Who Will Remember Me?

 A line I read just recently was "You can tell how loved you were by who remembers you after you are gone and how they remember you."

I have a hard time thinking that anybody will remember me. I have never done anything so significant that anybody would attach my name to it. There will be no statue, no memorial. Hell, I do not even want a funeral. I get told that the funeral is not for the dead but for the living. I have been to my fair share of funerals and to tell the truth, not many of them made me feel that I needed that moment of reflection. Too often the people that were talking at the funeral were saying things that others wanted to hear rather than what they felt in the real world.

I have heard people say the most horrific things about a person (behind their back, of course) only to spew love and kindness about them at a funeral with an audience. If you are going to say something about me, dead or alive, it damn well better be true. Good or bad, do not speak falsely about me. Trust me, people will believe the bad more quickly than the good. Also, the bad probably carries a lot more truth in it.

Another indicator is how quickly and completely your are minimized. I know it goes both ways, but it never ceases to amaze me how rarely people will invite you into their lives. It might just be for a bite of food or a ride or even just to sit and talk. You know that you are forgotten when the actual get-together turns into the hollow "Let's get together sometime" that never happens.

As I said, it does go both ways and I meant it. I just get tired of making the attempts and getting a literal or figurative busy signal. Another line I frequently see is "If they wanted to, they would." Well, the do not.

Once in a while I am surprised by who actually does remember me. A co-worker recently was asked by one of his neighbors if I still worked here. Now, this neighbor is a current state representative with whom I worked over the years. Our paths crossed although mostly in the margins. And yet, I must have had some small impact for him to remember my name. Debate is open for whether it was a positive or negative memory.

Pinocchio, revisited.

 For whatever reason I feel so much lately that I am pretending to be a real boy. Pretending that I can do what I do; that I can be who I am pretending to be. Absent in my own presence. Insubstantial. As if I could stop moving and once time catches up to me I could just be gone. That is all I do. Wait for the other card to be played, for the other boot to drop. Wait for someone else to tell me how I failed.

All I did was fail today

All I wanna be is whites and waves

All I did was fail today (“All We Do” - Oh Wonder)

I have been looking for friends I used to have. People I used to know. People who used to know me. They do not appear to see me anymore. Dream-like they move away when I reach for them. They do not reach for me. Also like dreams, the bad (or not so good ones) they only seem to come at me if I have something they need. I am not threatened by them. Merely something to be used. Disposable. Invisible until or unless needed. Mr. Cellophane. 

When you start to look deeply at yourself, it is so easy to see only the negative. The problem with someone struggling with imposter syndrome is that the negative is the only real part. Any successes are fleeting. That is why so many who struggle with this are always looking for that next success, that next achievement. Capturing the next possible “Atta Boy/Girl” to remind you that you in fact can do. It is just that it will not last. It is not felt as valid. 

And when you are invisible, alone, you find ways to tell yourself “Atta Boy”. Eat the stuff. Buy the thing. Look, a sparkly! And then you get it (whatever “it” is) and you feel the guilt of getting it (Do I need it, do I deserve it?) and then you realize that it really is not the achievement that you needed. You failed again. That does not mean you will not do it again. And probably again.

Two steps forward and three steps back. Waiting for the other boot to fall.

The Mountains Are Calling Me

I do like to take photographs. I do not have an eye for photography. I will still take photographs. I like to take pictures of things that catch my eye or a particular view that appeals to me. I take a lot pf pictures now because I can. This one is one of my favorites:

Taking pictures allows me to revisit these places in my mind. Most often, these are memories of good times. Not necessarily "as planned on" times, but plans are made to be changed. I cannot think of a trip I have taken that was completely as planned and did not have some one thing go otherwise. Stuff happens. Roll with it. 

This one is another favorite. You might detect that I do like to shoot scenery. The mountains mean an awful lot to me. Growing up I spent a generous portion of my life in the mountains. Both my parents enjoyed being out in the wild and I got my appreciation for high places from them.

Growing up, film and processing were a cost that impacted taking pictures. Slides were an option but then you also had to invest in a projector. And then the time for set up and tear down. Watching slides was an event. I always have loved looking through photo albums. With current technology one can share images and video either by sending media via email or sharing access via a web page. 

Another set of pictures that I took tell the story of a sunset. These images were taken just as the sun was setting, mere seconds apart. It was a cloudy evening and several people had gathered to watch the sunset. At first we were not even sure we would be able to view the sunset due to the low clouds. Some people left because they did not think that the viewing was going to take place or be worth the wait. I am so glad that I decided to stay. These images were accompanied by sighs and exclamations of those that did stay. Quiet murmurs of appreciation. Spell-bound by the sight, and I wish my pics did justice to the event:

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” - John Muir

The Feeling Of Being Dead

 

“A coward dies a thousand times before his death, but the valiant taste of death but once. It seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”

― William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

This quote has been on my mind for a few days now, maybe a week or so. And it seems to me that I want to relate it to, or refute it with my father as an example. My father was no coward. Neither was my mother, but that is a story to tell at another time. I never knew my father to turn away from any challenge. There were some things he had to adapt to his capabilities, but he never shrunk from any of them. I still have people who knew him tell me what a great man he was. The admiration that I have seen expressed for him, and the respect held for him, made (and make) me wish I were a better man than what I am or ever could be. People who knew him, would do almost anything for him, and he would do the same for them.

Dad was brave enough to stay close to the love of his life, my mother, at all costs. Eventually, they ended up married and the love and loyalty that he held for mom was evident in everything he did for her. Dad, having lost part of one leg and using prosthetics, and having had an artificial hip that gave him tremendous pain until the end of his life, did not even consider getting handicap plates for their cars until mom needed them. He did for her what he would not do for himself.

Dad would do little things for her that she would not ask for. Dad protected her from pain, from her fears, and sadly enough, even from family members when needed. I think what pained dad the most was people causing mom hurt or pain. Dad loved mom above all else.

Dad was also not afraid to die. After a harrowing crash that gave him the injuries that he suffered from for the rest of his life, dad died several times at the scene of the crash and enroute to the hospital. Dad suffered many debilitating health issues related to what violence his body suffered that night. Circulatory problems. Heart and joint problems. Phantom pain from the amputation. Dad was in pain for the remainder of his life.

As a result of the health issues, dad had also endured several rounds of surgery for various health issues. Dad died and was resuscitated in a few of these events and dad always new when that had happened. He said he remembered the feeling. The feeling of being dead.

Dad died many times, but he was no coward.

Dad treated people respective to how they treated others. Dad did not suffer fools lightly, but would also not hesitate to take them to task if they were offensive. I know not everybody had the same relationship with dad that most people had, but dad was never mean or spiteful. He would demand your respect for mom, and would leave you to your own self where it regarded him. Many people thought that dad was standoffish and maybe cold, but if that was how he treated you, you did something to deserve it. Dad would offer respect to you if you deserved it, even if he did not care for you. But you deserved the treatment he gave you.

Dad had a quiet and reserved, but amazing sense of humor. Dad was warm and inviting and giving. Dad was generous and kind. If you did not know dad this way, you probably should have gotten to know him better. Or, perhaps, you brought it on yourself.

Maybe I am violent after all...

I never really considered myself a violent person, but following a couple of discussions maybe I need to reevaluate. Maybe I am violent after all.  I am still not convinced, but there is evidence. 

One discussion involved a customer who noticed that one of our outfitters had a belt knife on and was asking about it. Now, we deal with a lot of taped boxes and cases to they do get used a lot, but the customer was asking more for information about using a knife for defense. The outfitter was explaining certain aspects of carrying one for defense and explaining different things to consider, he even let the customer hold and feel his knife. The customer turned to me and asked if I agreed with the outfitter and I said that I did, but that I prefer a tanto-tip blade rather than a drop point. When he asked why I explained that that the drop point was good for slashing and cutting but that the tanto tip was a better, stronger blade for stabbing. I got a certain look from him.

Another conversation talking about a TV show and two men were fist fighting and kept hitting each other in the face/head. I was explaining to someone that those are awfully hard places to hit and will probably hurt your hand as much as their head. Hit them with your hand, or better yet, your elbow, but hit them someplace soft. Liver punches hurt a lot. Throat punches are effective. There are other obvious places to hit.

Then I followed it up with the comment that if you are ever attacked by someone and you need to defend yourself, absolutely do NOT hit them until they are down then back away. You keep hitting them until they are stopped. You are on the defense and your life, the life of your kids, or possibly another person are at stake. Hitting someone in the head and then they fall down only works in movies and TV shows. Also, if they come at you with a weapon, any weapon, they mean you grievous bodily harm. Do not go quietly. Use your own weapon, or if you get them down take their weapon and use it against them. If they are still moving and trying to get at you, go all the way. They are not stopping and neither should you.

Again with the look. 

I then gave them an example of a mother of four who was at home with her kids and a man she did not know attempted to break into the house. She got her pistol and called the police. She told the man that she was on the phone with the police and they were on their way. She took her kids to the basement and locked the door hoping he would rob the house and leave them alone. Instead he continued to try to get to her/them by beginning to break down the basement door. She pushed her four kids into the crawlspace and followed them in, telling him the police were on the way and she was armed. She kept backing away but he kept coming. When he started to follow them into the crawlspace, she started shooting him, firing four shots and hitting him in the shoulder, neck and chest. 

He was offended that she had shot him and demanded she give first aid and assistance. She, wisely, refused. The police got there shortly before the ambulance and he was transported to the hospital where he later died. I do not believe this felon had any intention of leaving this mother and children alone at any point in his actions.

Again with the look. 

"But he told her that he needed help..." they said to which I replied that she told him she was armed and on the phone with the police. He had many warnings that help was on the way and still proceeded to advance. I do not know a parent or grandparent that would fail to protect their child or grandchild. You might hesitate to protect yourself, but not your kids/grandkids.

By the way, another piece of advice I will give is that anything can be used for a weapon. Somebody trying to carjack you? Run them over. Cars are great weapons. Pens, kitchen utensils, yard tools, hammer or axe, use anything you can get your hands on to protect yourself.

Maybe I am violent, but maybe I have lived exposed to some things you have not. I do not seek out confrontations, but I am willing to protect someone. I will do what I can to avoid being a victim. I will try to walk away when I can. Sometimes you are not allowed to do that. 

You do not owe me

You do not owe me. I get a lot of different comments at my posts on social media. Most often they are amused. Once in a while people comment that they agree with me, just are not brave enough to post the words themselves. I get it. Not everybody has my mouth. 

I do try to be polite, but I do have my own opinions.

I frequently feel like I should accept friend requests with a caution indicator that I have a pretty twisted sense of humor that can be quite dark. I figure if someone has requested to follow me or accepted my friend request that they have done their due diligence to see if they really do want to follow this freak show. I also fully understand if someone chooses to not follow me for all these reasons. I am just not everybody’s cup of tea. 

And if you do not like what I post or do not agree with my opinions, then why do you follow me? You do not owe me. I rarely have my feelings hurt when someone stops following me or does not accept my friend request. 

I do appreciate the friends that do follow me. I have several that do not interact with me very often and that is okay too. But it brings a smile to my face when someone with whom I have been mutuals for a long time likes something I have posted and then I feel like maybe we still have a little in common. Or at least share a certain part of my sense of humor. 

As I said at the beginning, you do not owe me, but I do appreciate your thumbs up.