Words

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

I don’t know who came up with this saying as a comeback or mantra for little kids who are being bullied or getting called names. But it’s not correct. Words can DO hurt. A lot, actually.

Take it from this “fat kid” who was suicidal as a teenager because I had no friends that EVER stood up for me, while I was bullied literally every single day. Or take it from my skinny friend whose parents told her she “shouldn't eat that” because she didn't fit in her mom’s wedding dress. Or take it from the gay neighbor guy, who hears his sexual orientation being used as a slang term for anything “uncool”.  Or take it from the special needs adult that works at the local ice cream shop, whose developmental delay is used torepresent anything from “ignorant” to “irrational”. Or just take a moment to think back to a time in your own life when the words that came out of someone else’s mouth shocked you.

You’re probably curious what started this rant. Today at work, I heard the word “retarded” used 4 times. FOUR! I was am so disgusted, I could scream! Worst part? One of my own coworkers is the one who used it. First, it was used to describe a customer who was holding, waiting for an answer to a question. Second, it was used when a technician was asking questions on behalf of the customer whose home he was at. Third, it was used to explain the feeling of (apparently) frustration at the task this person was assigned to complete. Last, it was muttered under her breath when I asked a question about a call that she took and put on the board without consulting dispatch (me) and that should not have been put on for tonight and led to me having to call another customer and cancel. Frustrating? Yes. Retarded? Uh, no, definitely not. Here's a handy flow chart to help. Maybe I'll print one and leave it on her desk.

Photo credit: Huffington Post

Words can heal, I have proof of this. I've heard a story first-hand from a medical office front desk representative of someone calling to get an appointment to see the doctor and later telling the receptionist that she intended to end her life if that person on the other end of the phone couldn't have helped her. I have had the personal experience of talking a suicidal individual into coming down from a picnic table. Those stories are something that can really restore your faith in humanity.

But how often do you remember an event when someone said something to you that wasn't out of the ordinary? I make it a point to be positive in my words as much as I can. I try to tell everyone I pass to have a nice day and I do my best to say “please” and “thank you” whenever it fits. People might be teetering on an edge, ready to crumble over one side or the other. What you say to them could be the difference between making their day better or worse. It could even mean the difference between life and death, you just never know.

Try to remember that people are people, too. Don’t say things – even under your breath – if you wouldn’t want to hear them in passing. And never say something to intentionally cut down or hurt another person. It’s unnecessary and cruel. Plus, you never know the long-term outcome of something spat out in the heat of the moment. Usually, they aren’t good consequences.

More graffiti later,

~A

Brother

Myself, my partner-in-awesomeness, and my brother.

Today is my big brother's birthday. Ahem, even though his 3 children think it's hilarious to remind me that they all think he's my younger brother. Not my fault that I act more mature than he does! Ha! But in reality, he's MUCH older than I am.

He's been part of my family since I was 8. He was instantly the older brother I always wanted and couldn't understand why I couldn't have one! When mom took a work trip, he called me in sick to school every day and we spent the time together instead (Oh, just in case you all didn't know: you can't play Clue with 2 people!) As a teenager, he was always reminding me to make good choices, but also keeping in mind that it's ok to have fun. He protected me by coming out in the middle of the night to get me from somewhere when I realized I wasn't safe. He saved me.

Now, he lets me be a big part of the lives of his 3 kids, and I am grateful for that. We are both at a point where we are about to venture on into the unknown with the next phase of our lives. And that's ok. Because we'll do it together and see what happens. Always there with a sarcastic comment, or sincere advice from the heart, he's the brother I had always dreamed of. 

We've been through some ups and some downs, but I know he'll be there for me whenever I need him. And he should know the same goes for him needing me. He's made me laugh, made me cry and makes me want to punch or break something on an almost daily basis. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

More graffiti soon!

~A

Niki

My sister was the most amazing woman I've ever known.

Today is her 41st birthday. I say it that way - using the word "is" - not because I don't know how to otherwise express it, but because there isn't a better way to do so. Last night, I was chatting with a coworker of mine. I mentioned that I made the mistake of picking up the closing shift tonight and "it would have been my sister's birthday." His reply was a joking "Well, it still is her birthday" because he didn't know. What he thought he meant was just because I wouldn't be there to join the family dinner, doesn't mean it's not still her birthday. He was wrong about my absence being the one to change the celebration. But he was also so right.

Just because she isn't here to open presents doesn't mean she isn't here. Her not being in the same room with us doesn't mean her life and her spirit didn't change the lives of others over the last year. I know that thinking about her and wondering what kind of advice she would have has definitely changed the course of my life. Probably more in the last year than any other influence has. Her physical absence doesn't mean she isn't so very present in so many aspects of my life. And it DEFINITELY doesn't mean that we can't celebrate her life.

So today I sit at my desk, eating peanut butter and pickles (yep, still *gross*!) and letting out a "rawr" when I hang up with a fussy customer. And I can hear her laugh. And I can sense her presence. And I can feel her love. And it gives me reason to celebrate.

Comments are always welcome, but they'll be moderated. This one is more than just punctuated graffiti.
~A

Fooled

I have always had very clear intentions when it comes to interacting with people and don't hide who I am or what I think just because people might not want to know the truth. Well, not everyone thinks the same. I've learned this countless times, so it shouldn't be so shocking anymore. This time was different, though. Because this time, I never saw it coming.

I met a guy. A marine who served 3 tours of duty. He was here from out of town for work. We spent quite a bit of time together before he left for his "home office" for their quarterly regional meeting stuff. Blah blah blah... It was fun. And I felt pretty damned cool that somebody would be interested in ME. Until I decided to look him up on Facebook so we could chat while he was gone. And the reality of what had happened hit me like a bag of bricks.

Finding out someone has been lying to you from the moment they introduced themselves isn't a great feeling. Discovering the lengths they went to in order to convince you that they were being honest and you could trust them is shocking. Learning that they stooped to levels you didn't even know could cross the mind of a person is utterly terrifying and can rip you apart. If you choose to let it.

I'm choosing not to let it ruin me. I'm choosing to let go of it. And in the process, I realized that what I needed to do was write it out and give those feelings back to the person wretch who caused them in the first part. Writing it was relieving. Sending it was liberating. Sharing it here with you is freeing.

I'm not a big enough idiot to think that he'll even consider responding. But if he does, you'll get to see it.
After all, it's just punctuated graffiti.
~A

Family

At the beginning of last week, I had the joy of going to visit some of my more extended family. And while I was there, I celebrated the upcoming birth of a baby. Then I laughed so hard my drink came out of my nose (not pretty!). And I shed some tears when we were reminiscing about the ones who couldn't meet with us for different reasons. Then, on my 4-hour drive home, I got to thinking about visiting family and what that meant. Not “visiting family” defined as “taking time [possibly traveling] to be in the same location and converse with those that you share mutual DNA with”, but “visiting family” defined by us in our own way. Which this time meant “spending time loving those around you”.

The family members I visited last week are a mixture of blood, marriage, and claim. Most of our time was spent with my grandmother’s sister’s kid (so, a cousin). She is closer with my mom than they are to some of their own siblings. I visited some of my other family at the cemetery, including a few people who we've always considered family but no one has ever been able to figure out how they got there.

Then, there was the trip to the farm. Here is where I met 5 amazing kids and re-connected with their mom, who has been a member of my family since I was a kid, only because we claim her to be. Someone asked me how we are related to them and my response of “it’s complicated, but they've always been family” didn't appease her curiosity. So, I broke it down for her: my mother’s now-dead ex-husband’s previous wife’s sister’s kid. [Did you follow the bouncing ball there?] Her response was “so, we’re not related.” Well, only if you want to be… Husband and wife got divorced, the family kept in touch with the husband, through his marriage and divorce from my mom, and then they kept in touch with her. Best part? Growing up, my mom, my dad, and I used to go visit them. And it was NEVER weird! Because it was just more family.

See, my family hasn’t EVER been defined by blood relation or matching last names. I was born an only child but gained an older brother and sister, by label alone. I think you can define family as whoever you want to be there with you to celebrate the good times. Add in those that support you during the struggles and weep with you during times of grief, and you’ve got a solid family. See, my “sister” was technically (by blood) my first cousin, but I don’t remember a happy or sad time not spent with her by my side, up until the moment she passed away. And my “brother” isn’t blood related to me at all. He came to Minnesota from his own hometown chasing love. His 3 kids are my blood relatives because he married someone that is blood related to me, but that doesn’t mean she’s more my family than he is.

Life changes with time, and with those changes, you gain and lose family members for varying reasons. Some are born, some die, some marry, some divorce. Some slowly become a part of the family and some abruptly leave it. People come and go throughout your life, but everyone leaves their footprints on your heart – good or bad. In the end, it’s not about who you’re “related” to, but who you choose to associate as family.

Life is about the laughter that turns into tears, nights that turn into mornings, and friends who become family. These are the people that I’m grateful for. These are the people I love.

More graffiti soon,

~A

Birthdays

It is never my intention to offend or hurt anyone with my writing. It is simply an outlet to express my opinions, raw emotion, and reactions to current events. Well, I caught a little backlash with my last post so I figured a blanket apology is in order. And, this one is a little lighter.

If you noticed, I mentioned that the day Jacob Wetterling went missing, I was 6 days old. That means my birthday was just over a week ago. It was not an intentional mention to get a few spare "happy birthday" well-wishes, just a fact that put in perspective the feelings my mother has explained to me over the years with that tragedy that struck our community and, ultimately, changed America's way of handling missing children cases.

Tonight, while chatting with someone I know (friend is a good label), he made this comment that got me thinking: birthdays are just so different once you get over twenty one! And ya know what? He is SO right!! On my birthday, actually, he asked me how old i was and my answer was a little snide (aren't you shocked??): Old enough to know better, but young enough to try it anyways. Not because I didn't want him to know, but because the number just isn't as important anymore.....

Think back: Imagine the first birthday you can think of. How old were you? The number doesn't matter now, but i'm betting you told EVERYONE how old you were going to be. And what kind of party you were going to have. And how many friends you were going to invite. And what you wanted for presents. Those were the things to think about!

And the milestone birthdays, oh man!! You turn:
5 = School! Sidenote: does anyone else think it's hilariously cruel how excited we used to be for school and how much we loved it, until about junior high when our "favorite subject" was lunch?? And at that point, we were lucky if we were half-way done with our education....
10 = double digits!
13 = TEENager!
15 = learners' permit
16 = DRIVER'S LICENSE!! Maybe even a car? Which mom crashes 3 months later... The time around my milestone birthdays all kinda sucked =\
17 = Donating blood [This was a BIG deal for me, though I was never legally able to donate blood]
18 = SO MANY! Voting rights, Military enlistment (Hooah!), gambling (if you wish), tobacco (if you're so inclined), no more curfew....
21 = Alcohol (if you choose to indulge outside the comfort of your own home)
25 = I can now rent a car.... That's totally cool, right?!

Then they're just done.... They come fast and furious every year and then *poof* that's it. Like the roadrunner and coyote, the steep drop of the edge of a cliff and now you're an adult. Celebrations are fewer and further between (maybe on the x10 years). Less people notice (unless, like me, you make a week-long celebration out of it... You all know i'm an only child, right? I'm blaming it on that) and even fewer still want to take part in celebrating. The exception here is the group of family and friends that you have that are happy to celebrate all of life's ups (and grieve all of life's downs) with you. But, if we're thinking back to that childhood birthday, even the weird kid who ate crayons would come to your birthday party -- and bring a gift! But once you're done with the milestones, they're just another day.

But my friend countered that point of view with this profound comment (edited for blog grammar rather than texting): It's more about doing something meaningful to you. Spending time with friends. Enjoying solitude. Who IS this guy?! It's like he's reading my minds and texting my thoughts to me. Well, we are both Libras, that could have something to do with it....

Another great point. Now, birthdays are markers of time that passes in your adult life. Another year of making your dreams come true, or of striving to follow them, or of letting go of the past and making the best of right now. Either way, it isn't just another day. Every birthday is a milestone for you. It's your day to celebrate your life or NOT and it's OK to embrace your independence and the idea that not everyone dotes on you. And that's just the way life is as an adult, regardless of where you are on the path.

Something to think about... Or, just more punctuated graffiti!
~A

PS: Thanks, MK, for starting such a random conversation that it inspired me to think and write. I appreciate it!

Missing

25 years is a long time to wonder.

25 years ago today, a Minnesota family's life was changed forever. Jacob Wetterling was abducted while biking home from a convenience store with his brother and a friend. Their lives and the lives of their families, friends, and community would be changed forever. A search would go on for months, with no success. Years later, his parents continue to tirelessly work to find a shred of something that they could grasp on to and at least have an answer over what had happened to their son. A 25-year search for closure.

I was 6 days old when this happened. I remember hearing my mother tell me (several years later) about the thoughts that went through her head, having such a young baby when tragedy struck small-town Minnesota. She had brought a daughter into the world with a naive sense of  security and hope for good in the world. And, just days later, the world had proven her wrong. It was supposed to be safe to let your kids play together in the neighborhood and only worry about how many scrapes and bruises they'd have when they came home; not to watch out the window worrying whether your child would be the next one to vanish. It was supposed to be just fine to let the kids run around the neighborhood, as long as they went with a group; parents shouldn't have to worry if their child would be the targeted one out of their group. As a kid it was supposed to feel like home in the cul-de-sac playing with friends until the street lights came on, a city-run built-in alarm clock that told us it was time to come home and clean up for supper; not to feel the need to question any stranger that roamed into our neighborhood or feel uneasy if our own adult neighbors looked at us a little too long or a little too often. Raising a child in Minnesota was supposed to be the epitome of the American dream; that's what my mother had thought the entire time she had waited to start a family.

Jacob Wetterling was the first child abduction that adults from that time can remember remaining unsolved. Minnesota had failed my mother. On a much larger scale, our home-grown community had failed the Wetterlings. We, as a state, as a community, as a support circle, had no answers. Yes, for a short time groups banded together and searched all the logical places - and the illogical ones, I'm sure. All unsuccessful.
Eventually, the headlines changed. Life moved on for everyone, the Wetterlings included. Their life took on a new purpose. They started the Jacob Wetterling Foundation and worked towards the passing of the Jacob Wetterling Act. They continued to raise their other son, the last family member to see Jacob. Life moved on for their community; that convenience store is a veterinarian clinic now. Life moved on for Minnesota. And life moved on for my mother. She stayed in her home state and raised me the best way she knew how - the way her mother had raised her - and adapted to the ever-changing times. She accepted the fact that you can't protect your child from all the bad in the world, and it would be doing them a great disservice to try. When she became a single parent, she spent extra time ensuring safeguards were in place at my school in the event she couldn't be there to pick me up herself. When I became a latch-key kid, she bought me a cell phone at an unreasonably young age so I would always be able to reach out for help. All of these things were to ensure that everyone was comfortable with life's situations; all of these things would have been unnecessary. But Minnesota had failed.

The other day, I saw this:

Source: Lamar Advertising

Then I overheard someone utter the unthinkable words: Why don't they just give up and move on already? She shouldn't be waiting around for her son to turn up.....

And it solidified my thought that Minnesota has failed its parents. Minnesotans have failed each other. How dare you, complete stranger, judge a woman based on her inability and unwillingness to "give up" on her child?! How dare you, uninvolved party, suggest that a mother "move on" from grieving the loss of her son?!

But, you know what? She was right..... Patty Wetterling shouldn't be waiting for her son to show up, she should know where he is and where he has been for the last 25 years. She shouldn't be hoping for a phone call that Jacob has been found, she should be hoping for a phone call that her grandchild is about to be born, or has lost a first tooth. She shouldn't be wondering if today will be the day the police show up at her door with devastating news; she should be surprised by her sons showing up unannounced to tell her of a wedding in the works. She shouldn't be home wondering if she'll ever see her son again, she should be looking forward to Sunday night where, on her calendar, it's marked "Jacob& Trevor come for supper".

They say it takes a village to raise a child. For 25 years, when it comes to giving our parents peace of mind for their children's safety, Minnesota has failed. But I was born and raised here and I KNOW WE CAN DO BETTER. Because I have no intention of leaving, and I have every intention of raising a family here. Knowing that my community will have my back.

~A

Loss

Recently, there has been some loss in my life that I'm still not sure how I'm dealing with. Maybe I'm not dealing at all. Maybe I'm dealing just fine and I'm just not used to being that emotionally healthy. Couldn't say for sure either way...

23 days is too fast for such a monumental person to have to say goodbyes. It is not nearly long enough to do what needs doing and say what needs saying and hug and love and make sure true feelings are known between people. But, that's just how life is sometimes. It ends abruptly and there's no going back to finish the unfinished or speak the unspoken words or give that last hug one more time before wishing that person safe travels and a casual "See you soon". There is guilt in my mind for how frustrated I would get over it. There is regret in my heart for not expressing myself better. There is peace in my soul knowing that he keeps his promises and WILL see me through. And there is laughter in my life from sharing memories of him with others with whom I am close.

There are days I still see him say my name. And every day I am reminded somehow of the burden he took on when he took me in. And there will not be a day in my life when I am not grateful.

~A

Arctic Tundra

Well, dinner last Friday was jacked up by the 74 inches of snow that dumped on us.... OK, OK, not 74 inches, but a LOT of snow, that happened to fall after about 2 inches of rain fell and then subsequently froze to the roads. The governor called a state of emergency, the National Guard was called out to help stranded motorists. My friend from the Guard ended up having a military class that wasn't cancelled (which I find interesting, but that's another rant entirely) and was at Camp Ripley about 3 hours from here with decent weather. He made it there and back just fine, just to have his soon-to-be-ex-wife roll it and total it on Monday.... Poor Army....

Anyways, a Chef friend of ours made it to dinner, along with Smarty (my oldest nephew), my Brother and my niece. Mom made too much food, as is her MO, and we had a great time.
Then, I worked all weekend and had school all week. Life is crazy busy, but I'm still trying to find time to hurl it out here.It's all about the punctuated graffiti.

~A

Friday Afternoon

Well, today is turning into a full day... As I type this, I've got meals in the works to finish and be prepared to make lunch and dinners out of for the next few days. Yeah, I'm a "few days at a time" prepper, a whole week feels like way too much to cram into 1 day of cooking. Plus, then how am I supposed to get my frustrations out later in the week?? So, today I cooked enough to feed us at least through Monday.

I work double shifts this weekend, so today was going to just be food prep and relaxing but then... people. Last week, I was complaining that I didn't have any good friends and that I couldn't find anyone to socialize with, and today I've got people swarming around. Maybe it's because they smell the food...

Woke up this morning to a text from my brother asking what I was doing. Snow day for his kids today means the 3 of them were bothering each other before the clock even struck 7:30. So, I get the oldest one. Cool! He's on his laptop in front of me right now, playing Minecraft. Oh, to be a 13-year-old boy seems so relaxing! Ha, no thanks.

Then, a few Deaf friends are coming over to my (hearing and ASL-clueless) mom's house for dinner. Should be a good time for sure! Whenever we have friends or family come over, we call the dinner a Smorgasbord, which I only recently realized isn't an English word. My mother always makes way too much food - she used to be a caterer and can't divide. ;)  Interpreting this shindig could prove to be interesting, though. I'll be the only hearing bilingual person there, with 3 other hearing people and 2 Deaf. Hopefully, I can convince my awesome friend to join us and help me, since he's fluent in ASL also.

Well, for now, I'm off to bother my nephew into playing a game with me, then errands that need to be run. You'll read all about it later, I'm sure. Or not. After all, it's not like I'm writing a novel that requires set information about my life events. It's just punctuated graffiti...
~A

Hello All!

And welcome to my blog!

I hope you enjoy all that you will find here. The blog name came from spinning a quote from the movie Contagion: Blogging is not writing. It's just graffiti with punctuation.
 Most of it will be emotion-fueled ranting about life's ups and downs. But, hey, a lot of it might make you feel better about your own life! Ha!

I'm not here to look for pity, or even advice. It's more just a place to hurl out my thoughts so they don't turn inward. Somewhere I read that human adults are capable of thinking 300 words in 1 minute. That's a lot! Can you imagine what 5 minutes of negative thinking or self-degradation could do to your mind and spirit? We're talking serious damage!

So, I'd prefer to spew it out here on the keyboard... And let you all read it and criticize it. I'll listen, but I probably won't let it bother me.
After all, it's just punctuated graffiti! ;]
~Al