You've Come a Long Way Baby!

I’ve been at my current job for a long time – 20 years and 6 months to be exact. Not because I loooove the job. Not because I'm so dedicated. Certainly not because I haven’t tried to get a position in my field…well, you get the drift. Before my current job, I worked in a large claims office of about 70 employees. I was young, and pretty much at bottom of the food chain in the office but on one level, and one level only, the playing field was even. And that was the break room, or as I like to think of it, the great equalizer. Yep, we were all equal in the breakroom, from the branch manager to the front desk clerk, male and female, young and old.

The break room had a kitchen with a refrigerator, sink, cupboards and microwave. There were tables and chairs. You could use the refrigerator to store your food and beverages during the week, but everything that was not removed by Friday afternoon, was thrown away at the end of the day no matter whom it belonged to. If you made a mess preparing your food, you cleaned it up. You wiped the table when you were done at lunch or break time. There were always enough people around to hold you accountable. But the chief and most fundamental rule of the break room revolved around the coffee pot. It was simple. Whoever took the last cup of coffee from either the regular or decaf pot, made the next pot, thus ensuring there was always coffee available. It did not matter who you were. Those were the rules. Many are the time I saw the branch manager of the whole office making a pot of coffee. It was something you could count on like death and taxes.

So, when I came to my new job at the small insurance agency, I wasn’t fooled. I knew it was still a man’s world and I knew I was still a peon. I expected the man would be honing his macho by bossing me around ensuring his superiority over my female weakness. But nothing prepared me for my first introduction to my new job. My boss, while showing me around the office, walked me over to the coffee pot and said, verbatim: This is the coffee pot and it's your job to keep it full. I laughed - surely he was joking. With a big grin I said, ‘you’re kidding right/” He looked me straight in the eye and confirmed that he was not. The earth moved, but not in a good way. I was reeling and had trouble focusing the rest of the day. It was my first inkling of my new and even lower status.

Keep in mind, I, like most women, especially 20 years ago, had no illusions about what I was up against in this "man's world." At the time, I was a single mother with an ex who did not pay child support - ever. I had a high-school education and about 30 college credits so I knew the score. Yet still, the coffee pot directive came as a shock. Hadn't we advanced in this 20th century? Was not our generation of women the vanguard of feminism, the movement for equal rights, equal pay and dignity for women. Did not our female forbears in this very century garner for us the right to vote? I was apalled - and what's worse...I was stuck. I had already left my other job and didn't have much experience as it was. I was stuck with this dictator who viewed me as the "dumb broad" at the office. Remember the movie, "9 to 5," with Dolly Parton? That song became my theme song in my head for many years, through the $7 per hour pay checks, 10 cent raises, verbal snubs, and endless pots of coffee.

Fast forward 20 years: My kids are grown and gone. I am remarried and have earned a bachelor's and a master's degree. I'm still working at the same job. I won't go into my arduous and continual attempts to procure other employment - that's for another day. I'm not sure what happend. Perhaps I'm being punished by the God that I question so rabidly. Maybe I'm learning a lesson that I didn't quite get in a past life. Maybe my resume sucks...the point is - it's not for lack of trying. But I have learned a few things along the way and I believe my boss, the coffee tyrant, has as well.

My title is "office manager." Pretty much, I do the same things as everyone else with a few small added responsibilities. In years past, one of the other workers who started earlier than me and was lower on the office food chain, always made the coffee. When she left, I noticed my boss actually making coffee now and then. By that time, he wouldn't dream of asking me to do it for fear of my feminist wrath. But one morning, in a fit of magnanimous benevolence, I offered to make the coffee. That was about 4 years ago. I have been making it ever since. If for some reason I don't make it, the coffee tyrant tells one of the other ladies to do it. Don't get me wrong about the coffee tyrant. He is a good man. He's a hard worker and has a kind heart. But in his own words, he is a male chauvinist.

I am as close as it is possible to get to the top of the food chain in this now, 4 peson office and have been for years. I can't go any further - I've hit the ceiling as it were...glass, um plastic - I don't know. I didn't have to claw my way to the "top" either - I've just been here the longest. I've had to fight for every vacation day, most pay raises and priviledges that we have obtained. I have made myself a major thorn in the coffee tyrants side many times for the betterment of myself and the others and for that, I have no regret.

I've come to grips with the coffee debacle. Don't misunderstand - I know making coffee was never really the issue. It was just symbolic of all of the attitudes and perceptions that make up the gender gap and strain relations between all involved. I recently read the statement, "Because we live in a world of dualities, we often need to understand the shadow before we can appreciate the light," (Daily Om). While I still cringe at the menial tasks I perform such as washing the dishes in the office kitchen every third week and plunging the sink while sporting my currently worthless master's degree, I am able to overlook the coffee war. Saying I'm disheartened over my inability to get a position in my field is a broad understatement. I tear up every time I write out my monthly payment to Uncle Sam for the school loans. But I continue to search for the place I want to be. In the meantime, me and the coffee tyrant have come to a mutual respect and understanding now. Plus, we've grown up a bit.

For my part, I've realized the gender gap will not be bridged over a pot of coffee. I make coffee now as a gesture of kindness and willingness to serve my fellow man/coffee tyrant. I remain militant in the face of injustice but I choose my battles so much more carefully. And as for the coffee tyrant, I have seen cracks in the armor of his bravado. He is a bit more compassionate and respectful to women these days. I can't take all the credit for that - he is the father of two strong young women, but I like to believe I had something to do with his enlightenment. It helps to think so.

Birthday Month

It's January, or as we call it in our house, birthday month. January can be a downer for many reasons; it's the month immediately following Christmas, so there is the extreme low following the extreme high of the holiday season. For some, there are the bills to pay following holiday excess. It's cold and snowy and gets dark early and then there is that long dreary stretch before the next holiday. In our family, we have the added stress of "birthday month." Our large and blossoming family has no shortage of birthdays anyway, but in January, there are eight. Starting with New Years day and going through to the end of the month we have celebrations, cards and gifts to buy and family get togethers. It seems a little stressful so soon after the major consumer free for all.

We were at a birthday party this past Saturday for our oldest grandson when the idea for this post took form. The party was held at a place that offers games of all kinds for kids and adults. It is a large venue with two floors so there are kids running all over the place and parents moving at warp speed trying to keep an eye on them. All the cousins were there as well as an assortment of the birthday boy's school friends, aunts, uncles and grandparents. In addition to the game rooms, there was the party room where pizza and salads are served in between playing and birthday cake. It was really a lot of fun - at least for me. My daughter was a little stressed.

I wandered among the game stations, stopping to watch each grandchild display his or her skill at a particular game while moms and dads stood close by offering encouragement and game tips. It was then that I realized that January birthday month in our family is the next big holiday - a wonderful and evolving celebration of life that lasts all month. I started to think about the special gift that is each family member - no matter what month the birthday.

I was an only child. My mother was an immigrant from Scotland so all of her family was there. My dad was from Tennessee and was much older than my mother. His mother died the year I was born and he never went back to see his family and rarely kept in touch. So, there was no extended family in my life. I envied the kids with brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents, and holidays filled with the flurry of family get togethers.

My life now is a direct parallel to those years. My husband Tim and I have six children between us - two girls and four boys, all grown. We share eight grandchildren and have a new one on the way. In fact, we still have two that are not yet married so I'm sure there may be more to follow. I've been solitary in my past and surrounded with family in my present and I will take sourrounded with family every time. I see my family like a diamond, each person a different facet of the diamond, all perfect cuts that make the diamond almost perfect. I say almost because there are very few perfect diamonds. Most have small inclusions. Families are the same - they're not perfect but they're yours. This is an ode to my family - a list of the beautiful facets of my life that were born in January. There are more in March, April, June, August and October.

January 1st: Tyler is our oldest grandson. He made his appearance on January 1st, 1998 and our world has never been the same. I was 41 at the time and not convinced that I was old enough to be a grandma. I considered making him call me Aunt Kathy - that is until I saw him. I knew the moment I looked at him that ours would be a relationship that would span time and space. He and his mom, my daughter, lived with us for the first 3 years of his life. My husband and I spent a lot of time with him while his mommy worked and went to school so, for a brief time, he was almost like our baby. He is nearly as tall as me now and I constantly marvel as he develops, both physically and emotionally. He is and always will be a great way to start out the new year.

January 9th: Ryan is our youngest grandson and is four years old. He's beautiful with huge round eyes and a cherubic face. There has never been a more determined lad. Ryan's older brother Nathan has been riding dirt bikes with his dad and uncles for the past few years and this past summer, Ryan wanted to ride as well. But his dad told him he couldn't ride until he mastered riding a 2-wheel bike. Ryan has a tiny 2-wheeler that had training wheels on it. He looked at his bike, looked at his dad and said, "take the training wheels off dad." His dad took the training wheels off and to his parents amazement, that 3-year old boy got on the bike and rode down the street. When he came back he told his dad he was ready to ride the dirt bike! That's our Ryan.

January 12th: Tim is my husband and best friend. We began dating 21 years ago and have been married for 16. Not only is he supportive of my goals, hopes and dreams, but he stepped in as a father to my two children at a very important time and they love him very much. He is patient, kind and humble and always puts the feelings and needs of others first. He is a true partner and my better half. And he's cute! That's my Timmy.

January 17th: Nathan is our third grandson and Ryan's big brother. He turned 7 on the 17th. He is one of the sweetest and most caring little boys I have ever met. He is a very tenderhearted little boy. He watches out for his little brother and seem to try very hard to please his mom and dad. He's another determined little guy. The first time he walked, he was about 9 months old. He had been sitting in the middle of the room with nothing to hold on to. His mom watched him get to his feet by himself and then he took his first steps. He approaches everything with that same vigor.

January 25th: Scott is our new son-in-law. He and my daughter Erin married on October 25th of this past year and now are expecting a baby. Erin held out for her prince and he certainly fits the bill. He fit into our family immediately and he's everything I have prayed for for my daughter and then some. He reminds me of Tim in some ways, easy going, always happy to help, kind and thoughtful. He treats my daughter like a princess. He's a keeper.

January 27th: Matthew and Darrel, my husband's oldest and are identical twins. Where do I start with these guys? Tall, handsome, funny and wonderful men and fathers. Matt is the oldest, being three minutes older than his twin, Darrel. He is a body builder, technical writer, husband and dad. Everything he does, he does with a passion and singlemindedness that is amazing. Darrel, while appearing the more laid back of the two, actually isn't. He's a bit of a worry wart but again, one of the most wonderful men I know. He is a business owner and entrepreneur. He has a hilarious sense of humor and loves to pull phone pranks on everyone in the family. He has gotten me a few times. We don't tell him how funny he is because we don't want it to go to his head. He is a daddy extraordinaire - an exceptional father and a hard worker. I love these boys/men.

January 29th: Colin is our second grandson. He will be 8 years old on the 29th. Since he was 3 years old I have been convinced that he will be something...I don't know, maybe a doctor or a rocket scientist. He's a different little duck and maches to the beat of his own drum. While teacher say he daydreams a bit at school, I have seen that boy focus on things he is interested in with an intensity that would put a Nasa scientist to shame. One time when we were babysitting, he said to me, "Grandma, do you want to smell my carbon dioxide?" He had his hands cupped together. Okay...after I smelled it, he wanted to smell mine. He had been learning about it in school. He thinks about the things he is learning. I'm telling you, he may be famous some day! Watch out for Colin.

These are just some of the facets in my beautiful family diamond. Thank goodness for those birthdays that cause us to come together and celebrate the lives of those who bring form, essence and meaning to our families and our lives. No complaints from me.

Disillusion/Evolution

Disillusion and evolution; According to Merriam-Webster, disillusion is "the condition of being disenchanted." Evolution is "a process of continuous change, from a lower, simpler, or worse, to a higher, more complex or better state." The words have two separate meanings and yet, I’m finding there is a fine line between them that not only separates them, but makes them kissing cousins as well. Let me explain.

I spent ten years of my life between my early 20’s and early 30’s in the grips of fundamental Christianity, or, in the words of one of my old professors," the darkest regions of fundamentalism." Then, I spent another ten years, at least, trying to deprogram myself from it. Yep, this is one of my nine lives – I’m thinking somewhere around life number 4.

I got "saved" around the age of 22 years old. As I've mentioned in prior posts, I was brought up Catholic and had rebel tendencies so, if you know anything about fundamental Christianity you have to wonder how I lasted 10 years - an oil and water kind of thing.

Anyway, at the time, I was mom to two very small children and in a marriage that was failing. From a small home bible study I was introduced to salvation with huge helpings of the bible, which of course, I, being Catholic, had never really read. What's more, I learned that the bible is to be taken literally - all of it. What? Adam and Eve? Like for real?  I'd never really thought about it. Jesus coming back on a white horse? The rapture? I'd never even heard of those things. It was overwhelming and at first I rejected these notions, but something - a need to bond with my new peers or a need to just find something to believe in took over. Well...that and my best friend was involved and I had to keep an eye on her. Don’t get me wrong, the people were nice and all, and I still keep in touch with a few of them. We were all very young and looking for something - the blind leading the blind so to speak.

Interestingly enough, all of this newfound knowledge had me quite angry at the Catholic Church and I was pretty vocal about it. I felt they had deceived me and kept the truth of the bible from me. They were keeping me back from all of God's blessings, like healing, prosperity, authority over the devil, raising the dead, casting out demons, and my rightful place in the kingdom of God. I mean, how many people went to hell that I could have warned! How many that I loved were in danger of eternal damnation? Well, I warned my mother and let's just say that went over like a lead balloon and she informed me, “you were born a Catholic and you’ll die a Catholic!” Case closed.

The church I was attending was run by three young pastors. They were very young with nothing more than high school educations. They had no professional training, but were passionate, extremely zealous, and lots of fun. It was a small non-denominational church filled with people and families my age. What could be better?

The church was what is known as "spirit filled." The laying on of hands for healing of all sorts, speaking in tongues, prophesy and words of knowledge were regular and expected occurrences. The music was contemporary worship music with a full band of which I was a part. I had a great time there in the beginning. I discovered a talent for singing that I developed over time and I made a lot of good friends. But something else happened. I stopped asking questions and I began to distrust my own instincts. I lost myself.

To make matters worse, the eutopian environment began to erode. Over time, the unchurch became an establishment of its own creation. Dogma was instituted only it was of their own making with bits and pieces culled from other ministries. I got divorced during that time and although they were more forgiving than the Catholic church, attitudes of some people changed. It was weird.

So, here's the thing: Have you ever thought about the concept of hell? A place where justice is meted out by a supreme being (God). The residents of hell, according to the Christian religion, burn and suffer torment for eternity for a variety of reasons, large, small and in between.  You're looking at anything from murder to your garden variety sins, like coveting your neighbors, wife, husband or barbecue grill;  to lying, cheating, gossiping, etc. But the even bigger  problem is if a person does not accept Jesus as their personal savior.  Ya, those people are on the fast track to the "lake of fire that burns forever," and it doesn't matter how good they are - they're toast.  Good Buddhists?  Bye bye.  Same for Hindus, atheists, Krishnas and  pretty much anyone who is not a born again Christian.  So, consider this: This salvation theory excludes every religion that does not recognize Jesus Christ as the son of God, and, if your a fundamentalist Christian, even some that do. So, the God that created the entire vast universe, comes up with a plan to save mankind that is so narrow, that it is a sure thing that hell will be packed. One way - turn or burn baby. The concept sounds all too human to me - the brainchild of man. Not the creator of the universe. That makes Him/Her kind of petty, no?

That is just one of many beliefs and teaching that began to eat away at my core. And God, there were so many!  Like their belief that it was God's will to heal all the time. When people died from illness as they inevitably did, we were give  assorted reasons for the disappointing outcome.  Reasons such as lack of faith and things  like that - all pointing the finger of guilt back to you / to us.   So, you were always guilty.  Always failing.  A dull, constant form of spiritual abuse that came from our leaders.  For me, God became an insatiable black hole that could never be satisfied. I started to resent him - disillusion. The questions in my head became so insistent, I started saying them out loud.  Take it from me - if you want some excitement, just try that in a fundamental church. I eventually left the church with my children.

It took quite a while to get over that 10 year experience - at least 10 more years. But I found myself again and I found God, the universe, the supreme being - that we are all, and I mean everyone, connected with - evolution.

I think that God / the universe, has the capacity to reach us wherever we are and that there are many paths to God. I don't know what his name is and I don't think it matters.. I think God is for everyone in whatever way we can find him.  And that's okay.  What's not okay is the insanity of to putting God/ the universe in a little box to claim it for yourself or your little group alone.  

Heritage

My mother was from Scotland. You might think that would make me part Scottish, but you'd be wrong...according to my mother. Her parents were from Ireland and so, we are Irish. Scotland was just the place where they lived. It's a pretty big deal in my family. Among my cousins, all from Scotland, there is great pride and loyalty in our Irish heritage. Make that the Irish Catholic heritage. I am not excluding myself - I also am very proud and that feeling grows as I age. I picture roots that grow stronger and deeper below the surface of my life as time passes.

I have always been a rebel from as far back as I can remember. It's as natural to me as breathing; something I was born with. I don't know exactly where that comes from. My mother was kind of the black sheep of her family. Maybe it came from her. She was the first and only divorcee in her Irish Catholic family in her generation, prompting her to leave Scotland and immigrate, first to Canada and then to the United States/Detroit. It was in Detroit that she met my dad, the second of three husbands.

The persecution of Catholics was one of the main drivers behind the "troubles" that have plagued Ireland and to a significant extent, the Irish in Scotland, and fueled the fury and fighting that has carried on for decades. In my family, discrimination came in the form of jobs. On job applications, they were required to identify their religious affiliation which up until the last decade or so, could cost them the job if they were Catholic. They were also identified by their names. For example, Meehan was known as a Catholic name. One of my cousins used his mother's maiden name one year to get a job because the name was considered a protestant name. Of course, that didn't go over well with the family as you can imagine. So vitriole and rebellion linger beneath the surface for the Irish in Scotland and in my family. Maybe it came from there.

I was raised in the Catholic church and went to Catholic school. I have fond memories of my early years in the church. My mother took me when I was small and made me go by myself when I got older. I had to bring home a church paper every Sunday as evidence that I attended mass. Since she was divorced, she was denied sacraments so she didn't want to go but felt it was important for me to be there. You don't need me to tell you that a teenager will take note of that kind of behavior and rebel. In Scotland, a popular term of endearment was, :Oh ya cheeky wee bitch." I heard that often as a child, but it was not a bad thing. In fact, it was generally said tongue in cheek and with a smile. But one day, I called my mom a cheeky wee bitch intending that same playful spirit. Apparently, being born in the US diluted my Irish/Scott quotient because my mom walloped me a good one. So, at an early age I learned two things; First - what is ok for mom to say is not necessarily ok for me to say, and second; what is ok for mom NOT to do is not ok for me NOT to do (church). Maybe it came from these experiences.

But here's what I think: I think a bit was inherited from my mother who was a rebel in her own right; A little from my father who was kind of eccentric, a free thinker and an unsuccessful entepreneur; and the rest from my own personality, or the stars I was born under, or my instincts and observations while growing up, or all of the above, or whatever. That's my theory - it is who I am, a part of me, and I've used it for good and maybe just a wee bit of evil too. But these days, there is a sense of maturity to my rebellion. Perhaps those rebel instincts have evolved into confidence in who I am and what I believe, or what I don't believe. In any event, I've come to trust those instincts.

Perceptions

Do you ever think about the way you look at things? Do you ever tell anyone about it? I suppose we all have our own quirky perceptions. For example; I have always seen the year, January to December, as a clock....always. January is at 12:00; March at 3:00, etc. You get the picture. I don't know when I started seeing it that way but I must have been very young. I mean, really...when I change my calendar to say, April, I actually see a clock with the hands set to 4:00. I wonder where that perception came from. Was it something I learned in kindergarten or did I just come up with it on my own? Doesn't matter.

Anyway, over the past few years, in reviewing the stages of life, mine in particular, it has occurred to me that I have evolved from one "life" to another over the past 52 years and gone through some very different stages. You know, like the drug stage, drinking stage, Jesus freak stage. They have blossomed in my head and become "my nine lives." Keep in mind that I am only on maybe life number 6. It's not that I think about it all the time, but it's there. It's a part of me and I always come back to it. Now believe me; I am not fooling myself into thinking this is scintillating information to anyone other than myself but this is my blogspot. So, there you have it. On this page, I have the freedom to obsess. I'll come back to my nine lives on another post.

Sunday afternoon

Today is Sunday, January 11th. This is my first ever blog entry. I'm not really sure what I want to write about, or to whom it will matter if I do. But I have a lot of thoughts floating around in my head and I want to write them down. So, I'll just start and see where this takes me...

I started another blog page last week. I got the title, "Kate's Musings," and the content outline. It is to be a blog about instructional design - my chosen field, which I've yet to work in. I figured that I could use it to collect information and ideas that I wanted to keep and network with others in the field through the blog. It is all good in theory, but after spending, oh, I don't know... ath least one hour setting it up and getting the right fonts, pictures etc., that's all I have done - there is no blog. I don't know why but I could not think of anything to say. If you know me, you are thinking about how crazy that sounds - I'm never at a loss for words, or so I'm told. I haven't been back on that blog site since. So, you can see that I am ahead on this one. I'm writing about the blog that I'm not blogging on.