I’m not good in heat. Some people thrive in it, but I prefer cold weather. Sweater weather. Weather that allows me to show off some of my hand knit scarves, gloves and hats.
Now, snow doesn’t thrill me, at least not while I’m living in the South. If it snows in my neighborhood, roads might be closed down for days and the parking lot in my apartment complex certainly won’t be plowed. So I’d better be well-stocked, especially with cat food. I can figure out a meal for myself with a little flour and water (well, not literally, but I usually have enough staples to make do) but not for the cats.
Anyway, it’s July now, just the start of summer weather. We’ll have this heat until late September, maybe even October. So I need to deal.
I set my thermostat at 78 degrees, just like the experts recommend, and it’s way too warm most of the time. So when I’m home on the weekends I turn it down, knowing full well what that will do to my electric bill. Fortunately the cats tolerate warmer weather well, besides, it cools off decently in the bedroom, so when I’m at work 78 degrees works fine.
And I’m mostly home on the weekends these days, given the restrictions COVID-19 places on us. At least, those of us who choose to follow them, and I choose to follow them. Some of my friends have gotten pretty lax about it, and that concerns me. However, I can’t dictate their choices.
(I’m typing this sitting on my sofa, and my sweet kitty Walter is giving me the most plaintive look because I won’t allow him to sit on the laptop. He’s doing everything he can to get in my way, such as leaning on my arm, reaching out across the keyboard, and softly meowing. At least I can blame any typos on him.)
This is a tough time for all of us. Even though I don’t relish hot weather, I still feel like I should be getting out more while the sun is shining. However, where can I go? The pool is out, as is the lake, because so many people are hanging out there and I’m not going to put myself and my co-workers at risk. I do take short walks, but I get so darn hot and don’t really enjoy them.
Connecting with all of you is a bright spot in my day. Thank goodness for blogging and bloggers. The writing, as mundane as mine might get, is a release, and reading what all of you have written is a connection with others. So thank you.
The latest odd event in my life is an unexpected three days off while the building I work in is thoroughly cleaned and disinfected. This mini-vacation has happened because one of the lab employees has a confirmed case of COVID-19. They did what they could with contact tracing and sent a dozen or so employees home for two weeks of self-quarantine, then surprised the rest of us with these days off.
It was weird, learning about this. We were at one of the busiest points of our day–nearing the end of it–when the director overseeing our department stopped by and sent us all home. I had to ask her twice if I was just supposed to drop everything and head out. About an hour or so later, simultaneous text and phone messages confirmed what she’d told us.
Since our daily work load is based on daily deliveries, and those deliveries aren’t going to stop, I don’t know what they’ll do when we get back on Monday. Five days of shipments would mean a straight 24-hour work day, so they can’t expect us to get it all done in one day, but there are promises made to vendors about timely work. Besides, we can’t just keep getting further and further behind.
But I can’t worry about that now. It would ruin this time off. Yes, I’m told we’ll be paid, although how they’ll coordinate that is an additional question mark to me. We get fourteen days of COVID-19 paid time off just for self-quarantine purposes. Will we be expected to draw on that? If so, what happens if I come in contact with someone with a confirmed case and am sent home for two weeks? Will I have unpaid time off? I can’t expect the company to pay for an infinite amount of coronavirus vacation.
The obvious thing to be worried about is getting the virus myself, but somehow, that doesn’t concern me. We don’t know who the employee was who contracted COVID-19, but we do know about many of the people who were sent home, and it was in a department with which I rarely come into contact. Plus, I’ve been taking all the precautions. I wear a mask, I avoid communal rooms such as the break room (the rest rooms I clearly can’t avoid), I wash my hands frequently and stay six feet away from others whenever possible. That last one isn’t always possible, but I do my best.
I’m just glad my coronavirus story doesn’t include being laid off, and I pray that that good luck continues. I don’t know how I’d survive without my job. These government subsidies aren’t going to last forever.
So what do I plan to do with this unexpected vacation? If I’m smart, I’ll dig into the mess that rests in my second bedroom, clean it out and set up an office/sewing room. Every time I try, it overwhelms me, so I need to break it down into manageable, doable pieces–and start getting together a bunch of boxes for Goodwill.
I pray for that fellow employee who has the coronavirus and wish him or her a speedy recovery. I also pray that no one else at work contracts the disease, although I realize that’s being optimistic.
And I pray for a quick end to COVID-19, for the time we can look back on it and breathe a sigh of relief that this particular pandemic is over.
I’ve been trying to lose weight–just a small amount–for about a year and a half. I’m no closer to my goal now than I was in the beginning. I even shelled out what for me was big bucks on an eating modification program (I’ve been told not to think of it as “dieting” but “eating modification” and while I can see the logic of that mentality, the bottom line is, eating modification is, for me, dieting). I lost three or four pounds right away and then–nothing. For the next three months, no more loss. So I gave up on that program.
Since I don’t have much to lose, telling my friends I want to lose weight is typically not very well received, especially those friends who could afford to lose a bit more. My co-workers, too, are not particularly supportive, in more ways than one. Not only do they roll their eyes at my plight, but they are constantly bringing in food to share. In one case, one of the women bought milk shakes for all of us. Surprise! It was, excuse the pun, sweet of her. I not only couldn’t say no, I didn’t want to.
Not to put the blame on others. I could easily be better at modifying my food intake. I tend to overdo it with favorite foods (my current favorite? Quaker Oats Simply Granola), so much so that I’ll swear off of that food for a time, only to find something to take its place.
I should say here my doctor has recommended I lose some weight. He’s with me in that I don’t need to lose much, but he was definite in saying I need to lose some.
I know I stress eat. I know I eat when I’m bored. Given the amount of stress I’ve been under lately, I’m lucky I haven’t gained any more weight. Okay, I did gain back that three or four pounds I’d lost on the eating modification program. But, no more than that.
Here’s the thing that’s so hard for me: as an adult, I’ve had little problem with my weight. In fact, for about ten years I was too thin and tried to gain weight, but to no avail. It was when I was a teenager that I had a problem, and in that time and place, few of my peers faced the same struggle. So being overweight was isolating and heightened the insecurities I already dealt with. Now, I’m tapping back into some of those same feelings, and it doesn’t feel good.
But I am an adult, and I have tools now that I didn’t have then. So tomorrow is another day. One day at a time. And all the other platitudes. I will lose this weight.
It’s not just that it’s smaller. In fact, that isn’t such a big deal since I only used a portion of the space I had before. It’s not just that it’s dingier. That is a bigger deal. And I’m not enjoying the additional noise of an apartment complex.
Right now, though, I’m struggling mostly with how low or high my air conditioning should be set to maintain the optimum comfort while still keeping my electric bill low. I have no idea what temperature I should set it at. The recommended temp is 78 degrees, but that is proving to be simply too warm and somewhat oppressive. So I turned it one degree cooler, which is still pretty warm, but I’m not willing to go any lower. Not today, at least. Not until I see my electric bill and know the consequences.
That sort of adjustment is simply part of moving and learning how things work in the new home. As for the rest of it, I may never fully get comfortable with this new space–I was spoiled in the old one.
The cats, in particular Mimi, seem to be adapting to the change fairly well. Mimi has settled in somewhat permanently on the bedroom windowsill, which is comfortably wide and overlooks a large tree and a grassy area with plenty of squirrels and birds. I’ve pulled up the blinds and put some café curtains in to maintain my privacy. Walter hasn’t quite found his spot, although he does like to hide under my comforter, not knowing that the Walter-shaped lump gives him away.
I’m looking for good in the rest of my life to balance out the discomfort I feel here. I have a decent job with great benefits. My car is in good shape (knock wood). I have healthy, happy cats (again, knock wood). Most of all, I have the support of my family no matter what is happening in my life.
After all I’ve been through in the last ten years, overall I have to say I’m in a decent spot. Certainly far better than where I was six, seven or eight years ago. So I’m grateful. On the balance, things are good.
So I’m looking at the balance and remembering how good it is these days.
The movers came last Friday. That part went smoothly and aside from losing the knob to my floor lamp, there was no damage to any of my highly valuable personal goods. (Okay, “highly valuable” is a subjective term and one I use here a bit facetiously).
The cats are adjusting. I have no idea how they feel about our much smaller home, but I guess they’ll get used to it. Mimi is quite curious about the wide open spaces outside the front door, and I’m constantly having to block her from running out. Walter has taken to hiding under my comforter, which is really cute because I think he believes he’s hidden. The lump on the bed gives him away.
I suppose I’m adjusting as well. I’m not thrilled with the new place, but now it’s home so I’m determined to make the best of it. I’ve got the living room and bedroom pretty much set up, with pictures on the wall, books on the bookcases and a few cat toys strewn about.
It’s the second bedroom that’s a nightmare. The room is wall to wall boxes. Well, okay, there’s a path to walk around the perimeter of the room, and to be clear, it’s not a very big room. But still in all, most of my worldly goods are in there waiting for me to dig them out. My desk is buried under those boxes as well, and that’s a problem, because despite its name a laptop is easier to use on a solid surface. Slouching on the sofa as I am now has multiple drawbacks.
Change can be hard, and this situation is difficult for me. I didn’t want to move out of the old place (further explanation about that can be found here). My new apartment is actually quite old, not in a charming way but in an outdated, faux paneling way. The cabinets are cheap and worn. Those in the bathroom are so bad it’s unreal, so I may paint them. You’re not supposed to do that, but seriously, the consequences are likely to be minor. I may not get my deposit back, but they keep eighty percent of it anyhow for cleaning. I’d paint the cabinets a neutral color that would go with the flooring. Yes, I’m justifying.
But like I said, I’m determined to make the best of this situation and look for the good. The cats have window sills they can perch on to watch the birds and the squirrels outside. I’m closer to work, closer, really, to the hub of this area. This complex seems to be quiet, and my unit is on the end of the row of apartments, looking out over a wooded area. I’m processing the change, and will come out better for it.
The premier of LotusLand TV, a Punt On Point Media production. LotusLand TV is a channel dedicated to raising awareness about the rescue and fostering of cats. Saving a life, changes your own. The love you give to a cat, he returns 7-fold.
The latest run on household supplies? Apparently it’s hair color, and as someone who covers up my gray roots on a regular basis, I get it. I haven’t yet bought any hair color–dying my own hair scares me after a few failed attempts several years ago–but I can see it getting to that point.
Okay, I did get on Amazon to buy some root cover-up after I couldn’t find any in local stores or Walmart.com. Amazon carries it, but is temporarily out of my color (medium brown). So I placed my order and just have to hope it comes in before my current supply runs out. It’s the temporary powder, nothing fancy, so I can see why it’s so popular. You just brush it on and voilà! You’re ready to go.
Hearing about the run on hair color makes me think once again about my stylist. She’s an all-American success story, having started out at her Aveda salon as a receptionist and moving up until she and her husband bought the salon. They’ve maintained its success, and I have no doubt there are dozens of women and men anxious for her doors to open up again. But what’s happening in the meantime?
I realize the economic security bill that was recently passed includes help for small business owners, but I have no idea if it’s enough. Our governor is as cautious as any and won’t allow hair salons to open up again until it’s safe (however you determine that fact). In the meantime, we’re all getting shaggier and grayer.
So hair’s to your health, the health of the economy and the health of the American spirit. There’s a lot of confusion, a lot of unknowns, a lot of fear. Hang in there.
Looking for fresh ideas of movies to watch during this time of home confinement? Here are five of my favorite escapes in film. I’ve reviewed all of them on my other blog, Classic for a Reason. I’ve linked to those reviews, but here’s a brief description of each film below. These are all available to rent (or some, watch free) on Amazon Prime and YouTube. Enjoy!
Tom (Joel McCrea) and Gerry (Claudette Colbert) Jeffers have hit a stalemate in their marriage: they are seemingly better friends than lovers, his business is floundering and she’s bored with the whole situation. He hasn’t given up, but she has, and one day she leaves for Palm Beach to get a divorce and find a wealthy man who not only can support her in the way she feels she deserves, but also provide the financing for Tom’s entrepreneurial project.
As fate would have it, on the train to Palm Beach, she meets just that man, John D. Hackensacker III (Rudy Vallee). In the meantime, thanks to a generous benefactor, Tom has flown to meet Gerry and stop her from divorcing him. Instead, he’s greeted by John, Gerry, and John’s flighty, oft-married sister, Princess Centimillia (Mary Astor).
The sparks fly and romance begins as Tom and Gerry face the truth about their marriage.
Society elite Irene Bullock (Carole Lombard) and her sister Cornelia (Gail Patrick) are seeking a “forgotten man” as part of a scavenger hunt, and come upon Godfrey Smith (William Powell) living at a city dump. The two women are on separate teams, and Cornelia is the first to offer Godfrey five dollars if he’ll help her win the prize. Her offer is met with a shove into a pile of ashes, and Irene decides it’s best to walk away as well.
But Godfrey, after talking to the flighty Irene, chooses to help her win the scavenger hunt and triumph over her sister. To her delight, he denounces the group of wealthy citizens applauding him after her team’s victory is declared. She offers him a job as the family’s butler, which he graciously accepts.
But Godfrey isn’t just any butler, and Irene begins to fall for him, something Cornelia cannot abide.
Schatze Page (Lauren Bacall), recently divorced, has joined with fellow models Loco Dempsey (Betty Grable) and Pola DeBevoise (Marilyn Monroe) to lease a high-class apartment for a year. Schatze, perhaps more than the others, is determined to bait and catch a millionaire, not the “gas station jockeys” she typically falls for.
The situation is looking bleak when J. D. Hanley (William Powell), a widower of indisputable wealth, begins courting Schatze. While she’s genuinely fond of the older gentleman, she’s also being pursued by charming Tom Brookman (Cameron Mitchell) a man she’s quite certain is too poor to be considered.
In the meantime, good natured Loco finds herself falling for a man she believes to be well off, but in fact, is merely a park ranger. Pola, who can’t see a foot in front of herself without her glasses, literally bumps into the man of her dreams, someone with an odd connection to all three women.
How the women resolve what they’re seeking with what they’re finding is as fun and classy as the film’s three stars.
Gladys Benton (Jean Harlow) is set to marry Warren Haggerty (Spencer Tracy) when he discovers his tell-all front page story about a socialite, Connie Allenbury (Myrna Loy), is false and she’s set to sue the newspaper for the astronomical amount of $5 million dollars (keep in mind, this is 1936).
Figuring the best way out of the situation is to turn the heiress into the homewrecker the paper reported her to be, Haggerty hires Bill Chandler (William Powell) to lure her into a compromising situation with a married man.
First, however, he has to marry Chandler off to his bride-to-be to make him the married man in question. Of course, nothing goes as it’s supposed to (how could it?). Gladys starts falling for Bill, who in turn is falling for the lovely Connie. There’s a smart and sassy ending that isn’t really an ending at all.
Harry (Robert Young) and Tacey (Maureen O’Hara) King have a day-to-day challenge in keeping a nanny for their three rambunctious boys. After the last woman quits without notice, Tacey places yet another ad, hoping to find the right young woman for the job.
When a Lynn Belvedere answers and later accepts her job offer, she believes she’s found that woman. Both Harry and Tacey are shocked when a bristling Mr. Lynn Belvedere (Clifton Webb) arrives at the door, and are further bewildered when he makes the disconcerting statement he doesn’t like children.
He does have a way with the boys, however, so the Kings keep him on, and eventually learn his kinder side. What they don’t know is his secret motive for moving in with a suburban family.
When the Kings—and the entire town they live in—discover the truth, it jeopardizes both home and profession.
I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating. My dad once told me that whether times are good or times are bad we believe they’re always going to stay that way. Right now, times are bad. But we’ll get through this.
I’m lucky enough to still have a job, but I’m afraid that may not last. Business has slowed down considerably and we’re not sure when it will pick up again. The company is doing everything it can to keep us all employed, but there comes a point, right?
I have to move shortly, and now I fear the governor may call for a complete shut down, a total stay-at-home order, and that would mean movers wouldn’t be available. Even if I had a friend with a truck (which I don’t), there’s no way we could move all my worldly goods in the back of someone’s pickup.
But these are things that haven’t happened yet and maybe never will. If they do, I’ll have to deal with them then. I’m just a notorious worrier (got that from my mom). I do believe that whatever happens, I’ll get through it.
I’m not someone who has posters with inspirational sayings or Bible verses all over my home, but I do have faith. Lately, that faith has been tested, for reasons that have nothing to do with the coronavirus. It’s just that a lot of people have given me scientific or historical reasons for everything I believe in. Still, I have faith for the unknown. And let’s just say that faith is misguided. If it helps me, I’m keeping it.
These are uncertain times, uncertain in many ways because we’ve never dealt with anything like this before. It’s unclear how to navigate these murky waters.
But we’ll get through it. My prayers are with all those who are sick, all their loved ones, and the loved ones of those who have died.
Not that I have any imminent concern, just a general one, but I have to say I wouldn’t do well in a quarantine. It’s felt a little like one this weekend. All my normal weekend activities, including church, were cancelled, and I can only watch so many episodes of “The Mothers-in-Law.”
I did watch Bishop Curry speak via YouTube at a service at the National Cathedral this morning, so I sort of got church in. Problem was, at the end of the service I really wanted to go into the parish hall and socialize. For those of you who don’t remember or know who Bishop Curry is, he’s the Episcopal church’s Presiding Bishop (chief mucky-muck), the one who spoke at at Harry and Meghan’s wedding. He’s a gifted speaker and it was a decent sermon, but I wouldn’t want to attend church like that every weekend.
Even as I write this I’m acutely aware of the people for whom an online service is the only way to participate in church. It makes me aware of how much care we need to give to the lonely. In the current climate, that may be difficult, but a card or letter may be an alternative, especially for the elderly for whom that kind of correspondence is familiar. If you know of a shut-in, please reach out now.
Maybe it’s not even a traditional shut-in. I know of a man who’s perfectly healthy, at least physically, but he doesn’t leave the city limits. Anything he can’t buy locally he orders online, with one recent exception. He needed new flooring, so his neighbor drove him to the bordering city to check that out. Keep in mind, these are small cities, each with a population under 50,000, and the city he lives in is primarily a bedroom community with little shopping besides grocery stores. I need to remember him and send a message on his Facebook page.
I know of another woman (and we all know someone like this) who’s caring for her elderly mother. She rarely gets out, in part because her mom mysteriously falls ill anytime my friend has a social engagement. I believe she’s reached her limit and has told her family that other plans need to be made for her mother’s care. Knowing what a challenge caretaking can be makes me wish I’d sent her more text messages.
So I guess there’s a silver lining in this coronavirus situation if it reminds me to reach out to those in need. Let me be a blessing in someone’s life.
Nearly four years ago I struck a deal with a woman who has since become a friend. She owns a nice townhome, but wasn’t able to live in it at that time because she was caring for her mother. I needed a better place to live, but had a limited budget. She was willing to rent the place to me at an affordable price if I accepted a month-to-month rental agreement. If something happened to her mom, I’d get a decent amount of notice to move out.
I got that notice earlier this week. Catherine is changing the living arrangement with her mom. I’d been preparing for the inevitable, although I didn’t expect it to happen this soon. And I’m really bummed. This is a nice place, and any move that I can afford will be a step down.
I put in my application to some apartments in my price range. Being affordable, there’s a waiting list, so I don’t know if this will work out. All I can do at this point is wait to hear whether or not I qualify, and if so, whether or not there’ll be a unit open in three months. Not that they can know that this far in advance. This complex requires a 30-day notice, so I’m potentially in limbo for awhile.
As with any move, there are benefits. I’m trying to focus on the positive and not think about what the smaller space will mean to my cats. Everyone says they’ll adjust, and I believe they will, but like any pet lover I want them to have the best possible living arrangement, and this townhome is much better than an apartment.
But back to focusing on the positive. I’ll be closer to work, most shops, and the grocery store. If I get into the apartment complex I’ve applied to, it’s in a wooded area, bordering a golf course. I have a friend who lives there and she tells me the management is responsive and caring. I’ve driven through the place from time to time and it seems to be a quiet, settled place with good tenants.
I don’t want to move. I like it here. Still, I find myself wishing it could happen sooner rather than later, just to get it done. Packing! Augh! So much to do, so much to think about. I’ll have to sell my dining room table, which I love. I have no idea what it’s worth but I’ve been told it’s “worth a lot.” So what do I ask for it?
I plan to make the most of this move. Yes, it’s disappointing. I live in a quiet neighborhood with good neighbors, and giving that up for the unknown is scary. But I can’t focus on what I’m losing. I need to look at what I’m gaining. I have a strong faith, although I don’t necessarily believe every change is God’s plan for improving my life the way I want. But I do believe change is an opportunity, and I do believe God is in my life.
Yep, every change is an opportunity for growth, right?
The Bishop’s Wife, 1947, RKO Radio Pictures. Starring Cary Grant, Loretta Young, David Niven. Directed by Henry Koster. B&W, 108 minutes.
Staid Bishop Henry Brougham (David Niven) has neglected his wife and family in his quest for a new cathedral, and is on the verge of giving in to a value system of greed and selfishness held by certain wealthy parishioners who aren’t afraid to make full use of their influence. He prays for guidance. To his shock, the answer comes in the form of a debonair angel, Dudley (Cary Grant).
The Bishop’s skepticism of Dudley’s claims of divine guidance is soon overcome by frustration with the angel’s growing relationship with his wife, Julia (Loretta Young). Dudley brings back a spark to Julia’s demeanor that has been missing for many years, as the Bishop has become more engrossed in his work and less attentive to his marriage.
Wow, getting back into the swing of things–in this case a full-time job–is difficult after so many years of part-time work. On top of that, the last time I had full-time work I was working out of my home, so there was a certain amount of freedom there. Now, I’m at the workplace Monday through Friday, eight hours a day. And frankly, the job is not much of a challenge.
However, I’m at a point in my life where good benefits are just as important as the job itself, and I have good benefits. For example, I get three weeks of vacation next year, not to mention two floating holidays. That’s on top of the 3.33 days of vacation I’ll have earned by the end of December. I’m not comfortable taking those vacation days before my 90 days is up, which will put me smack dab in the middle of December. Instead, I’m carrying them over to the third week in January.
We get MLK day off, which of course is a Monday. My birthday is the very next day, so I’m planning on taking that entire week off and celebrating or crying, whichever mood strikes me at the time. Actually, I’ll probably spend the week housecleaning and maybe clearing out some of my spare bedroom–a.k.a. the junk room. All that extra stuff weighs heavily on me. Ideally I’d like to get down to just enough stuff to fill a one-bedroom apartment, but that’s a ways off. Still, it’s good to have a goal.
Back to the benefits. The one big drawback is the High Deductible. Fifteen hundred dollars, and that includes prescriptions. That’s a big chunk of change and the out-of-pocket goes even higher, another fifteen hundred. That’s a high percentage of my annual salary, so knock wood and lift up my prayers that I’m never burdened with hefty medical bills.
Still, I’m grateful for the work, as dull as it is, and I’m certainly grateful for the benefits, imperfect as they are. Three paid weeks of vacation is a big deal for me. So, as the song says, I’m going to accentuate the positive.
It’s not an exciting career job, and I’m not sure there’s a whole lot of room for advancement. But I’m working with a well-established, reputable company, the benefits are great and the people are generous.
I admit I have my moments when I say to myself, “I have a college degree yet I’m doing this menial work.” Those moments don’t last very long, especially since this is a job you have to work at to keep up with, so I’m distracted with the task of getting it done. Not just getting it done, but getting it done right. If I don’t do my job well, it has ramifications for a long line of people.
I realize that, at my age, a lot of people are faced with the same situation, that is, a job that doesn’t take full advantage of their skills, experience and talent. Agism becomes an issue and you take whatever job is offered, regardless of how well qualified you are for higher level work. In my case, a major setback eight years ago kept me away from my career path, and that gap is hard to overcome.
One kind of cool thing is the hours. I’m working noon to 8:30, so I have my mornings to run errands, visit the doctor and write. At least, that’s the theory. It seems I can get myself out of bed at 7:00 a.m., but staying out is another story.
Another writing outlet is my writing group. It’s a great group of ladies who have a tremendous amount of experience. We meet every Saturday to share our work. It provides me with the motivation to get up at 7:00 so I can put in a few hours of writing before I go to work, although, as I mentioned before, I’m having a hard time convincing my body that eight or nine hours of sleep is enough.
So I’m doing better these days, and maybe I’ll get back to writing for this blog on a more regular basis. I hope so, because I miss the interaction with all of my blogging buddies (some of you have been very loyal and I am grateful for your friendship).
I don’t know. I believe we can work past at least some of our racism (or other -ism) when we become aware of it, but is there a residual element that lingers? I was listening to the radio the other day–most likely NPR–and heard an interview where a young man who’d broken away from a white supremacy group still found himself battling the hate. There’s little, if any, support for those who are trying to change their thinking in that situation.
There’s more support for us ordinary folks who sincerely seek to broaden our thinking and become better people. Still, it’s sometimes hard to admit exactly what we are thinking, especially when we don’t the root of it ourselves. Did I dismiss an author because he’s black, or because I thought the premise of his book was trite? Did I think the premise of his book was trite because he’s black? The latter I feel fairly confident is not true. Trite is trite and this was trite.
I’ve experienced a modicum of prejudice in my life because of my Polish heritage. A few weeks ago a friend made some snide remark about how you wouldn’t expect a Pole to have blonde hair. Sitting directly across from us was another friend, also of Polish descent, who is about as blonde as they come. Naturally blonde. She just grinned and I rolled my eyes, but like a game of Mad Libs, I could easily see substituting blonde hair for having a high IQ. I’ve heard that one plenty of times. And it doesn’t take too much imagination to take the Mad Libs analogy a little bit further.
There are shades of prejudice and I don’t know which is worse, the subtle shades or the sharp ones. All I can do is seek the truth and see the shades of difference that make each of us unique and our stories valid.