The Crime of Inaction

Driving out to Anna Maria Island on Memorial Day, I saw every pump occupied at the BP station. I hated them for being blind. At the same time I wondered if the station was the pride of a small business owner who doesn’t have any more to do with the oil crisis than I do for purchasing gas. And even with a concerted conscience focused on punishing BP, I had stopped at one of their stations to fill my car up last week and realized it half after I had been standing at the pump for over 4 minutes.
The beach was beautiful. During a fast paced walk I enjoyed seeing the families sitting in the sand, a toddler sloppily carrying a full bucket of water to the tiny castle he was building, the brilliant layers of blue-green meeting the cloudless sky…

The knowledge of the big “it” out there—the spill that keeps coming out beyond what any of us can comprehend every minute, hour and day--was a weight for everyone on the shore.  Instead of carrying that heaviness with me, I said a prayer with every step in the surf. I had to feel that somehow my calling of all the Goodness that is seen and unseen would be heard.

Besides that imminent concern and small answer, this time of year I’m especially alert to the beach nesting birds. They depend on a clean beach, undisturbed dunes and the grace of God to hatch and raise their young. Every year, the number of successful least terns, black skimmer and snowy plovers diminishes. More harm that one can possibly imagine is done by the trash on the beach attracting predators, the quick footed tourists and locals who can’t be bothered to look where they step, and unknowing children who chase the energy strained adults mustering everything to feed their chicks.

I loved watching a skimmer dip in the shallow waves, following them in a line down the beach with a grace and precision hard to believe. Another one came. And another. On my walk back, I watched a young man with his girlfriend coming in the opposite direction. I misjudged him as one who couldn’t care less about a bird, but then I saw him turn. Stop. Watch the skimmer with a look of fascination. It made me smile and feel hopeful.

Approaching the entrance to the beach I used, it was impossible not to see a large area where a group had left over 30 bottles, cans, wrappers and used bottle of sunscreen. I felt sick. In the midst of the largest environmental disaster to ever face our country, here was a deliberate act of laziness and disregard for everything. Everything!

Even on Memorial Day? Our veterans sure as hell didn’t make their sacrifices so that Americans could treat our own country like a pig sty. Sick and angry, I collected as many pieces of trash as I could and went to the garbage bin. A couple settling down to sit in their chairs remarked about how angry it made them, yet when I returned with a bag from my car, they hadn’t lifted a finger.

I collected everything, putting the sandy refuse in a Whole Foods bag made from recycled bottles. I was pissed. I know from years of experience that some people will always litter. They’ll always have shameful behavior without being ashamed.

But what I wasn’t prepared for were countless groups of couples and families on the beach who would stay right where they were, watching. Just watching. It didn't occur to them to clean it up before, and seeing someone picking up the mess, it still didn't occur to them.

As they hear news of the oil spill at night, do they shake their heads with sadness, change the channel, or pray for the sportscast to come?

Do you know people who roll over on their beach blankets and look the other way. What is in their conscience? What's the difference between their inaction and the inaction of those who left the trash to begin with? I'm not sure there is a difference.

Crowd Sourcing

It finally hit me the other day. I am now at the "no other choice" stage in removing myself from the ongoing activity and clutter I have managed to establish as part of the weekly ritual.  I've filled my life with them out of choice. Mostly for the right reasons, but with careful analysis, I see that in some cases, these activities have been a diversion and a "proving myself" exercise that is silly and futile. 

I've cemented these things right into my identity. How I see myself and judge myself has been defined by how much I'm doing.

For years, I've served on two nonprofit boards, a multitude of committees, spent excessive amounts of time working at home, and rush from one thing to the next. There are many people who do this, who do even more.  As for me, I've enjoyed much of it. But I'm burned to a crisp. Seriously burned out.

Once the realization came to me, I've felt both liberated and frozen. It's hard to stop doing things you both enjoy and are dedicated to. But I moved forward and let both boards know I'm stepping down. It felt good to say it. I'm choosing my commmittees carefully and am making a habit of saying no to what "paid" work I can't accomplish during the work day.

Crowd sourcing is going to work out just fine. When you step away, it makes room for other ideas and other people to dedicate their time and talents. The space I'm making for myself is both necessary for my sanity and inspirational in terms of provding a clear direction for me answering the "what's next?" questions that are important to consider.

I thank those invisible, nurturing forces that guide us for helping me get to this point safely and for all of the opportunity I have been afforded.

I Need Sunglasses in My Living Room

Thank you to those who shared a bit of compassion with me last week. Indeed, it's been a long process of accepting this injustice for which I cannot elaborate. How do I regain control, bring some freshness into daily life, and get a little exercise in the process?

Choose a wild color, slather it all over the living room and and surprise Husband of course!

We've had rust-colored walls for the last 5 years. Picked out the color before we moved in and we've enjoyed it, but the time had come for a change. When I discovered Husband and D-Man would be out for most of the day on Saturday, I was in line at Lowe's before 9:30 a.m., paying for "Ocean On Steriods," my name for the color swatch which ended up all over the most well-utilized room in our little house.

Husband was pretty good about it. He walked in on me 2 hours into the process because he forgot a tool he needed. When I heard the front door open, I had paint all over the tile, the oriental rug was folded all over the place, furniture was pulled into the center of the room scrunching the said rug, and I had managed to christen the Ocean on Steriods on patches of each wall. 

If you could have heard the (very surprised) "Hi honey" as it left this man's lips...

Ocean on Steriods is pretty obnoxious. I've tried to lie to myself in miscellaneous approaches of self-talk over the last 24 hours to convince myself that it's great. "It will just take some getting used to," Gropius. But I actually find myself squinting in here. I need sunglasses in my own living room.

Clearly, doing this all again next weekend won't be as much fun as this was. But it's inevitable. After trying to please me for a while with shaky affirmations of the new color, Husband just proclaimed that it has to go.

What's the craziest wall color you have in your house?  I'm thinking of going with a moss or an olive/blue green. Yay or nay?

When Blogging Is Dangerous

I drove home today, got in the door, put my stuff down and all I could think of doing was cleaning obsessively. It helped to restore some sense of order I guess. 

I have more in my life to be grateful for than 99% of the world's population, I have good health and a good family. What's left to be upset about and how dare I go there? I'm not a pity party girl.

But I've been chewing on some things for quite a while now. I've been patient. And I've continued to do what I think is right and just.

A culmination of unresolved crap, with new crap piled on top has me spinning. Really, it all boils down to integrity and the lack of it in people who should have it. We should all have integrity, but certain people in certain positions are expected to have it more than others.

I'm not one to consider myself a victim--I'm pretty bold and don't have a problem stating my convictions.
But I've been taken advantage of and misled in several instances lately, and it's the trust I've had in people that has left me exposed. Was there reason not to trust them? No. Have they been called on their bluffs? Kind of. The consequence? Nothing for them. For me, lots of frustration and an overwhelming sense of injustice. I've upheld my part of the bargain. I've already done what's been asked of me.

I have a "Don't forget your sense of humor" mantra around me, but there isn't a funny side.There's nothing to laugh at.

Look, I know it will all work out. I'm one of those firm believers in "everything happens for a reason."
I'm just less than thrilled with how it's all working out at this moment.

And although this blog is my own, it can be dangerous at a time like this. Oh what I would love to say! But we all have our peeking readers, waiting to expose us. They would crack me up if I wasn't so agitated. When there's work and responsibility, you can't always afford to put your words in writing just as you'd like them.

Glad I can sound off, even if partially.  Husband's been a great listener and advocate. I've had other advocates too. And I'm so grateful for them. They rock. Now that I've gotten a bit of it out, we can chill out and watch the idiot box for a while. The Office is on tonight. Always puts me in a funny space.

The Changing Face of Lemonade Stands

The kids who live across the street from us are the cutest things in a thousand mile radius. Their father has been a good friend to Husband. We fondly call him "The Biotch." (Don't ask, it's another blog post.)  Their mother, a shrewd and kind woman who loves to hold garage sales on Saturdays, has been a fabulous sentry for us with D-Man between the home-from-school and home-from-work hour. We love our neighbors.

Taking on their mother's industrious weekend spirit, I saw the two kids set up shop with a lemonade stand as she was tending to this week's sale.  It was only 9 am but I was starting to salivate over the taste of lemons on the tongue, and so I sent D-Man over with a message:

"You're making me awfully thirsty, and I'd sure love to taste what you're selling."

Not only were the sweet lemons calling to me, but I was delighting in the image of the two darlings making the lemonade with their mother.

So what did D-man return with? An ice cold cup of lemonade in a Dixie cup?

Nope. A can of Coke, a can of Sprite, two bags of chips and some DoubleBubble. What the hell?  And now I feel once again like a grandmother, "These kids. I can't believe how things have changed."

Creative Branding for Your Garden Variety Pests

Seriously, people in Florida are genius at making pests sound better than they really are. And then the folks who don't know a flea from a wooly worm get all cozy about infestations.

The best branding of all time for creepy crawlies is the now universal language for giant roaches in the sunshine state: that's right, the boat-sized Palmetto bugs that are basically everywhere here. Palmetto bugs, my ass. They're roaches!

I heard a new one the other day at lunch. My co-worker was telling me that her condominium complex had recently lived through an explosion of fruit rats, which true to their names, 

a.) are rats indeed
b.) are attracted to fruit trees, inevitably dropping rotting oranges and grapefruits on which they feed

Still, rats = pests quickly unless you have a healthy snake population nearby. So how to get rid of the tiny PR problem at their condo? Hmmm....the non-wildlife savvy populace here is less than shrewd about furry things, just like insects. Of course! So let's start referring to the fruit rats as chincillas. Oh shut UP.

But I have to say, condo management: that was freaking brilliant!  Co-worker says that everyone in the complex is calling the rats chinchillas. And there you go, pest problem solved.

(Photo above from http://nationalzoo.si.edu/Animals/SmallMammals)

Amazing People & Programs Make This World Go Round

When you consider special and underserved people and places needing someone to speak for them, nonprofit organizations are always there to make voices heard. Thank you for sharing so many organizations and missions with me through your comments. In my daily work, I get to learn about and work with local nonprofits all over my area, but I seldom get to learn about your personal charitable passions.

The random number generator spit out 2 for me, which means that Poindexter's nonprofit, Camp for All, will get a $20 donation from Gropius. The impressive program of this camp for special needs children and adults is one she's witnessed first-hand.

Camp For All works in partnership with other nonprofits to provide self-esteem, self-awareness and independence to special needs kids and adults through participation in recreational, therapeutic and educational programs. The camp provides a fully-accessible environment with no barriers, tailored to meet the needs of diverse campers.

I don't always remember how fortunate I am to be free from disease and to have full use of my body. I guarantee I wouldn't forget to be grateful if someone in my household had physical limitations. It's odd that so many of us grow up without a single noticeable impact from genetics or accidents-- with so many things left to chance in our development and our environment, it wouldn't seem we could all be so lucky.

When I think of those who do have special needs, I have a great respect for what they do and accomplish in spite of the world not being quite as easy to navigate. It's wonderful to know a camp like this exists to make kids and adults feel uninhibited and as part of a caring, empowered group!  Thanks for passing it along, Poindexter.