I took Martin to the airport on Monday. It’s a long drive, nearly three hours one way. The drive was uneventful and the weather was gorgeous. On the way home I decided to semi-document the drive. I recently found a case with a bunch of old mix CDs I’d made. We’ve been working our way around that case since the find. I had one in on Monday. So here it is… Illinois countryside, in bits, accompanied by the track that happened to be playing at the time. There are a few of these, peruse them at your leisure, or not. I find this amusing… but then I would. It combines music, driving, and a bit of the tech stuff I love. The first video is a tad long. Feel free to skip part of it should you need to move on. This is just one of the quirky things I find myself doing. Enjoy…
Archives
All posts by tokenhippygirl
Sheen. Spain. Estevez. Soul. Pulse. Grief. Adventure. Camino. Pilgrimage. YES. 
I had a fried egg sandwich the other day. It sounds exactly like what it is… hard fried egg, two pieces of bread, loads of mayo. Yum. I don’t do this often, maybe a couple times a year, but every time I do I think of my dad. He loved them.
Forrest Gilfred Parker…. born April 17, 1943, died June 14, 2006. Dad’s would’ve turned 69 three weeks ago. Seems weird that he’s already been gone 6 years. I’ve been thinking about him on and off since his birthday, culminating in the eating of aforementioned fried egg sandwich.
I loved my dad and still do. Our relationship, for those of you who know us, or me, or him, was complicated. A lot of time spent apart, a lot of time not communicating, but also a lot of love. He was a great kid of a man. I say this because he had, all his life I’m sure, the joy of a kid. He never lost it as he aged. It was fantastic. He wasn’t dealt the best of hands, legally blind, high school at the Montana School for the Blind and Deaf, a father who died when my dad was 16, but he never lost that joy. Amazing.
The thing is, what dad didn’t have in eye sight he made up for in musical talent. My dad was a musical phenomena. Able to play nearly any instrument he picked up, he chose the pedal steel guitar as his baby because it was the hardest to play. Everything else kind of came easy to him. He never became famous, though he played nearly as well as Buddy Emmons, his idol, but that didn’t stop him from playing in all kinds of bands in all sorts of venues. He played music his whole life as well. Famous didn’t matter, the music did. I loved that baby blue double neck. It was probably as big a part of him as his seven children were, and the sight of it always made me smile. I have great memories of listening to him play, laughing and smiling when all the right notes went all the right ways. He could riff with the best of them. Talented.
I also loved the way he ate, or enjoyed food I should say. He seemed to be in constant perpetual motion. He wasn’t a sit around and relax kind of guy. Projects and doing this and that. His blindness progressed to the point he couldn’t work, but that didn’t seem to stop or slow him down. He couldn’t see well, but he moved around a lot. All the time. I was always amazed how he did it without slamming into things more often. He also helped his friends a lot, like helping to put a new roof on the church he and my step mom attended. A roofing blind guy. We, all of his kids, teased him. He was a tease himself. And his laugh… oh my lordy. I could laugh just thinking about his laugh. A full blown giggle combined with a deep down in his gut kind of laugh. Uniquely his own and always with that toothy smile. Dad’s face glowed when he smiled. So he moved around a lot, always on the go, and consequently his food often was food he could eat while running around doing this or that. Loads of sandwiches, and always a cup of coffee, cream and sugar. We all drink coffee now I think, and I think it’s probably a genetic thing as drinking it seemed to be in his blood. And even though he was on the go, eating on the go a lot, he enjoyed his food. Fried egg sandwiches, banana milkshakes or better yet, malts, and sweets. I just remember the joy he got from it. The joy he got from most everything he did.
The same complete joy he got from spending time with his kids. Probably his favorite thing to do. And what a crowd we are. All gray haired, except for maybe Ken, the youngest, all with his playful sense of things, all with his corny sense of humor. The lot of us, if I do say so myself, are pretty darn fantastic. He was proud of us. And we, whether we admitted it to each other or ourselves, were all very proud to call him our father. We are still proud. So the other day I had a fried egg sandwich, and I smiled a little thinking how he would like that. He would like that I was eating it and thinking of him. He would like that I got a bit of joy from it. He would like that I ate it while listening to some good music. The whole scene would’ve been music to his heart. And for my dad, that’s about as good as it got. Music, food, and the cup of coffee I had to go with.
I love you dad, and I miss you.
We pay taxes. A lot of taxes actually. More than our share. Why? Because we are not recognized as a couple and therefore must file separately. The system is set up, for us anyway, so that we actually have to file a dummy federal income tax return with our state tax return, in both states where we own property. We consider ourselves married. Have been together for over 9 years now. Work and continue to support the economy. Give to charity. Own property. We try to buy local, support the farms in our area, and we are good citizens. We follow the rules, never hurt anyone, haven’t been arrested. We love our families, our friends, and each other. Apparently, that’s all not enough. And apparently we are legally obligated to pay an extra $2000 in taxes without getting all the benefits and rights afforded to couples who don’t happen to be the same sex. Apparently of the people, by the people, and for the people doesn’t include us as “the people”. This angers me.
I haven’t spoken out much on this topic until now because honestly we just go about our lives. Our lives are full and lovely, which takes most of our attention. But when something like what just happened in North Carolina happens, we talk about it. We are outraged. And frankly, a tad stunned. We know there are haters out there. And they can say that they are just concerned for the sanctity of marriage, but common, they hate. How else can you justify completely obliterating someone else’s civil rights? You don’t do something like that out of love and concern, you do it out of fear and hate.
There have been oh so many conversations, statements to the press, position clarifying notices, etc. and I’m sick of all of it. What this comes down to is the basic undermining of a whole segment of the populations civil rights. And don’t be mistaken, this is a civil rights issue. If it weren’t we wouldn’t be paying more taxes than we should. If it was only about the sanctity of marriage there would be, at least, federal civil unions that would include us, take us into consideration, honor our love of this country. But there isn’t… and here we are. North Carolina doesn’t only ban same sex marriage, they get rid of civil unions as well. Sanctity of marriage? Yeah right.
I could go on and on about how we are the same as everyone else… but I won’t. No one listens to that. To the people who would, and do, slam the door in our face there’s not a lot of listening happening anyway. I don’t understand this, but there it is. I was raised to treat people as you would be treated. I was raised to be considerate and kind and generous and tolerant and caring. I was raised to believe that until you walk in someone’s shoes you should never judge them. I was raised to give people the benefit of the doubt and to try and understand all sides before going off half cocked. I was raised to do unto others and judge not lest ye be judged. The funny thing is I was raised by an atheist and an agnostic. I was raised without religion in my life, except during those incredibly judgmental visits to an evangelical grandmother who, as I got older and really saw her, treated my wonderful little brother like a piece of trash. I have no idea why. She played favorites. I was a favorite, he was not. When this realization hit home, when I finally saw her and her behavior I stayed with her less and less. Until I didn’t stay with her anymore at all. I also stayed with her less and less because she would tell fire and brimstone stories trying to scare me into believing. She referred to my mother as that “heathen” woman. I now realize she was bitter and angry and felt as though life took her in a direction or directions she didn’t really want to go. It does not justify her behavior. It was appalling.
This is not to say that I don’t like religion. It has not always been kind to the ones I love, and those wielding it have not always been kind to me either. But I’m interested in it. Sort of fascinated by it really. I respect people of faith who are honest, humble, devout, and spiritual. I know some fantastic people who are very religious, but who also love me, accept me, support me. They know they should not speak for God. They know they shouldn’t judge. If you are Christian judgement is God’s job. Not yours. They know this. I respect them and their faith. It’s as big a part of them as being creative is a part of me. They live it, walk it, talk it, see the world through it, and because they do they have grace. Grace, by the way, I have not just seen in people who are christian, but that’s a story for another time. Those people of religion I respect. I even envy their conviction sometimes. My fascination with religion lead me to take a few religion classes in college. What I learned? All religions hold the “do unto others” golden rule as a basic principle. Do unto others…. I guess that to some people of religious faith the do unto others only counts if you are exactly like them, believe exactly like them, and love exactly like they want you to.
Marriage. An institution. If it were only performed in churches, maybe I would get it. But nowadays, in these times, marriages are performed by judges and captains of ships as well. They are legal and binding. They afford those who are able to marry with certain rights given to them just because they got married. We had to pay an attorney $1600 to get some of those same rights, and even still we don’t get all of them. I don’t understand. If your church pastor doesn’t want to perform marriage ceremonies for gay couples, OK, I have no problem with that. But don’t tell some other pastor of some other church who would be more than willing to marry us that he or she can’t. Keep your beliefs, your faith, your upholding of what your interpretation of the bible is, but keep that for yourself. Keep it for your family. Don’t try decide for me who I can marry, how I should live, or what has meaning for me. I’ve never understood how one group of people could look at another group of people and have the arrogance to believe they know what’s best for them. And yes, I know there have been wars, and freedoms purchased with beliefs like that, but I’m not hurting anyone. It’s like declaring war on a group of pacifists. We don’t want to fight, or tell you how to live, or what you can or can’t do. Why should you have the right to tell us?
I’m rambling, but these are the things I think when states, North Carolina in this case, gets involved in my life. And again I’ll say… it’s a civil rights issue people. The Constitution of the United States of America, Article IV: Section 2: Clause 1 reads, “The Citizens of each State shall be entitled to all Privileges and Immunities of Citizens in the several States.” Amendment XIV Section 1 states, “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” And I’m expected to adhere to Amendment XVI that reads, “The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration.” without being afforded the rights paying those taxes affords most of it’s citizens. Is this fair or equal? Not on your life.
The definition… “Civil and political rights are a class of rights that protect individuals‘ freedom from unwarranted infringement by governments and private organizations, and ensure one’s ability to participate in the civil and political life of the state without discrimination or repression.” Where are mine? Where are the rights of so many of my friends who are good citizens as well, but who don’t have the civil rights of our neighbors, friends, co-workers, our families. We are discriminated against. And we are being repressed.
I guess what it all comes down to, as I know people on the other side of this issue have quotes of their own, interpretations of their own, and their own beliefs about what is and isn’t a right, is that I’m tired of it. I live in a country where all men and women aren’t created equally. I thought we’d be better than this. We can be. We can be our best selves if we step out of fear and anger. It’s possible. Some day, for most of us, it is possible. Someday we will live equally. Someday we will. I have hope for that. I am hopeful. Disappointed, again, but hopeful. Even if some people of faith and conservative family values may never accept my relationship, it is just that… my relationship. It infringes on no one. I just wish, and am, again, hopeful for the day when my rights aren’t infringed on. I’m hopeful a day will come when all men and women are created equally. I’m hopeful for a time when people don’t fear my love for my woman and I don’t have to fear being treated differently or hurtfully because of my love for my woman. I believe that day is coming. It has to.
Just got back from the weekly shot. Nancy, who takes my blood pressure and temp and weight and oxygen every week, asked how I fared yesterday given the fact that she knows I fear tornadoes. I said it all worked like it was supposed to. We were clueless, sitting in the office, then the weather radio went off telling us to take shelter, tornado warning, beep beep beep, etc. We grabbed the dogs, our phones, closed our curtains, and headed downstairs. It took us all of about 2 minutes. Once there we turned on the TV and settled in with our laptops, Karen working, me perusing various coverage sites for the weather. The emergency alert system activated on the TV and then the sirens went off, or maybe it was the other way around, and we watched on television as the storm made it’s way across where we live. Many many funnel clouds were spotted and some tornadoes touched down. Apparently, according to Nancy, there was some damage out by Curtis Road (not far from us) where windows were blown out and a metal shed was moved up onto another building. LOL I’d say the first test of our personal system worked well. :-) Nancy said she spent 45 minutes in the basement. Apparently they move all the patients down to the basement of the clinic when the sirens go off.
Honesty. Being honest.
I am afraid. Not always, but I am. I am trying not to be.
I capture moments of joy, soaking them up, appreciating them with every part of my being. My honey doing something silly and wonderful and full of joy, which she does many times a day. Her smile. Sebastian’s laugh or new word. The gorgeous setting of the sun. The pups loving on me in the way only they can. Wind in the trees. Music stirring my soul. A film I love. Hugs from family. A visit from my Mom. Art that aches to express itself and somehow understands me. Kindness. Moments of love from family and friends. Hope.
And then I have those dark moments. Afraid. Scared. Taken with a near paralyzing fear that maybe this time the blood results won’t be good. Then they are, and I feel as though I can take another breath. This is how it goes.
To be brutally honest I’m sitting here with tears streaming down my face. Happy. Yes, it’s that every other week Tuesday and I just got my results. They were really good. Of course they were, I don’t have leukemia anymore. But…
It’s that word, that awful word… but. I fear. I have fear. I am afraid. Not all the time anymore, like I once was, but I am still afraid.
Sometimes I look at people I don’t know, which I did a lot this last weekend at Ebert Fest. I look at the crowd, overhear conversations, get a peek into people’s lives. I hear about work, and school, and giving, and politics, and passionate causes, and daily life. And sometimes I think to myself, of course without really knowing any of these people, wow… you have no idea what you have. You are walking around asleep. And trust me when I say I don’t mean this as a derogatory thing. I envy people who are sometimes asleep, or better described I guess as sleep walking. They don’t know how fast life can change, and does.
Karen and I were talking the other day about this very thing. How sometimes people are so caught up in things, stuff, the daily minutia of living, they forget. They forget what it’s really about. It is never about stuff, things, small arguments, disagreements, anger, what you have or don’t, what you want or don’t. It’s about love and beauty. Period. Which I know I’ve talked about before here in this blog of mine.
Somehow I wish I could shout out to the world for people to wake up. Wake to love and beauty and joy and each other. Wake to sameness and togetherness and the simple joy that we are here in this day, with each other, looking at this lovely place we call home, wherever that is. I want to shake people.
I don’t want to sound like I know something others don’t, but in this regard, I think I kinda do. I’m grateful for the knowing, which I think I’ve had most of my life, and for the continued teaching life has brought me to even better and more fully understand. I’m still learning. I take nothing for granted.
I know all of this, appreciate it, and yet I am still afraid. I still find myself holding my breath. It gets better, is getting better, but some days, sometimes, it’s tough. I want to see more of my share of sunsets, and laughing good friends. I want to get more kisses from my grandson and from our puppies. I want more hand holding and hugging and smiles. I want more wind in my face and sun on my feet. I want more. I want. The wanting is a very hard thing to admit out loud. But it’s there, every time I get worried. Every time I am afraid. I want because I am loved and I love so deeply.








































