeps them alive. Homeless people are already at the lowest point of their life.  To be treated as less than human, not even allowed to be fed by a Good Samaritan under threat of statutory punishment is a morally reprehensible.  We are a just nation and this law is beneath us and should have never been seriously considered by any American community.

                The unfortunate thing is that many American citizens are not aware that these laws are in place and have been treated as if they were a criminal when these repugnant laws are enforced.  This is what happened recently to a young man by the name of Zach from San Francisco only a few weeks ago.  Zach was giving a warm meal to a shivering homeless man late at night when two officers approached them.  The officers then preceded to harass the homeless man for staying in one location for too long and when Zach stood up and asked that they just allow the homeless man to eat a warm meal before having to move, the officers then harassed and threatened to fine Zach for his compassion because he contravened an immoral law by feeding someone who was hungry without a proper permit.  Zach stood his ground risking legal repercussions and stood up for the starving stranger beside him, and eventually the police relented, but only after it was pointed out that they were being unjust and cruel. 

                Zach’s actions should be a beacon of light showing us how we should act.  We are Americans.  We are a nation of people who are passionate about bringing justice and relief to our neighbors and showing compassion to those in need.  It now time to write to the mayors of these cities and tell them how we feel about these morally bankrupt regulations being put in place.  Let’s stand up for the underdog, the ones that are going hungry and need our help, and tell those in charge that these laws are unjust, un-American and should be removed immediately. American citizens should never fear legal prosecution for doing the right thing; we should never legislate against mercy and charity.  How dare these leaders persecute the Americans most in need of help!  How dare they punish the sympathetic and generous for alleviating suffering.  We are a strong nation filled with citizens that hold strong opinions and our opinions can be heard.  We will move mountains when the cry is loud enough, so let’s unite and stand up for those that cannot stand up for themselves.  Callous bureaucracies and self-interested politicians have thrown down the gauntlet, and we must pick it and defend the defenseless.  A measure of a good society is not how it worships its greatest citizens but the quality of its mercy to its least members. 

We are too Strong to Fear

     Since the trauma of the events of 9/11, Americans have had a deep fear of extremists infiltrating our nation and putting both our lives and the lives of families in danger. Fear is a powerful weapon. It is an ancient weapon, used since the beginning of civilization to control the masses. The memory of 9/11 still weighs on our hearts; many Americans allow this fear to turn into unjustified hatred and direct it towards anyone who happens to follow the same religion associated with the extremists.

      When the terrorist attacks occurred in France after the Syrian immigration began, our nation as a whole stood solemnly in reverence to those that had lost their lives. To show our support, Americans everywhere turned their Facebook profile image to an image of the French flag along with sending out messages about prayers and reverence. When a Syrian passport was found by the body of one of the terrorists, the message that terrorists infiltrated Europe by pretending to be refugees, spread through America like wild fire. Memories of 9/11 flashed through our citizens’ heads as many of us became afraid to allow these refugees to enter our nation. The messages of reverent condolence and support quickly transformed into messages of hate and fear. The initial act of terrorism may have been over ten years ago, but still feels like it just happened yesterday and we collectively see through the prism of that fear when it comes to the Muslim religion as a whole. A handful of extremists does not define an entire religion as a whole.

      Quickly in the course of the criminal investigation into the terror in Paris, authorities quickly learned that the terrorists were not Syrian refugees but were in fact all EU citizens from France and Belgium. The Syrian passport that they found is believed to be planted because it was a passport of a Syrian soldier that had died months before. Why would it planted? Because the terrorist group that label themselves as “ISIS” wanted to engrain this fear in as many people as they possibly can. Fear is an effective means to control the masses and fear is the tool that ISIS uses to perpetuate its reign. France decided that fear will not stop them from helping those being terrorized and abused by these thugs, and they fought bullets with flowers. Bullets is what ISIS wanted, violence, fear, and to cause others to say that they will no longer take in those that are escaping their terrorism. When France held up a signs that read “NOT AFRAID,” that was worst thing that they could do to ISIS because that meant that they failed in creating terror. They failed to control France.

Let’s think of this like an abusive relationship, where ISIS is the abuser that Syrians are the abused.  The Syrians are fleeing ISIS’s cruelty to find peace and hope. That is something that ISIS does not want because if there is hope of a better future for those that ISIS is terrorizing, then ISIS loses its power.  

       The Syrians fleeing for their lives are not terrorists, they are victims. Do you remember how you felt on 9/11?  Do you recall that gut-wrenching, twisting feeling that made you sick to your stomach? The Syrians feel this fear every day and want to escape it, and they are begging us to show compassion and help them. Instead of being understanding and saying, “We know what it’s like to be afraid for the lives of our families and ourselves. You will find refuge here,” we are instead closing our borders and saying, “Your kind doesn’t belong here.” Imagine how heartbroken and hopeless you would feel if the tables were turned and you were in their shoes. 

      We have to stop looking at these people from a religious perspective and start looking at them as human beings, willing to risk their life for the chance to be free. This nation was founded on refugees, our ancestors, escaping for a chance at freedom and a life free from fear. We hit the natal jackpot by being born within the borders of a free country. Instead of holding onto our borders and screaming out “MINE!” let’s open our hearts to those in need and allow more innocent humans to have the chance to live a life without fear; a privilege we Americans enjoy. We cannot change the reality for everyone in the world, but it would mean the world to everyone whose realty we change. Let’s show ISIS what their terrorism means to us by fighting their horror with love and opening our doors those that so badly need it. We are a strong and proud country, let’s not hide behind our borders. Let’s show ISIS how strong a nation we truly are by standing united against their brutal, sadistic regime. ISIS may consist of people with hearts full of hate but we can resist with hearts full of love. Remember, a single candle can reduce darkness to mere harmless shadows.

Turkey and Greed

When I was a child my family would sit around the table after our Thanksgiving meal and hand out five toothpicks for each member of the family. Each of us would then go around the table and name out five things that we were thankful for in our lives and each time that we would name out something, we would have to set down a toothpick. After this traditional ritual was finished, we would clean up our dinner plates and spend the rest of the day enjoying each other’s company. Our hearts would be filled with thankfulness not just for our lives, but because we had each other.

Alas, time marches on. I grew up and moved out of my family’s house, and I discovered the incredible deals that happened on “Black Friday.” Because I didn’t have a lot of money, I would save up for months, scraping together whatever I could spare. My new Thanksgiving ritual would be after almost enjoying a celebratory Thanksgiving frozen pizza, I would rise early the next morning and go Christmas shopping for my family so that I could afford gifts that year. No matter how poor I was, I still always found a way to get my family Christmas gifts.

This year, after volunteering for kitchen duty to help feed the homeless, I decided to make my way down to New Jersey so that I could see my sister and go shopping when the sales began. Unlike all of the other years where I would be excited as I headed out to enjoy some Black Friday shopping, this year was different. I guess you could say that I changed.

Instead of looking at all of the stuff that I could buy, I looked at the shoppers waiting outside in long lines anxious and restless for stores to open. With excited anticipation, they spoke to one another about everything they planned on buying for themselves. Not once did I hear anyone mention doing any charitable act for a child who won’t get gifts this year. They spoke about these items, these “things” as if they needed them to survive, looking nervously at the people standing in front of them in the line, while openly expressing the hope that the store won’t run out of stock before they can get their new “toy.”  

It occurred to me then that Thanksgiving is no longer a holiday to remember how grateful we are for what we have in our life.  Instead it has become a holiday preying upon peoples’ wallets and fears. We are drawn in by a few “deals” and creeping a head start earlier and earlier every year in fear that the next shopper will get a deal that we will miss out. We are already a society where our insecurities are manipulated so that we crave what we don’t have. We are made to feel “less than” because our smart phone isn’t the latest model, that our television isn’t the biggest yet as thin as a playing card or that our kids aren’t wearing the overpriced sneaker of the athlete of the week. Now on the Thanksgiving Day, the one day in the year specifically set aside where we are supposed to be thankful, we now fill it with fear, avarice and even violence. This herd mentality of fear and acquisitiveness is so great that even lives are lost from people being trampled and crushed as the doors of retails open, and for what? To find that item that you have been wanting for half price and you could have bought yesterday and will likely be able to buy again after Christmas? A human life is worth that?

While children are going hungry in the world, we live in a society that has taken the one day a year to be grateful for what we have been extremely fortunate to be given and corrupted it with materialism and greed. We have become prisoners to “want”, always wishing for what we don’t have and when we finally get it, we forget it in the haze of memory and desire something else. 

I think we as a society should take a step back and evaluate our how we live our own lives. We have so much to be thankful for and we don’t need the newest cell phone or biggest T.V. Instead of wasting our money on an item that will collect dust in six months, why not use some of that extra money to buy a homeless person a meal or buy a family in need some food? There are so many good things that we can do with our lives.  Carelessly spending, constantly wanting more, materialistic and beyond, isn’t living a life of gratitude but instead is living a life of greed. Be thankful for what the universe has set in front of you. Stop looking at what you don’t have and start seeing what you do have. Once you do that, you will be surprised at how abundant your life actually is. If you live in the United States, I guarantee you your life is better than most. Take a moment, reflect and be thankful.   

Spiders think we are Assholes

The other day I was taking a walk in a beautiful park. It was a calm and serene environment of large trees that were once lush and green now turning to blaze of bright yellows and reds. I felt like I was in a wonderland, walking on a carpet of colorful leaves with a large lake glistening in the sunlight just a few feet off of the trail.  Everything was going perfectly until my face smacked into spider web and I began insanely thrashing and dancing around like I was being attacked by ghost. There is nothing less fun to me than to run into a spider web and then have the icky thought of, “is the spider on me or is it just watching me and laughing as I desperately check my clothes with wide eyes and a pounding heart?”

Then a moment of clarity spurred a thought in my head: Spiders must think humans are assholes. Think of it, we don’t like bugs in our house and there is nothing more annoying than a bug flying into your food or dive bombing your face. So the spider is like, “hey human! I’m just gonna move in and take care of this little fly problem that you have. I promise I won’t be any trouble. I’ll just hang out here in corner.”

Mrs. Spider then makes silk from a gland in her abdomen and pulls it out of her ass to create this beautiful web in a similar shape to a snow flake, only for the human to go, “OH MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL?” Then take a broom and bitch smack the spider’s home, destroying something that took 30-60 minutes to make, in only seconds. The spider then looks at the human like “you mother f-“ and then finds out what it is like to become a spider pancake.

I think while I was dancing and prancing by the lakeside, somewhere a spider was saying, “God dammit!  I just got that fixed!”

I wonder if spiders talk smack about humans to other spiders. The go to the local “webbery,” drink a shot of bug juice and talk about what happened to one of their 1,500 brothers and sisters. Perhaps there is a webcast.  I know I would hate to be a spider living in a world where humans have taken over the planet and decide who is worthy to live in their air conditioned boxes and who dies if they dare enter.

I think in general we should have a little more respect for all creatures on our planet. We might be humans and more advanced but a life is a life and all life should be respected. I know from personal experience that it is easier to smash a bug when you are scared shitless of something that is only an inch long, rather than scoop it up and take it outside but keep in mind that their life should matter a little bit more than a turd and just because it is a nasty gross bug, doesn’t mean it deserves to die.

Unforgettable

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog called, “Cops that no longer care.” In it I detailed yet another negative experience with a police officer that did not do his job. Since it had been awhile since I came across a good cop, I wrote that blog to express my frustrations after that incident, which was just the latest in a string of bad experiences with law enforcement.  It is human nature to complain about the negative and to give voice to situations where things have gone wrong. 

Now I am going to tell you about a police officer that I really respect and one that I have to give credit for going above expectations. In August, I was driving across the United States. This large and stressful move was exhausting but I still wanted to take advantage of each state that I passed through. Every state that I drove through, I made it a point to take at least one image of the state in admiration and celebration of the earth’s natural beauty. Finally, I was driving through Oklahoma when I came across a pretty lake surrounded by lush greenery contrasting sharply with the dusty orange clay of the plains at the side of a busy highway. I pulled my car over as soon as I could, leaving my best friend/ road trip buddy and pets in the car. Grabbing my camera, I climbed out and began to walk over to the lake, which was quite a ways down the road. It was a beautiful sunny day with bright blue skies and even though I knew I was risking my own safety by taking these pictures, it was an opportunity that I didn’t want to miss. As I approached the lake, a police officer passed by me on the interstate. Seeing the police vehicle made my stomach twist because I had a gut feeling that I was about to see him again and my gut feeling was right. A few seconds after I snapped a few photos I saw the police vehicle driving through the grassy median towards me.

“Damn it. I am going to get a ticket.” I thought to myself as I smiled and waved at the approaching police cruiser, trying to maintain my composure when on the inside I was really worried. The policeman in the vehicle smiled and waved back before pulling up next to me.

As he rolled down his window, I respectfully greeted him with a “Good afternoon, officer.”

“Hello!” He responded in a jovial voice. “Are you okay?” He asked me with a thick southern accent.

“Yes sir. I was just taking photos of the lake. It’s really pretty out here. Is that okay?” I asked feeling my nervousness raise.

“Yes ma’am that is. I was just worried that your car had run out of gas and I wanted to see if you needed a ride to a gas station. You sure you’re okay?”

I explained to him that I still had gas and thanked him for stopping to check on me, once again reassuring him that I was okay. He told me to have a great day and as he drove away, it wasn’t just relief that I felt, I was deeply touched.

I am a young woman in her late 20’s who has experienced every form of asshole that someone can experience. I now consider myself an international expert on the subject.  This includes the blatant in-your-face asshole to the garden variety jackass all the way to the more cunning “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” From the different experiences in my life, I learned very quickly that if you need help, it is unlikely to come to you from someone that you don’t know and if someone you do know offers to help, there are almost always hidden strings attached that eventually show. It is unfortunate that truly selfless acts of kindness in today’s society have become rarer than a white rhino and usually end with a demand. So when someone shows me a selfless act of kindness, I always remember them with a smile in my heart.

To me this wasn’t just a police officer checking to see if I was okay, it was one human being showing selfless grace and concern to another human being. He didn’t have to stop to check on me, regardless of his job motto, “To serve and protect.” He didn’t have to see if I was okay and he didn’t have to offer to give me a ride to the nearest gas station.  He chose to do it because he was a good man.

 I will remember this police officer for the rest of my life because of the selfless kindness that he demonstrated. He didn’t have to do what he did. He chose to and he went out of his way to do so. So keep that in mind when you consider doing something kind for another person you may or may not know. That person might hold a thankful heart in regards to you for the rest of their life.

 I don’t look up to celebrities and call them heroes or my personal inspiration. I look up to the people that come into my life and show truly selfless acts of kindness without second thought. To me, those people are unforgettable.

  

House Hunting Gloom

             Lately I’ve felt like my head is going to explode. I, along with two other people, have been searching for over a month now to find a place to live that will allow my pets for a reasonable price. It seems like every time that something looks like it will happen, something else happens and it falls through. It feels like an emotional rollercoaster because I keep on getting excited only to find myself disappointed. I understand disappointment comes with the territory of being alive but after countless potential candidates for my move falling through, I began to feel more and more like I am shooting straight up in the air hoping that it will hit my target in front of me.

It’s not just the comments “You’re on the top of our list” and then no responses that get to me. It’s having to email at least ten places a day, only to get ignored, receive a big fat “NO,” or lead on like it will work and then the “I changed my mind,” last minute. Don’t these places actually want to rent their places?

The most irritating one that I have come across so far was a potential roommate situation that seemed like a great fit, until the man (who had a daughter my age) started giving me pet names like “Tennessee girl” and texting me good night after sending me several unnecessary pictures of him on his motorcycle. As this was happening I kept thinking to myself, “Why is this guy being so creepy in under 24 hours?” I personally believe that if you want to be properly creepy to your renter, you should do it after she has moved in and not before. Because of this incident I began to realize more and more that I am just not comfortable living with a stranger.

My favorite response that I have gotten so far was from an old man who was renting out his upstairs apartment. The old man was nice but believed that it was a woman’s job to clean (I bit my tongue when he said that) and had boundaries issues- he didn’t accept “no” for an answer. I had a few concerns about that because I don’t tolerate bullshit very well but overall it wasn’t too bad of a situation. After agreeing to rent out to me on a month to month basis, he sends me an American Greeting card a week later giving me a poor excuse as to why he changed his mind. Keep in mind, the day before he had sent me an American Greeting card hoping my dog has a speedy recovery having getting his testicles cut out of his body. I have to admit, I have never had someone reject me renting their place with an American Greeting card. Now here I am, back to square one, imagining slamming my head into a bullseye as I get another three emails of “We don’t accept pets” into my inbox.

                It’s easy to talk about positivity when things seem to be going your way. Which is why I am talking about positivity now, because things are not going the way I want them to. Here is something to keep in mind, things are not going the way that I want them to, but things are going the way that they are supposed to be going. Even though I feel a bit overwhelmed with this seemingly impossible house hunting search, I know that the place I am supposed to rent out is out there and when I am supposed to move, on the exact date that the Universe allows, I will move. When times get hard, take a deep breath in and tell yourself, “Everything happens for a reason.” Maybe this whole moving process is taking longer because the Universe wants me to spend more time with my family. Maybe this moving process is taking longer because the apartment that I would feel the most comfortable in, hasn’t opened up yet. There are millions of possibilities as to why I haven’t found a place and even though this process is an emotional maelstrom of hope and disappointment, I know everything is happening exactly the way that it should.  

Judgement

When taking a break from my writing or school work, I tend to check out the news feed on the social media site that I regularly go to in order to allow my fried brain a much-needed fifteen minute break. There is something so soothing about watching a cat play piano or any other delightful video that I use to distract myself from life. One real life Bambie and Thumper video in to my Facebook feed, I come across a post that was posted by an old friend from high school with whom I have lost almost all contact with. I noticed that she posted a text message conversation so for some reason beyond me- possibly a mixture of being nosey and curious, I read the conversation. 

                My old friend is a single mother who is a hard worker wanting to create a better future for both her and her son. This conversation was between her and a man whom she had only spoken to a few times before apparently. He began this conversation bragging about how amazing he was and the amount of money that he made. He clearly stated the exact and disappointingly unimpressive number later on in the conversation. He spoke about his high intellect and knowledge while littering the conversation with spelling and syntactic errors that were so egregious that I cringed just looking at them. For someone like me who isn’t an ideal speller herself to cringe that means the spelling was like watching a train wreck slowly, over and over. It wasn’t bad enough that he arrogantly bragged about how amazing he was and stated in graphic painstaking detail all of the reasons why, but after she told him that she was not interested in dating anyone, he turned around and sent her a topless image of himself with the words, “Your welcome” underneath. I wanted so badly to correct the “your,” to “You’re” and the fact that I couldn’t made me itch all over. There is nothing I cannot stand more than arrogance and someone feeling the need to brag about themselves to make another person feel lower. It literally makes me wince. This man was not only arrogant but he was also extremely disrespectful. He belittled her for the job that she had and claimed that in order to become great like him, she would require his wisdom and knowledge. She handled herself in a respectful and lady-like manner which I applaud her for because I can’t say (with my sarcastic personality and choice vocabulary that my mother compares to diarrhea) that I would have been able to do the same.

                After reading these messages from him over and over I began to feel the inner fuel inside of me ignite and burn. I saw him as an arrogant dick who not only deserved a trophy in “Douchery” but also happened to be a living, mouth-breathing embodiment of every character flaw that I abhor shabbily wrapped up in human skin. I was so irritated that I felt like my eyeballs were going to burn right out of my skull. 

Then it hit me, what I was doing is wrong. I allowed my inner self to judge him without knowing him. Yes, what he said was ridiculously inane to the point where my brain wants to melt out of my ears but I don’t know him and I have no right to judge him.  The early results are in and they aren’t good, but perhaps I lacked enough information to get a complete portrait. 

             Often arrogance of this magnitude is really an outward manifestation of insecurity and a cry for acceptance. I don’t know what his background is or where he came from. Someone who is truly secure and happy with themselves won’t feel the need to put someone else down in order to make themselves feel better. It is easy to judge people that we don’t know based on the 1% that we find out about them but that doesn’t mean that our judgements are true. In the end, maybe they are just scared of rejection or don’t feel good enough about themselves so they feel the need to jump up on a pedestal and blow their own horns as loudly as possible in hopes that you will view them higher than they view themselves. The pedestal is often times just a mask and beneath that mask is someone that is truly hurting.    

Melting Cupcakes

I was having a conversation with my father yesterday about the massive cake that he recently bought at a bake sale to support the church that he attends. For some reason it reminded me of an encounter that I had last year.

It was a hot summer day in Corona, California. Not the kind of pleasant heat that you would expect beautiful southern California to have considering it is known to have 80 degree weather most of the time. No, this was a grueling kind of heat where you look over the surface of the parking lot you see shimmering heat waves rising from the asphalt. Stepping out of my car felt like Satan himself was slapping me in the face. I immediately began my journey to the entrance of the grocery store fantasizing about air conditioning and ice cream.  Right before I plunged into the refreshingly air-conditioned haven I was stopped by a little girl with large blue eyes and straight brown hair.

“Excuse me ma’am,” she said politely while wiping away the dripping sweat off of her brow. “Would you like to buy a homemade cupcake for a dollar?”

In my head I was arguing with myself, “Do I want a chocolate piece of heaven? Yes. Do I need the extra calories? No. But, chocolate. But it’s hot. Aren’t you listening to your inner voice- chocolate…”

So of course being the sucker that I am I said yes to buying a sinful temptation of heavenly glory called, “Cupcake.” I walked up to the grandparents who had set up an old foldout table along with box of homemade cupcakes covered in sprinkles. I commended them for teaching their grandchild entrepreneurial skills and proceeded to purchase two cupcakes. (I meant to purchase just one but I mean come on… they are cupcakes. Fresh, homemade cupcakes, people. Any logical person knows that cupcakes with sprinkles are mind blowing, and it was for charity.  It’s easy to have a big heart where charity and chocolate are so deliciously combined.)

The grandparents smiled and thanked me for my purchase. They explained to me that they had been there since the early morning trying to help their granddaughter raise money for her best friend who was just diagnosed with cancer. My stomach sunk when I heard this.  

I asked them if they could hold onto the cupcakes for me until after I got out of the grocery store. They agreed and I thanked them, walking into the building filled with air-conditioned glory.  That first blast of chilled air was like diving head-first into a cool swimming pool.  Oh God, it felt good.

About ten minutes later, I came back out just in time to see the little girl walk up to a man, only to have him rudely wave her off as if she was a fly bothering him in this scorching heat. There is nothing that boils my blood more than to see someone be so rude to a little girl who just wanted to help her friend.

Walking up to the elderly couple, I looked down at the cupcakes and asked them, “How many are left?”

The grandmother smiled and said there were 19 out of the 30 they baked left and she promised her granddaughter that they wouldn’t leave until they were all sold. 

“I’ll take all of them.” I said without thinking about what am I possibly going to do with 21 cupcakes. “Thank you for teaching your granddaughter to be a good person.”

The elderly couple looked startled and asked me if I was sure. I nodded my head, thinking about the heat and that rude man who waved off the little girl as If she was a pest. Handing over the money, the Grandparents packed the remaining cupcakes in a box and handed me a box full of sugary delights. They thanked me profusely, obviously relieved to be able to get out of the heat and I smiled and walked towards my car.

 In order to get rid of these cupcakes, I began handing them out for free, with groceries still wrapped around my arm, in front of the grocery store, until I couldn’t stand the heat anymore. I have to admit, that little girl made an impact on my life. She was selfless enough to stand out in the middle of the scorching summer heat and sell cupcakes she personally made to help her friend. She didn’t receive any profit out of this because every dollar she put in her fund jar went straight to her best friend and selling those cupcakes was not an easy task. That little girl put herself out there, asking every person who entered that grocery store if they would buy a cupcake, getting rejection after rejection in the heat but remaining buoyant and indefatigable. I respect her and her grandparents who supported her fully and she is an example of how we as human beings should be: Selfless and with a pure heart, not expecting anything in return for the good deeds that we do. 

Bucky the Human Slayer

                Today I went out to a horse ranch to train a horse named Kiowa. I was told that this horse is somewhat lazy but generally a good horse, so I expected little to no problems during this lesson. I figured that I would be done within an hour and then able to go home and finish writing one of the projects that I am currently working on.

                Today was actually a very beautiful day, one where many butterflies lazily fluttered from flower to flower around the ranch.  I parked my red Volkswagen in front of a large male peacock who was resting in shade of the barn. The golden sun warmed my skin as I got out of my car and promptly almost tripped over a chicken who daringly refused to move. The chicken, startled by my stumble, gave me a dirty look and clucked angrily in my direction. I am just going to assume that he was cussing me out in chicken; you know, angrily calling me a “motherclucker,” because he was giving me the crazy eyes while doing it.  After all, he was there first. 

                After grabbing the halter and lead rope from the tack room, I make my way over to the field covered in tall weeds to look for the brown and white painted quarter horse named Kiowa. Ironically, the horse was nowhere to be seen but I did catch a glimpse of a fairly large coyote about fifty feet away peeking through the weeds. I knew it was probably more scared of me than I was of it, so I went into the field and began searching for the horse, hoping for a little luck. It was like Kiowa had an invisibility cloak on. How the hell a full grown quarter horse is able to play hide-and-seek in an open field is beyond me, but next thing I know, I am at the opposite side of the field fighting the combined forces of bugs, weeds, and thorns while Kiowa is waiting nonchalantly for me by the entrance that I started my safari, bobbing his head in mockery while watching me stumble through the brush in amusement.

                I made my way back to him, feeling like I was playing a strange form of hop scotch from all of the piles of poop I was trying (and failing) not to step in, and finally put the halter over his neck. Something his Kiowa’s eyes seemed to be saying to me, “Did you enjoy that?  Was that uncomfortable?  It looked uncomfortable.  Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you right here all this time.” I lead him back to the red barn containing all of the tack and took out the very heavy western saddle that was provided. After grooming Kiowa and putting on all of his gear, I brought him to the arena, shoved my foot in the stirrup, grabbed the horn, and threw my other leg over.

                At first we began with a steady walk. I brought him over, under, and through, a variety of obstacles to help him get over any fear. Surprisingly, even though he isn’t well trained, he did this without hesitation and with ease. All was going smoothly until I asked him to trot. As soon as I squeezed my legs together and saw the way his ears laid back on his head, I knew I was about to get some serious attitude. Kiowa did not appreciate me expecting him to go at any speed beyond “walk.”  After all, it was a hot summer day, and Kiowa had no plans for the afternoon.  He was in no rush. I, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about what he wanted and expected him to go faster when asked. Since Kiowa didn’t believe that he should go any faster, he began to buck.

                I’ve dealt with bucking horses before and let me tell you, they are a pain in the ass. The best way to handle a bucking horse is to not get off and keep going. If you get off of a horse when they are misbehaving, they will learn that if they misbehave, they get their way, so they will continue to be a jerk. By the end of the training lesson, both Kiowa and I were dripping in sweat and I pulled several muscles in my back but we ended on a positive note and there was a lot of licking and chewing on Kiowa’s part.

                A bucking horse reminds me of life. Sometimes you go through something that you think is going to be easy and smooth and then you realize that the situation turns out far different then you thought it would but just because you are on a “bucking horse” doesn’t mean that you give up and get off. It means that you need to work through it because in the end, the situation will teach you an important lesson. Don’t give up on something just because it is harder than you thought it would be. If you just pull up your boot straps and keep going, you never know where you will end up and in the end maybe all of that work you put in will teach you an important lesson and take you to places you only dreamt you would go.

Dream Wars

                A few weeks ago I had a conversation with a friend of mine in California about change. It was a sad time because we were saying our last goodbyes before my big move. She expressed to me that she didn’t want me to leave and when she said these words I felt my stomach twist and blinked back the tears that were forming at the corners of my eyes.

                “I have to leave.” I told her while looking into her watering brown eyes.

                She looked down at the ground with deep sadness in her eyes and a solemn voice asking, “Why? I thought you liked California?”

                I felt my jaw tense as I thought back to all of the amazing memories I have now stored away in my mind. California helped me find myself in many ways.

“I do. I love California and the people that I have met here and I am going to miss everyone that I have met but the thing is, I came here because I felt like I was supposed to and I am now leaving because I am supposed to. I don’t want to leave but I have to leave.”

                “Aren’t you scared?” she asked me.

                “Yeah, I honestly am. However, sometimes you have to do things even if you are scared shitless.”

                Often times we don’t run after our dreams because it means change. I have had a lot of change happen in my life and I am equally uncomfortable with every change. In fact, I admit change is scary. When I initially moved to California, I was afraid. It was the furthest move that I had ever done and I drove across an entire continent without a job, without furniture, and with only the items that I could fit in my old beat up Honda Accord with transmission issues.  My dog was in the back seat and my cat was in the front. But I knew I was supposed to go to California. I didn’t know why but I knew I needed to. I was so scared when I moved started driving that I cried almost every day for a week. The closest family member was about 2,000 miles from where I would be staying and there is nothing scarier than to realize that you are doing something completely alone. I didn’t submit to my fears, even though every ounce in me wanted to. Because of this adventure, I met life-changing people. I was able to experience the action of love from complete strangers and able to meet the rarest form of individuals- genuinely good people.  

                Now here I am, moving across the United States to a state that I never have even visited before. Yes, I am scared because change is scary and my mind is doused in the terrible “What if’s”, but I am taking things one step at a time. I am not just following my dream, I am running after it as fast and hard as I can with determination crushing the fear that burns within me.

 I am writing this blog for everyone out there not following their dream because they are afraid. Perhaps you are afraid to fail. If you are not following your dream, you already have failed. Not succeeding isn’t failure, it just means that the universe is adjusting your path a little bit. Failure comes when you allow fear to inhibit you from doing what is deep inside of your soul. Only then are you truly failing yourself. You are currently alive in this life. Take your dreams and turn them into a reality or at least fight for that reality. It is scary and sometimes it means a giant move and a lot of change, but in the end whatever outcome that will happen is supposed to happen. For me personally, I would rather be on my death bed and say, “I tried and I fought for my dreams”, instead of wondering, “What if?”

Not just a funnel cake

Yesterday was quite a day. All day I felt like I was running around like a maniac getting things done without a moment to breathe. Finally my father called me and asked if I could run an errand for him. I tell him yes, because I know how stressed he is at work and I really want to help alleviate some of his strain while I am here in Tennessee. As the conversation was coming to an end, his voice suddenly perked up and he asked me in a thick southern accent, “Do you wanna see a ball game tonight?” My brain was saying, “Do I want to watch a group of men hit a ball with a stick for hours? No.” However, my lips said, “Sure! Sounds like fun.” I didn’t say yes because I have a problem with saying no. I have no issue saying, “No.” In fact it is one of my favorite words. However, love is an action and not just a word that you spit out when it is convenient. I love my father so I am more than willing to power through several hours of my life and force myself to like overpaid men standing around all night not hitting a ball with a stick, and enjoy myself and his company. I have learned in my life that if you come into something determined to have fun, you will end up having fun even if it is not your thing. Pretty much you have to make it your thing for the time.

As the late evening approached I made sure to eat a large bowl of rice pasta and finish it off with a cake. I wanted to make sure that I would not be hungry during the game and boy, was I stuffed when I had finished eating. An hour later, my father comes home and rushes me out the door saying, “Hurry up! I don’t wanna be late!” We hop into his new shiny silver car and zoom over to the stadium filled with country boys and southern girls, rootin’ and tootin’ with mugs of bubbly cold beer sloshing in their hands. My father turns to me bright-eyed and full of excitement and asked me if I wanted nachos while excitedly pointing to the stand containing numerous sodium-packed items of pure gluttonous joy. Looking up into his big brown eyes I thought to myself, “I guess I can fit nachos in my already full stomach without getting sick. I’ll just have to eat slowly.” So I replied with, “SOUNDS GREAT!” In the most enthusiastic voice that I could muster up. We pass by the nacho stand and I watch my very ADHD father see a pizza sign, his eyes light up even more. “Girl.” He says to me in a thick southern accent while licking his lips and gazing at the giant slice of plastic pizza over a tiny stand containing trapped humans serving slices. “You have GOT to try their pizza. Every time I go here they always run out and I have to get a hot dog. Their hot dogs are nasty. Let’s get some pizza.”

“I guess I can fit a slice of pizza in my stomach.” I think to myself as I look down at my stomach and imagine it begin to expand till I pop like a balloon. “Okay! But then no nachos.” I think my father misunderstood me when I said the words, “No nachos,” interpreting it as a question because he immediately responds with, “No! It’s okay! You will get both!” Thanks for spoiling your little girl, dad. There is absolutely no way in hell that my tiny body can fit both pizza and nachos inside of me after eating pasta and cake. That is my version of going to an all-you-can-eat buffet and eating all of it, literally. I had to quickly let my dad know that I can’t handle both nachos and a slice of pizza so I told him that I will just stick with the pizza. He nodded without really listening to me due to the fact that the deep dish pan pizza was calling out to him like a siren on the rocks. As soon as we get our pizza, we sat down in our seats and gazed onto the light-drenched baseball diamond as players from both teams displayed the convulsing movements and contortions that they like to call “warm ups.” Some of this movements made me laugh out loud because of the extent of ridiculousness that was exhibited while maintaining an earnest face that seemed to say, “Look at how awesome I look when I chew on my tobacco and how far I can spit. I am SO cool.”

My father quickly stands up and tells me he will be right back. This should have been a warning sign to me but I was too distracted by the row of women and gay men in front of me taking more selfies of themselves than Kim Kardashian does on a good hair day. In fact I was impressed by the length of time they were able to obsess and take and post selfies of themselves. (Hint, it lasted the entire game and bonus! They brought selfie sticks.)

My dad returned more excited than ever with two MASSIVE funnel cakes covered in powdered sugar. I am pretty sure that my face turned a new shade of pale as I wondered how I am going to fit so much food inside of me. Of course I thanked him and made a quick mental note that my father is no longer allowed to be unaccompanied at a ball game. I also acknowledge that this is his form of showing the action of love by buying me a tremendous amount of food at an event that he treasures and enjoys immensely. 

I admit, I could not finish the food. It was far too much. Despite having no interest in baseball, I maintained a good attitude and even found myself screaming at the players like a banshee to root on my father’s favorite team, the “Tennessee Smokeys.” Life isn’t about experiencing only the things that you are interested in. Life is about spending time with those that you love and if you truly love them, taking an interest in what they love. Truly loving someone means going to that baseball game and rooting for the team even though I would much rather be in nature taking a walk or writing a book. Truly loving someone means setting down your work and saying, “I have limited time with you in this life so I will spend as much as I can making memories.” I will never be interested in baseball, but I will always remember how much my father smiled when he watched me scream at the baseball players “GO! MOVE FASTER! GET THAT GOAL!” Then learning that it isn’t called a goal.

Yet a goal was achieved. A dad and his daughter spent an evening at a baseball game and created an indelible memory of love.

Confidence

       Yesterday I was sitting on a bench enjoying the quick moment of peace I had prior to the concert of my favorite violinist. A skinny man in his early thirties with blond hair and a checkered blue shirt, sat down beside me and after a few moments, turns and begins to speak. He asked me who I was with and I mentioned my best friend. After a moment of conversation, he told me that I was beautiful. I thanked him and told him that I appreciated the compliment. Almost instantly the conversation turned awkward, with an energy that could be best described as “off.” As soon as I responded he told me, “Yeah you probably already know that.” I could tell by his body language and the scowl on his face that he didn’t approve of my “Thank you for the compliment.” In an attempt to lighten the conversation, I quickly responded with, “Yes I do, but it is still nice to hear that from someone.” As soon as I said that he quickly got up and walked away as if my comment mortally offended him. This isn’t the first time that this has happened to me.  In fact, I have noticed if I don’t belittle myself to the person complimenting me, then I seem to be perceived as arrogant.  I don’t think I’m conceited, I am just confident.  I believe in me.

          I wasn’t always confident. In fact, I used to hate the way that I looked and I used to hate every little thing about myself. I made a very conscious decision to change my self-perception.  When I decided that I no longer wanted to be broken and I wanted to have the self confidence that people I admired possessed, I spent years working on myself to create the confident woman that I am today.  Every day I thought of something that I felt I didn’t like about me, I thought about why I didn’t like it and then set out to change it.  Step by step, I became a person I really liked; and the process continues to this very day.

          I do find it interesting that we live in an age where self-confidence is said to be sexy but then when it’s displayed is considered arrogant. In order to properly take a socially acceptable compliment, I would have to say, “Thank you but…” and then say something negative about my appearance to receive yet another compliment reaffirming my physical appearance.  Only then I am seen as humble and down to earth and to have accepted the compliment gracefully.  The reality is that being humble and down to earth has nothing to do with self-confidence.  In this instance it is part of the unwritten mores of the modern social contract.  You can know your self-worth and still be humble.  I believe that all humans are equal. I am cognizant of my own value, am aware of my own self-worth and know that I am worth more than to be belittled by myself or by others.  This is why I have even left the ones that I have loved the most, no matter how much pain it caused in my own heart. I deserve to be treated with dignity and respect.

          I am saddened that compliments are perceived as only flirtations.  People are more hesitant to say something nice, in fear that it will be taken the wrong way.  In a culture that is quick to criticize, we should be equally willing to point out the good in each other just to be kind. 

          Which brings me to another strange phenomenon. People assume that because of my physical appearance and self-confidence that I must have been lavished with compliments my entire life. Because of this assumption, I have had individuals go out of their way to insult me.  There was a time where I had to stop reading my social media because my in-box was full of unsolicited messages such as “You’re fat,” “You’re so ugly,” and “You’re stupid,” along with private messages that were paragraphs long on all of the reasons why I sucked as a human.  I had to learn to leave misery and negativity in its place and that it doesn’t have a place in my life.  As we learn to accept compliments with genuine grace, we must also learn not to accept gratuitous insults with the same poise.

           The first step in gaining this self-confidence was learning to take compliments. Next time you find yourself saying words, “Thank you but,” stop!  Simply take the compliment and accept it.  ”Thank you” suffices.  Don’t degrade yourself just to gain another compliment and don’t cheapen the compliment by denying it. Don’t rely on others to bring you up. Instead, bring yourself up. You are beautiful. Take that and walk with it, no if’s or but’s. 

           So now that I have spent years building my self-confidence, I will not respond with a degrading remark about myself and you shouldn’t either. Self-love means knowing your self-worth. It means taking compliments without degrading yourself. Self-confidence is not arrogance. It just means that you love yourself and you can only truly love someone else if you love yourself first. If someone calls you arrogant or insults you after complimenting you, just walk away and realize that the compliment wasn’t genuine and when someone tries to put you down, they are just reflecting how they feel about themselves.

 

Cops that no longer help

This morning I had an experience that made me so angry that I am still shaking with anger and frustration. At 5:00 in the morning I left my house and drove down the street to buy myself an egg and cheese wrap at the local Jack in the Box. When I returned, there was no street parking left so I parked in the Dollar Tree parking lot and ate my food. As soon as I finished my breakfast, I heard a male voice yelling in absolute anger. It was so loud and threateningly intense that I considered not even stepping out of my car and lying down on the seat and hiding.

The area that I currently live in used to be relatively safe but as of January of this year has become increasingly treacherous. A man was shot right outside of my home several months ago and the following week another man beaten in the same location. I didn’t witness these incidences but I did find out that both were gang related. Hearing gun shots now has become so common to me that around July I would play a game where I when a heard a loud “BOOM” I would guess if it was a gun or a firework. It has gotten so bad that I have been wanting to move for a while but finding a welcoming location for my beloved English Mastiff is difficult in Los Angeles. Luckily, I am moving next week.

                I decided to get out of my car to make a mad dash for the safety of my abode. As I was turning towards my house I saw a man on the sidewalk become physically violent to a quiet woman walking next to him. I was scared but quickly took out my phone and screamed out to him, “I’m calling the police.” I was shaking and afraid that he would go after me because he began to vociferously swear at me. Finally he continued to walk and yell at the frightened woman, so despite my fear of the man I once again yelled out “I am calling the police now!” and quickly pushed the number 911. A female operator answered the phone and I explained the situation to her repeating that I was afraid for the woman’s safety. She asked me what is his race and her race and both times asked me if they were black or Hispanic. I said “No, they were both white. Please hurry, I really think he is going to seriously hurt her. Things are escalating fast with him.” I told the dispatcher the intersection and I told her what direction the couple were heading. She informed me that a unit was on the way, so I thanked her and gave her my information. By this time, I was walking into my yard and let my dog out for a little relief. As I was doing this a police officer with his window pulled down slowly drove his cruiser by my house, heading in the opposite direction. As soon as I saw him, I waved my arms in the air while calling out, “Officer!” and caught his attention. He slowed down to a stop and looked at me. I rushed over to his car and when I was ten feet from his window he stepped on the gas and drove away, leaving me standing alone in the street.

                I couldn’t believe it. Allegedly, and as the authorities like to remind us at every opportunity, the job of a police officer is to, “serve and protect.”  The officer in the cruiser not only clearly saw me trying to grab his attention but blatantly drove away when I approached. What if I was that woman who was just assaulted? What if I was hurt and needed help? What if someone was robbing me or was harming my child and I needed police intervention? He didn’t know who I was. What he knew was that there was an escalating situation in the area where a woman’s safety was at risk. Who was being served and protected?  As I stood in shock in the street and watched the police cruiser vanish into the early dawn, I was left to assume that that information was not a high priority for a number of reasons.

First of all, I live in the ghetto.  I don’t think it is a revelation that the lives of people that don’t have a lot of money are treated with less importance than individuals that have money. I know this because I grew up in an upper middle class white family and grew up with the mindset that the police are here to help. My family used to bake the local PD cookies and we were always treated with attentive kindness and respect. When I moved away from my family, I didn’t have a lot of money. There is a visible difference in the way that I am treated by an officer of the law depending on the car that I drive or the area that I live in. The trashier the car, the ruder that I am treated. When I called the cops because I was literally watching my neighbors getting robbed while they were gone, the officers just drove by the house, walked half way up the stairs without actually reaching the house, then the simple turned and left. I began to realize more and more that my life and safety matter more on my perceived wealth than on just being a human needing help.

After enjoying the delightful and reassuring experience of having two intruders come into my house through a window, amongst several other situations where police did nothing to assist despite my phone calls, I finally realized three years ago that I could no longer rely on police for protection and began looking into getting a good guard dog. For a while I fostered Rottweilers but in the end I decided I would feel safer with a larger dog. So I adopted a seven-week-old English Mastiff and invested money in a dog trainer to ensure that he would be the guard dog that I needed. It was also during this time that I took self-defense classes, which I strongly recommend for all woman no matter where you live.

        I understand that the police need to have a description of the two individuals involved in this incident but I find it interesting that black and Hispanic were the only two races named off by the dispatcher, and when I said, “white,” the ending result was a white police officer treating this situation as if it was nothing to the extent of driving from me when I tried to grab his attention. I could have really needed help and there was a woman that did actually need assistance but the officer, a publicly-salaried government official designated to protect the public that pays him not only did not do his job but blatantly treated me like my life was not worth protecting. This realization of a lack of care is a gut-wrenching eye-opener to why so many individuals no longer trust the police. For every one video of a cop helping someone on our media feed, I see at least twenty videos of cops either assaulting another individual, disrespecting someone, or ignoring a situation when help is needed.  When the media trumpets some good deed done by a police officer, it is apparently newsworthy because it is the exception and not the rule.  Even if I am factually wrong in my assessment, the perception remains the reality of many and that perception is very dangerous for a civil society.

                I am not emphatically stating that all cops are bad or callous. Some really do want to help. There are many officers out there that are genuine sweethearts that truly do help others regardless of wealth or race and I have the utmost respect for them and the job that they do every day. However, in most cases I have found that is not the situation and the worth of a human life is often determined by the money in their pocket or color of their skin. Someone’s worth should never be based on how much money they make or their race. How can anyone feel safe when the people that were put in place to protect us don’t care enough to stop and do the job that they are paid to do? I could have really needed help but I was left staring at the tail lights of the police car wondering, why don’t I matter to you? Why doesn’t she matter? Things need to change.

Technological Bondage

              When I was a kid, I didn’t have a cell phone or an ipad. I didn’t have many friends either but I would play outside or take walks through the neighborhood. When I was indoors I would color or play piano. At night I would have dinner with my family without an interruption and if the landline home phone rang while we ate, we would wait until an answering machine picked it up and return the call later. When my father would travel to a different country, he made a point to call and would tell us how much he loved us, every night.

                Then new games like the Gameboy came out and little by little I would watch kids begin to play their games instead of with each other. After an immense amount of begging, I finally got a game of my  own and I would sit in my room for hours playing these games until my legs would fall asleep and the sides of my thumbs would hurt from pushing the same buttons down so frequently.

                The more technology grew, the more we as people hid behind whatever screen glowed the clearest until we finally got to the point where we are at now. We have replaced the need for internal growth and interaction with real people with the need for the artificial positive reinforcement of “likes” and “shares” on our latest selfie that we hide behind hoping for a sense of approval from complete strangers. Instead of finding comfort through a person face to face, we try to communicate text to text, which often times is misinterpreted and leads to unnecessary drama which can in turn create an emotional wound or increased distance between you and the one that you are speaking to. As this technology expanded, the quality of relationships shrank. We went from having conversations in person to having conversations of constantly new and changing customized emojis that leave the reader to guess what the sender meant to say as if decoding a simpler form of modern hieroglyphics. 

We are group animals that are increasingly becoming slaves to technology. It has become our addiction, much like a drug. We look at the people crying over lost Meth or Crack and laugh at them yet turn around and do the same thing if we lose our phone for even 24 hours. Our addiction is a mental addiction equal to that of a drug just without the physical side effects. Yet technology is the socially acceptable “drug” of choice. How many times have I sat in a restaurant and watched people at the other tables tune out a conversation or fail to be in the minute to check their small illuminated screens for virtual life experiences elsewhere? 

 Now when I try to go out with friends, I am surrounded by people SnapChatting, Instagraming, or Facebooking what they are currently doing instead of just enjoying it in the moment and the people around them. What is happening on their feed is often times more important than the experience of connecting and spending time with the person beside them and it amazes me how we as people would much rather watch a cat playing the piano for the hundredth time than talk with the friend beside them or experience the glory of the sunset in front of them.

We speak of the advancement of man, which I see, but I also see the digression of the one thing that makes us so beautiful, being human, living life to the fullest. Instead of watching someone give to the poor, how about you go out and give to the poor? Instead of seeing beautiful places on the planet, put down your phone and realize that the authentic beauty you see on that screen is right in front of you and guess what? A photo can never truly capture the experience. Set down your phone and experience life. Have a conversation face to face with someone you can touch. You will never truly live if you are in bondage to a small 3x4 inch screen. The world is a bigger more beautiful place that even blows Super HD away. Stop being your phone’s bitch and coming to it when it makes a tiny beep and start enjoying your independence and freedom.

Gangster Butterflies

The other day I went to the botanical garden with high hopes and expectations that I was going to get the best photos that I had ever taken. Before I went, I looked online and found that the botanical garden that I was visiting possessed 120 acres of specialized gardens. I planned my floral safari carefully.  My goal was to hit the Chinese garden through the Japanese garden, then end up at the Rose garden in search of beautiful and peaceful butterflies.

Let me make this very clear, I have the directional sense of a blind pigeon in a tornado.  Further, I abhor maps almost as much as I abhor giant cockroaches. I began my outing as planned, following the signs to the Chinese garden and somehow I ended up in the Shakespeare garden leaning over a fountain to get a close up of a Lilly pad. Realizing that I was in the wrong garden and not one butterfly was to be found, I decided to back track and make my way back through the Chinese garden. I was bound and determined to get my butterfly pictures.

Despite the fact that the sun made me feel like I had stepped into an oven, I trekked on like a good sport with a positive spirit. I am not sure how, but after two hours of searching for the rose garden, I found myself in the middle of nowhere sweating out of areas I didn’t know could sweat.

It was around 1:00 pm in the middle of blazing California heat with hardly any shade in sight. This is when I realized I was on the far end of the desert garden. How I ended up there remains a mystery to this day and I was feeling my positive spirit slowly wither and die with the rest of my body in the sweltering furnace of the afternoon sun.  This was the day that I learned exactly how big 120 acres really is and at one point I found myself dramatically collapsed in the dirt by a palm tree, trying in vain to lower my boiling body temperature by hiding in the tiny scrap of shade that it provided.

“I wonder if anyone has died out here?” I thought to myself as I fantasized about drinking water and sorely regretting that I hadn’t brought any.  I imagined how my funeral would be as people cried over my mummified body (still clutching my camera for effect). I knew that I was foolish not to look at a map in the first place.  Now that I was baking in the heat like a thanksgiving turkey with the very real temptation to baste myself with butter and sage, I saw exactly how deep my madness went.

Finally I found the strength to push myself off of the ground and keep walking until I ended up at the Japanese garden. After asking several people the same question, I finally stumbled upon the Rose garden and once again begin my search for the elusive butterfly. Although I didn’t find any there, I did find a nearby section in the herb garden seemed to swarm with the fluttering of their delicate wings. I pulled out my camera, ready to take photos of these beautiful creatures but quickly realized exactly how fast they can fly.  I had never really thought about it before but butterflies can move very quickly when you want them to remain still and elegantly posed. I don’t know if I just happened to stumble upon ADHD butterflies on crack but those suckers would not stay still. I found myself running from one end of the garden to the other, chasing them like a mad woman with my camera held high in the air.

In a moment when a few of them decided to stay still for a split second, probably to laugh at my sweating and swearing, I realized something very interesting.  Aside from being sadistic pranksters to photographers, butterflies are like vicious gangsters when it comes to their flowers. Every time one butterfly would land, another butterfly would swoop down and attack the butterfly trying to eat, and it wasn’t just butterflies assaulting each other, it was yellow jackets too.  I felt like I was walking into a mall full of women on Black Friday; you never know who will strike next. 

When I finally got in a few shots and gave up on my chase, I went home and began to do a little research trying to figure out if the apocalypse came early or if butterflies attacking each other was natural. As I was reading the studies done on butterfly behavior, I not only discovered that certain breeds of butterflies are territorial but that my favorite butterfly, the monarch, can become cannibalistic when there is a lack of food. HOLY GOD! I feel like a child who just found out that Santa isn’t real, yet I find it ironic that true butterfly reality is more akin to The Hills Have Eyes or Hannibal but we view them as peaceful symbols of hope and renewal. Oh reality! Why must you be so cruel?  

 

My Dog the Mutant

The other day I came home to a very itchy dog covered in bumps. As you may know, my dog has been struggling with a skin infection for a few weeks, and  no matter what I did whether is was vet visits or home remedies, nothing seemed to clear it up. When I felt the bumps under my dog’s fur, I  impulsively shaved my poor puppy to see what is going on. Looking down at my dog’s skin, I observed that not only had the infection now spread all over his body, but his skin is now dry and patchy, reminding me of a bad dandruff commercial. As soon as I realized how bad the skin infection became, I immediately called my veterinarian and made an appointment.

I admit it. I have a problem that I have had since I was a kid. My mother diagnosed me with diarrhea of the mouth. I will say the first thing that comes into my head to a fault. It’s like Tourette ’s syndrome without as many swear words.  While I was on the phone, the receptionist asked me what was wrong with my dog. Without even thinking, I quickly responded with, “It looks like he has an STD all over his body.” I could tell that she didn’t find this statement amusing at all and after a moment of awkward silence I managed to blurt out the words, “skin infection.”

Two days later I found myself wrestling my dog to try to get his face leash on. My dog HATES this face mask much as a child hates shots. As soon as he saw me pull it out of his dog box, he had a reaction of excitement mixed with the unspoken subtext of, “I will now make your life more difficult. Much, much more difficult.” Trying to get a face leash on a thrashing English Mastiff is like trying to hug a beached great white shark, only less fun.

After ten minutes I was covered in sweat and my hair was slicked back with dog drool but we were finally ready to go to the vet. I put my dog in my station wagon and opened up the windows to allow him to stick his head out and enjoy the breeze. Bear-Bear always finds an immense amount of enjoyment in biting at the air and I like the fact that he is distracted enough to avoid attempting to sit in my lap while I drive.  I still don’t think he realizes that he weighs more than I do. Or that I need to see where we’re going while I’m driving.

As I walked into the veterinarian’s office I faced typical reaction of people taking several steps back and looking at my dog as if I just walked in with a rabies infected lion. I approached the receptionist and she immediately recognized my dog and said, “I think we have a room open.” I have observed that every time I come, they always put me and Bear-Bear in a different room to wait for the vet almost immediately because as soon as I walk to the building, everyone in the waiting room begins to clutch onto their animals as if my dog is a ferocious killer and they tend to back up to the walls. My dog on the other hand, is unaware of everyone else’s fear and feels the need to say hi to everyone. So I struggle to keep him at a comfortable distance while he struggles to give everyone a big, ultra-friendly, slobbery drool-covered kiss. He’s like that hairy great aunt that only visits at Thanksgiving. He just can’t wait to plant a big sloppy one on a new friend.

After the appointment, I found myself waiting to pay in a packed full waiting room. To my left a woman and her young daughter who couldn’t have been older than five sat in chairs several feet away from me. The woman asked me how old is my dog and if he will get any bigger. I let her know that he is two and the mastiff breed stops growing at age three. The little girl with curly hair and large soulful and innocent brown eyes looks over at Bear-Bear and says to her mother with a voice full of enthusiasm, “Wow! That’s a big dog!” Her mother responded, “Well yes honey it is. And he will grow even bigger!” The little girl suddenly became solemn and in the creepiest voice I have ever heard responded with, “And then he will die.”

As soon as those words came out of the child’s mouth, I burst out laughing so hard that I was curled over gasping for a breath of air. The mother was completely and utterly mortified, apologizing profusely and told her daughter not to say those things. I told the mother that it was okay and admitted the daughter was only speaking the truth and eventually he will grow old and jump over the rainbow bridge. I found it a refreshing taste of my own medicine; to see what I was probably like when I was her age, humiliating my mother with my own very uncomfortable and very public observations of life and death. I have been smiling to myself ever since.  There is hope for the future.