Occasionally when I’m bored, I’ll search the web for past friends, girlfriends, teachers, or employer news. Sometimes I find a heart-warming nugget.
Last night I stumbled upon a Facebook group about my elementary school, West End Elementary. It had do-you-remember posts about teachers, some of which spilled over into discussions about junior high and high school. And class photos. And who-else-remembers? threads. (I attended from 1962 — 1969.)
I saw names I hadn’t seen in decades. Fun! I enjoyed the universality of cherishing old memories. I think most enjoy it if their childhood was decent and devoid of horror or extreme loss.
But I also noted that virtually every kid’s and teacher’s face was white. No Asian faces. No black faces. No disabilities. Just white. (The rare dark-skinned Italian or Latino kids were Anglicized in appearance.) Every teacher and kid were seemingly straight, whether truly or not.
That was how it was back then. Society was changing but the rate of change was relaxed in Lynbrook. The local politics was Republican, middle-class, and conservative. Conformity was de rigueur. And so I considered the stress and unhappiness of pretending to be something you aren’t. I thought about kids with nascent feelings that were inexplicable to their families and friends. I imagined a teacher who knew their career would evaporate if their secret got out. What kind of life are you living if you aren’t being you?
No time is perfect. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t reflect, regret, and try to be better.
I have difficulty with the intersection of friend and work relationships.
Camaraderie, friendship, co-worker, buddy, acquaintance, ally… The rules, or even just reasonable expectations, are amorphous. The safest course is to maintain an ethical wall between them.
I’m thinking about pulling the plug on this blog. I don’t feel the writing urge as much as I used to. OTOH the cost of maintaining it is low and maybe I’ll want to resume blogging again. OTTH, less is less.
Up until one month ago, if you told me I would buy my next car from a domestic car company, I would have laughed at you.
If you told me that my next car would be a Chevy, I would have ROFLMAO.
We are now the proud owners of a Chevy Bolt EV. We decided to go full electric because that’s the future. No halfway hybrid measures for us!
Our BMW 328i is 22 years old with 186,000 miles. Boy there’s a lot of new technology to learn!
This is a great car. IMHO, the technology (especially energy technology) is more advanced than any other EV in its class. Highly recommended!
My wife and I held a housewarming yesterday in our house of two+ months. So many friends came and it was a fantastic time!
But we’re now agonizing over gifts without tags and we can’t recall their givers! We greeted, hugged, here this is for you!, start talking about the house, then another friend arrives and we context switch and our mental note about the gift doesn’t make it into the NVRAM.
So the afternoon is now a blur of memories. We look at some of the plants, wine glasses, and wine and can’t remember who to thank.
In an oblique way, this is a good problem to have: So many friends wishing you joy that you can’t remember them all!
Lots going on! We bought a house and we’re moving back into Queen Anne on Monday. The CMB/Seattle office now employs five people and has multiple job openings. Life is good!
I’ve started thinking about mine. I’ve ignored it for decades.
When I’m gone, nothing will remain. I haven’t done anything worthwhile with my life. Two hundred years from now my name may be found in digitized census records. But nobody will look for it.
Nothing is forever.
The listing went live last night. Broker’s Open is today with first pubic showing tonight. Fingers are crossed. We made it over this hurdle!
Change is inevitable.
Embrace it or be left behind.
Embrace it to maintain and enhance resiliency.
All day yesterday was house staging work. The downside is that our lives are progressively discombobulated, the upside is that there’s less emotional attachment to the house as the staging furniture arrives because it feels like I’m living in someone else’s house. So I guess I’m advancing through the grief stages.
It’s late at night and you’ve been at it for hours. Your spouse starts yelling because the cellophane tape is breaking off of its roll and she/he can’t get the roll started again. Obscenities are being generated.
Do you reply with:
- “Why don’t you take a break? Better yet, let’s quit for the day.”
- “It doesn’t do that for me. What are you doing wrong?”
The correct response is something along the lines of #1. It is not, I repeat not, #2.