“Time Is Like A Clock In My Heart”

Instead of looking at the small pile of gifts under our beautiful tree this year I look to the October through December calendar to be reminded of the intangible blessings that have been bestowed upon us.  The gift of life is the most important of all and we measure that gift with time.  Time spent with family and friends making memories, laughing, talking, singing, dancing and learning from each other.  From getting to see my cousin visit California for the first time and witnessing a literal gift of life in action to concerts, trips to Arizona and San Francisco, birthdays, anniversaries and gathering for meals I see that our abundant lives are not measured with trips to the mall or visits to Amazon.  Interesting that we measure this abundance with time though, since one of Jesus’ lessons is that life is eternal.  Time is really an illusion, thinking I have given someone more time to live, when we never really die.  The time we spend with people compared to the times we miss them when they’re gone.  And the idea that time goes quicker as we grow older.  Remember how slow time passed from Thanksgiving to Christmas when you still believed in Santa Claus, it was like an eternity.  And now I blink and it’s almost 2018!  I’ve even learned to cherish the opposite of “time flies when you’re having fun.”  The days in 1999 between October 16th to December 25 were like an eternity.  Like J. Alfred Prufrock measuring life with coffee spoons, our lives were measured out with spoons of medicine.  Time was magnified and slowed down with my sick toddler, working from home, and driving over 60 miles round trip to the hospital almost every day.  That Christmas, I barely shopped for presents so it was even skimpier than this year, yet it was the most abundant Christmas we could ask for.  We were overwhelmed with joy for the moments, the hours, the days.  And those days turned into years and now this Christmas, I wait patiently for my son to return home from church, where he is giving his gift of service and musical talent.  I am grateful for this time which allows me to write and share with you.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

#metoo, Part Two

Imagine getting rammed in the ass by a rich, good looking, young man.  After admitting he was wrong, he asks you to keep it a secret  He says he doesn’t need the extra stress and is willing to give you money to keep quiet.  He brags and lies about what a good person he is.  He finds your weak spot and uses it against you.  He begs you be a “good Samaritan,” after injuring you and causing damage.  He bullies you by calling and texting because he’s scared.  You’re forced to block his number, afraid you may answer by mistake and not go through with reporting the incident.

The day I posted, #metoo, I was rear ended on a busy, freeway.  And while the scene on the freeway was not sexual, it felt similar to other times in my life when men have tried to take advantage of me.  That evening Dylan, from Malibu, was trying to have his way with me.  After smashing into my car, he said he didn’t want any hassle.  Nobody wants the hassle or their rates to go up, I was sympathetic.  He said he drives for a living AND that he was working on his phone to help his 80 year old neighbor to place an ad.  Yes, he admitted to using his phone on the freeway and wanted me to just carry on.  Only later did I realize that was probably a lie, he was pulling at my heartstrings.  He was trying to manipulate me to believe he’s a good guy.  Maybe he’s just had too many accidents and his parents kicked him off of their insurance. I won’t know if he has coverage until the agent finds out because that night I was too scared to get his insurance information.  He was trying to convince me to let it all go.  Standing on the side of the freeway with cars zooming past, I felt a bit paralyzed.  Stunned and paralyzed the way you feel after being molested or assaulted, in this case it was a big Chevy truck instead of unwanted hands, fingers or penises.  I felt too shaken up to take pictures of his license plate or even a clear picture of his driver’s license. (Luckily, I got a “good enough” pic.)  The damage didn’t look that bad.  I was surprised because the impact felt strong.  He said, “It can be buffed out.”  But then I noticed a crack on the bumper.  I felt bad that my car was going to be damaged.  He then wanted me to follow him to a bank, so he could give me money, I guess he thought the damage would only cost the maximum you can withdraw at an ATM.  Not concerned that my neck or back may be injured, “You look fine,” he schmoozed. 

I was falling for his bullshit and I almost did nothing.  Driving away, I called my boyfriend who reminded me I’m too nice.  He reminded me of other times, I almost let the bad guys get away because I felt sorry for them.  Pushing my hurt, victimized feelings aside, I was brave and I called my insurance company.  I was reassured by a compassionate female agent that I did the right thing.  She said by reporting him, I was teaching him a lesson because if he makes a habit of using his phone and driving, he’s more likely to hurt himself and others another time.  His truck had front damage and when I pointed that out, he said it was already there.  He got his wish, I was a good Samaritan, I might have saved his life.

Speaking up for myself, taking care of my body and my damaged goods, I’m practicing NOT being a victim anymore.  That first night, I rested after feeling a slight headache and some soreness.  My son even made some hot chocolate to comfort me.  There was an overall stiffness in my neck and back area but where I could identify the most pain was the place where my kidney used to be.  The soreness was familiar, even though it had subsided quite a bit since the surgery about 2 1/2 years ago.  The doctors originally said it could take to 2 years to the rest of my life to recover from all the scar tissue.  I’m honestly ok with the latter because it’s such a great reminder of my good deed.  After the accident I could feel it a bit more. 

The next day, I visited my favorite Good Will store in Westlake Village and there was a sign to remind me I’m a strong, good Samaritan and I can’t let past victim mentality play out in my life anymore.  A tee shirt that read, “Of course I am an organ donor who would’t want a piece of this!?” And while the sexual connotation is not lost on me, I think to myself I’ve come a long way, from now on I will not be silent when I’m wronged. A few days later, I’m reminded while watching a gentleman save a wild rabbit in the middle of the Southern California fires, that it’s okay to want to see the best in humanity.