Fall in love with me, to fall in love with yourself.

I will probably want to heavily edit this. I so yearn for purity and perfection. To be understood and seen as having something worthy of your time. Thank you for your attention.

My sense is that there are overlaps and common ideas, practices, between NVC and the Neurodiversity paradigm. I am more and more convinced that they are both in service of shared emancipatory goals.

A while ago I said I would write a guide for neurodiversity inclusion. There is often a desire for a tick list of things one can do to ensure inclusion (of course there is). I wrote a few and was unhappy with my results. As the saying goes, if you have met and autistic person, you have met an autistic person. In other words, we are individuals with individual needs.

Unfortunately its more complex than a checkbox list, and so I was unable to write one. Becoming neurodivergent inclusive is a journey that invites self growth and deconstruction of cultural ideas promulgated through dominator culture.

An example of the overlap with NVC is the invitation to deconstruct diagnostic thinking. With that also comes the invitation to deconstruct the social structures that embody diagnostic thinking, i.e. to engage with critical psychiatry. We know that Dr. Rosenberg was influenced by Dr. Thomas Szasz. And yet, it is rare for me to see such a deconstruction of the medicalisation of neurodifference or mental distress having happened in so many of the practitioners of NVC in our community. Evidence for me might include co-design of events such that autistic people like me are more able to attend without overwhelm. It not being about 'accommodations' but inclusion in design. For instance, lower expectations about presence or not in any given space at any time would make it more possible to prioritise self care of energy levels. Or quiet spaces to eat. Or written materials being given before events. Or [insert things] – perhaps you can see both the temptation and limitation of such a checklist!?

And in groups I have sometimes invited a small impromptu pop analysis, such as 'hold up your hand if you identify as neurodivergent or have a diagnosis'. Each time I have then estimated that there is about double the percentage of neurodivergent people in each group (and by extrapolation, our community) as we might expect in a population sample. How curious!

Of course I have theories about that.. but those are for another missive at some other time.

And of course, NVC invites and nurtures self advocacy, naming, requesting and dogging that our needs might be met. Again here, autistic spaces overlap with NVC spaces, with a shredding of the dominator culture social contract. But in autistic spaces it often goes further, for example, it is usually perfectly OK to just get up and leave without explanation, there is trust and respect for autonomy. How liberating! Another overlap is the journey to become more aware of our needs, in order to make it more possible for them to be met and for us to be able to show up in ways we more enjoy.

What can make that journey harder in dominator culture, is the assumption and modelling and privileging of neurotypicality. By example by situating neurodifference within a domain of mental health categories. And from that comes an ensuing evaluation of what is acceptable or normative. And, it is my sense that this assumption often carries over from dominator culture, and its mental health professions, into our NVC cultures. Of course it does!

And seeing how Marshall rejected this social structure, his profession, was a large affirmation for me, and really contributed to why I was so attracted to NVC, even when it was so confusing to me as to why my needs as an autistic person were so unmet in so many NVC spaces, and even when I saw less of the embodiment or shared understanding of that aspect of Marshall's insight in our community of practise.

Sorry. Anyhow, I am delighted to be able to share a preview of some research my peers are doing. Here is your checklist, kinda!

My understanding is that humans having sex without the intention of reproducing tricks, the brain and exploits our wiring. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. But I can’t help but see the parallels on how I had casual sex today, and afterwards when I was cuddling with them, I found myself thinking about imagining they were someone I was in a relationship with. Like it was someone different than them. This feels like how I would hug a pillow and sometimes think about hugging my future partner. Except this is a real person, and I just had sex with them. It feels like I’m trying to hack the oxytocin from my brain. But it also feels like I am deceiving this person, and maybe this is just the weird game everyone plays.

Written by Roger Young. Images by Luke Daniel.

Source: Mahala, print issue #1, pp. 23–25.

---

If we treat people as they are, they will stay as they are. If we treat people as they ought to be, we help them become what they are capable of becoming. – Goethe.

In spring the arum lily sellers appear all over Cape Town. I knew they’d be at the traffic light as I approached. I had my window down and was trying to call one of them over when the hawkers began to scatter; not all of them, the rose sellers, the joke traders and the Scooters pamphlet girl stood firm. But the men and their arums ran. They had little chance; the police had approached from both sides. They were hustled and dragged without so much as a question, their flowers now in police hands. I asked a cop, leaning out of breath against the traffic light pole, what they had done.

“The lilies,” he said. “They’re not allowed to sell them.”

It seemed heavy handed. There were assumptions at work here; that the lily sellers were obviously breaking the law, that they had obtained the flowers illegally, that they deserved this treatment. It didn’t take much research to discover how deeply the lilies were connected to the land in Constantia on which the original arum lily farmers lived for generations. Land that is locked in a bureaucratic land restitution quagmire; expensive, expansive plots nestled between the upper class mansions of Constantia.

The arum lily is an unprotected wildflower. Picking and selling wildflowers is illegal in the Western Cape unless you have a permit. In spring 2010 the Cape Argus published an article supporting the notion that the picking of arum’s was endangering the arum lily micro frog.

Moses Jaftha, a flower grower in the Constantia valley’s green belt, says he has, in all his years of flower growing, “never seen this frog.” Back when Moses lived on Strawberry Lane before the forced removals, his mother used to pick and sell lilies when the crops were low, “to put food on the table.” He is one of the many people waiting for his land claim to be settled. While he waits he rents land from the council to grow flowers.

“Those that wanted money, they got paid out already.” He says. “We who want land, I don’t know. I don’t have much hope.”

Jaftha has an air of fatalism. He sits in his wooden hut next to the equestrian training grounds and sells flowers to the residents of Constantia. He knows that the land he grew up on is unobtainable. It’s now a long row of upper class houses with SUV’s in the garages. Many of his customers are people who live in those houses. All of this he accepts with a shrug. When the Land Restitution Act was passed in 1994 he had hope. Now he is merely weary. He doesn’t even know what land he would be getting if it ever came to pass, and if he would even have the right to occupy it. He has been waiting since 1996.

Then, long after the lily season had ended, the City of Cape Town website declared that the arum lily micro frog does not actually exist. It goes on to claim that the other species of frog are being threatened by development and not by flower sales. And then tries to justify the clampdown on people selling lilies because they may also try sell you a protea.

The endangered frog fiction seems to stem from a wilful misreading of the facts. It’s an us versus them way of thinking that looks for reasons to distance oneself from the ubiquitous “other”. A sense of misplaced upper class entitlement that seeks to sideline and criminalise the kind of people who might be moving in next door, in order to justify one’s indignation at the horror of the poor.

The land claimants are used to this kind of patronizing sidelining, they know how the people of Constantia have always viewed coloured people. During interviews three separate claimants brought up the fact that, in the time before the removals, the Paddasvlei police station closed down because of the lack of crime. We are a peaceful people, they seemed to urge, all we want is our land back so that we can return to farming. It’s being in this position, knowing that the upper classes have, through years of generalisation, criminalized your race, that makes people run when they’re selling flowers at a traffic light. They know that guilt is already assumed.

The entire question of the land claim is exasperated by a sort of suburban ennui, a lack of desire to upset the status quo. The residents of Constantia, have no desire for the empty plots between their houses to be handed over to people that they have always, historically, mistrusted. In 2008 when MP Marius Fransman spearheaded a housing development plan for Porter Estate near Tokai, Constantia residents reacted furiously. Arguing that low cost housing will invariably devalue their property.

However the Constantia Hills Resident Association (CHRA) is taking a different approach “It’s incredibly sad that this is not being resolved fast enough,” says Liz Brunette. “We only came into this two years ago. You must understand the frustration, some of these people have been waiting for eighteen years.” But how does the average Constantia resident feel? “With very few exceptions, the residents are ready to welcome the land claimants back to their land.” But then why do the CHRA need to be involved? “There was a group of people who were very interested in the future of those properties. It’s on the border of Constantia Hills and it affects us.”

It’s obvious that the CHRA want to see the right thing happen but their perception of land use is probably very different to that of the claimants. Brunette says that “As soon as they have land, they have an asset. How they realise that is their choice.”

Does she think subsistence farming is possible in the Constantia region?

“The Constantia of fifty years ago is gone” she replies, “If they wanted to they could apply for zoning, of course, but this is a residential area now and the land in question is zoned for a school.”

The deadly assumption embedded in the Goethe quote at the beginning of this article suggests that one set of people might think they know what’s best for another.

Constantia is fertile; it’s why the land claimant’s ancestors farmed there. It is in a unique position to have small organic farms interspersed between upmarket houses. This would be a huge benefit to all. The claimants would have their land, the residents would have access to locally produced organic food and through this process, the traditionally estranged could, on a small scale, be given the opportunity to reconcile. But this opportunity may already be lost.

How many of the land claimants actually want to, or would be able to, farm is now another question entirely. Those, like the Solomons, who are waiting for deeds are reluctant to talk about their intentions for the land. Those that have their deeds are waiting for zoning. But many have given up. Others have simply died.

Ellen Deane, a claimant who grew up on Paddasvlei, says, “It’s too much energy to want to live there. I would have opted for low cost housing, but now I’ll wait for my deed and the grace period and I’ll probably sell. Constantia will never be what it was when I was growing up.

“Everything we had, we grew. And in winter when we didn’t have, we sold the arums. My father used to pull the bulbs out of the fields and plant them there in the ditches on the side of the road, so that they would grow, so we would have them to sell. And now we are told they can’t be picked.”

“If heaven is comparable to the life we had then, then I would tell you to do your utmost to get to heaven.” says Frank Marco, of the Constantia Valley Land Claims Beneficiaries Trust. Marco now lives in Lotus River, in a small house with a dry garden. His wife seems reluctant to let us speak to him. He explains “she was there as well, after we married. Talking about this stirs up a lot of memories.” He grew up in Paddasvlei where his family had farmed for four generations. “We didn’t have electricity or running water, I used to have to keep the vlei clean for our drinking water.” They grew fruit and vegetables for their own consumption and to sell. They lived off the land and sold the excess crops. When they were forcibly removed in 1964 he says, “we could take our belongings with us but we couldn’t take the trees.”

“The bean price shot up a few years later.” He says quietly. “If I had stayed on that land, I would have been a millionaire.”

In 1998 Marco was told he would get his land back. “I rejoiced. Now these are just memories of battles lost. We were told that if the land were undeveloped it would be granted to us. But that land is still undeveloped.”

I ask Marco if he has passed any of his farming knowledge onto his children.

“My father’s grandfather had that land, from the early 1800s we lived there. That knowledge was passed down. But my kids, what can I teach them? How to grow flowers in a garden? The flowers here dry up.”

The Land Restitution Act relies on the principle of willing seller; including government departments. Marco’s land is now privately owned, and has been for years. DA Councillor Denis Joseph says, “the owner of that land doesn’t have to sell, it’s unlikely that anyone will get Paddasvlei back. But…” he insists, “people are getting land!”

Joseph, lays the blame for the slow rate of land restitution on the Land Claims Commission “The national policy is to pay out rather than to get people back onto their land. It’s not a right policy, It’s not a moral policy.” But he’s at pains to point out that it’s not a race issue. “Even white people who have claims in Philippi are still waiting. It’s everyone. The Apartheid government took land away from everyone. They did what they wanted. And now this government is doing the same.”

From December to early January, I tried to get hold of Patrick Thembani, the project manager handling many of these claims, I was met with an out of order cell number and a landline that was either constantly busy or never answered. Regional Commissioner Beverly Jansen did not return my emails.

“I’m not surprised.” Says Joseph. “It’s impossible to get hold of those people. They simply do not want to help. They really don’t want to give people land. And more than that there are old people, who have waited a long time, with claims in Tokai whose land is worth a million rand and now they have accepted as little as 90 thousand, because they have been made to feel it is their only option.”

Whether it is merely bureaucratic bungling or a kind of go slow pressure tactic to get land claimants to settle for less; the end result is the same. This is not a reconciliatory process. The slow rate of land reform, the government stonewalling, the saga of the fake endangered frog and the fact that selling lilies is illegal, all add up to a simple truth: The land claimants do not feel welcome in Constantia.

When I finally get hold of Thembani he tells me “I don’t think justice is being done. Restitution is by its nature political and therefore it’s handled at the level of politicians and that works slowly.” He says that the former ANC MEC for Transport and Public works Marius Fransman sent the LCC a letter on the 8th July 2008 stating that the land was available and ready to be handed over, “but to this date, nothing tangible has resulted.” He also points out that due to the change over to the DA, the bureaucratic process has been futher delayed.

“There is a lot of vacant land in Constantia.” Says Thembani, “and it’s owned by state departments. When we ask them for that land we never get answers. At least those departments can tell us what that land is earmarked for. But we don’t know. And because we don’t know people get bitter.”

“Thembani can blame who he likes.” Says Liz Brunette. “The fact of the matter is that the ball is in their court.” It’s a frustrating and tangled web with a lot of cross blaming. And while time continues to pass, the remaining claimants merely get older.

On the one hand the residents of Constantia truly want the land claimants to have their land but their approach is informed by an entrenched suspicion of the lower classes, combined with a late capitalist fatalism. On the other, the land claimants, already poor and dispossessed, are faced with a large and indifferent bureaucratic machine that disregards the value of time. Irretrievable time. A large opportunity is slipping away.

“The others, some have taken money, some have taken those houses but I just want my farm.” Says Frank Marco. “But I’m old now I won’t be able to farm. I’d have to clean out the vlei and make the rivers flow again. I must just forget.” But he has not forgotten. He knows the land can still be made to bear fruit.

---

Archive note: Transcribed from the supplied photographs of the print pages. Original wording and print spellings retained; page and column breaks removed. Photographs are not reproduced here. The portrait on p. 25 is captioned “Moses Jaftha.”

It’s dark and cloudy outside, and a chill is in the air! I think I might’ve seen the moon too, and if so, it shone strongly.

The night belongs to the frogs! They are everywhere, of all sizes and frog shapes,

But during daylight, I see them only when it rains.

Where are they the rest of the time?

How many frogs do I kill with the lawnmower?

It’s a slaughter, maybe

And even though that might be,

And even though I love frogs

Still i mow

Such is the power of

Imagination

Today has been the best recovery day so far. I did have nausea last night for a few hours, but it eventually went away. I think I will continue to take it easy, but I was able to cook a little and go for a little walk. I even went out for the first time and supported my kickball team. I am starting to feel some doubt and stress about what comes next. After my recovery is done, since my case has been approved I should technically start looking for jobs or getting back to some normality. I am scared for what that process looks like and I feel like I have lost a lot of confidence in myself. It doesn’t need to be resolved today, but it is starting to hang in the back of my mind.

I have another crush now too, but I feel like it isn’t the time to focus on one or another. I fear it may never be the right time, but we will see what happens. I am terrible at initiating things so I don’t really know what next steps here would be.

All I know, is that everything will work out and I will figure it out. I know it sounds cheesy, but I do believe things are always working out for me exactly how they are supposed to.

Thank you for your message. I am currently out of office — but not for much longer.

I still think of you every October 1st.

It's been 11 years since you've been gone but I take comfort in knowing that you can finally see that I did it all for you.

That’s what love does to people, doesn't it? Sometimes the deepest & purest love makes you do crazy things.

Meaning..………

At least I’m not shallow.

Well, if that’s the case, I guess I don’t mind being called crazy.

Because YOU WERE WORTH IT, that’s why!

And…………

THAT is why I did it all – for YOU...

🌟💔🌟💔🌟💔🌟


Publicat la 12 ianuarie 2017

Am fost întrebat zilele acestea, de către o prietenă, dacă trebuie să mă scoată din blogroll, după ce i-am spus că mi-am făcut blogurile private. Gândindu-mă mai bine, mi-am dat seama că mi-a mai ramas public un blog, anume cel de pe WordPress (nu, nu este vorba de acesta). Respectivul blog a „scăpat” dintr-un motiv relativ tehnic (are o temă), pe când celelalte mă defineau. Așadar am renunțat tocmai la blogurile care se mulează cel mai bine pe definiția de blog, anume jurnal online. Deși statisticile arătau valori foarte reduse de trafic, cu excepția momentelor de atac cibernetic asupra serverelor (de la multe zeci la câteva sute de vizite simultan, față de doar câteva vizite zilnic), iar propria intimitate online nu mai este demult o chestiune de intimitate (îmi dau seama de asta din notificările pe care mi le trimite Google în funcție de analogiile și asocierile pe care le face căutând continuu și complet automat informații în diversele mele conturi online pe tot felul de website-uri), am hotărât că mă dezvăluisem eu însumi prea mult lumii. Chiar dacă blogul rămas spune multe despre autorul său (inclusiv numele real), acela rămâne totuși un blog cu caracteristici specifice mai degrabă unui website decât unui blog, așa că am hotărât să îl cruț. Cred că mai am un motiv pentru care am renunțat la cele câteva bloguri, dar acela este un motiv personal pe care nu îl voi dezvălui, ci va rămâne ca un black-box ce va adăuga propria-i greutate pe talerul motivelor în favoarea desființării respectivelor bloguri.

Scriu sporadic, scriu despre filme, scriu despre cărți, scriu despre muzică, dar scriu. Ordinea este întămplătoare. Ca timp alocat acestor activități, le-aș ordona astfel: pe primul loc muzica (deoarece nu e o activitate în sine, putându-se desfășura în paralel cu alte activități), urmată de vizionarea de filme și lectură (aproape în durate egale în ultima vreme, cu o tendință mai pronunțată spre lectură), iar scrisul rămâne pe ultimul loc. Printre acestea presar în cantități generoase activități precum jobul și îndatoririle cotidiene, dar și călătoriile mai lungi sau mai scurte, mai dese ori mai rare. Cantitățile depind de factori precum dispoziția, vremea, data calendaristică și evenimentele din calendar, dar și de influențele externe asupra propriei dispoziții.

Soarele Albastru, The Blue Sun, mi-a plăcut de cum l-am văzut ca mod de apelare la adresa mea de către o originală autoare de blog. Atunci nu am știut că va deveni nume de blog, mai ales că o altă prietenă deja mă definise extraordinar de bine, doar că acea definire se potrivea perfect cu blogurile la care în scurt timp aveam să renunț. Cand voi reveni la acel stil de blog, voi folosi si numele dat de cealalta prietena!

Iarna e în toi, muzica de sărbătoare a ieșit din listele posturilor de radio, iar cărțile stau pe noptieră așteptând să fie citite. De fapt ele nu așteaptă nimic, ci mai degrabă stau pe noptieră până le voi citi și le voi muta undeva în bibliotecă. Afară lumea face poteci prin zăpadă umblând de colo colo cu treabă, sau plimbându-se de drag prin orașul înzăpezit, atunci cand timpul le-o permite sau soarele îi invită afară din casă.

Government public information should be published on public infrastructure first, then shared through open feeds to websites, social platforms, apps, and newsletters, ensuring open standards, wider access, and a more informed public.

Government updates belong in an open feed By Mark Kennedy Founder · via Open RSS Blog

Read original post →

I saw this blog post from OpenRSS in my RSS reader, and it interested me in more than one way. I agree wholeheartedly with its sentiment.

Government offices, officials and agencies used to seem much more focused on making information publicly accessible. Here in Florida, we even have strong public records and open meetings laws, commonly known as the Sunshine Law[1], though lately it sometimes feels like we are going through a cloudy season.

Now, however, it seems like a huge amount of government business, alerts and notifications take place primarily on Twitter. I still can't bring myself to call it X.

Public information should not require an account with a private company to access it. Government websites should be the primary source. The infrastructure is already there, already paid for by the public, and making information easily available should simply be part of doing the people's work.

Government could use POSSE (Publish (on your) Own Site, Syndicate Elsewhere). Publish the information on the official government website first, then send it to Twitter, Bluesky, Mastodon, Nostr, Facebook, Threads, Instagram or anywhere else people may be.

RSS should be one of the main ways to subscribe. It is open, simple and essentially free to provide once the website already exists. Services such as OpenRSS could also help where feeds do not already exist.

There is even a PESOS option (Publish Elsewhere, Syndicate (to your) Own Site). If an official posts somewhere else first, at the very least that information could be brought back to the government website and preserved there.

Other governments already make use of open feeds, including services in the UK and European Union. This is not some new or experimental technology.

Government should use social media and reach as wide a population as possible. But Twitter, Facebook, TikTok, Instagram or any other private company should never be the only way to receive public information.

Some federal, state and local governments already let people sign up for emergency text alerts, which is great. But Twitter is still often treated as the main place for both emergency and routine updates.

Government information should be published in as many ways as practical, whether it is an emergency alert or an ordinary update. That can include major technology and social media platforms, open technologies like RSS, and contracted services paid for with tax dollars. My local government, for example, uses text alerts through a notification service and used to use something called Everbridge.

Some of the mass-notification systems governments already pay for, including Everbridge and Genasys, even support RSS feeds. In some cases, the capability is already there and simply needs to be used.

The government should publish on infrastructure the public already pays for and distribute everywhere else. Let's keep people informed and use every practical resource available.

Just because an elected official's account on social media isn't private doesn't mean anyone can view its posts. You need an account on the platform just to see the updates. But many of us don't have an account and have no interest in creating one. Others have intentionally ditched a platform, haven't been on it for years, and don't want back on for legitimate reasons.

— Mark Kennedy, Founder, Government updates belong in an open feed, OpenRSS Blog

1. Florida's Sunshine Law: [Statute 286.011 — Public meetings and records](https://www.leg.state.fl.us/Statutes/index.cfm?App_mode=Display_Statute&Search_String=&URL=0200-0299/0286/Sections/0286.011.html) and [Chapter 119 — Public Records](https://www.leg.state.fl.us/statutes/index.cfm?App_mode=Display_Statute&URL=0100-0199/0119/0119.html). ↩

#government #publicpolicy #technology

When I was but a child eagerly awaiting my first day of school, I rushed back and forth to the library via my tiny, little legs. My grandmother would speed walk along sidewalks lining traffic, and I would race upon the grass beside her. One day, I'd possibly be faster!

But go, we did not just do. The library was a magical place that always left me in awe. It was filled with books my future self might read, mysterious card catalogs that told adults what to do and where to go, and there was a room filled with music boxes; something I had only ever seen briefly on television. There was also the microfiche — an enchanted beastie for sure! I wasn't allowed to touch it, but she could bring history to our fingertips. Oh, the stories she shared! I was both riveted and enchanted, simultaneously.

With that said, you did not approach the grand height of steps bedraggled with dirty shins and grass in your hair. My dog ears glistened in the sunlight as they whipped at my waist, held in place by ribbons of the day. Usually puffy yarn like numbers that looked like I was wearing caterpillars. I'd either be in a dress or shorts and a triangular halter top; all lovingly stitched by her just for me.

Ever the little lady, I was practically a gallivanting rainbow of laughter and squeaks. If I recall correctly, my favorite outfit was a pink plaid dress with shoulder ruffles, clear buttons that held them in place, and matching shorts that were hidden underneath. I got the best of both worlds in my little outfits like that. I could be Ginger, up on stage performing musicals in my grandparents' living room, or I could be Mary Ann making mud pies, climbing trees, and doing everything better than the boys — my arch rivals!

I got both ridiculed and complimented on my dresses once school started. But I always loved the clothing my grandmother made me. I saw her bent over her sewing machine, allowing me to help in little ways. She also learned the good places for garage sales.

I think she was probably more aware of the teasing than I was. She always made sure to lift me up and feed my confidence in a healthy way. A true matriarch if ever there was one. My grandmother worked her fingers to the bone, held her head high, and could outshine any woman in her handsewn dresses. She was a role model.

Once I started having sleepovers with other children, I would get terrified at night. Having waking nightmares in an unfamiliar place was scary. No one knew that's what it was then. I just knew things came for me at night. Men with knives, omen with rocks, monsters with ropes and chains, and lots of fire. I would either wake up screaming and disturb the families, or often cry to go home. Those screams and tears often came with bed wetting.

It was most embarrassing. I also had “accidents” at school. I idolized teachers, and I couldn't stand to get in trouble with them because I really wanted them to like me. So I would try to hold it in. I didn't always succeed. That definitely got me taunted. Worse, I feared I'd ruined the pretty clothes my grandmother had made me. Especially because around that time, I started receiving more and more clothes from stores like K-Mart.

Did she not like making me dresses anymore? Was she upset with me because little ladies know how to properly use the restroom? Or worst of all, did I somehow hurt her feelings because I didn't take care of my pretty dresses?

One day, my fears were put to rest because she happened to overhear me with my Barbies. You see, my grandmother did not only make me dresses, she often made matching outfits for my Barbies. I believe she caught me chastising Skipper while trying to shove her into my Dream Kitchen's dishwasher as I had Barbie lecture her on stealing clothes and getting them dirty. I was probably loudly exclaiming what a bad and horribly filthy girl Skipper was. It didn't help that I never liked Skipper dolls.

I guess she understood the situation for what it was. I'm sure my mother would have told her about the accidents. I remember that she sat down on the floor with me and dressed up a Western Barbie in rodeo attire, plopped her on the back of one of my horses, and had her galloping into my kitchen — complete with horse sounds. (My family was in rodeo and I loved Mister Ed, so it was the perfect thing to do to get my attention. I loved seeing photos when she was in her rodeo attire.)

We had a real conversation about what was happening that day. I don't remember the words. I don't remember what was said. I remember her wrapping me in her arms while telling me she loved me, that I was beautiful, that I'd never make her mad over such an accident, and that anyone who teased me was jealous of my pretty dresses. And then we went to her fabric stash to pick out material for a new set, and I played with her buttons.

Fast forward several years to my teens. I was in a horrible accident that significantly constricted my movement. I had a catheter, but it was impossible for me to get to a toilet; even had one been beside the bed. My beautiful hair did not look so beautiful. I was covered in cuts and bruises. And I was forced to use a bed pan. Even raising myself enough to do that had me in tears from the physical pain. The psychological pain from humiliation was much worse. Especially since I was not accomplished at using such a device.

I had so many mental battles occurring at that time. I felt shame. I felt weak. I felt more vulnerable than I could possibly describe. I felt like a broken burden, and I could not get my body to listen to me. That kind of helplessness is a very challenging lesson to learn. It's a lesson that had to be learned, and I had choices to make.

It would be a while before I could make it to the restroom with a lot of help. I don't think I was very appreciative of that help. Nor did I realize at the time how challenging it must have been, both physically and mentally, for who were helping me. Both my fear and my physical and emotional pain had me verbally lashing out a lot. I had not gained control of my emotions yet in that way.

Once again, she showed up and was able to get through to me in a way no one else could. She had cut apart panties and had resewn them in a manner where I could dress and undress myself without as much difficulty. She also had a very adult, but loving heart-to-heart with me. That was a rough conversation, but it helped clear my head so that I could focus on what it'd take to get some independence back.

There was no physical therapy, and there was no easy way to overcome it. There was survival and my determination to prove the doctors wrong. They could have been right, but I had dreams to fulfill and promises to myself to keep.

She supported me every step of the way, and was watching each time I stepped upon a new stage or across a new threshold. The parade deck did not thrill her, but she drove halfway across the country to bring belated Christmas sweets and hug me with tears in her eyes. My grandmother did not cry in public, but she never hid the happy glisten from me.

Later, I'd experience more embarrassing moments where my body revolted against me, but she had passed away by then. Still, each time I find myself in such a struggling place, I think of her, and I think of the very important lessons she taught me before I had any understanding of the philosophical ideas that would eventually find me.

The only person that can stop me from holding my head high is myself. There is no failure in being unable to do something when zero choice is given. I will make mistakes, and I am still loved. Respect is earned by action, not station. And I should always find joy and help others smile because that is the real fountain of youth.

I don't always succeed, but I think of the love both she and my grandfather radiated, and I know I eventually will. Most importantly, I will love myself doing so, because that is a superpower that only I can control.

———

After a conversation with a friend earlier today, I decided to reread Epictetus' Discourses because it's been a very long time, and I wondered how differently I might view it now that I've added many more years to my name. I have just finished reading chapter two.

It had not dawned on me just how stoic my grandmother was. Society tends to associate it with less warmth, I think. However, when I contemplate the persons I have known who I would say practice the idea of it the most, whether intentionally or no. They are always filled with warmth, compassion, and an inner light that cannot be snuffed out.

These are the memories that stood out in my mind as I was reading the chapters. What a most blessed gift. I tear up thinking about how generous she was with her love. I will never be as hardworking as she was. Not by a longshot. I think of all she did day in and day out, and I am amazed. But maybe, just maybe, I can be as compassionate, understanding, and loving. I would like that. I would like that a lot. Look at her still inspiring goals decades after she last drew breath in that form...

It's still raining outside. It has been a most beautiful day.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Though I wasn't able to do much work toward our move today, I did win one of my ongoing CC games. I won this game with a nifty Qb4# on my 47th move, my Black Queen protected by her a5 pawn. The position of pieces at game's end is above, at the top of this post, and our full, briefly annotated move record is below. This game started on 30th August and was played with a comfortable five days per move time control.

1. e4 a6 { B00 St. George Defense } 2. Nf3 Nc6 3. d4 h6 4. Bd3 d6 5. c3 Nf6 6. d5 Ne5 7. Nxe5 dxe5 8. f3 e6 9. Bc4 b5 10. Bb3 Bc5 11. f4 Nh7 12. fxe5 Qh4+ 13. g3 Qxe4+ 14. Kd2 O-O 15. Re1 Qf5 16. Qe2 Bb7 17. Rf1 Qg6 18. c4 Bb4+ 19. Kd1 exd5 20. cxd5 Rad8 21. Bd2 Bxd2 22. Qxd2 Qg4+ 23. Kc1 Ng5 24. Nc3 Nf3 25. Qf2 b4 26. Bd1 bxc3 27. bxc3 Qg5+ 28. Kb2 Bxd5 29. h4 Qxe5 30. Bxf3 Rb8+ 31. Kc2 Be4+ 32. Bxe4 Qxe4+ 33. Kc1 f6 34. Qc2 Qe7 35. Rb1 Rxb1+ { Black offers draw } 36. Kxb1 c5 37. Qd3 a5 38. Qb5 Qe4+ 39. Kb2 Qg2+ 40. Ka3 Qxg3 41. Qc4+ Kh8 42. Qxc5 Rf7 43. Qc8+ Kh7 44. Rd1 Qe5 45. Rd7 Rxd7 46. Qxd7 Qxc3+ 47. Ka4 Qb4# { Black wins by checkmate. } 0-1

And the adventure continues.

Publicat la 1 ianuarie 2017

Am senzația că și anul ăsta va fi unul de tip sus-jos.

Am experimentat deja ambele pante, dar e o senzație, nu un fapt; am spus-o chiar de la început.

Probabil că vor fi oscilații dezechilibrate, pulsând în jurul unei orizontale. Va fi, deci, anul ăsta un an în care, per ansamblu, nu se va schimba nimic?!

Scenarii…

Realitatea este întotdeauna aceea care naște scenarii în mintea noastră, dar scenariile născocite pălesc apoi în fața realității.

I’m getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip…

The Beach Boys — I Get Around

In Summary: * A steady driving rain almost all day prevented us from hauling more stuff out to the trailer. Maybe tomorrow the weather will be more cooperative and let us get more moving done. We've got so much stuff boxed that we need to get over to the trailer, so we can bring the empty boxes back to the house and load them up with more stuff.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 219.14 lbs. * bp= 147/86 (65)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, toe raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 04:00 – 1 banana * 05:30 – pizza * 12:00 – Mongolian beef lunch plate, steamed rice, egg drop soup. * 14:00 – dish of ice cream

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:00 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:00 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 06:00 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to music * 11:30 – met with mover * 12:00 – lunch with the wife * 13:00 – go to bank * 13:30 – back home in the steady, driving rain. * 15:00 – listen to the Jack Riccardi Show * 17:00 – just back from the jeweler's with new watch bands on my two wrist watches, the favorite and the backup.

Chess: * 14:50 – moved in all pending CC games, winning one.

Chapter 1: When You Notice You Have Been Somewhere Else

Sometimes the realization comes in a very ordinary moment. You are standing at the kitchen counter, looking at a cup you poured twenty minutes ago and never touched. Your phone is nearby. There are messages waiting, something unfinished in another room, and one more thing you promised yourself you would handle before the day ends. Nothing is falling apart, but you feel as though you have been everywhere except where you actually are. That is the heart of this Christian video about slowing down and remembering what matters when life gets busy, because sometimes the greatest loss in a crowded season is not time. It is presence.

I know how easy it is to tell yourself that you will be more present later. After this week. After this project. After the next appointment. After the pressure eases. You keep moving because the things in front of you are real, and many of them genuinely matter. Yet eventually you may notice that this related Christian reflection on keeping faith and life in their proper place is not really about escaping responsibility. It is about recognizing when responsibility has begun occupying places in your heart that belong to something deeper.

There are quiet things in life that rarely fight for your attention. God does not force you to stop scrolling and pray. The person who loves you may not interrupt when they see you are overwhelmed. A tired body may keep going long after it should have rested. Even your own thoughts can wait patiently while you spend another day answering everyone else. That patience can fool us into believing those things will always be there whenever we finally make room for them.

Maybe that is what makes busyness so deceptive. It does not usually arrive as something obviously harmful. It often comes dressed as responsibility. You are helping someone, finishing something important, keeping a promise, or trying to build a better future. All of that can be good. But good things can still crowd out better things when we stop paying attention.

Jesus lived among people who constantly needed Him, yet the Gospels show Him stepping away to pray. I find comfort in that because it means stepping back is not the same as abandoning what matters. Sometimes stepping back is how we remember what matters.

You may not need a dramatic change. Maybe tonight you need ten quiet minutes without your phone. Maybe tomorrow morning you need to pray before checking messages. Maybe you need to sit beside someone you love and actually hear the whole story instead of listening while thinking about the next thing.

Those moments can feel small compared with everything demanding your attention.

But your life is made of small moments.

And some of the most important ones are still waiting quietly for you to notice them.

Chapter 2: The Cost of Always Being Available

There is a particular kind of weariness that shows up when your phone lights up again and you already know you are going to answer it. Maybe you are sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to wind down, when another message arrives. Someone needs advice. Someone has a question. Someone wants a decision. You care, so you respond. Then another message comes in, and before long the few quiet minutes you had left belong to everyone except you.

Being needed can feel meaningful. It can also become a habit we are afraid to break.

Some of us have spent years becoming the dependable person. We are the one who answers. We are the one who helps. We are the one people trust when something goes wrong. There is something good in that. Serving others is part of a faithful life. But being useful to people is not the same thing as being available every minute.

Even Jesus stepped away from people who wanted something from Him.

That matters to me because it removes some of the guilt from saying, “Not right now.”

Maybe your example is a family member who calls while you are already carrying more than you can handle. You love them, but the conversation can wait until tomorrow. Maybe it is a work message after dinner that feels urgent only because someone sent it late. Maybe it is the habit of checking your phone every few minutes because silence makes you wonder whether somebody needs you.

You are allowed to create space where nobody has immediate access to you.

That does not make you uncaring. It may actually help you become more loving because you stop giving people the most depleted version of yourself.

There is another reason this matters spiritually. Constant noise can keep us from noticing what is happening inside. When every quiet moment gets filled, we never have to face the tiredness, sadness, gratitude, fear, or questions that have been waiting underneath everything else.

God often meets us there.

Not always in the dramatic moment. Sometimes in the silence after the phone is set down. Sometimes in the few minutes before sleep when we finally admit, “Lord, I am tired.” Sometimes in a morning when we stop trying to sound spiritual and simply tell Him the truth.

You do not need to earn those moments by completing everything first.

There will always be another person who wants something. There will always be another task that can be done.

But there are parts of your heart that cannot stay postponed forever.

Give them a little room.

God may already be waiting there.

Chapter 3: What You May Be Missing While You Hurry

You might notice it while standing outside for a moment longer than usual. Maybe the air is cooler than you expected. Maybe the sky has changed color while you were inside working. For once, nobody is talking to you, and nothing in your hand needs an answer. You realize how long it has been since you simply noticed where you were.

That kind of moment can feel almost unfamiliar when life has been moving fast.

We can become so focused on what comes next that we stop receiving what is already here. We rush through breakfast because of the meeting. We rush through the meeting because of the next responsibility. We rush through dinner because there is still something to finish. Then we wonder why the days seem to disappear.

Maybe they disappear because we keep trying to get through them.

Faith invites us to live differently. Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day the Lord has made.” That verse is easy to quote, but harder to live when the day is crowded. It asks us to see today as more than something to survive on the way to tomorrow.

That matters especially during seasons when life feels demanding. You may be caring for someone who needs you. You may be working harder than usual. You may be dealing with financial pressure, family strain, or responsibilities that cannot simply be ignored. None of that makes presence easy.

But presence does not require pretending the pressure is gone.

It can be as simple as noticing one good thing before the day ends. Maybe someone checked on you. Maybe you laughed when you did not expect to. Maybe you got through something that felt difficult this morning. Maybe you had food on the table, a safe place to sleep, or a few quiet minutes when you could breathe and remember that God was still with you.

Gratitude is not denial. It is attention.

It is deciding that pressure will not be the only thing you notice.

There is something deeply freeing about that. You do not need to wait until your life is less complicated before you start living it. You do not need an empty calendar before you can have peace. You do not need everything fixed before you can thank God.

You can meet Him here.

Right in the middle of the unfinished day.

And maybe that is where we begin to recover the parts of life that have been waiting quietly all along.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Explore the complete Douglas Vandergraph Master Index: https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph


Publicat la 31 decembrie 2016

Aceeași oameni care cu puțin timp în urmă jurau credință liderului lor, după ce acesta nu a obținut tot ceea ce și-ar fi dorit ei în urma unor negocieri la care el i-a reprezentat,   acum au început să îl înjure. A jura și a înjura. Două cuvinte atât de apropiate și totuși atât de îndepărtate.

Este oare atât de greu să înțelegi că o negociere nu aduce tot ceea ce ți-ai fi dorit?! La o negociere trebuie să încerci să vezi lucrurile și din perspectiva celui cu care stai la masă față în față. La o negociere ambele părți au de pierdut, ambele părți au de câștigat, dar câștigul uneia reprezintă pierderea alteia și viceversa.

Anul ăsta (din care mai este puțin) pe mine m-a îndepărtat de vechile bloguri. Nu am făcut-o brusc, deși asta mi-a fost intenția, ci cu încă vreo câteva postări pe unul dintre ele deoarece aș fi vrut să scriu, iar subiectul avea legătură doar cu acel blog și cu acel eu din spatele său.

Anul ăsta m-a îndepărtat și de niște persoane. Nu aș fi vrut, dar cum nu sunt perfect, port și eu o bună parte din vină. Dar m-am și apropiat de altele.

Uitându-mă spre începutul de an, îmi dau seama că schimbările au loc, iar noi aproape că nici nu le sesizăm. Unele evenimente ne încântă ca o sărbătoare, iar apoi ne vedem de treabă, fără măcar să ne dăm seama că acestea rămân în subconștient și că de acolo ne îndreaptă gândurile, iar acestea acțiunile către noi schimbări.

O călătorie te poate face să îți dorești să explorezi locuri nevizitate încă, sau pe altele să le revezi, să cunoști oameni noi, să faci lucruri pe care nu le-ai mai făcut până acum.

Un concert poate arunca o lumină nouă asupra vieții.

Un apus te poate copleși.

Un răsărit îți poate da energia de care aveai nevoie.

Nu mă uit acum la cele 365 de zile scurse aproape integral ca la o retrospectivă, ci pur și simplu, așa cum m-aș uita în oglinda retrovizoare în timp ce conduc. Mă uit în urmă, dar apoi privesc înainte și mă gândesc dacă anul ce urmează va fi un an bun. Un an bun ca titlul unuia dintre romanele  ecranizate ale lui Peter Mayle, cu Russell Crowe, regizat de Ridley Scott.

Un An Nou fericit!