For that matter, neither is Republican.
So this is what happened today: I dragged myself into work despite the humdinger tension headache that made me feel like someone was beating me around the head and shoulders with a rather large hammer. One of my coworkers, a guy I've known since day one of my career as a gummint employee, dropped into the chair next to mine. He was killing time because he didn't feel like working. We got on the topic of respectful dissent and how it's not really allowed where we work. You have to drink the Kool-Aid or be branded a troublemaker. I mentioned how boring the world would be if we were all the same---thought the same, felt the same, etcetera---and this guy says, "Yeah, I don't like Democrats, but I'll do my best to respect them." Now, he knows I'm a Democrat because we've had political discussions before, so I got the message. As far as he's concerned, I'm...what? Less than zero? Pond scum? Something not good. Of course, the fact that I'm a damn dirty Democrat won't stop him from asking for my help when he needs it, but that's another story.
Democrat isn't a dirty word.
I'm a Democrat who believes in personal and fiscal responsibility. I go to church, I pay my taxes, I try to behave myself and not break the speed limit laws. I don't cheat or steal. My husband has been my only sexual partner. I paid back my college loan. I'd rather that women had access to affordable, plentiful, and efficient birth control so that abortions wouldn't be necessary, but I don't want the government or anyone else telling any woman that she is a criminal/bad person/going to hell if she has an abortion. I believe in God and Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, but if you don't believe in any of those three, I'm not going to hold it against you, and frankly, I don't think it's my place to tell you that you're wrong/going to hell/etc. for not believing the same things I do. I don't believe in political correctness; I believe in good manners and treating human beings like other human beings, so when I get pissed because you call someone a "towelhead," it's not that I'm being PC. I'm a product of my upbringing, of grandparents who would have flayed my skin off my hide if I'd used any phrase that could be construed as a slur against anyone.
Yet my coworker and other folks who really really REALLY don't like Democrats don't know all of this about me because they just see me as the enemy, the one with the big scarlet D on her forehead. They assume that I'm a danger to the country, that I have no morals, that I---I don't know---eat kittens for breakfast.
I'm trying to put a humorous spin on this, but really, I feel kind of sick about it. Heart-sick, soul-sick, physically sick.
To hell with it. I don't have a solution. I don't have a clue. I'm going to take my Democratic ass to bed. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Cycling
A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I'd decided to buy myself a bike. I did some research online and read about the different kinds of bikes, how they compare to each other in comfort and price, that sort of thing. After checking out Target and Wal-Mart, I asked my chiropractor for advice, since he's an outdoorsy type. He likes to bike as well, and he recommended a local bike shop in Havelock. I like giving business to local folks, so after work one hot Friday, dear hubby and I stopped in. A little more than an hour later, we left with two Trek bicycles and a definite appreciation for the gentleman who owns and runs The Bike Depot.
You know how you can meet someone and know right away that they're genuinely into what they do for a living? This guy was like that. He loves biking and bikes, and he genuinely likes talking to people about bikes and helping them find the right bike. He talked to me about what I want to do---bike for exercise and relaxation, as well as explore the area. He explained the physiology of biking and how our hips and knee joints work when we pedal. He wasn't trying to make a sale. As a matter of fact, he gave me a catalog with good candidates marked and encouraged me to shop around. When I told him I was really interested in the Trek bike he had in the shop, he explained everything about it to me: best surfaces for riding (pavement and hard-packed dirt/gravel), how the gears and brakes worked, why the frame was the right size for my height, why the tires looked the way they did, and then he told me to me take the bike outside and ride it around so I could make sure I liked it.
In case you can't tell, he impressed me. A lot. And I don't impress easily because I'm cynical and crabby.
So hubby and I have been riding our bikes daily since then, with just a few days off due to weather (lightning and a metal frame don't mix), bad air quality from a fire, and a couple of instances where one or the other felt unwell.
I wish I could adequately describe how I feel when I'm on that bike. Cycling helps me focus. My brain quiets down, and the crap from the work-day falls away. I love the soundtrack of cycling: the faint tick-tick-tick-tick-tick of the wheel spokes when we coast, the rush of birdsong, breezes rustling the trees and scattering fallen magnolia leaves so that they sound like pages turning, the excited yips and woofs of neighborhood dogs when we ride by.
I see something different every time we ride, even if we follow the same paths. One day, I see everyone's flowers are blooming, the splashes of color bright against the green of grass and hedge. On other days, I notice statuary: St. Francis gazing at his cupped hands, a crane arching its verdigris neck, a blue stone rabbit standing sentry by the steps. Then there's the joy of the unexpected: rounding a corner and seeing a massive concrete rhino basking in the sun; meeting a pigeon-toed geese couple in a cul-de-sac; catching the quickest glimpse of a bashful fox; hearing the drumbeat whir of wings as doves take to the air; spying the heavy damask face of a magnolia blossom as big as a salad plate; riding through a sweet scent-wall of honeysuckle hidden in a strand of trees.
Cycling has helped me ditch my self-consciousness about my chubby, farmer's-tanned arms; I wear sleeveless t-shirts and tank tops to take advantage of any coolness in the air. I don't obsess about how my big butt must look perched on that little seat. I don't worry about what the sleek black helmet is doing to my hair. I just pedal, and I feel myself smiling because my heart is light. My heart and lungs work together. I can feel my blood flowing. Even when I'm sweating and my bad knee starts to twinge because it's going to rain soon, I can tell my body is thankful for the exercise, for the chance to soak up late afternoon light, for the reprieve from artificial light and computer screens and stress.
My bike is worth every penny I spent on it, and I'm worth every minute I spend cycling instead of working on my never-ending to-do list.
Life is good, y'all.
You know how you can meet someone and know right away that they're genuinely into what they do for a living? This guy was like that. He loves biking and bikes, and he genuinely likes talking to people about bikes and helping them find the right bike. He talked to me about what I want to do---bike for exercise and relaxation, as well as explore the area. He explained the physiology of biking and how our hips and knee joints work when we pedal. He wasn't trying to make a sale. As a matter of fact, he gave me a catalog with good candidates marked and encouraged me to shop around. When I told him I was really interested in the Trek bike he had in the shop, he explained everything about it to me: best surfaces for riding (pavement and hard-packed dirt/gravel), how the gears and brakes worked, why the frame was the right size for my height, why the tires looked the way they did, and then he told me to me take the bike outside and ride it around so I could make sure I liked it.
In case you can't tell, he impressed me. A lot. And I don't impress easily because I'm cynical and crabby.
So hubby and I have been riding our bikes daily since then, with just a few days off due to weather (lightning and a metal frame don't mix), bad air quality from a fire, and a couple of instances where one or the other felt unwell.
I wish I could adequately describe how I feel when I'm on that bike. Cycling helps me focus. My brain quiets down, and the crap from the work-day falls away. I love the soundtrack of cycling: the faint tick-tick-tick-tick-tick of the wheel spokes when we coast, the rush of birdsong, breezes rustling the trees and scattering fallen magnolia leaves so that they sound like pages turning, the excited yips and woofs of neighborhood dogs when we ride by.
I see something different every time we ride, even if we follow the same paths. One day, I see everyone's flowers are blooming, the splashes of color bright against the green of grass and hedge. On other days, I notice statuary: St. Francis gazing at his cupped hands, a crane arching its verdigris neck, a blue stone rabbit standing sentry by the steps. Then there's the joy of the unexpected: rounding a corner and seeing a massive concrete rhino basking in the sun; meeting a pigeon-toed geese couple in a cul-de-sac; catching the quickest glimpse of a bashful fox; hearing the drumbeat whir of wings as doves take to the air; spying the heavy damask face of a magnolia blossom as big as a salad plate; riding through a sweet scent-wall of honeysuckle hidden in a strand of trees.
Cycling has helped me ditch my self-consciousness about my chubby, farmer's-tanned arms; I wear sleeveless t-shirts and tank tops to take advantage of any coolness in the air. I don't obsess about how my big butt must look perched on that little seat. I don't worry about what the sleek black helmet is doing to my hair. I just pedal, and I feel myself smiling because my heart is light. My heart and lungs work together. I can feel my blood flowing. Even when I'm sweating and my bad knee starts to twinge because it's going to rain soon, I can tell my body is thankful for the exercise, for the chance to soak up late afternoon light, for the reprieve from artificial light and computer screens and stress.
My bike is worth every penny I spent on it, and I'm worth every minute I spend cycling instead of working on my never-ending to-do list.
Life is good, y'all.
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