Trolling, or Triage?

19

January 7, 2019-

Last night, just before I signed off for the evening, I got a caustic response to a few suggestions I had made, to another blogger’s post.  This sort of thing is a risk that comes with being part of a public network.

While I took the liberty of “unfollowing” that person’s blog, as one should not intrude on another’s space without that person’s consent, I had to ponder her motivation for such an outburst.  She did, after all, ask for “ideas” about her particular dilemma.

There are a couple of possibilities-She may have been in the mood for a “game of gotcha”, though trolling, under the circumstances she described in the post to which I responded, seems rather far-fetched.  More likely, she is looking at the various suggestions made, and winnowing  them out, favouring those that are as close to her comfort zone as possible, while still entailing some effort on her part to solve the problem described therein.

That’s an understandable, human practice, and I daresay we all do that, with regard to some, if not most, issues in our lives.  She pointed out that I didn’t know her schedule, so how could my suggestions fit?  None of us can be inside another’s brain, or heart.  So, we do the best we can, when asked. If our ideas are wide of the mark, well, at least we made an effort.  I will continue to offer ideas to to others, when asked, and can only guarantee that I will be putting some thought and feeling into the process.

No pain, no gain.

Falling, Gently

7

May 21, 2017, Prescott-

Yesterday could have been seen as somewhat of a bust.

I didn’t spend all that much time at a memorial picnic.

I felt there were some serious issues of trust,

coming from some of the people closest to the man,

in whose memory we were gathered.

Earlier, I had been at a place where trust HAS been earned,

and, in honour of my maternal grandfather,

enjoyed a Chicago-style Polish Sausage.

I never met Papa, in this life,

but his forebears hailed from Silesia,

when it was German turf.

There was, then, as now,

a great deal of interplay between German and Pole.

So, Polish sausage, with sauerkraut and Dusseldorf mustard, it was.

There was great food at the picnic, as well,

and the Mariachi were heartfelt in their performance.

It was a magnificent tribute,

frayed only by that lack of trust,

something that the honoree would never have countenanced.

I moved on, and read, just this morning,

a horoscope that told me,

those who hurt you were doing the best they could,

under the circumstances.

None of us, really, are ourselves,

in the wake of shattering loss.

I wasn’t, from 2011-14.

A lot of people were hurt,

in the wake of my mourning.

Some have never forgiven;

most have moved on.

Last night,

I happened on a troubadour.

Her message, sung across the miles,

to the one man she loves with every ounce of her being,

was just how lucky he made her.

The audience, mostly late middle-aged couples,

heard it in their hearts, too.

I know that feeling, so well.

My spirit angel was one of a kind.

She said to us, to me, if you’re struggling,

hang on.  It’ll all work out.

She sang of falling gently,

as she did for the man who waits for her,

back in Cape Cod.

Enjoy the accompanying message, from Monica Rizzio,

and if you’re ever in Cape Cod, catch one of her gigs.

Seen, Heard, Believed

2

May 4, 2017, Prescott- 

My kids value being greeted at the bus

each school day.

It actually hurts their feelings,

if circumstances get in the way

of this happening.

They tell me things that go on

at home, around the neighbourhoods,

just like my other kids did,

back in the day.

There is this thing

called eye contact,

undivided attention,

heart connection.

There is this thing

where they matter,

more than the rules

of “Boys Town”,

more than Policy.

There is this thing

where I see them

down the road,

in a few years.

There is this thing,

where I tell each

of them,

that a bright future

lies ahead.

There is this thing,

where I tell them,

that the only one

keeping the door locked,

ultimately,

is themselves.

I’ve said it before,

“seen and not heard”

is a heinous lie.

Whoever coined that phrase

is guilty

of crimes

against humanity.

There is a child,

whom I’ve never met,

who was molested,

a few years back.

I read of her family’s struggles,

trying to deal with

something they don’t understand.

They want it to go away.

Sexual abuse,

like any other loss,

never goes away,

entirely.

Whoever said “seen and not heard”,

is a secondary monster,

extending the pain

inflicted on the child,

by the primary perpetrator.

Victims:

Be seen, heard and believed.