“Everything is copy” – Nora Ephron
When you decide to be a better you, you go to the people who help make you better. Don’t choose what you want to hear. Choose to listen.
It’s Time to Talk About Guatemala…
Lessons of Growth through Failure
The fortitude of being brave begins next level for 2026. It is speaking out in truth regarding many painful layers. With years of secrets, emotional trauma has taken its toll on my health and well being. Two years ago, with an amazing trauma therapist, I made the decision to stop the cycle. It is my intention to pursue and move from not only victim to survivor, but intentionally thriving while packing away old tapes.
After much reflection and consideration, it is time to speak about Guatemala.
Validity of avoiding this chapter is equivalent to the pain it caused. In fact, when I returned to the states I suffered a major emotional breakdown. But what I have also learned is time heals. Trite but true. In honesty, some days still hurt in the small secret places. But the first statement stands. Written earlier, it would have been different. The reformed perfectionist in me wanted to get this right.
I present the experience in what I’ve learned about myself. I share it not to shame. I share to empower others through life as people disappoint you.
Lesson #1: I will always (always) struggle with codependency.
That little imp, wanting to put everyone’s needs before my own and feeling guilty when I don’t. It festers in the world of organized religion.
Throughout my tenure at a large church in Los Angeles I had the privilege of meeting many wonderful people. One of those was a young woman from Guatemala, her name, Daniela. She was full of life and always positive. We are our best when presenting our godly selves. She was no different. At that point in my career I even ended up managing her acting career.
When the needs of her family commitments overshadowed her desire to stay in Los Angeles she went home. Her absence was missed from the forever family she created in the states. And through that community we stayed in touch. After all, she was always at my house, worshipping together through the praise team at church, and managing her life long goals. I believed in her. She was a friend, but also the age of some of my older adult children. I welcomed nurturing her, aiding in her success.
So when she came back for a visit about a year later I was completing my undergraduate degree in film. She stayed with my family for part of her visit. I was writing a script that was being shot a few months later and she encouraged my journey as well. During the visit she went to another shoot I was working on. During that event, with another friend, we discussed stories. Through that conversation an idea was born.
After the shoot, and her departure to Guatemala, I mulled over the story idea we discussed. Throughout this development she asked if there was any work for her she could do for me through my production company to help support her family. So with my background in training actors we developed an idea to hold workshops in Guatemala. She was coaching actors in her country and there was a market to develop a program. So I hired her. I paid her money I didn’t have to help her situation there. I went to Guatemala and taught acting workshops. I stayed with her family to save costs. And through its success paid her a portion of the profits.
Through these stays I developed the script idea based loosely on the idea discussed, wrote it, and reached a point after several months of her pitching it to an investor there. On one visit I met the investor and he was very interested. Upon meeting him I didn’t feel good about it. But believed her when she said he was legitimate.
I met several people throughout the course of my visits. Most were actors and the cast was being formed as the writing continued. Upon my return home and an investment deal in hand, I finished writing the entire first season. It was an exciting time.
We began the process of hiring the American team. These were people I met through film school and had built a bond with. I also hired my oldest daughter with her experience in production. Each hire had potential to create legitimacy. My mind was full of us all building something together.
As persons were hired plans solidified to travel and shoot in Guatemala. Daniela called to say all was a go but the investor had met with his board and they wanted a bond to secure their investment. So we pitched many to raise the money. It looked like it was not going to happen. Through many ups and downs, persons already attached and family members gathered the money to pay the bond.
Four of us from the states to begin production. With us, my little dog, and the toddler son of the couple performing as cinematographer and production design. Included, my oldest daughter acting in the role of line producer. We stayed in a place where we could work and live while the rest of the team would join us in less than a month. During that time we hired local crew and rehearsals began.
As this occurred we eagerly awaited the financing date to occur. I went through all the legal channels to do so with a leap of faith and the trust from Daniela the money was coming. So we pushed forward and I used my own money in the meantime to sustain the project.
The deadline grew closer, no money. Asking about it from the investor, no answer. Talks with Daniela, still no money. She explained that is how it is done there. I trusted her, went forward, hired the entire crew, rehearsed and secured locations for the shoot. It was entirely a facade of hope.
The deadline came and went and so did my bank account. And a glimmer of hope from the investor moving forward eluded from Daniela. She spoke of a powerful meeting happening and they would decide the exact date to release the money. The investor swore it was not him but other people on his board who had changed their mind. Daniela went to this meeting, she texted me the conversations, the ups, the downs. It was stressful. In the end she said they would make a decision within a week. He invited us to an event of one of his projects.
He even hosted a premiere of the short I filmed starring Daniela in the meantime. During this event we announced the project he was funding. How could I doubt the big event when he was paying money to host it?
And then something happened. My daughter caught Daniela in a lie. Once caught, the entire unraveling of what I thought to be true crumbled to the ground. I was faced with the reality of a complete farce. There was no high powered meeting, there was an investor, but she had misrepresented it and the meetings I attended were in a language I could not follow. She was lying to me the entire time. All the hope of the project was not only gone, it was shattered.
In front of me were not only dozens of those locally in Guatemala, but also my friends from America I had brought with me. In addition, the timing of the reveal equaled the reality of those still in the states making life changing decisions that now resulted in them feeling betrayed by me.
So what did I do? I took it all on. I called those in the states and took the heat. Some still do not speak to me. I stood in front of dozens of hopeful cast and crew and shattered their dream of being in a Hollywood production. I fought to get the money back from the so called bond to at least cover some of the expenses. And I took the brunt of every person angered by the betrayal. I took in every word and did not defend myself. I listened, I apologized, and I ate it deep in my soul.
Looking back it was my fault. Sure Daniela lied and she was good at it. I trusted her fully. But I saw the red flags and moved forward to make everyone feel better. I spent my money to make everyone happy. Because I am, at the end of the day, a codependent. I did not set boundaries. When I did, I allowed people to cross them. My success did not matter, theirs did. That truth set blinders on me to not see the reality in the situation. So yes, I was betrayed by Daniela. But I precipitated the damage.
I cannot shift all blame to her. I must accept my portion of it. I could have not hired my American colleagues. Yes, I am protected by verbiage in a contract, but I did not stop it in time to affect their lives. I did my best to make it up to the two who went in the beginning but the relationship will always be damaged. I went on the word of Daniela to hire all the Guatemalan crew and cast, but I could have held it off until funding occurred. I was deceived but I did not make realistic choices. I took on too much and thought I could do it all, train people, and make it happen. I couldn’t. And that reality shattered me.
Betrayal trauma is real. Also is the reality of my choices based in codependency. She was slick and I fell for it.
The ability for me to choose healthy business relationships was not fostered before this experience. As much healing as I did in my personal life, the dysfunction transitioned into my professional one. I had clients who never paid me and projects where I never got the residuals due. Did I pursue the payment? No. I just felt hurt and never wanted to make waves. One after another led to Guatemala.
People in my life who care tell me I am too hard on myself. She was a very good liar, they would say. Anyone would have believed her. But I have to take responsibility for living in the hope that I could fix the project, change the outcome. I even stayed a bit longer trying to get further funding. That led to heartbreak in the relationship with my daughter. Even when I returned there were those who attempted to make the project happen. But I was broken. And I stayed that way a long time. I even sat on the short that had her face it in. I didn’t want to be reminded of her betrayal. I ate the pain and sank deeper into myself. The level of healing in my personal life from betrayal trauma shattered in the realization of it occurring again in my professional one.
Lesson #2: No Matter How Many Times You are Deceived, Trust Again.
The reality of deception led me to a level of PTSD symptoms I had struggled with in the past. I could not be out in public, and when I did go out in public I suffered severe panic attacks. I talked to people only for brief times and acted like everything was ok. I hid the brokenness in fear of letting anyone but a few see it.
A friend tried to get me a job at a casting office. I balled through the entire interview. It was embarrassing. I went from being confident to not being able to function. The constant barrage to myself for being so stupid repeated incessantly while producers who I considered friends in Guatemala berated and mocked me. And the core of persons who I had become close to there hated me. All I had built in my career felt over. It was not going to get better. I did not reach the point of a three day hold, but it did not feel important to go on. The fight in me was gone.
All I could do for my dear friends who gave up their apartment to come to Guatemala was let them live at my place for no charge. Guilt ridden, I stayed upstairs. Their little boy, with his blanket and cars would climb the stairs to my room and ask, “YouTube, Deb, YouTube?” I could not say no and we sat on the couch in my room watching silly videos of cars, which he loved. Day after day in despair this pattern repeated. And little by little the sadness turned into new memories. He trusted me to be there. If it not for this little guy I do not know if I would have come back. Days led to weeks and new plans were formed for life. I did not want to pursue any project. I didn’t trust not only my own choices but anyone else.
But if this little boy trusted me, could I trust again? By his visceral example I sought to examine my own. There is no alternative but to trust and try again. How the road looked was the key to breaking the cycle of having it occur in the future. So, like him, I looked to the stairs of what I wanted. I’d have to climb each step and figure out how to trust.
Lesson #3: Boundaries are not selfish
Words are easy. Pattern breaking is difficult. It doesn’t feel comfortable. But, if you are brave, it is always worth it for a better life.
Near the end of my tenure in Guatemala as the project collapsed, my daughter reverted to old behaviors and our relationship crumbled. I could not defend myself from the behaviors I knew she was doing. At the end of the day, no matter what she did, she was still my child. It was a lose, lose situation. Her choices made me look like a scoundrel. I protected her, but in doing so was terrified of my own safety. I left the country in fear.
I also left her there. She had stopped speaking to me, moved away from where we were staying. I had no support. As I sat at the airport in fear with my little dog waiting to board I wrote her a text. Within it I set the boundary that I would not include her in my life until she could respect and value our relationship. I expressed how her decisions had affected my reputation. And, I would not discuss our relationship without a professional third party present. As I buckled in for the flight home I hit send.
This was one of the most difficult boundaries to date I had set in my life. My children are my life. Even in their adulthood, they are my reason for living. And perhaps that was the crux. It allowed flexible unhealthy boundaries. But what she had done exposed the reality that even my children are not allowed to be abusive to me.
I navigated relationship with my other children while respecting their relationship with their sister. I held true to the boundary I had set. I heard updates through my other children and mother, but we did not speak. Through this course of events and change, I also decided to shelve the project.
It is easy to set boundaries. Not letting people cross them is the difficult part. And this is not a selfish act in negative form. It is an act of self love. That little imp is a liar. It is okay to protect oneself. By keeping boundaries, I have learned who has remained in my life and who has left it. I no longer give energy to persons who do not respect them.
Through this painful and extensive exercise I learned who to depend on. And found the best person to trust was myself. To trust my gut. And to believe it is, in fact, ok to be selfish in protecting oneself from narcissistic tendencies of others. They rely on people like me to be obligatory to their needs. Without persons like me they will carry on and find others to use. That is their choice, but it will not be with me.
Setting that boulder of weight down and walking lighter has been life changing. Residual patterns can pop up, but choosing recognition and adjustment is freeing. Time does heal if you let it by learning the lesson of the pain. It is a consistent choice.
Lesson #4: Keep Creating
Once the pain subsided, and years passed, I continued to create. I went back to school and got my masters degree. I did other projects, wrote other stories, shot other films.
I helped my husband navigate caring for his mother in our home, which occurred while the world shut down with COVID. If the path of the project in Guatemala progressed, this honor may not have occurred. Life brings you challenges. It is what you do with them. It just took me longer to bounce back from this one.
I created new friendships and released the ones who were ready to go. Without anger or resentment. Even Daniela. I forgave her…multiple times. Do I want to talk to her? No thank you. Because forgiving is different than forgetting. I released her long ago.
And the short I wrote with her face in it, honoring my loving foster family, has won multiple awards. I was able to do so by looking at the group of talented creators in Guatemala. The project wasn’t about me or Daniela. It was about the talent of creatives it took to make it happen.
Their creativity is a gift I hold in high regard. The world deserves to see how gifted they are. As I’ve followed many of them throughout these years, I cheer them on and love seeing their journey, while being thankful I got to work with them. Nothing is gained by not supporting other creatives. There is room for everyone.
When a creative stops, the world stands still. I learned even grabbing some crayons to color with a toddler is a win for the day. If I sit out in the sun and look out at the water I’m creating ideas. By supporting other creatives I’m adding to the community.
Moving forward with new thoughts, ideas, and purpose is part of the journey. Daniela was a blip on the timeline and not the final chapter. The pain felt like it, but in reality it was a lesson. She’s not worth the effort or energy to fill my time as I was blessed to meet so many. This realization was part of the grieving process.
The balance of thankfulness equals the ire of the experience. Those in the moment, who were hateful in their speech and attitude, will need to explore their own behavior. Those who loved me through it I cherish. In the pit of my stomach, in thinking about the end, is still a little pain. I don’t know if it will ever go away. But it is manageable now.
What would be a shame is to stop creating. May I never forget the lessons as I move forward to new challenges and opportunities.
Conclusion
The biggest lesson is broken pieces heal with the proper glue to put them back together. Once set, it will look different. But the outcome is more beautiful. It is stronger with the glue it took to create it. It is less likely to break and it is precious. It is me, a broken creative who trusts deeply with cautious optimism.
The ingredient was time. The time it took to heal, to reflect, to listen and learn. I’m not a patient person. But it was the only solution. After almost 3 years my daughter called me on the phone and we spoke for the first time. I will tell you what I told her that day after tears and apologies. If the experience warranted the outcome of allowing her to get to where she is now I’d go through every painful moment again. And I say the same for myself. For in the moments of forgiveness I need to include myself.
Thank You, Uncle Kenny.
One humane subtle act can make a lifetime difference for another. Reflectionistic memories bring me to one in the passing of a music teacher of my youth. His name is Ken Noreen.
Not only a teacher, Mr. Noreen was a parabolist. We called him Uncle Kenny, but not to his face. We also had a high respect for him that only showed while at attention as his baton rose. The rest of the time we were ignorant all-knowing teens wrapped up in our own drama.
As my feet have walked a bit further, I reflect while attending his celebration of life and see a man who knew satisfaction in life was in giving to others. Listening to his family, friends, and (like me) his previous students, it was apparent it was a life well lived. Quiet chaos was his mantra mixed divine security in knowing who he was.
So, Mr. Noreen, here is my story of how you changed my life.
Proverbial outwardness would assume my youth was without strife. This is a lie we tell ourselves seeing the shell of humanity. In reality it was filled with issues beyond my control until I decided to take control at barely 17 and left when pain overtook the tolerance. I was lucky, I was given the opportunity to live with a friend, whose parents became my foster parents so I could graduate. I had supportive friends, and through the chaos of dysfunction I hid myself in school.
Before my escape, I spent most of my time at school. Any group I could activity participate in and not be at home I was first to sign up. I love learning and thrived in education. This included music. Between drama, music and sports I masked the pain through active participation. My friend group and identity surrounded these activities. They were my family.
By senior year I was in three different music classes. I was also a teacher’s assistant for Mr. Noreen. My fervor for escape allowed me to enjoy a casual schedule senior year. My other classes were drama and English. The break of studying for the more difficult classes were in my purview as I applied and was accepted to colleges.
Throughout senior year I struggled between two realities. The joy of the family which I now lived, with angsts of being 17 surrounded by activities and friends. On the flip side, being in fear and pain of the past while being stalked by a step father who made my life hell. I learned too soon how to carry keys in my hand to fight off an attacker, while watching any corners or dark spaces for potential harm. Outward joy mixed with inward fear very few saw, because I hid it deep in the somatic soul of my being. I buried it to be happy and filed it away any chance I got.
The band room was my family living room. I didn’t even use a locker as I kept all my belongings in Mr. Noreen’s office. I learned production skills by being his assistant. Because he wasn’t just a teacher. He was in charge of entertainment coordination for some of Seattle’s major sports teams, He also ran a successful travel business. I aided in all the tasks he needed.
In front of me was a good adult who trusted me with important tasks and duties. My survival perfectionist spirit made me reliable. He was kind, funny, and always respectful. To me this was foreign. When faced with actual normal adults I wan’t sure how to respond. Can I trust it? When is the dysfunction going to start?
So I stayed guarded, safe, and distant. This mask made me look like a leader, a professional, and a task master. It festered the false reality that work makes you who you are, and no mistakes are allowed. An unattainable goal. Yet I did it to the best of my ability.
Senior year is now, with more seasoned eyes, a blur. What I do remember is safety in that band room, a precious commodity I still treasure. What I also remember is the moment Mr. Noreen stepped up and changed my future for the better.
I was one of those kids who got all A’s and never really had to study. In the zeitgeist of high school I had completed all of my classes and was basically coasting to graduation. The ceremony was in June and around April I got called in the vice principal’s office. This wan’t normal.
I was told that a credit error had occurred and I was missing one core class and would not be able to graduate. In shock, I asked how this could have happened. I don’t remember the details but rather the feelings. I was told I wouldn’t be able to walk. I left defeated.
In all that I had endured to this point, being brave to leave my household, being blessed to have a foster family and finish school, being safe in my senior bubble with friends and a boyfriend while being accepted to a prestigious college. Getting good grades, working a job while doing sports, drama, all-state band and more.
And all I could think of is, what the hell did I ever do to you, universe?!
Obviously upset, I returned to the band office in tears. When I’m mad I cry. Noreen asked me what was wrong. It all spilled out. Everything mentioned above. He didn’t say a word. That was ok as I had said them all. The last thing I said in deafening dramatic fashion, “Am I ever going to get break?!??”
He left the room. I was embarrassed to be so vulnerable. Imperfect.
About an hour later the VP called me back in. Great. What news now?
He told me it was taken care of. He didn’t explain but mentioned a clerical error. I was used to gaslighting so didn’t believe it at first, wondered if it was ever true, and accepted the fact that I was going to be able to graduate on time and go to college.
What I didn’t know until years later was Noreen was responsible. He went into the VP office and said to do whatever the hell they had to do to make sure I graduated. The details don’t matter, the quiet force of Noreen does.
Without my knowledge or acknowledgement he saw a girl who needed help and he did it. A perhaps small gesture or everyday occurrence for him changed the course of my life. I’ll never know because of his willingness to be a person of character and step in when no-one else could have.
Grandiose small acts of kindness may seem trivial, but you will never know what your participation in making someone’s life better means to them. They may never know it. That is okay. Knowing it made a difference does. And Noreen, you made a difference in mine.
As I sat at his celebration of life, I heard story after story similar to mine. Perhaps not in circumstance but in outcome. Noreen was there, making a difference and changing the world for better one kid at a time. He did it for years. The impact is unimaginable.
Perhaps some reading my accolades have their own Noreen moment. Or perhaps spark a memory of that one teacher who made a difference. Ken Noreen didn’t just teach how to read notes off the page. He taught how the rhythm of life ebbs and flows through how one is treated, given a chance, and heard. He listened carefully and always reminded us the rests were just as important as the notes. The balance.
I thank you, Uncle Kenny, for living life out loud. By giving to others while maintaining priorities. It took me longer than most to understand life isn’t about what you do. It’s who you are and who you bring along the way. This truth improves the planet, while having high standards and expectations in abilities. People will always rise to meet them. And when they don’t, releasing them with grace is ok while stopping at Dick’s Drive In to grab a root beer float.
You, sir, were one of my first examples of a safe adult. The lessons stuck. Some of your stories didn’t apply until they were needed. And being brave through fear is always a quest worth taking. Telling the stories and depositing them into our lives was the lesson you knew we mostly needed.
Thank you, Mr. Noreen, for daring to teach off the page.
If you would like to know more about the life and history of Ken Noreen:
Lunch with Pam
Some may call it a lapse of reason when I volunteered to plan a high school reunion. After the world went dark and we lost so many in the rage of a pandemic the birth of reuniting with others in a common goal of remembering our youth and celebrating who we are now outnumbered the reasons to run away. It was all worth it the first evening of the event looking at the smiles of the Shorecrest High School class of 1982. There was no ego. We put it aside after masks and zoom meetings. We also are of the age where many trivial idiosyncrasies don’t matter anymore, at least for one weekend.
For those who see me, shy would not likely be first word to come to mind. For those that know, turtle is my middle name. Raising kids pulled me out of my shell for years. But now they have grown up and I find myself more in an independent solidarity of my youth. I love people but need the recharge of privacy. So, when a woman I went to high school with approached me several times throughout the weekend and said, “We have to do lunch…” I happily agreed. Her name is Pam. She was always smiling. I remember her from high school, but we didn’t see each other outside of class. I didn’t know her but wanted to due to her extremely cool vibe. It was effervescent. We exchanged numbers and I looked forward to at least one lunch with Pam if not more.
That was the fall of 2022. The holidays arrived, life happened, and 2023 brought me many health issues that delayed my lunch with Pam. I thought about her a lot. I could have reached out, texted, or called. But this turtle was sick and into the shell I went. I did the necessary, but the extra was put on hold and that included lunch with Pam. I did look forward to it and it was on a list I made for when I was feeling better and back to being a stronger me. To those who know me, I was battling health. For others I fell off the earth. I missed the wedding of newly connected old friends and other events I did not have the energy to attend which I deeply regret.
Looking forward to this past Christmas I was excited to have all the kids home. One more surgery at the top of 2024 and the hope of getting back to living. It is in this season of looking to the future when I heard the news.
Pam was gone.
It was a shock. I had taken for granted that she would be always around. I did not get the chance to have our lunch. She loved to laugh and so do I. She loved to travel, meet people, and hear stories. Some of my favorite things. It would have been a good lunch and perhaps the start of a good friendship. Bummer seems trite. Thoughts and prayers of course but a bit overused. Truth be told losing Pam was not about me. It was about her smile leaving this earth too soon. Lord, take the mean people only. The part involving me was missing out on knowing the person whom everyone said was amazing, i.e., cool vibe. My only memories of Pam will be high school and our short, very short, cool chats throughout a weekend in 2022.
In the hallowed shroud of overcast skies of the PNW this time of year could be an excellent excused moment of sullen reflective depression. Another reason to go deeper into the shell. Another lost experience. Perhaps play a song with minor chords and reflect on my day-to-day trek to joining Pam. This is one course of action in the potential friendship not cultivated. Life gives you chances, and the direction is proportionate to the effort. Shyness in turtle form can leave the phone untouched as the next day happens with its own joy and misdemeanors. Yes, a good sad song would be the turtle thing to do. It’s easy, its familiar.
I choose option two.
I choose to honor Pam with the choices I make moving forward and being self-forgiving when life brings distraction. In between I choose to extend my neck into the world and reach out. Just like I did when I raised my hand to plan a class reunion. It is a grandiose small gesture. Seemingly effortless for this member of the technically developed generation. I choose it virtually and choose it in reality. For example, as I stood in line to return an Amazon package at a UPS store yesterday a lady turned to meet my eyes and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Isn’t that the purpose of a smile, to bring warmth to a person. Perhaps that is all they needed for that day. High five for humanity. I choose, like Pam, to smile.
I never got that lunch with Pam. But as I reach out and participate in life, I honor her smile. She had one for the books. Every time we smile as big as Pam did, we connect to another. We do not need to travel across the world to learn about the power of a smile. But if you happen to be across the world, think of Pam and how excited she would be to take the journey with you. Do it for her but more importantly do it for you as she celebrates you on along the way. That famous smile will be with you. Text a friend, make a connection. Take a risk. Participate in your own way. I will do my best to rise to the occasion. As I do, in my own way, I will ultimately have lunch with Pam. She is present as I don’t take a moment for granted.
And if you choose option two like me, she will be there with you too. Smiling.
THO*%@TS AND PR@Y*RS
Anyone with a heart is numb. Not again. Please Lord, not again.
The shooting yesterday in Uvalde, TX is horrific. We all agree.
As a mother, there are no words. I blend within the sadness of those who lost a friend, loved one, family member, or child. It is horrible and an overwhelming wave of grief that has swept over the nation for you. But we will not feel as deeply. Oh, how we want to but it will never happen.
In agreement as a country, we send you love, and hope, and stand in the deep hole you are feeling. We know we cannot fill your loss, but we love you, whom you lost, and hope our love will help little ways down the road when you can look up.
For those triggered by this tragedy, we mourn again with you and love you. Virtually wrap our arms around you. Every time a tragedy like this happens it opens a wound thought to have healed only to realize it isn’t. It rips the band-aid back open and the pain throbs. There are no words.
We send love to the teachers, students, families, and first responders. The list goes on.
For those of you reading apathetically STOP here.
Because shit is about to get real.
For those who want to say those three words, I have this to say :
F&*K your Thoughts and Prayers!
Those three words used to be agreeable, acceptable, standard, and thoughtful. That time has passed. And don’t you dare try to make it about you, claiming falsely ‘don’t tell me what to pray for. Acting offended in our rage. Don’t you DARE make it about you!
Apathy is the bowl of fruit we are forced to eat in disdain.
– America
How can an 18-year-old buy a gun but not a cigarette lighter in some states?
How can some have to be 21 to buy cigarettes?
Why can an 18-year-old buy a gun but not buy a beer until age 21? And, die for their country?
How can we continue to pretend hypocrisy does not exist?
Our complicity in a passing-by commentary like a Hallmark card notation to a life tragedy is pathetic. I’m the first to say I suck at the right words to say at a death. My go-to is comedy, and most of what I say comes out incessantly insensitive. (i.e.: “She’s never looked so good.” While standing at a casket.)
My complicity stops.
Our most complicit citizens are the children.. They know an active shooter is a part of their existence. We are shocked and they look at us confused. And it happens again, again, and again.
No one has the answer. It is on the news. It changes to another topic.
The tears and the sadness I am feeling today as a mother, friend, daughter…I am ANGRY. Why? Because as much as I want these trajectories to change I feel helpless, hence those three words. It is a feeble attempt to show care. It has been twisted in apathetic rhetoric.
What to do then? Is this just a rant filtered along to go down the drain of the next disaster?
Perhaps, but I pray not.
How can I speak? How can you speak? How can we all agree to make the changes needed before another generation becomes numb to being carnival ducks in a twisted game for the rest of their life?
Use your voice where it matters: Vote.
Don’t roll your eyes. DO IT!
Vote those to office who will:
- Not succumb to pressure,
- Fight for change,
- Respect your amendment right but not at the risk of others.
- Pay for mental health care.
- Pay for equal rights.
Vote for those who can no longer vote, because they died. They were killed. They have lost their voice, use yours for them. Speak out.
If you are saying you cannot make a difference, you can. Don’t lie to yourself in your despair.
Watch the change when we as Americans vote out those who do not do what we hired them to do. They work for us and not the other way around. 90% of Americans believe in control over gun sales. Are we holding accountable those to make the laws? That is on us.
Our complicity perpetuates the problem. Be mad and remember. Remember when you vote.
Start locally and take it nationally. Don’t forget, because those in Uvalde, Parkland, Columbine, and more will not forget. Our children deserve better. Show them they are worth it.
Let’s Talk About It: Trump
What is this visceral disdain? Is it the feeling of freedom?
I’ve had this feeling before. It took me awhile to process what it was. That is normal for me; a survivor who has learned to identify emotions.
The arena of the world currently is like a bad dream. I am stuck in a place I don’t want to be. Like a raccoon in a corner I yell, gnash my teeth, and threaten the person who is in my way to retreat back to safety. Seeing the news, the anger, the rage I am not alone.
Why? I am afraid.
I have no control. And in desperation I do everything to try to get it back. I’ll fight and I may look like the one out of control. In reality I am. People out of control are not always the aggressors. They are the victims of the abuse attempting to gain control of the uncontrollable similar to a drowning person who hits the one trying to save them.
It is the cycle of abuse. I want it to be over to get to the calm. But at times I must create the riot to get to it quicker. It is a sense of control over what cannot be controlled; my abuser.
I am afraid. I am an American and I am afraid.
Curbing histrionics I fear too many do not know the future. The rules seem to be broken.
I was taught you do something wrong you get punished. You break the law you are punished. You follow the rules. They are a guideline to normalcy, a barometer you can count on. A line to follow. Actions equal consequences. Fair is fair and justice wins.
As a survivor I already know this reality does not always exist. But it does not mean it should not be the end goal. The feeling of freedom is not a personal identity. It is the collective bargaining of accepting different beliefs, theories, and perspectives. Freedom is the ability to disagree.
And freedom is not free. Its truth has a cost.
Those who wait for justice for Trump’s wrongdoings are frustrated. Those who want to move on and continue to support him want to forget or be in denial of his actions. This is America currently and we are divided yet so desperately want to be united. Ukraine helped this. As tragic as an attack it was it has united our support for another country who wants to invade another.
Loss of life, injustice, and anarchy; we see it in the war on Ukraine.
We are apathetic to our own mirror of reality.
Let’s talk about it. I am open to opinion. I am not open to mean people.
Injustice: Was Trump trying to overturn a fair election?
The simple answer is yes. He lost. Not everyone gets a trophy and one candidate has to lose. It is the mainstay of our political system. Our voice is our vote and he was voted out. I can shout from the rooftop I won the lottery but if I didn’t win it is a lie. Trump lied. He was wrong. His own vice president said the same. Mike Pence did his duty, accepted the outcome, followed procedure, and finished well by going to the inauguration of Joseph Biden and exited his post escorted by the newly elected Kamala Harris. Our processes ignite our freedom and accepting loss is a part of the process.
Anarchy: Was the election stolen?
The simple answer is no. Trump lost. Never fun but as we all know in life it happens. If any of you have children you have seen a temper tantrum. Trump’s tantrum created an event which we are still traumatized from. No, there was no fraud. There were enough votes for Trump to lose. Empirical evidence has validated it. It is the same system electing republicans and democrats for decades. It works in our democratic system. To not accept it is to allow anarchy where the person who was not elected stays in power. He lost. He did not accept it. He wants to lie enough times to create truth from a lie. This lie ignites anarchy. You can wrap a turd with a pretty bow but it is still a turd. Our court system works to justify the statement. Trump lost the election and it was not stolen.
Loss of Life: Is our cognitive dissonance killing our country?
Yes. To date the United States has lost over one million of our citizens to COVID. Persons are entitled to have their opinions. But as a whole our personal rights are at times limited for the good of the whole. Are we so lost in personal narcissism to not follow simple guidelines we may not like to protect others who cannot be protected otherwise? I’d like to believe so. When a person in authority is narcissistic they cannot lead for the betterment of others. The person in authority will engage and ignite those who desire to not follow the rules.
Rules exist for a reason. To maintain order, to engage in the common good, to hold accountable those who don’t follow the rules.
Scenario: I drive 60 MPH in front of your child’s school. I didn’t hit anyone, what’s the problem? It’s my right to drive my car as fast as I want. I’m a good driver, in fact, I drive better than anyone has driven in the history of America, maybe the world. Don’t tell me what to do with my life or my car.
Do I need to break this ridiculous statement down?
Had the leadership in this country been giving, thoughtful, and encouraging to all would the one million lives lost be an existing number? As uncle Ben said to Peter Parker, with great power comes great responsibility. He was irresponsible to the whole, our country, our lives.
Why do I have this visceral disdain?
It is because I care about others. I do not see this in the actions of Mr. Trump. He is an actor, not a good one, and he does not care about the whole country. His ego feeds on the lies and actions of those who follow his discord. He is not a good businessman. He has lost more companies and not been ethical in his practices.
I have the privilege to live where I hear the waft of reverie every morning near our local Navy base. I am proud of my country. Collectively we are strong. Divided we fall. I wish to see a flag fly without a disdainful comment following it. I salute those who protect it and I spit on those trying to destroy it. I am a citizen and American with a voice. I encourage you to use yours. I am not a liberal. I am an American citizen and I’ve had enough of the abuse of Mr. Trump.
And respectfully, if you still do not agree with a single word I said, why? I will ask you, do you want to be right or do you want to have relationship? Don’t let the need to be right restrict you from the courage to admit you may have been wrong. We all make mistakes, you don’t always get a trophy, and mutual ground builds strength instead of fighting or name calling. I learned this in kindergarten, lets evolve to first grade.
Cruising Down Lake City Way
Forty years, well, pretty close. As I drive to my bestie’s house to plan a high school reunion I ponder the number. Living on the Peninsula is quiet and slower than the faster paced Seattle skyline. And it is home. Growing up in Seattle was wild and crazy and as a proud OG PNW I enjoy going.
Alas it is not the same. After years in Los Angeles I enjoy the quiet. As I get off the ferry to downtown I have a bit of time so decided to cruise along the strip of my teenage years. Good old Lake City Way is an offshoot of I-5 going north just past the University of Washington district (U District for the locals). It’s been a hot minute since I’ve done it so wondered what had changed.
Let’s just say I now feel old.
Coming down the hill is a bit unfamiliar. I used to live over by Nathan Hale in my early 20’s yet I do not recognize where to turn. That’s ok as I’ve lived a lot of places and at times they blur.
What I do remember is being a kid and going to the butcher with mom to get our fresh carnivore style meats and stopping next store to Gilly’s to grab ginormous sub sandwiches to take home. They were to die for and I’m drooling a little just thinking about it. I look right and it is gone. It’s been gone awhile according to the Google (yes, I used ‘the’ on purpose) per a #tbt post from Vanishing Seattle. It’s been gone a long time. Sorry subway or Jimmy John’s, you are not the same. Gilly’s I mourn thee.
I look for the bomb Italian restaurant on the right as well. Nope, not there anymore and that is too bad as the aging wine bottles hanging in every nook and cranny of the place gave it flair.
Hmm, what about Royal Fork or the Putt Putt golf which proudly displayed my name for many birthday parties? No, I think they used to be there where that tall apartment complex is now. I’m hearing my grandfather’s voice of nostalgia and I am becoming him in the wash of memories.
The only good thing about this changing is my evil dentist office is no longer there. Karma does work.
As I drive further north the road flattens out for the rest of the journey and I think of the Lake City Way parades we used to partake in in scouts and marching band. I wonder if they still do them? Back to the Google. Why yes they do! Good for them as the Lake City parade will be a future memory to pay it forward.
Starbucks, of course there are Starbucks everywhere. And classic Dick’s Drive In remains. We spent many hours of lunch and evenings between cruising the strip hanging out there. It was just down the street from Shorecrest High School, our alma matter.
But across the street, gone, is the Nordstrom shoe store where my mom brought me every fall to get a new pair of shoes and a Nordy balloon. Back to the Google. It left a long time ago and the once humble shoe store is now an iconic symbol. But thanks for the memories John Nordstrom. As an adult your story inspires me.
Hitting 125th I look right and the theatre is gone, but to the left the dated shopping plaza remains. Different stores of course but it makes me feel better they held on. I wonder if, sure enough, it is still there. Deja Vu is still there. Is this a testament of depravity that society will always need strippers? Perhaps, but I’m on a nostalgia tour, not an empirical dissertation of sin. But a part of me could not help but applaud their fortitude.
If Deja Vu could make it then maybe the Elks club is still there where I learned to swim and had some wicked Easter egg hunts. Nope, it is now an apartment complex. Bummer! Where did the Elks go Google? Aha, it moved to Shoreline from the dilapidating building of my youth. That makes sense. I am forced to take care of my aging body but a building can be demoed. Happy to hear people are still enjoying the camaraderie.
One more check before I come down the hill to Lake Forest Park. Mr. Steak, are you still there? My high school job where I honed my customer service skills in high school. The building looks familiar but it is gone too. That one I expected. I still have dreams of being late for work because I had homework or play rehearsal. Should I even ask the Google about it? Why not? Interesting find to see I am not the only one. The blog of History’s dumpster explains their demise of the ground steak chain and replace is a Facebook group for those who had worked at Mr. Steak. How fun, I joined (pending approval) and look forward to reminiscing.
Sighing heavily I do not regret my recent cruise down Lake City Way, Seattle. Like George Lucas I could make a film about it and we could all reminisce together but for not we will leave it here. Childhood was not always stellar but Lake City Way was a good memory and I will hold onto it, cherish it, and respect it. Like myself it has changed, grown, and evolved. Embracing this in a mature way is beneficial.
Now I am heading towards Lake Forest Park. That is an entirely different story.
The Women Who Shaped Me
The Ones Who Shaped Me
Butterflies, ice cream, cards, fitted sheets and the smell of hand soap and clams. These are the instances of firsts when reflecting on the ones that brought character and pain into my life. The women who decided, or by some sort of divine intervention, they were going to tell me who I should be.
For the sweet birth of ice cream my mother. The one who loves me unconditionally and imperfectly. Her love of creamy sensations has led to many discussions of life. It has been hope as well as been a been a band-aid for pain. No life happenstance has ever not been solved without peanut butter chocolate or peppermint twist. As we ebbed and flowed in our development to my adulthood, she taught me work ethic. She typed out my first attempt at publishing at age 7 as I watched her correct the Sunday times with red ink. Her career came first by necessity. While others were baking bread, she was leading a board meeting. She taught me all things are possible with hard work and determination for any woman who is brave enough.
Ice cream means love and so does playing cards. Especially ones from casinos with the corners cut off. This is grandma Bill. Yes, Bill to her friends and Helen on her birth certificate. A woman of weak lungs not meant to last past 6 years old but gifted with incredible insight. She taught me how to think outside of the box while having a wicked shuffle. As her body was kept alive by oxygen, she invigorated me to pursue my dreams over solitaire at a modest kitchen table. Though only in my life for 16 years she bestowed enough wisdom to last a lifetime. She taught me strength is not in the physical but in attitude.
No one likes to fold a fitted sheet, and those that do are suspect. Like the one who taught me to hate, to doubt and to cry. The one who went from neighbor to stepmother. Who hid food when I came to visit and who brought tears to my eyes when she negatively screamed how much I looked like my mother? Her insecurities fostered mine and caused me to doubt. She did not disappoint when my father passed and made life a living hell. She taught me patience through grief and forgiveness. She taught me that not everyone is happy, but I can choose who is in my life and how to treat people better through her negative example.
Through the eclecticism of personalities was the love and direction of my grandma Peg. Strained relationships were her mantra, but with me it was teaching and caring. As a child I learned to wash my hands and organize anything. She was the poster child for OCD before it was defined. Throughout years we spent many hours combing the various beaches of the Pacific Northwest searching for clams in the early tides while looking for stones to paint faces on. Her fastidious nature taught me the finer things in life and self-control through creativity.
Blue butterflies equal Duchess. The name was an inside joke and as I remember I hear her unique infectious laugh. She chose to be my foster mother in a time of life at 16 when I was lost. She taught me to laugh, to see family as something else that had been modeled and what being a nurturing mother was. She built me back up and filled in the gaps the others somehow missed. She taught me that not all mothers in your life have the same blood flowing as you. That being a mom is about being present and being accepting. She taught me how to be a better mother to my children by accepting them for who they are, not molding them into what I want.
I could not and would not be who I am without these complicated women. The word appreciative was not always the descriptor. But seasons have defined it. The depression of what ifs have in the past overwhelmed me, but the energy is pointless. It is unimaginable to picture life without them. I think of them when I am at my best. And through my worst I gain strength, as they combined self-fortitude with humanism. I smile when I see a child giggle over ice cream and ponder the other side of an opinion when I hear the shuffling of cards. I’ve taught others to fold a fitted sheet and they are thankful, while remembering that no matter what you can learn something from every experience. While I am complimented for my organizational skills, the smell of hand soap lingers, and I hear distant waves crashing on the shore as seagulls squawk and feel a sense of peace. And when I see a blue butterfly, I hear an infectious laugh that lifts my spirits no matter what life has thrown in front of me. I am shaped by the women who came before me and their spirit lives on as I shape those who come after. In the twist of time I ponder the descriptors to be assigned to me and hope the lessons of imperfect love live on.
THE BLOG THAT IS NO MORE
Did I mention WordPress is a love/hate relationship for me? This is a prime example.
I cannot access my old site. I tried to tell them this is my shoe…
I’d like to this I’m smart, but with these things not so much – at least through WordPress.
To view older posts, click below.https://debsaidwhat.wordpress.com/
Deb Said What? 