Being single has its perks. There is a lot of freedom to choose how I spend my days, my money, where I expend energy and who I choose to have as friends...plus more. Being single also has its drawbacks. I am solely responsible for how I choose to spend my days, my money, where I expend energy and who I choose to have as friends...plus more. It's a catch 22.
One really tough part of being single, and childless, is going places alone. I am a true introvert, so going to events solo just about does me in...and honestly, sometimes I just don't go because, well, small talk and people. If I know there will be friends there to be my safety net, aka people I don't have to make small talk with, then I can convince myself to go somewhere alone. Otherwise, it's a no-go. Just thinking about having to make small talk causes my brain to shut down. I just don't.do.small.talk.well and people wear me out.
Going places alone, where I might not actually have to talk to people, then, shouldn't be so bad, right? Wrong. There are still people. People who might look at me wandering alone through, say, the zoo and wonder why I'm alone at the zoo. Like it's really anyone's business. Nor are people actually looking at me because they are involved in their own experience at the zoo. Plus, what does it matter if a complete stranger I will probably never see again thinks it's odd that I'm at the zoo alone? But yet, there it is. Yes, I am a convoluted human being.
When I found myself in a pretty serious downward spiral this past weekend, I knew that I needed to get myself out of the house or depression would overtake me. My adventure friend, Mom, was out of town and I needed to make a quick decision, so I got myself together, got in the car and went to the aquarium...gulp...alone. I've been a member of the aquarium for a year, so it wasn't like I was doing something super extravagant. (Side note, saying I am a member of the aquarium makes me feel very, very grown up. Sometimes my brain forgets that I AM a grown-up.)
I got there late in the afternoon and had three hours to enjoy the aquarium. I sat and watched a sea turtle chase fish around the Deep Sea exhibit. I wandered through and admired the jellyfish. I staked out a good spot to watch a scuba diver feed the fish and leopard sharks in the Kelp Forest. I looked for California Halibut hiding in the sand of the tide exhibit. I visited with the penguins, sea otters and the giant sea bass (seriously that thing is huge!). I watched an octopus play with a ball in it's exhibit and marveled at how they can change colors and blend in to their surroundings. I wandered, for three hours, alone and only spoke to the employee at the entrance and the employee in the gift shop. It was lovely.
After the aquarium closed, I walked down a path to the ocean, where I stood and watched Harbor Seals sleep. It wasn't very exciting. I didn't stay long. Then, I headed back to my car and went home.
You know what I noticed in my time at the aquarium? There were other people there alone, too. I didn't wonder why they were alone. I didn't really pay a whole lot of attention to them. I did my own thing and worked really, really hard to focus on something besides all the fear, anxiety, stress and crap racing through my brain. I won't deny, several times I had to push back the tears that threatened, as thoughts I was trying to keep at bay rushed to the surface. But overall, the trip did the trick. The downward spiral slowed.
As I drove home, I started thinking, of places that I wanted to go that I normally would choose to go with someone else. What was stopping me from going to Disneyland alone? The answer? Nothing...well, except for Saturdays that are blocked out for the type of Disneyland pass I have and work. But after my afternoon at the aquarium, I may just figure out a way to make it happen. 😉
Tuesday, April 17, 2018
Sunday, April 15, 2018
A post about dreams
I had dreams, when I was younger. Ideas about how life would be. There was a husband, children, nieces and nephews. I would enjoy my parents as they grew old together. In my mind, I was always a teacher - a kindergarten teacher. In my dreams for the future there was hope, happiness, contentment and purpose.
The reality of life is so much different. The husband and children have yet to manifest themselves, and with all that is changing within my body, some dreams of children grow slimmer each day. My Dad's life ended much sooner than any of us imagined. My teaching days weren't in a classroom but in a church "basement", with middle school and high school youth and involved so much more than teaching. Those days are years behind now. It was my choice to move on, well, there was a "voice" that I heard pretty clear telling me it was time for change and I listened to that voice. I don't regret that decision...but I do miss those days.
I do have a biological niece and lots of nephews-of-the-heart. I was content with life...once upon a time. Content didn't always mean happy, I have learned. Content simply means content. Content is a distant memory, right now.
The Disney movie Inside Out came out the summer my Dad died. The movie centered around a young girl as she deals with her new reality of life. The majority of the movie is told from the perspective of her emotions - Joy, Anger, Sadness, Fear, and Disgust. There is one point where her state of discontent, disillusionment, deaden her emotions and her emotional headquarters goes gray. Everything is viewed through a cloud of gray. I remember sitting in the movie theater, watching that scene, trying really, really hard to keep myself together and not just sob loudly and hysterically. Everything about that scene resonated with my soul. Reflected on the screen was my own inner state of being.
I moved out of that state for awhile, but lately the gray has started to creep back in. Contentment is nowhere to be found. Passion, happiness, hope...those feelings are hiding. I'm going through the motions of life. Right now, everything looks and feels gray.
Everyone once in a while I look around and wonder, what happened to all the dreams I had? Did I somehow miss the boat, or train or helicopter or plane or car or horse or whatever clue I was supposed to catch to make my dreams come true? I wonder what I've done wrong. Maybe I didn't listen close enough to the instructor and wandered down a path I wasn't supposed to take. What happened to my dreams?
Then I start to wonder, what is my purpose? I want to be useful, do something that makes a difference in the world. I am grateful to have a job but it's a job. I don't come home at night feeling like the world is a better place because I sold office products. It's a means to an end. Why am I here? I know that I'm not the first person to ask that question nor will I be the last.
My younger self had dreams. They were good dreams. They were the dreams that every younger self needs. Dreams of happiness, hope, contentment and purpose. Some dreams have yet to be realized. Some dreams have been lost along the way. Some dreams became reality and I am forever grateful for the memories.
Tonight, my soul is longing for new dreams. Dreams that move me out of the state of gray and back into a world of color. I am longing for new dreams to mingle with the old, to stir in my soul and bring me to a place of happiness, contentment, purpose and hope again.
The reality of life is so much different. The husband and children have yet to manifest themselves, and with all that is changing within my body, some dreams of children grow slimmer each day. My Dad's life ended much sooner than any of us imagined. My teaching days weren't in a classroom but in a church "basement", with middle school and high school youth and involved so much more than teaching. Those days are years behind now. It was my choice to move on, well, there was a "voice" that I heard pretty clear telling me it was time for change and I listened to that voice. I don't regret that decision...but I do miss those days.
I do have a biological niece and lots of nephews-of-the-heart. I was content with life...once upon a time. Content didn't always mean happy, I have learned. Content simply means content. Content is a distant memory, right now.
The Disney movie Inside Out came out the summer my Dad died. The movie centered around a young girl as she deals with her new reality of life. The majority of the movie is told from the perspective of her emotions - Joy, Anger, Sadness, Fear, and Disgust. There is one point where her state of discontent, disillusionment, deaden her emotions and her emotional headquarters goes gray. Everything is viewed through a cloud of gray. I remember sitting in the movie theater, watching that scene, trying really, really hard to keep myself together and not just sob loudly and hysterically. Everything about that scene resonated with my soul. Reflected on the screen was my own inner state of being.
I moved out of that state for awhile, but lately the gray has started to creep back in. Contentment is nowhere to be found. Passion, happiness, hope...those feelings are hiding. I'm going through the motions of life. Right now, everything looks and feels gray.
Everyone once in a while I look around and wonder, what happened to all the dreams I had? Did I somehow miss the boat, or train or helicopter or plane or car or horse or whatever clue I was supposed to catch to make my dreams come true? I wonder what I've done wrong. Maybe I didn't listen close enough to the instructor and wandered down a path I wasn't supposed to take. What happened to my dreams?
Then I start to wonder, what is my purpose? I want to be useful, do something that makes a difference in the world. I am grateful to have a job but it's a job. I don't come home at night feeling like the world is a better place because I sold office products. It's a means to an end. Why am I here? I know that I'm not the first person to ask that question nor will I be the last.
My younger self had dreams. They were good dreams. They were the dreams that every younger self needs. Dreams of happiness, hope, contentment and purpose. Some dreams have yet to be realized. Some dreams have been lost along the way. Some dreams became reality and I am forever grateful for the memories.
Tonight, my soul is longing for new dreams. Dreams that move me out of the state of gray and back into a world of color. I am longing for new dreams to mingle with the old, to stir in my soul and bring me to a place of happiness, contentment, purpose and hope again.
Friday, February 16, 2018
Same journey, new chapter
I left the office on Thursday evening exhausted. The last conversation with a co-worker was draining, as I attempted to share about a situation that needed attention and struggled to be heard.
As I drove home, my mind reviewed the conversation, what I said, what the other person said, the body language, the words that were unspoken. Over and over the conversation ran, all the while I kept thinking, "how could I have handled that better?" It was just a few miles from home when the thought ran through my head, "I want to talk this over with Dad."
But I can't talk it over with my Dad. I don't get to come home and hear "Hey, Kiddo, how was your day?" I don't get to walk in the door, sit down, draw his attention away from his computer and spill the whole story. I don't get to listen to his advice. For the first time in three years and 8 months I cried tears of anger.
I haven't before felt angry with my Dad for dying. He didn't choose to get leukemia. He didn't choose for the chemo not to work or the crap that invaded his lungs to not clear up. Why be angry with him? But yesterday, I was angry at him for not being here when I needed him. Really angry...and sad.
Most days, I think about my Dad a few times throughout the day. Usually when I walk past pictures of him or while driving to or from work. Usually I can think about him without tears making an appearance. Yesterday was not that day. Yesterday I needed him and he.wasn't.there. And I was mad.
I miss my Dad. I miss his laughter, his humor and teasing...well most of it. I miss seeing him every day. I miss the sound of his voice. I miss his phone calls and emails. I miss telling him about my day and hearing feedback. I miss so much and yesterday, for the first time, I was mad at him for leaving.
The winding road of grief continues...
As I drove home, my mind reviewed the conversation, what I said, what the other person said, the body language, the words that were unspoken. Over and over the conversation ran, all the while I kept thinking, "how could I have handled that better?" It was just a few miles from home when the thought ran through my head, "I want to talk this over with Dad."
But I can't talk it over with my Dad. I don't get to come home and hear "Hey, Kiddo, how was your day?" I don't get to walk in the door, sit down, draw his attention away from his computer and spill the whole story. I don't get to listen to his advice. For the first time in three years and 8 months I cried tears of anger.
I haven't before felt angry with my Dad for dying. He didn't choose to get leukemia. He didn't choose for the chemo not to work or the crap that invaded his lungs to not clear up. Why be angry with him? But yesterday, I was angry at him for not being here when I needed him. Really angry...and sad.
Most days, I think about my Dad a few times throughout the day. Usually when I walk past pictures of him or while driving to or from work. Usually I can think about him without tears making an appearance. Yesterday was not that day. Yesterday I needed him and he.wasn't.there. And I was mad.
I miss my Dad. I miss his laughter, his humor and teasing...well most of it. I miss seeing him every day. I miss the sound of his voice. I miss his phone calls and emails. I miss telling him about my day and hearing feedback. I miss so much and yesterday, for the first time, I was mad at him for leaving.
The winding road of grief continues...
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
A tenuous peace
"I guess God needed her more."
A friend of mine made that statement after the sudden, unexpected and tragic death of a family member. This family member was a cancer survivor. Her husband had died suddenly years before and the extended family most recently had been grieving the death of their father/grandfather/patriarch. She was at work on Thursday, in the hospital on Sunday and died on Wednesday. When above statement was made, "I guess God needed her more", I sat silently, unable to continue down that road.
Death is never easy, expected or unexpected. Those who find themselves in the midst of grief also find their own ways of coping with grief. Some ways make sense to others, some don't. There isn't any "right" way to grieve. We just get through the days, especially in the first few weeks, and eventually find some sort of peace.
Along my journey of grief, I have made peace with the emptiness, the sorrow, the tears that come so easily. I have made peace with my complete lack of understanding as to why and accepted that some questions are unanswerable. I still have the questions. I would still like answers. I simply have a tenuous acceptance with not knowing.
For some, though, the not knowing means that we need to give answers and "explain" God or explain God's intentions. So we give answers like "God needed them more", "God needed another angel in heaven", "God has a plan" and so on and so forth. Those words don't ring true to my ears. I can't believe that God would "need" the mother of 10 who just died more than her children ranging in ages from 20 to 2. I don't think that God needs another angel in heaven that much.
Sometimes there just isn't an explanation. Sometimes death, expected or unexpected, just doesn't make sense. We can try to give answers but the truth is we can't answer for God. I wish some people would just stop trying.
A friend of mine made that statement after the sudden, unexpected and tragic death of a family member. This family member was a cancer survivor. Her husband had died suddenly years before and the extended family most recently had been grieving the death of their father/grandfather/patriarch. She was at work on Thursday, in the hospital on Sunday and died on Wednesday. When above statement was made, "I guess God needed her more", I sat silently, unable to continue down that road.
Death is never easy, expected or unexpected. Those who find themselves in the midst of grief also find their own ways of coping with grief. Some ways make sense to others, some don't. There isn't any "right" way to grieve. We just get through the days, especially in the first few weeks, and eventually find some sort of peace.
Along my journey of grief, I have made peace with the emptiness, the sorrow, the tears that come so easily. I have made peace with my complete lack of understanding as to why and accepted that some questions are unanswerable. I still have the questions. I would still like answers. I simply have a tenuous acceptance with not knowing.
For some, though, the not knowing means that we need to give answers and "explain" God or explain God's intentions. So we give answers like "God needed them more", "God needed another angel in heaven", "God has a plan" and so on and so forth. Those words don't ring true to my ears. I can't believe that God would "need" the mother of 10 who just died more than her children ranging in ages from 20 to 2. I don't think that God needs another angel in heaven that much.
Sometimes there just isn't an explanation. Sometimes death, expected or unexpected, just doesn't make sense. We can try to give answers but the truth is we can't answer for God. I wish some people would just stop trying.
Saturday, October 7, 2017
A post about stories
I am the keeper of stories. Stories that are not my own. Stories of friends, of family members, of strangers. Stories that are shared with me in moments of quiet, of vulnerability, of need to just.tell.someone!
I am the keeper of stories. Some stories are ones that have been told before but just need one more telling. They aren't so secret, more pressing on the conscience of the story teller. These stories usually require a response to help ease the mind of the story teller or refocus the direction. I take on the roll of mentor or guidance counselor, offering words of assurance, encouragement and sometimes gentle rebuke.
I am the keeper of stories. Other stories have been held close the heart of the story teller. The stories are looking to be told but only to one who is safe. Who won't share those stories again. They don't need words of advice or wisdom or direction. They are stories that simply need to be heard, without judgment.
I am the keeper of stories. With each story I sit in awe and wonder that for some reason this person chose me to share their stories. Honored at the trust and mindful of that trust as well.
I am the keeper of stories. Stories that I will never share because they aren't my own. Stories of sorrow, pain, anger, joy, fear, hope, grief, hurt and more. Stories that remind me of the vulnerability in even the strongest of souls. Stories that remind me that behind every face is a story just waiting to be told.
I am the keeper of the stories of others...and stories of my own. I wouldn't have it any other way.
I am the keeper of stories. Some stories are ones that have been told before but just need one more telling. They aren't so secret, more pressing on the conscience of the story teller. These stories usually require a response to help ease the mind of the story teller or refocus the direction. I take on the roll of mentor or guidance counselor, offering words of assurance, encouragement and sometimes gentle rebuke.
I am the keeper of stories. Other stories have been held close the heart of the story teller. The stories are looking to be told but only to one who is safe. Who won't share those stories again. They don't need words of advice or wisdom or direction. They are stories that simply need to be heard, without judgment.
I am the keeper of stories. With each story I sit in awe and wonder that for some reason this person chose me to share their stories. Honored at the trust and mindful of that trust as well.
I am the keeper of stories. Stories that I will never share because they aren't my own. Stories of sorrow, pain, anger, joy, fear, hope, grief, hurt and more. Stories that remind me of the vulnerability in even the strongest of souls. Stories that remind me that behind every face is a story just waiting to be told.
I am the keeper of the stories of others...and stories of my own. I wouldn't have it any other way.
Monday, February 6, 2017
Searching for my voice
I sometimes have a hard time speaking up, not because I don't have opinions - I have plenty of those - but because I don't want to offend others. I try to play nicely with others, don't rock the boat, be the peacemaker. I'm just about done.
Last week, my Mom and I went to hear Jim Wallis of Sojourners speak at a church in the area. There were so many people we wound up in one of several overflow rooms where they were live streaming his speech. (I do know that he was, in fact, at the venue. We passed him as we left our building and he was going to the book table to sign books.) At the end, during the question and answer period, Jim made a statement - faith inspires hope which prompts action which brings about change. I've been pondering that statement all week.
A Bible verse that has become my mantra over the years has been a variation of Micah 6:8 - "Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God." Justice and mercy, in my view, look very different than the current US Administration views justice and mercy. I am tired of hearing about how we need to "make America great again", which seems to mean to put the interests of rich, white men above the needs of the poor, the needy, immigrants, people of color, working class, middle class, women, children...the list could just keep going on and on and on. I'm tired of hearing that all the news media is lying. I'm tired of the threats and patronizing comments from the current administration. I'm tired of hearing about "alternative facts" and I'm tired of the thin skinned man that sits in the White House. We are haven't even made it a month and already, I'm tired.
I've been struggling to find hope for the United States since November. I've been struggling to listen to the opinions of those who don't believe the same way I believe. I stopped watching the news. I stopped doing anything more than skimming the headlines. Because since November, I've felt hopeless - wanting to be a peaceful person amidst the anger but just feeling so.darn.angry. I've listened to those who have said we just need to accept things and move on but I don't want to accept things. I don't want to just move on. And yet, I don't know what to do...yet. I simply know I'm tired.
Faith - hope - action - change. Justice - mercy - humbleness - God. I'm pondering these things and searching for my voice.
Last week, my Mom and I went to hear Jim Wallis of Sojourners speak at a church in the area. There were so many people we wound up in one of several overflow rooms where they were live streaming his speech. (I do know that he was, in fact, at the venue. We passed him as we left our building and he was going to the book table to sign books.) At the end, during the question and answer period, Jim made a statement - faith inspires hope which prompts action which brings about change. I've been pondering that statement all week.
A Bible verse that has become my mantra over the years has been a variation of Micah 6:8 - "Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God." Justice and mercy, in my view, look very different than the current US Administration views justice and mercy. I am tired of hearing about how we need to "make America great again", which seems to mean to put the interests of rich, white men above the needs of the poor, the needy, immigrants, people of color, working class, middle class, women, children...the list could just keep going on and on and on. I'm tired of hearing that all the news media is lying. I'm tired of the threats and patronizing comments from the current administration. I'm tired of hearing about "alternative facts" and I'm tired of the thin skinned man that sits in the White House. We are haven't even made it a month and already, I'm tired.
I've been struggling to find hope for the United States since November. I've been struggling to listen to the opinions of those who don't believe the same way I believe. I stopped watching the news. I stopped doing anything more than skimming the headlines. Because since November, I've felt hopeless - wanting to be a peaceful person amidst the anger but just feeling so.darn.angry. I've listened to those who have said we just need to accept things and move on but I don't want to accept things. I don't want to just move on. And yet, I don't know what to do...yet. I simply know I'm tired.
Faith - hope - action - change. Justice - mercy - humbleness - God. I'm pondering these things and searching for my voice.
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
IT'SNOTOKAY
My friend Nancy and I have dinner or coffee together once every six weeks or so. I cherish these meet-ups for so many reasons but mainly because I leave our time together once again reassured that I am not the "only one thinks that way". Our views on theology and politics line up very nicely. We don't agree on everything. But we listen to each other, challenge each other to view the world through a wider lens and urge each other on to do good in the world. Nancy once mentioned that she was encouraged I had done some in depth research and soul searching on a Biblical topic, to which I responded, "well, see, you are my friend and your views on that subject made me curious. So I did my own research, explored the subject deeper and came to a similar conclusion...it's really your fault."
A few weeks ago we had dinner together. Dinner started out with Nancy sharing about a book she was reading (I won't read it for awhile, but she highly recommends "When Breath Becomes Air". Once you read the description, if you know my family history the last two years, you won't be surprised if I skip that book for awhile) and then moved onto politics. Politics moved into hash tags - which cracked me up - and hence, here I am writing a blog post.
Nancy and I are both worried, concerned, sick, can't believe we have gotten to this place, I think you get the picture, about our country. We talked a lot about the potential for violence and the insanity that seems to take over whenever politics are involved. Nancy was speechless when I told her that I know people who will be voting for Trump. I can't believe it either, but there it is. We pondered how the "evangelical church" would stand behind Trump, when so many of the things Trump says flies in the face of what Jesus stands for. (I put evangelical church in quotes because I strongly dislike that one group of followers of Jesus have taken over a word that literally means "sharing the good news" and made it into something that feels shameful and dirty to me.)
We talked about my experience in Oklahoma a few years ago, an open carry state, where many people came into church with their guns on their hips, and marveled how foreign that seemed to us. While I respect others rights to feel differently, I don't like guns and don't believe guns are solving any problems in our society. We talked about statistics showing that open carry states have a higher crime rate than those states that don't have open carry laws. I'm still looking into those statistics.
We both know we are privileged, white women, who haven't really experienced discrimination. We know we can't fully understand discrimination and know we have, in ways we didn't mean or fully comprehend, have been guilty of discriminating against others. It bothers us deeply. We don't know what to do about it, other than continuing to educate ourselves and speak up when we recognize discrimination around us.
Since that conversation, I've become even more alarmed at things that have been said and done in politics, as well as things said and done during the Olympics. It alarms me that a young, black woman was so harshly criticized and taken to task for not putting her hand over her heart during the National Anthem during the Olympics. Nights later I turned on the TV to see two white males standing on the Olympic podium while the National Anthem was played and neither one of them had a hand over their hearts. I saw NOTHING about that on the Internet, heard NOTHING on the news making a big deal about their negligence to follow a flag protocol. Nor did I hear anything about them taking a stand in solidarity with the young, black woman a few nights earlier. I actually had to google flag protocol to see if there was actually something to the complaints. I never knew. I can't tell you the number of times I have stood for the National Anthem and not placed my hand over my heart. I simply didn't know that was protocol...and now that I do and such a stir has been caused about it, the rebel in me may just "forget" again.
That night at dinner, Nancy decided our hash tag, should we ever use one, for all the subjects we talked about and more would simply say IT'SNOTOKAY. (Especially when it comes to the things that come flying out of Mr. Trumps mouth - IT'SNOTOKAY.) And though I don't use hash tags, now when I watch the news or read articles the phrase that continually runs through my mind is...IT'SNOTOKAY. It's just not okay.
A few weeks ago we had dinner together. Dinner started out with Nancy sharing about a book she was reading (I won't read it for awhile, but she highly recommends "When Breath Becomes Air". Once you read the description, if you know my family history the last two years, you won't be surprised if I skip that book for awhile) and then moved onto politics. Politics moved into hash tags - which cracked me up - and hence, here I am writing a blog post.
Nancy and I are both worried, concerned, sick, can't believe we have gotten to this place, I think you get the picture, about our country. We talked a lot about the potential for violence and the insanity that seems to take over whenever politics are involved. Nancy was speechless when I told her that I know people who will be voting for Trump. I can't believe it either, but there it is. We pondered how the "evangelical church" would stand behind Trump, when so many of the things Trump says flies in the face of what Jesus stands for. (I put evangelical church in quotes because I strongly dislike that one group of followers of Jesus have taken over a word that literally means "sharing the good news" and made it into something that feels shameful and dirty to me.)
We talked about my experience in Oklahoma a few years ago, an open carry state, where many people came into church with their guns on their hips, and marveled how foreign that seemed to us. While I respect others rights to feel differently, I don't like guns and don't believe guns are solving any problems in our society. We talked about statistics showing that open carry states have a higher crime rate than those states that don't have open carry laws. I'm still looking into those statistics.
We both know we are privileged, white women, who haven't really experienced discrimination. We know we can't fully understand discrimination and know we have, in ways we didn't mean or fully comprehend, have been guilty of discriminating against others. It bothers us deeply. We don't know what to do about it, other than continuing to educate ourselves and speak up when we recognize discrimination around us.
Since that conversation, I've become even more alarmed at things that have been said and done in politics, as well as things said and done during the Olympics. It alarms me that a young, black woman was so harshly criticized and taken to task for not putting her hand over her heart during the National Anthem during the Olympics. Nights later I turned on the TV to see two white males standing on the Olympic podium while the National Anthem was played and neither one of them had a hand over their hearts. I saw NOTHING about that on the Internet, heard NOTHING on the news making a big deal about their negligence to follow a flag protocol. Nor did I hear anything about them taking a stand in solidarity with the young, black woman a few nights earlier. I actually had to google flag protocol to see if there was actually something to the complaints. I never knew. I can't tell you the number of times I have stood for the National Anthem and not placed my hand over my heart. I simply didn't know that was protocol...and now that I do and such a stir has been caused about it, the rebel in me may just "forget" again.
That night at dinner, Nancy decided our hash tag, should we ever use one, for all the subjects we talked about and more would simply say IT'SNOTOKAY. (Especially when it comes to the things that come flying out of Mr. Trumps mouth - IT'SNOTOKAY.) And though I don't use hash tags, now when I watch the news or read articles the phrase that continually runs through my mind is...IT'SNOTOKAY. It's just not okay.
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