To Jan, a dear friend I was really crappy to.

Many years ago, I was given the opportunity to move to San Francisco.  I say opportunity because in those days I lived hand to mouth and owned little more than could fit in my car.  I was good with it as I hadn’t ever bothered with any big, tomorrow questions and I’d covered a lot of territory this way.  I was living in Denver, a bit bored and rather frustrated with my current situation and girl friend who’d been having a tough time of her own offered to let me stay on her floor till I got my act together.  She’d recently lost her lover and companion to murder – never solved and not quick.  I’d known him as well and she had found some comfort in sharing her loss with me.  He was a crazy and fun man, may he rest.


So, all my ‘stuff’ piled in a ‘70 Impala, to California I went.  I’d picked up the car for $200, traded my ’72 Maverick for new tires and a tune up.  We were set!


On the way, I had only one mishap.  It was where I always think of as the top of the world.  That flat land stretch on I80 that sprawls across the bottom eastern half of Wyoming.  Its relatively flat but you know you’re on higher grown.  The wind is rather blustery through here and this day was not only not an exception but a rich example.  To make it really interesting, this wind, that was actually nudging and shoving my 3,780-pound car around, had light snow and sleet whirring in it.  I was plodding along at 85 due to visual constraints when something caught my eye from the rear view mirror.  Then again, and again.  Thank goodness there wasn’t another sole in sight because I’m now spending more time looking behind me than in front.


What I think I’m seeing is red and yellow and glowing but that’s just not registering.  After the third little molten lump spits out from under my car I begin to find ways to justify that this just can’t be what I’m seeing – flames and lava.  I’m thinking the car is still running so it can’t be.  The engine sounds fine; I think… what I can hear through this blasted wind.  Then the lumps start getting bigger.  I’m definitely looking at hunks of car, heated to such a degree that they’re melting and dripping on to the road and staying lit in this frigid, wind battered moonscape.


I determine it best to pull over.


With great trepidation, armed with a hand towel and bottle of water, I attempt to slowly lift the hood.  At about the half way mark the gale whips the hood from my hands and tugs it to its full extension with a grunt and a waddle from the old girl.  I look down to see an AC compressor fully engulfed and dripping molten pot medal to the pavement.  It’s belt a rubbery gelatinous spaghetti like substance still being tugged at by rest of the pulley system – the communication center of my engine and torque.  I realize that against my request, the mechanics who tuned my car for this adventure have replaced a non-existent belt.  And now, I clearly know why the seller was so adamant about NOT doing that.


After about 10 minutes of staring, wishing I had a camera, I decide I simply need to cut the belt.  I trade my water bottle for the butter knife I’ve been using to slice sharp Vermont cheddar for my toast points and boredom.  I’m sawing back and forth, back and forth and seem to be making no progress.  The knife is covered in black smoking goo and getting hot fast.


The wind is so loud, I’m rather startled when a head pops around the hood.  The cherub-like face of a boy roughly 10, toe-headed who recently finished off something either chocolate or muddy is peering at me.  It’s the son of a very kind local farmer, stopped to see how he may help.  I’d not been having much luck with that butter knife but when the boy peeped his head around, I lost hold of it all together.  It is now whirring incessantly around my compressor clacking and batting my engine with a cacophony that actually exceeds the howling wind.  The man tries to talk and it’s pointless.  He looks at the situation, offers a few hand signals to his son, flips the lid off a leather pouch at his hip, whips out and deploys a switchblade so quickly I’m more amazed than frightened.  He rather deftly reaches in, slices the belt in two, walks around, turns my engine off and takes the towel his son has soaked in gasoline and wipes his blade clean.  All as though this is a regular occurrence on the Wyoming plateau.


I will never know why I didn’t think to turn the engine off.  I was just so afraid of being stranding out there and even though the problem proved to have nothing to do with the performance of my engine, the car did cost only $200 and I couldn’t be sure.


After a shared thermos of coffee and some talk of weather in a well-insulated, toasty warm F250, I was on my way and fearless!


But I digress.  Back to my dear friend.  There are many stories I could share with you and if I did them justice, you would laugh and cry aloud but I want to share just one… well a weave of one, it’s the best I can do.


San Francisco is expensive and I showed up broke.  I went looking for work, armed with resumes my second day there and was glad to land a job my forth or so.  It was a day gig, slinging food and drink to suites downtown.  Our attire, the penguin.  It was decent money, not great but I could pick up $100+ in four hours and things were looking up.  Jan, my friend had a great job at popular, high volume place and as usual had made herself invaluable.  They had very little turn over and even though I was excellent at what I did by Denver standards, I was one of the heard in SF and I had a lot to learn about wine.  So, I set out to learn.


I think if evaluated, my mother would have been termed bi-polar.  I had many terms for her in my youth and young adulthood.  That was not one of them.  My mother was, among other things, a letter writer.  She worshipped the written word and valued a well-turned phrase to the point of piety.  And she wielded a mighty pen.  I’d been getting regular letters from her.  She was in another of her tailspins; depressed to the point morose and blaming… me.  For letting it happen and for letting it continue.


Jan came home one afternoon as I was reading one such letter.  As I was wiping tears and recomposing poorly, she asked what the matter was.  I tossed it of as just another letter from my mom and began to shuffle my belongings away.  Jan changed cloths and returned with a glass of wine.  She sat near me, put her hand on my shoulder and gently told me that every time I got a letter from my mother, I seemed to spend days recovering.  She didn’t understand this and asked if she could read one of them.  I hesitated greatly.  I had a whole pile.  I’d been collecting them my whole life it seemed.  They spanned many years.  My justification for keeping such hurtful mail I claimed was that they were so well written.  It took me years to understand that it was my mirror to who I thought I was.  An ongoing written testimonial by the dearest person to me, a memorial of my faults, my weaknesses and my shame.  Of course, none of it was true.  My mother’s assessment of me started long before I’d had an opportunity be anything other than a wondrous child.  But children only know what we are taught.  And then we get taller.


I gave the letter to Jan and immediately began to offer disclaimers; she was not well, she was depressed, she was not suited to single life, Denver was a terrible place with too much sun.  Jan just read.  She turned page after page.  Then she cried.  Then she held my hand quietly for a very long time.  Then she hugged me, wouldn’t let go, and began to tell me how real mothers are.  Then she got me a glass of wine and suggested we burn them all.


The flurry of emotions reminded me of those Wyoming plains; vast, expansive and intimidating.  As my emotions had always done that to me, I knew what to do.  I moved them aside and acquiesced hoping to be loved unconditionally.  How’s that for a living oxymoron?  I attempted to create the conditions under which I thought I could be unconditionally loved.


Jan was right.  And had I had better training at this journey life, I would have taken the opportunity to purge and resurrect myself.  I did not.  Instead, I found myself quietly resenting her knowledge of my ugly and embarrassing childhood and youth.  I found her care begrudging and bothersome.  And I found myself, once again, doing just enough to scrape by and not a stitch more.  I couldn’t prove my mother wrong after all.  I would work my 4 hours, get my nails done and hit the bars.  I knew every happy hour from our house to work and when the electric bill was due, I’d let Jan get it.  I’ve never behaved so poorly before or since and I owe her an apology.  I’ve known this for some time and never had the courage to do a damn thing about it.  I’ve even fantasized I’d send her a fat check and feel all good about myself.  But there was never quite enough…  I’ve justified the NOT doing a million ways.


Jan, I’m truly sorry.


I attended the Landmark Forum recently.  My experience there is the inspiration for this blog and most particularly this entry.  It has made me realize, after all these years, that I am not broken, I do not need fixing and I have all the love I and all I know will ever need.  I have made some pretty big messes though and it’s never too late to clean up after yourself.


Jan, I send this to you with my heart, my appreciation for all you did and I know still do for others and with my deepest apologies.  What I did to you was so polar to your treatment of me and it must have hurt besides being confusing.  I was so selfish and reckless with your care.  I was wrong, flat wrong.


You are a good, kind and playful woman.  You warrant generosity from all you touch.  Thank you.  Thank you for being there then and for being here now.


With Love,

Kat

I found my ENERGY!

I had an epiphany last night in bed. Alone. I was so awakened by this idea that I tossed and turned for an hour and a half knowing I had to be up and perky in court this morning. (That convo is better left for another time.) And, as fate is, my business partner sends me an article today very much in line with my new awareness. It may be viewed at http://www.fastcompany.com/blog/cliff-kuang/design-innovation/hard-works-over-ratedit-could-even-be-detrimental See, I’ve been reading this book: Move to Greatness: Focusing the Four Essential Energies of a Whole and Balanced Leader. And well… OK, let me start from the beginning. I have been, in my opinion, a moderately to mostly unsuccessful person in my ‘careers’ to date. I have spent years trying to ‘better’ myself; reading, learning, working harder, longer, etc… I have always thought I was wrong or bad for my meandering and digressive habits. I have worked diligently at developing organizational structure for my life and I have a system for just about everything. I’ve learned to actually care about details, not nuance. I have a timer on my computer that tells me to stretch, drink water and relieve my bladder. As much it makes my skin crawl, I am quite capable of running the accounting office for a small to mid-size company by myself. Order and detail. Order and detail.

Meanwhile, coworkers, on every level of employment I've ever worked, have always appreciated and respected me. They’ve often looked to me for leadership. But, until I started my own business, I was not the leader. AND, even then, I continued to think I had to build all those skills I’d been chided for not having and squelch the ones I’ve been chided for having.

From first grade on, I scored poorly in categories such as pays attention, uses time wisely. I’d very much like to be successful, financially and amongst my piers, I’ve always believed I wasn’t and I've always looked to the past to correct my future. WRONG!

In my last career move, I even went so far as to strip my office of plants, artwork and things of beauty thinking I really needed to get it right and focus, and all that stuff has been distracting me. I was so committed. Alas, we only know what we’re taught and so I did not realize I was actually doing my darnedest to smother, squelch and otherwise kill the very core of one of my greatest strengths. Wandering.

Yes, wandering is my asset, wandering is my friend. Wandering, though I have treated it as a pariah to be scoured from the earth, is a large part of who I am and what makes me excel when I do. In fact, concept thinking; helping clients explore their intentions and targets from that ‘big picture’ perspective; that stuff that actually makes lasting growth happen, is what I do. Yet still, I have been trying to ‘fix’ my ‘problems’ of star gazing.

I feel so absolutely dense for not having seen this before. So now I begin the journey of realigning myself with me. I’m bringing the plants back, hanging artwork, loving my disaster of a desk and never chiding myself for it again. I’m going to play my goofy music and my ‘new age’, blues and country when it strikes me. I’m going take real breaks – not the go pee, grab a glass of water and smell the yard on the way breaks. I’m going to actually sit in my back yard and do what I do so well – just sit there. I’m going to play with my dogs, watch my beloved TED talk and make personal phone calls all on ‘company’ time. When a wandering thought hits me, I’m going to address it there and then, not tuck it away hoping I make time for it later. I’m going to explore it and breath!

If you’ve not read this book, do. It’s an easy read and truly insightful. It also has tools and tricks. It can help you strengthen your weaker energies and encourage your stronger ones. As you can see by the title, there are only four. You can handle it. To finding your balance ;)

Chruch & State

OK, I'm sure there are others who could say this better but I just have to get this off my chest.  An associate just sent me an email.  It gives me the option to score 100 or ZERO.  Now that already pisses me off.  Nothing is black or white.  NOTHING!  Oh, were life that easy to maneuver.  It isn't.  We're human, we've designed this journey for hard questions and big decisions and yet we run from them like a puppy from a beating he's had before. 

Let me share what"s chapping my behind.  After the score thing, I'm shown a lot of white bread, Christian images of Jesus being compassionate and suffering in various pictorial versions of stories we've all heard.  Then, "I'm not ashamed.  He is the only one that can save this country and they want him removed from the government.

Our great nation will not stand if we delete HIM from all aspects of our government as the atheists want."

Then it goes on the threaten me if I don't send it along.

Are you sitting down?  Bet you are now. 
In case you haven't figured it out, apparently I'm a they.  And I had no idea I was an atheist.

To all the small minded, fear based, lost souls out there.
Please don't try and shame me into sharing your beliefs.
Creating economic and government structures (two different things that need to aligned to be successful) that care for an entity's members is, yes, a moral argument.  The argument is simply do we care for all our people or just those who fit our definition.  This so called argument is an utterly erroneous question in a healthy society.  A health society cares for all it's people.  We are a sick society.

Traditional western religion is guised in morality but tethers its people with shame, judgment and fear.  Church and state must be separated because churches, clans, clicks, groups - all create their definition of themselves by judging others against them.  By definition, this is not a society but a subset who has found comfort in their sameness.  That is fine, it is part of the human condition to need this comfort.  It is NOT morally just.  It is not relevant to the states job.

The states job is to care for all it's members.  To strive for a community, a group, that cares for ALL it's people is to not exclude, not judge, and to not leave behind those who do not 'fit' the judgers parameters. 

This disparity of goals negates success for both factions. 

We need to recognize that Christian based faith is not necessarily a moral stance arguing for a government that cares for its people and yet encourages individual attainment, as the Americans would like it.  Christian based faith, especially as it is being currently sold - and bought -  is a fear based emotional reaction to the unknown all other religions of the world.  If Americans would read a book or see or listen to the rest of the world, they would know that all religion harbors a 'moral' message and posture, all religious followers believe theirs to be the 'right' moral stance and the only other emphatic, zealotic religious group in the world that even compares to the Christian right wing in it's fear and judgment is extremist Muslims - these people's biggest fear.  What's the saying, be careful of what you hate... AND both religions are rooted in the same Catholicism - read your history!

Church belongs in a church.  State belongs in government.  Faith, love and compassion belong everywhere and seem to be clinging like a stormy summer's spider's web to the edge of societies branches.

911, reflecltion and going on

I never thought I'd be a blogger. Not sure what my judgment has been about it, but I obviously had one or I wouldn't have put myself outside of that possibility. Perhaps I'll ponder it next time. This time I'd like to discuss my meanderings of today: my mom, Betty Farmer, She died in 911. She was on the 105th floor, tower 1.

Today, since 2001, puts me in a rather reflective mood and has a lot of people who care for me making contact, even if I haven't heard from them since last year this time, I do and it's good. Thank you all for that. You remind me the value of the journey.

I've been going through a lot of change this year. Thank God, I believe that we come to what we come to for growth and inspiration, for the opportunity to be more than we were yesterday, for the chance to be now, and be happy.
Otherwise how could I really look at loosing everything but my roof, and that's in question, as anything other than ****** hell? As I say, it's been a big year. As it has been for many.

But, back to me. Today is a day that I get to review. It's become my personal 'New Years Day'; reflection, laughter, loss, regret and wonder. Then I can wash my slate, knowing Betty has my back and go on.
Well, she has my back as well as she ever did; lots of love and support as long it's fun - but that's my girl! And I loved and love her for all that she is, not just the stuff her kid needed.

It's funny how when you've finally accepted that someone you love is gone, you realize they're not near as gone as you thought. Though vague, they're more with you; with you all the time. They become part of your fabric. No longer someone you anticipate sharing a moment here or there with, they remain with you, always by your side, in your skin, of your being.

One can't help but know that death is not was here, now gone. It's more was visible to the critical eye and now palpable to enduring spirit.

My team is growing. I lost a very, very dear friend this year. He was the man who accompanied me to NY after 'the big event'. He was a firefighter - for over 25 years. He's been in my life for over ten years and we've traveled the world together. I was fortunate to have his family allow me to organize his services. In his honor, they were a bit unorthodox and I know he greatly approved. He sits on my mantle... and in the sea, scattered by bottle rockets on the 4th this year, soon to be flung from a helicopter ride over Saint Simons, at the base is favorite headstone on the north end, on the burial mounds in the village, in a locket Kim wears, up the flue at Murphy's (oops, don't tell), in a treasure box I made for Priester, hell he's everywhere and every time I travel, I take a little bit of him me to spread around! He loved to travel and there are still a few places he hasn't been. I'm gonna help him finish his jouney. Besides, it kind of exciting, bring a baggy of ashes with you through security waiting to see if you're gonna get called on it and wondering what in the heck you're gonna say.

The funeral home said in the 27 years they've been doing this, they'd never before had someone not fit in the box. I explained they'd never had the honor of putting to rest the remains of such a living, loving man. It was simply his heart that couldn't be reduced to nothing but ashes.

On the other hand, it took about two years for them to find anything of Betty and I never thought it would happen. Though larger than life in spirit and will, she was a slim 115# and that was a lot of building. Now I'm a believer ya'll but I'm not formal and I don't attend a church so when a local pastor called and asked if he could make a visit, I assumed it was in regards to one of my tenants.
Note: I own and run a property management company.
I figured I'd be getting some 'story' about their hard times and asked for some compassion in their plight.

Confusion would be my response when a priest and a local firefighter showed up at my office. Their kind and gentle nature, their intention that I not be frightened or feel alone... WOW. I will never forget them. And thought it took me three months to get her out of hock (the funeral home bill was $1000,) she too sits here with me. I know Betty was cracking up over that one. It was appropriate.

I guess this is part of getting older. More people you love with you, not by you, so much more to value and more to miss. Funny to be so damn sad and grateful simultatiously.