Tag: reading-is-hot

Ghosting

Credit: omgitsjustdae

Recently someone talked about being ghosted, and while I was working on something today, I started thinking about it. The term is used often because the Internet makes ghosting easy when people interact mostly online, especially after an initial meetup between a couple looking for a possible dating relationship, or after sexual hookups that either didn’t go well or went well but then the other person “disappeared.” (A thoughtfully fun romance by Alisha Rai, The Right Swipe, deals with this exact situation.)

From Wikipedia:

Ghosting is a colloquial term used to describe the practice of ceasing all communication and contact with a partner, friend, or similar individual without any apparent warning or justification and subsequently ignoring any attempts to reach out or communication made by said partner, friend, or individual.

Based on that definition, I tend to regard it as applicable to longer-term relationships, whether romantic or as friends, more than online hookups or meetups.

Have I been ghosted? Yes, definitely.

The first time was in 1975 (friend since 1971) and left me confused and heartbroken. The idea that someone could stop all communication was unthinkable to me, although I did get a “don’t call/don’t write” letter (bet I still have it). The end of the friendship came out of the blue, and any attempts I made to reach out and understand it were rebuffed. I’m not sure I was ever angry, just confused as hell and desperate for someone, anyone, to tell me if this was normal in any way. (I was young.)

I hoped never to have to go through it again.

The next time was in 1988 and it was an absolute ghosting. In fact, the person, a good friend for seven years, was supposed to be coming to Tom’s and my apartment (by this time, we lived in cities about three hours apart) and never showed up, never returned a call, never got in touch again after the last phone call arranging the visit. To this day, I have no clue what happened. Tom and I moved to Houston shortly thereafter, and later attempts to find this person via the Internet–if for no other reason than to know the person isn’t dead–have been futile.

I went on with my life, but I probably will go to my grave trying to figure out that mystery.

The next time was in 1995 and ended a friendship of four years. After a few weeks of being stonewalled, I did get a letter (still have it, yes) of explanation, but as it was obviously written under a great deal of stress and pain, I never felt anger, never even considered striking back, although the letter leveled some untrue/undeserved accusations at me.

It was ultimately a vindictive ghosting, but maybe I’d learned some things by then, and all I could feel was compassion for this friend’s misery and growing isolation (I was not the first one ghosted). I let it be. The pain didn’t end with the person’s bitter goodbye but with death not many months later. I was grateful for the unwavering support I received from Tom and Amy throughout the ordeal. (Other friends helped, too, and I’m also thankful for them, but Tom and Amy maintained a near-constant effort to support me through it, and both were careful to help me move forward without anger.)

From that experience, I can say that it may feel good when other friends trash your ghoster with you, but if it’s someone who was special to you, feeding your anger, anguish, pain, revenge thoughts, etc., does you no favors. It’s okay for you to feel all the things you feel. Coping with the death of a relationship goes through stages just as an actual death does. But your wiser friends will listen, extend compassion, and find ways to help you get through and beyond it. Wallowing in it, dwelling on it, holding on to it, is a waste of your time and energy and gives way too much power to your ghoster. Learn what you can learn and let go. I have no evidence, but I believe if you can’t let it go, you risk getting yourself into similar destructive relationships. It may also erode your trust in people and cheat you out of future friendships.

I have sometimes tried to figure out if I’ve ghosted anyone. I don’t think so. Some friendships have ended without a whimper or a bang, just the natural progression of people moving on to different things or in different directions. Some relationships ended in high drama, and either the other person or I made the reasons for the ending abundantly clear. Twice that I know of, I’ve called a complete halt to communication but they had to know it was coming. One left me alone, as asked, the other had to torment me a while because that was part of the pattern that ended the relationship in the first place.

In yet another case, that person also had to know it was coming as a result of bad actions on their part, no explanation from me required. I’m usually forgiving (you might not believe how forgiving, while those on the receiving end do know), but sometimes just a big GO AWAY AND DO NOT RETURN choice is the right one.

For a couple of years now, I’ve kind of felt like someone has ghosted me. I’ve made tentative efforts to reach out, but no response. Again, bewildering, and I’ve ransacked my brain for anything wrong I might have said or done, but maybe it’s just one of those “drifting apart” things again. I do miss the person and send well wishes and positive thoughts for good things for them.

When I write my ghost novel, it will NOT be about relationship ghosting, but a real ghost. Because ghosts are real, right?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS OF REAL PEOPLE and not just the ghosts of bad relationships?

Mood: Monday


“Bitch, please. Do you know who I am?”

The original 1959 Barbie strutted onto the scene with plenty of attitude and self-confidence. It would prove to be well-deserved. She’s still going strong 62 years later.


Tim gave me this fantastic book at Christmas. Barbie and fashion? Of course.

I can’t wait to read Carol Spencer’s story of her association with Mattel and Barbie and delve into all the photos.


Even the endpapers exude groovy and were part of a specific Barbie fashion fabric (I know, because of the cover, and I peeked ahead).


Regardless of our gender, those with a little Barbie girl spark inside will always find each other.

Tiny Tuesday!

Tom and I haven’t shopped for Christmas presents for each other yet. Both of us figured there was something we wanted that we haven’t thought about, so we’d wait until the season was over.

However, I didn’t want to ignore his Christmas birthday, so the gift card that he wanted was delivered to him by Dobby. Nobody ever needed a house-elf more than Tom; now he has one. As long as none of the dogs give Dobby a sock. Truthfully, were they able to scale the bookcase to give him a sock, they’d be more likely to turn Dobby into a toy. That wouldn’t end well.

Button Sunday


“Well? We’re waiting.”

One advantage of my reorganize and purge project is that I’m finding all kinds of things that came in the mail years and years ago (like so far, 2008 and 2014) because I didn’t have time to do anything with them. The button above is one of four that I found in a letter from Marika in 2008. It’s like Christmas and my birthday all of a sudden!

Fortinbras is the character who delivers the final lines of Hamlet, and as for my quote beneath the button, it’s one of my favorites from another piece of high drama, Caddyshack.

Tiny Tuesday!

Today, as little as I wanted to, after putting it off for seven-plus months, I had my physical. A. I’ve lost twelve pounds in quarantine. B. I got my shingles vaccination. Needles don’t bother me, shots don’t bother me, but those times when a shot hours later makes me feel like I’ve been socked in the arm, THAT bothers me.

Tom pointed out something I didn’t realize, however. She put a fun Band-Aid on my vaccination site.


I am and always will be a Looney Tunes/Merrie Melodies girl. Beep, beep!

Since my doctor is a stone’s throw from Barnes and Noble, I went by and DID NOT GET ANY COLORING BOOKS. Instead, I got a Stevie Ray Vaughan biography.

Then as I headed back, I shopped locally at the wonderful Brazos Bookstore to order a couple of novels from a new-to-me-writer. When those come in, I’m sure I’ll mention them here. But I also was finally able to pick up a copy of Paul Lisicky’s memoir, “Later: My Life at the End of the World.”

Now to start reading regularly again…

Themeograph

Ha! Y’all are in for a long trip into the distant past today. You are SO LUCKY. I believe we read Conrad Richter’s The Light in the Forest in ninth grade. If I still had the book–which I kept for a long, long time until it became apparent I was going to have to purge some books–I’d know for sure because I usually dated my books somewhere inside. With my name. Because humans love leaving our names everywhere. However, in looking at my handwriting in photos below, that’s ninth grade handwriting, not seventh grade handwriting. (I know it wasn’t eighth grade because I remember my eighth grade teacher too well, and also know what we read that year that had the most profound effect on me was Longfellow’s “Evangeline.” But I digress. Mandatory Southern storytelling behavior.)

Our teacher assigned us to do a Themeograph for the book. We chose quotes randomly from the book and cut out magazine photos to go along with them. I still have my Themeograph and will now offer up commentary along with pictures.


First, kudos to me for finding a magazine picture that mimicked the paperback cover. I can’t really dwell on this because I have fixated on the pencil writing in the upper right corner. It says “25/Late.” So what was the highest possible score? Did I get counted off for being late? Was it five points? Twenty-five points? I NEED TO KNOW. I hadn’t yet reached the time when anything less than an ‘A’ in English made me hyperventilate and go to bed in a dark room. So I wouldn’t have given a shit, probably. The point is, I GIVE A SHIT NOW. But I will never know the answer. I can do nothing but move on.


Whatever, small boy, moving along.


There is a current disagreement in my household about the top picture. Tom says it’s a picture of Dennis Wilson. I say it’s a picture of someone else, and the themeograph just barely predates my complete and total and eternal preoccupation with Dennis Wilson. It could go either way. I thought it was DW for a while when I first looked at it, but I came to believe it’s not. He’s very pretty, though. Kudos to you if you realize that I rarely discuss Dennis Wilson on this blog and if you try to wade into such a discussion, including this photograph, you should step gingerly. I’m extraordinarily touchy. Really, only Lynne gets to talk about DW with me without fear. And usually Tom, because he treads softly.

On both photos, look at Ninth Grade Becky using ellipses correctly to indicate missing text. That should have earned me bonus points. 30/25!


Damn, I’m literal.


WTF? I’m using Walter Cronkite’s picture for Uncle Wilse, “a powerful, heavyset man…with slaty, less-friendly eyes?” It’s UNCLE WALTER, the man who once had to tell America and hand-wringing Becky our president was dead. Bonus deducted. 25/25.

Finally. A little less literal on the second picture, because that’s a high-heeled and not a moccasined foot. But what I need to know is whether Richter misspelled “forrest” or I did. This could affect my score.


Nice picture choice, nice quote. I see “forest” is spelled correctly. So, Richter, are you inconsistent or do I need to deduct more points from my score? Why the hell didn’t my teacher mark the other misspelling? I’m glad my teacher didn’t mark the other misspelling. I don’t need her scribbles all over my masterpiece. And if she marked in light pencil, I likely couldn’t read it anyway.


Back to being very literal with my picture choices. I must say it’s nice to know children in the 1700s were as bratty about wearing clothes as children in the 1970s. Kids. So ungrateful.


Probably my favorite of them all. This quote and picture make me want to read the book again. I’ll add it to the thirty-one others in my TBR pile.


Oh, so much to work with here. First, I clearly knew and accepted that Aunt Kate is a judgmental bitch. This remains one of my least favorite human expressions, but it’s real. I might have to add some points for that. Does anyone know the identity of this woman? She was probably the head of the Peace Corps, photographed on a rough day. Sorry, “Aunt Kate.”

On the upper right, I also am pleased with the illustration I found for the mountain, which rose “brown and furry like the back of an immense beast.” Marika, if you’re reading, let’s just say it’s a bear and get your Daily Bear Sighting out of the way.

I see I correctly used the ellipsis again. I demand a recount if I got points removed for being late. I was a freshman. I was madly in love. It’s fortunate I turned this thing in at all.

Since I did, at least I knew how to find my way to a bottle of rum. In a magazine, I mean. I didn’t drink rum at that age. I drank scotch. And I never gave my fire water to Native Americans to ruin them. I was too busy ruining me.

This is the end of our flight back in time. We know there are other time carriers and appreciate that you fly An Aries Knows.

Character

Earlier in September, I posted about a book I bought. I realized that it was damaged and had to be returned. Yesterday when I went to get my flu shot, I found a good copy. I’m showing it here with two of my FCTRY action figures.

David Lienemann was the White House photographer for Joe Biden during the Obama-Biden administration. I became aware of him through Pete Souza, who was Barack Obama’s WH photographer and who I’ve mentioned on this blog several times. I followed Souza’s work throughout his entire eight years on the WH Flickr account, and I continue to follow him on his Instagram account. His pictures remain powerful, moving, inspirational, and comforting to me. I’m interested in knowing Lienemann’s work better.

This year has been a time of deep reflection, as well as a time of growth. I’ve let go of some things and focused more on what matters to me. I sometimes review my personal history to better understand the people who, and experiences that, shaped me.

In relationships, I could provide an entire list of things I reject when they’re said to me, about me. I don’t like to be defined by others who think they know me when they don’t really know me, and when they come up with labels for me that I know are inaccurate. Some annoy me; some amuse me; some hurt me. I’ve lived a thoroughly examined life. I know who I am, and no one better knows my strengths, flaws, abilities (or lack), and vulnerabilities than I. I’m my toughest critic, and sometimes I need to be my most enthusiastic cheerleader. In my defense, I do hear what is said and consider it before I reject it. I can also learn new things about myself. A few years back, Jim (my writing partner) made a statement about me that was startling, but I acknowledged the truth of it. It gave me a deeper understanding of myself.

The good news for you is: I never imagine I know you better than you know YOUR self. That doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes struggle to unlock the code of a person who confuses me. That’s kept me awake many nights of my life.

Some things that once would have sent me careening downward emotionally I can shrug off now. Words still have the power to hurt me and incite me, but I find it easier to shift my focus to the words that inspire, enlighten, or comfort me. I recognize my finite amount of time and energy left on this planet. I make choices to use those as I believe best.

I’m no stranger to skepticism, but I’m still the enemy of cynicism. I choose hope. I choose optimism. I choose, as I have always said, to act on the side of compassion. When I see a lack of compassion in others, from people I know to people I will never know, I quietly recognize it, acknowledge it, and try hard not to give it power over me. I don’t have the time or energy to debate. I no longer have the inclination to try to teach or enlighten. There are better, wiser sources for enlightenment than I will ever be. If I’m goaded into speaking when I don’t want to, it rarely goes well. I still listen. That’s built into my DNA as someone who likes people and their stories and also as a writer.

If my right actions in life are not enough for you to know my character, then nothing I can say will inform you anyway. If my wrong actions are hurtful, and I know about them and apologize–and I have no problem saying these words: “I am/was wrong.” “I am sorry.”–and maybe you can forgive, though you can’t forget and let it go, but you also can’t let me go, I understand. I think you, too, may act on the side of compassion. I think you, too, may have come to the conclusion that the things that divide us are not as powerful as the things that unite us.

I cry a lot more than I used to. I try to accept that as a sign that I care. That I’m still engaged. That I’m not dead inside.

We make choices. Sometimes I share mine. Sometimes I don’t. I can say without hesitation that my choice to vote for Joe Biden is one I’m not reluctant to share. That choice has been determined by his character and his actions, which I’ve examined for many years, not just in election years.

I never think any public figure–politician, celebrity, personage in any number of fields–is flawless. We all make mistakes. We all fail and falter sometimes. What do we learn from that? How do we grow? How do we strive to rise to the best in ourselves? How do we treat others? All those things figure in to how I measure a human.

I also take into consideration how a person makes me feel. If I feel torn down, emotionally damaged, sad, defeated, or hopeless because of someone, I will not trust that person’s character.

A lot of words. Not particularly organized. Just some honesty off the top of my head prompted by this information I found when researching a writing project.

There Are None So Blind As Those Who Will Not See:

According to the ‘Random House Dictionary of Popular Proverbs and Sayings’ this proverb has been traced back to 1546 (John Heywood), and resembles the Biblical verse Jeremiah 5:21 (‘Hear now this, O foolish people, and without understanding; which have eyes, and see not; which have ears, and hear not’). In 1738 it was used by Jonathan Swift in his ‘Polite Conversation’ and is first attested in the United States in the 1713 ‘Works of Thomas Chalkley’. The full saying is: ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see. The most deluded people are those who choose to ignore what they already know’.

Random House Dictionary of Popular Proverbs and Sayings” by Gregory Y. Titelman (Random House, New York, 1996).

Emersonian


Crap photo, but a great coloring book with quotes from many favorite writers. Fun fact: Emerson is go-to reading when the world is too much with me. Can definitely say 2020 is that world.


Bargain section, local Barnes & Noble.

ETA: Today is my late father’s birthday., and I’m thinking of him. It seems like a good time to mention that people who fill out data on various genealogical sites are often 100 percent WRONG. With dates, names, and relationships. Just because you see it on the Internet doesn’t mean it’s true.

Tiny Tuesday!

In the not-so-subconscious preparation to get back to my real desk before doing a huge edit on two manuscripts that won’t happen if I don’t finish the second one, I finished another task.

Dating back to 2016, I’ve bought CDs that have been piled everywhere in stacks, either because I wanted to upload them to my computer music library or because they needed to go into my CD books.

What needed to be uploaded has been, and now they’ve joined the other CDs.

Although some are in sleeves I want to keep them in, so they’ve joined the box of random CD collections (I still have a Frank Sinatra disk missing out of a 4-CD set) and other sleeved music.

This was one of the cool surprises when we moved into Houndstooth Hall: a built-in stereo cabinet that’s connected to speakers in other rooms of the house. We couldn’t believe everything still worked. In winter, if we use the fireplace, we have to keep the door open though, or that cabinet gets a little toasty.

Now what do I do with a sack full of plastic CD jewel cases that aren’t recyclable… Maybe I’ll figure that out by the time I read that book on loan from Timothy J. Lambert or hang my signed Justin Tipton poster. TINY STEPS!