What to do about Richmond?

I live in Richmond, California. Yes, that Richmond. The Richmond that often finds itself in the news as a gang-infested hell-hole. It’s not all that unusual to read about a spate of four or five shootings over the course of a night or two. Hell, a couple of years ago it got so bad that there was talk of bringing in the National Guard as a back-up.  When many people think of Richmond the words that may spring to mind are “violence”, “poverty”, “gangs”,  and, my favorite, “the armpit of the Bay Area.”   And now, you can add to that list “gang rape.”

That’s not the Richmond I live in.  Like many of us who live in nice neighborhoods in sketchy cities, we identify ourselves by our neighborhood.  So, when people ask where I live, I don’t say Richmond, I say Point Richmond just as others may say they live in The Marina, or the Richmond Hills.  When I say Point Richmond, the words that spring to mind are “quaint”, “historical”,  or “nice”.  Yet, here in quaint, historical, nice, Point Richmond, we are less than a mile away from the Iron Triangle and North Richmond, the poorest and most violent neighborhoods around.  And Richmond High, the sight of that horrendous gang rape is only three miles away.

My first reaction to the news of that gang rape was incredible sadness.  Sad for the victim of such depraved, animalistic violence, and sad for my city that will once again be dragged through mud as a place that breeds young men with no sense of right and wrong, no remorse, and whose basest instincts are given free reign.  And yet I also feel sad for those young men who perpetrated this crime. No one wants to grow up to be a monster. No young child says “when I grow up I want to spend most of my life in and out of prison.” Yet, this is the life they, their parents, their community, and their culture have created for them.  Of course, they deserved to be punished severely. But, how will that change things?  Yes, the community will be safe, for a while, from this particular group of young men.  And yes, patrols will probably be increased in that area and new lighting installed. All of that is good and long needed.

But, what about the deeper issues?  Is there a whole generation of young men in our midst who have no capacity for empathy or compassion?  How do we keep our girls safe, self-assured and strong in a culture where that simply isn’t a priority?   How do you instill a respect for living beings and life itself, when clearly, too many see life as cheap, for others and for themselves?

I want to help, yet I am at a loss as how I can.  I am not a parent, a social worker, a community activist, or a civic leader.  I am simply a citizen of Richmond, California, saddened and horrified at an unspeakably inhumane crime, and what it says about our young men , our city, and the culture that has created them.

Spidertown

No need for faux spiderwebs for Halloween at Chez LazyBuddhist.  No, at this time of year, my yard becomes Spidertown.

two spiders do battle outside my kitchen window

I’ve lived in this neighborhood for about 12 years now so I’ve become used to the annual spider invasion.  It usually happens in the latter part of the summer or early fall.  But, it does seem that each year these damn spiders are getting bigger and bigger.  You would think I lived next to a nuclear power plant rather than merely an oil refinery.  One big guy has a web that is probably close to three feet in diameter.  It’s right next to my walkway, which is fine with me.  When he starts to encroach across my walkway?  Well, bub, you’ll find out who is the bigger and more dangerous species. With the flick of this yardstick, I can bring down your days of work.  So, don’t even think about expanding across my walkways, ‘k?

Sure, now I sound all bold and brave when it comes to my eight-legged friends.  And normally, I have a live and let live philosophy when it comes to spiders.  But, if I’m surprised by one by walking into its web, or having it lower its creepy self in front of my eyes while driving 65 mph, I become a damn shrieking fool.  (And yes, I did have a stow-away in my car reveal itself to me while I was driving over a bridge at 65 mph.  I completely and utterly spazzed out for the entire length of the bridge until I was safely across and found a place to park, lept out of my car and fully shook out my clothing, hair and car to make sure he wasn’t on me.  I didn’t find him that morning, but I scared him enough to go take cover, only revealing himself a couple of days later when he started spinning a web in the back window of my car.)

Sleeping driveway spider

I’m not the only one who spazzes out when encountering a spiderweb.  One  fall day a couple of years back, a young. outdoorsy looking man was canvassing my neighborhood for the Sierra Club.  I was at the back of the house, so I called out to him to meet me at the backdoor. He walked right into a huge spiderweb and started freaking the fuck out.  I tried my best not to laugh, but there was something so deliciously ironic about seeing this big rugged nature boy completely lose his shit when walking into a spider web.  I know, bad Buddhist, bad bad Buddhist.

Despite my fear of spiders, I’m not a spider killer.  If there is a spider in the house, we strike a deal – you stay over there, and I stay here. And since most of the time they are places I care not to be, we’re cool.  I let them have the ceiling, the upper part of the walls, or the basement.  Enjoy yourself Mr. Spider. Let us co-exist peacefully.   And if he fails to understand our agreement about boundaries, well, that is what the boyfriend is for.  He is not a spider killer either, but he is adept at capturing them and taking them outside.  Good boyfriend, good good boyfriend.

walkway spider w/ 3 ft wide web

This year one of the spiders have located himself right outside my kitchen widow.  Every morning is like my own personal episode of Nature.  One morning, there was the turf battle (see pic above) where these two pretty equally matched spiders kept attacking each other.  It was fascinating, especially how this one spider would curl up in a ball and play dead.  When the other spider came over to poke at him to see if he was still alive, the curled up spider would spring open and start wildly attacking the other one.  Unfortunately, that spider that got attacked wasn’t the smartest spider, as he kept falling for the other one’s play dead ploy.  I could have watched this for hours, but I had to go to work.  When I came home, there was only one spider left – the victor.  Now I watch him work on his web in the morning with all the grace of a harpist plucking at the strings.

At a safe distance I can appreciate the effort and workmanship that go into making these massive webs.  And that the way  I like it – at a distance.

Panic!

I was in my mid-20s when I had my first panic attack.  It came out of the blue.  I wasn’t involved in something that frightened me, or unnerved me, or any type of thing that you can imagine that would inspire panic.  No, I was laying in bed watching TV – something highly familiar and comfortable.

I can’t remember what triggered it.  It was probably just a numbness in an arm, or an odd pain.  But soon I was feeling as if I was going to lose consciousness.  Nay, not merely lose consciousness, but actually die.  I needed to get outside where someone may see me or rescue me, some place where I could breathe.  My legs felt like they could not support me since they had gone numb like much of the rest of my body.  At the time I lived in an apartment complex where I had become friends with one of my neighbors.  I managed to ring her doorbell.  I couldn’t really describe my symptoms besides, “I’m dying.”  I guess she didn’t take me too seriously since she didn’t rush me to the hospital as I expected her to do, but instead rang the doorbell of yet another neighbor, a nurse.

The neighbor-nurse asked me a few questions about my health history, medications, symptoms, etc.  The diagnosis came quickly: I was having a panic attack.  Despite my mother being an agoraphobic (which is basically the end result of untreated panic disorder), I knew nothing about panic attacks.  The neighbor-nurse offered me some orange juice and let me lay down while she gently explained what was happening and reassuring me I wasn’t dying.  A half an hour later the symptoms had subsided and I went home, feeling shaken but relieved it was over.

It wasn’t until years later that I had another attack.  This time I was older and there were no kindly neighbors to talk me off the ledge. Again, it happened late in the evening while relaxing in front of the TV.  First a numbness and then the thought, “oh my god, I’m dying.”  I drove myself to the emergency room.  I suspected it was just panic – I knew a lot more about it by then – and I just wanted someone to take my blood pressure and tell me I wasn’t having a heart attack.  But, it was a busy night, so I spent much of the night in the waiting room.  The comfort of knowing there were a gaggle of doctors just beyond that swinging door and the distraction of a busy ER calmed my symptoms quickly.  Why I continued to wait, I don’t know.  It was probably close to 4 hours before I saw a doctor who, upon hearing my faded symptoms, and my family and personal history, quickly diagnosed panic.  My blood pressure was slightly elevated, but nothing to be alarmed about.

In the years since I have gone through periods where I tend to have more panic attacks.  Always it is the same:  at night, alone, triggered by some minor ache or pain.  The type of ache or pain that most people would react with maybe an “ouch” or “maybe I should change my position so my arm doesn’t fall asleep.”  Not me, my mind goes from “Ouch! What’s that?” to “No doubt that is  symptom of a heart attack, or some kind of blood clot that is going to cause my imminent death.”   If I don’t catch it in time with some  rational self-talk or mindfulness or distraction or Valium (or all of the above), the next part of the routine is getting dressed in preparation to drive myself to the emergency room.  Eventually, I calm down enough so I can start distracting myself until all the symptoms are completely gone.

I don’t know what the point of this post is.  I’m tired.  I woke up with a cramp in my leg at 2am, which, of course, triggered a panic attack, so most of my night was shot. Sleep has been hard enough these days without adding in the odd panic attack or two.  I’ve done the cognitive behavioral therapy thing – I recognize what it is, and that is probably what has kept me from multiple trips to the ER.  I’ve done years of therapy, including for PTSD.  I think this is just part of the genetic heritage left to me by my mother who, for my entire lifetime with her, rarely ever left the house because of her panic disorder.  I know it could be a lot worse, so I guess I’ll just deal with the occasional attack and be grateful it doesn’t control my life.

The Bench

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when I was a wee child, there was no such thing as portable chair technology.   When you went to the beach or pool, the adults took, at most, one of those folding A-frame back jacks made of striped canvas and wood.  They were handy so the adults could sit up and smoke, or read, or watch the kids (in that order of priority). At home you might find those aluminum webbed folding chairs.  But, usually they weren’t lugged around for a mere day at the park or the beach.  You might have seen them strapped on the back of a camper or on top of a station wagon on its way to the campgrounds.  But, other than that, I don’t seem to recall portable chairs as being an important lifestyle accessory.

Times have changed.  Not only in terms of the vast array of portable sitting options, but also in how less portable my ass has become.  I think it was shortly after I hit 40 that I  said to myself, “self, wouldn’t it be pleasant to sit in a lightweight chair rather than on the ground when enjoying an outdoor concert in the park?”  But, being as this was something I only did a couple of times during the summer, it didn’t seem worth the investment.  So, I started bringing my meditation cushion with me to these rare events.  It worked for a while.  It gave me some loft, some cushion and some protection against the occasional rocks and pebbles that one can feel under just a blanket.  I tended to resort to a meditation posture whenever I was on the cushion, so as you can imagine after a few hours of sitting like that, it got pretty hard on the knees.  Maybe the next summer was time to make that investment in a real chair.

NaBloPoMo – a summary

Today is my last NaBloPoMo required posting.  Yes, I know, yesterday was officially the end of September, but I started a day late, so here we are.

I’ll admit it was a good way to get back in touch with this, my blog.  We had started to become a bit distant.  We were only seeing each other maybe 3 times a month.  So to multiply that by 10 was definitely challenging.  But, as I have proven to myself in the past, I can pretty much do anything for only one month.  In fact, NaNoWriMo is coming up in a month . . . I’m considering it again.

So, here is a brief summary of my NaBloPoMo efforts:

• No. of days in September:  30
• No. of blog postings: 30 (though there was one day that I missed due to a power and then cable outage, but I ended up doing two posts the following day
• Posts where I actually wrote about something: 15
• Posts where I complain or make excuses about NaBloPoMo: 3
• Posts where I complain (non-NaBloPoMo): 3
• Posts where I resorted to haiku: 5
• Posts where I resorted to haikus where I complained or made excuses about NaBloPoMo: 4
• Posts where I filled space with a YouTube video: 2
• Posts that were mostly pictures: 2

So, taking a cue from Amurin (as I so often do), I think I’ll throw a poll in here to get your feedback on how I should forward from here.

My frighteningly good health

I can’t remember the last time I got sick.  Really sick.  Stay in bed and complain sick.  I know for a fact that in the last year (probably more) I have not had any colds or the flu – no sore throats, chest rattling coughs or runny nose.   I think the last time I got sick was a weird 24 hour flu where I had a fever and nausea, but the next day I was fine.  Such a shame because I was totally prepared to go down for the count.  I called into my doctor’s office  to get some Tamiflu, and had the boyfriend bring in soup and orange juice.  I was ready to be sick.  Didn’t happen.

When I started working in the medical center about nine months ago, I was certain my first year was going to be filled with lots of downtime as my system got used to being surrounded by god-knows what kinds of germs.  Hasn’t happened. In some ways this good health worries me.  It’s like I’m saving up all my sick for something big.  I don’t want something big.  Give me some sniffles, a sore throat, etc.  You know, just the standard stuff.

Sure, I did have that bout of sciatica around my birthday.  But, musculoskeletal doesn’t really count.   That counts as an injury, not an illness.

For the past couple of days I may have somethin’ a-brewin’ inside of me.  I stayed home from work today because I just felt . . . I dunno.  Tired?  After I got up around my usual time, I decided to call in sick for the day and then went back and had some of the deepest sleep I’ve had in ages.  And I’ve got a throat tickle going on.  So, maybe I got a little sumthin’.  Maybe? It doesn’t feel flu-y, which is good.  I’ll be getting my flu shots soon, so hopefully, I can avoid the flu again this season.   But, a cold, an annoying little cold would almost be welcome.

Take Your Pet to Work day

OK, sure, it’s not an official day, but it totally should be. I mean there is Take Your Daughter to Work day (which later became Take Your Kid to Work day when the boys started whining that they don’t get enough attention). So, why shouldn’t we be able to bring our pets into the office at least one day a year. As long as they are house-broken and well-behaved, I think it would be a wonderful treat for employees and patients alike. And for those with allergies, we’d have People with Allergies Stay Home day on the same day.

Despite the lack of an official day to bring your pet to work, one of my staff brought in one of his dragons (and don’t call them lizards! While K is a very soft-spoken, kind and sensitive man, he’ll go all Komodo on your ass if you call one of his dragons a lizard).  So, meet Einstein, the water dragon who hung out at the office today.  Very mellow little dude.  Pretty much stayed on K’s desk and looked slightly worried.  Obviously, the little guy was pretty smart because I’d be worried too if all these strange ladies were coming in and invading my space, cooing and chucking my chin at least once an hour.

Water dragon w/ dying potted plant and dead air plant stick

Water dragon and coy co-worker

I'm ready for my close-up, Ms. DeMille

Weird Monday

Weird day here at the office.  Normally, Mondays are a bit crazed.  People save up all their crazy over the weekends and then come in and dump it on us.  But today?  It’s uber-quiet.  One of my staff requested to take half the day off because he was bored.  Hey, if he has the hours and that’s how he wants to use them, why not? 

This stance has apparently made me the hero of other departments where being bored is not a valid reason for leaving early.   If someone wants to leave early they need to come up with some kind of elaborate ruse of feeling sick, or having a sick relative, or some other pressing issue.  But, is it really worth anyone’s time and money to be hanging around doing a whole lot of nothin’?  That’s my philosophy.  If you have the PTO (Paid Time Off)  earned and you want to take off,  and your leaving doesn’t have an adverse affect on business operations, then please go with god, my child.

After only maybe 3 1/2 hours of sleep, I was tempted to call in “tired” this morning.  I should have, really.   I’ve got 9 weeks of PTO on the books, and a boss who shares my philosophy when it comes to time off.  

I don’t know what is going on with me and sleep lately.  We used to be on such good terms.   But now?  When I finally go to bed, sleep doesn’t want to come with me.  And when it does finally join me, it decides to leave me around 3 am and want to wander around until 4:30 or so.  At 5 am, sleep finally settles down and starts to get deep.  But, when the alarm goes off, sleep wants to keep going.   So every morning is a damn struggle between sleep and I.   There are no winners in this war sleep and I are having.

I’m glad it’s a weirdly quiet Monday so that I can get my requisite blog post out of the way while I’m being paid to sit upright and capable of composing sentences.  That frees up my evening to sprawl on the couch and watch “Intervention” and “Hoarders”.  Good times.  Good times.

In which I am honored

My buddy Amurin over at Stop and Wander has bequeathed upon me this lovely “Honest Scrap” award for remarkable honesty in blogging.  Thank you, Am.  I want to  thank WordPress for making this possible with their  lovely, easy and free software and hosting.  And a big hug to my real life friends who completely ignore online ramblings thus freeing me up to write without worrying what they will think.  And finally, to my parents who slapped me three ways to Saturday whenever they caught me in a lie.

When you get the Honest Scrap award, you are meant to grace your readers with 10 honest things about yourself, and then pass on the award to other blog friends who write honestly and truly about themselves and events in their life.

1. I live in constant fear of an 80-something year old lady whom I have let down.  She wrote me a lovely letter in longhand requesting that our company grant free parking to senior citizens.  I promised her I would get it delivered to someone who might be able to do something about it.  Being as our organization is so vast, I have no idea who would care that an elderly member feels as if her age should grant her a pass on paying for parking.  So, the letter sits.  And I await in fear of her phone call.
2. Instead of meditating or writing in the mornings like I know I really really should, I fart around playing stupid games on Facebook.  It seems like people are writing all kinds of apps and games for Facebook, so here’s an idea: I think there should be an app that kept a running total of all the time a person spent on Facebook.  And then to add to the cruel reality of that frightening number, it would compare your total hours to something useful like:  Your Time On Facebook:  172.25 hours / 172.25 of non-Facebook Time = 10 books read, 5 volunteer shifts at the homeless shelter, 7 non-garbage blog posts, 16 1/2 hour meditation sessions, and a dozen home-cooked (i.e. non-microwaved) meals.
3. Even though I don’t even kill bugs b/c of my personal, Buddhist influenced beliefs, I have gotten quite into playing Mafia Wars on (what else?) Facebook.  I have “iced” 36 mobsters, and “whacked” 6 of them, though I haven’t the foggiest idea what is the difference between icing and whacking.
4. I have a sneaking hunch I am not as nice a person as I like to believe myself to be.
5. I’m also not a very good friend.  I do a shit job at keeping in touch with people, and apparently returning emails and phone calls is a bit of a foreign concept.
6. I stopped shaving my legs years ago since I always wear pants, and the boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind.
7. Making this list is starting to depress me
8. I have a natural tendency towards depression.  It’s been pretty well under control for a few years now and I haven’t had to resort to going back on meds, but it still doesn’t take much to make me go to my dark place.
9. When I was pretty freshly sober and in therapy started really mucking about in the dark recesses of my psyche, I had a job where I subjected myself to a crazy boss’s whims and insane hours (can you say 70 a week?).  Occasionally, when it all got too much, I would hide under my desk.  I was capable of conducting business over the phone or with my staff, but I couldn’t bring myself to sit up in my chair or leave my office.   I think it tells you the general insanity of this workplace that my hiding under my desk hi-jinks didn’t phase anyone.  Though I was once told during a performance review that I might want to come up with other coping mechanisms because it was somewhat startling to the newer staff members.
10. I am counting down the days until this stupid NaBloPoMo self-challenge is over.  Whew.  Only 4 more days!

Now, it’s my time to get revenge . . . oh wait, I mean it’s now time to pass along the honor of the Honest Scrap Award.  One will go to my North Coast buddy Adam, who not only joined me on this NaBloPoMo challenge, but he also threw in going to the gym every day.  Silly, silly man.  I haven’t heard much from my boys Ombudsman and Julian, so here ya are fellas.  Congratulations!

Coming up blank

I’ve got little less than a week to go with this whole NaBloPoMo thing and frankly, I think my well is running dry in terms of ideas.  I probably could just write about my day, but then this blog would be entering the realm of diary, and that was never really the point.  I did have a lovely day, though, no question about it.  I went to the Friends of the San Francisco Public Library Big Book Sale with a couple of good friends.  Lovely autumn day in San Francisco and lots of books cheap.  What could be better?

I promise tomorrow I’ll come up with a real post.  Promise.

A question

Lately, I’ve really needed to ask someone a question about something that has been bothering me.  So, I’ll come right out and ask you.  Please, don’t be shy.  I swear I shan’t stalk you, steal your identity, or send you spam if you leave a comment.

According to a rather small sample – that is the patients and employees who park in the parking lot under my office building – approximately 1/3 of the population backs into a parking space rather than just heading in.  And I need to know why do people do that. It makes no sense to me.

It was never anything I really paid attention to until I started parking in the lot downstairs.   I know whenever I head into that lot that I’m going to need some patience.  Since it’s a medical center parking lot so there are a lot of people who are not feeling their best, and then throw in all the elderly folks, pregnant women, people hobbling on crutches, etc.  – this is not a parking lot for those in a big hurry.  Yet, of course, people are.  You’ve got the anxious folks and those who are just plain late for their appointment.  And on top of this is the tendency for people to want to get the parking space closest to wherever they are going.  (Yet, the elevator is located in the same damn spot on the first level as it is the fifth.  And, really, it is only a few seconds between floors once you’re on the elevator. Geez, people! OK, remember breathe.  Better.)

For the most part, I’m pretty good at sitting patiently as the person in front of me waits for the elderly person with the walker who just got off the elevator and is moving very slowly towards their car.  And since it’s a busy bi-directional garage, I can’t just scoot by and high-tail it down to the fifth level where there is always abundant parking.  So, I sit and I listen to my music and practice acceptance.  That is, until the person who has been holding me up (as well as the line that has formed behind me), decides to back into now empty parking space.  Come on, now!  Is that really necessary?  Can’t you just quickly scoot head first into the space?  Instead, they hold up both directions of traffic in order to back into the space.  And to what purpose?

So, please, if you are a backer-inner, please let me know why and what is the advantage of said maneuver.  I know y’all don’t do it strictly to annoy me (though that may be an added bonus for some), and I know it must serve some purpose.  Help me understand.

Thank you.

Another damn haiku

Shit! It’s really late
I have forgotten to write
Enjoy the silence