I want to be on that guest list!

If God Invited you to a party
And said, "Everyone
In the ballroom tonight
Will be my special Guest,"
How would you treat them
When you
Arrived?
Indeed, indeed!
And Hafiz knows
There is no one in this world
Who Is not upon
His Jeweled Dance Floor.
-Hafiz

We started zikr with this poem last night. This past year has been the year of suck for in the realm of social circles, and I'm trying hard to see the silver lining, the light at the end of the tunnel, and all the other happy and optimistic cliches I am oh so well at espousing.

First there's the ongoing oddness of generally being the only person of color in any given room at any given moment 'round here. Sometimes I can feel being the other more than other times. Like at GenCon 2007, I felt like I had a sign on my back that said, "Negress Writes RPG's to Scare You." Ouch. You have it all wrong folks! This year the sign read, "Tentacle Sex", and I didn't feel as othered. Go figure. Even still, I took a break from game design and the online social network. I'm getting back on the horse now, and am happy and excited to do so. No real story there, except maybe the one about the vicious name calling from a misogynistic twit that I apparently pissed off for having and offering an opinion. That and he was made of crazy. Actually there were a few attacks from said twit, which ultimately clouded the rest of my gaming on-line social circle in suck.

It was that Othering feeling that broke the deal with church and me. That and not feeling the churchy Jesus Christ Superstar vibe any more. It's meant that where I found a new spiritual community, it will be some time before I've cultivated it enough to bring my kids in. My heart still aches every time I pass the building, though.

Meanwhile, there was the ongiong drama in my real life gaming (and otherwise) social circle. In some ways, I think it relates to being Othered. In some ways the drama makes me feel Othered. At a party last week, I wasn't the only person of color, but I was the only person that one other person has spent the entire past year compartmentalizing me into a box of deliberate misunderstanding. Things were less awkward and ugly than they've been in months, but after a year of feeling excluded from the much of Club Fun of Once a Friend, the smoldering non-engagement still burned. Ouch! You have it all wrong!

That's about 1/4 of the story, only half of my point of view, and all I have to offer. Can I even say that? Well, I did, and I'm not taking it back. Someone's treating me like shit and has built up a good year's worth of justification, and it sucks. On my end. I don't presume to know what the other side feels like, and it's been made clear to me that I'm not allowed to know. Okay.....

I used to think I was pretty good at standing up for myself and cutting losses quickly and efficiently, but I've spent too much time this past year declaring that I was being treated unfairly, and when nothing changed, I held out hope that people would figure it out and play nice, and I stuck around or came back. In the big and less personal circle of game designers it's easier to brush myself off and move on. We can't like everyone we meet at GenCon. I have more stories to tell, and I think somone will enjoy them. In the small and intimate circle of local friends, I don't have anywhere else to go. Can I realistically break ties with people I love and care about because of one person? No. That's like gouging out one's eye to remove a fleck of dust.

On the upside (here's my perennial optimist shining through! Welcome back, dear!), I've had a year of affirming and strengthening the relationship with my bestest friend, Mr. Ellingsgard, who has listened to me whine from start to finish about how things have sucked this past year. He is my strongest and favorite circle.

Hafiz's poem resonates with me because I am a perennial optimist who really believes that we, me included, are all one of God's special invited guests on the Jeweled Dance Floor. Perhaps it's what put me in this predicament in the first place. I love a good party, and if God's in charge of the guest list, I want to be there, and I want everyone to feel welcome and invited (yeah, even the misogynisitc twit and Club Fun of Once a Friend). Including the folks who don't share this view of humanity on a macro or micro level. And perhaps I am the Other for only as long as I see myself as the Other. Yeah, that's a good one. I hope I start believing it this coming year.

Picture of Rabi'a al-Adawiyya, my Sufi namesake. ("Your what?" For another time.)

Ferragamos, Hush Puppies, or Keens?

I think my crazy Target heels that I bought this summer (and wore once--I don't do heels as much as I'd love to, I'm tall enough!) We should all be so lucky as to have the chance to throw shoes at soon-to-be-former-president-but-obviously-not-soon-enough-for-most-of-the-world Bush.

Hey look! Now you can throw a loafer at STBFPBONSEFMOTW Bush.

Yes he was a fast dodger, yes no one near the stage made any real overture to block him, but what struck me most was STB... Bush's smug and smarmy response "so what if he threw a shoe at me?" Yeah. So what?

Worst. President. Ever. How many days till the nightmare is over?

Lucky Goose

I picked up the official 2008 Christmas Goose today. It's a fine lean and meaty bird, weighing in at a bit over 8 pounds. When I tried to pay for it, the farmer didn't have enough change to give me. "I'll buy something else." I said, and started looking around the very empty and unheated storefront/office. They used to sell all kinds of stuff like locally made sauces, spices, and game meat. The spices and sauces still sat on the shelves. The refrigerated case was empty (I'll miss the venison sausage in the stuffing this year.)

"Well, I'm giving all those things away. Take whatever you want," she said.

I picked up a bottle each of blueberry vinegar, cranberry vinegar, garlic wine vinegar, and dill infused sunflower oil, and brought them to the counter. If I had paid for them, it would have come to about $5 more than the change for the goose. "Really, I'm giving those away. Pick up a few more...I'll be right back." Said the farmer. While she went into the back room, I picked up an extra bottle of blueberry vinegar, cranberry vinegar, and herb blends #1 and 3.

She returned a minute later with a big box of more sauces and preserves. "Call it even?" She said.

"Okay." I said, stunned.

She opened the cash register and handed me a $5. "I'm really giving this all away." She said. I'll feel better if you take the five. You carry the goose, and I'll bring out the box. I'm not sure how sturdy it is."

On our way out the door, she put a couple jars of spices in the box. She put the box in the back of the Jeep, I thanked her profusely, and we went on our way.

When I got home I took all the jars and bottles out of the box and tallied the prices from the bottom of the jars. If I had paid for it all it would have cost about $115. I only needed $12.85 change from paying for the goose after she gave me $5. Here's what she put in the box. They're all locally produced from various small food companies or farmers, and/or from local produce:

Apple cider BBQ glaze, garden chili sauce, HOT red pepper relish, pickled dill beans, apricot butter, fig preserves, teriyaki sauce, ponzu sauce, szechuan sauce, garlic wine vinegar, cranberry vinegar, blueberry vinegar, two types of herb vinegar, dill infused sunflower oil, lemon pepper, ground basil, and cajun style blackened seasoning.

Picture credit: http://www.fotolog.com/fmsbotelho/15522875

Steal Away Jordan: The Man vs. Black Panthers & Nation of Islam

I get a guilty pleasure out of thinking up outlandish scenarios for Steal Away Jordan. It's a guilty pleasure because my mom, the History Professor, and head of the African American Studies Department at University of Memphis, would probably think they're not very tasteful. But Steal Away Jordan is not an educational game, it's a role playing game, and if you learn something, it's not likely to be history.

I have a couple I plan to run at Dreamation. One is set in West Africa, at the very beginning of the middle passage. The "masters" are other Africans who are about to sell you to the Spanish traders at the shore.

The other is a totally over the top homage to the Boondocks' Story of Catcher Freeman. Players are encouaged to abandon historical fact, embrace convenient anachronisms, and play as if the game were a movie directed by Spike Lee, and produced by Oprah Winfrey and Quentin Taratino.

And now the one of the title of this post. Set during the Civil Rights era, again, abandon the real historical facts and have fun playing your favorite and least favorite 1960's persona. Malcom X, Stokely Carmichael, or Martin Luther King, Jr., and Adam Clayton Powell, Jr. would make great Conjurers, George Wallace would be a fantastic Master. You could plan the greatest March or Protest (i.e. "Rebellion") that never happened. Round up every black person in the nation to march on Alabama or something.

Sorry, mom. Stay tuned.

Joyful Girl

Two years ago, round this time, I really hated my job (see Sing it, Johnny, The Camel's back..., and ...you utterly suck). What a difference two years makes. I love my job (see many more recent posts). I really love my job even when I really don't want to like my job.

I have a really awful work schedule this month, and it makes me a rather crabby. I'm working every weekend, I have two stretches of work days where I work 4 out of 5 days, and I'm working 20 miles away from home, where I could be working less than two, had I been scheduled to work at the Greenfield site. I can't see the rhyme or reason for scheduling me this way.

So I'm at work. It's Monday. I worked Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I'm unhappy to be here. One of my patients is talkative to excess. She's nice, but just doesn't stop talking. I'm grumpy. I don't let it show. I don't take my moods out onmy patients, but for a moment, I'm irritated that she doesn't stop talking, and I'm at work for the 4th time our of 5 days in a row.

Just before I leave my talkative patient's room she says, "You're a really nice and sweet person. I wish you had been my tech the last time I was here, because you made me feel at ease." She continues to gush about what a nice person I am, and how well I've been caring for her for a good minute. I am flabbergasted. I thank her, I smile, I thank her again, I tell her I'm happy to that I'm a help to her. I feel the letters A-S-S burn across my forehead.

It gets better. Or worse. My patient wakes up with muscle spasms. I help her to the bathroom. When she's back in bed, she reaches out her hand to me. I hold it. She grasps my hand tightly. "Thank you." She says, "You're a wonderful person." More praise ensues. Again, I tell her that I'm happy to help. Because I am.

I still wish I were at home, in bed, asleep, snuggling my love, and whichever smallish person who sneaks into our bed needing snuggles. But I am happy to be here, helping a stranger sleep better, treating her with about all the patience I hold at the moment. Still, it would be nice if time sped up a bit right now.

Eid Mubarak, ya'll.

Broken People

I live in a fairly small town in a smallish rural area of a small state on the East Coast. I work in health care, directly with patients, on an intimate level. I watch people sleep. But before I do that, I connect them head to toe with EEG's, EKG's, EMG's, respiratory belts, pulse oximeters, and nasal canulas. I touch people heads, I scrubs spots on their scalps. The whole set up of a sleep study takes 35 minutes to an hour.

That's plenty of time to get to know someone. Few people barely say anything to me. I pissed one patient off because I insisted he wear a shirt, and he punished me with silence. He was the only patient I was glad not to speak to. He came there looking for a fight. He got a hippie in a lab coat and nitrile gloves who didn't budge. Most people, at the very least, tell me about their sleeping habits and/or health issues. Many people tell me that, plus they tell me about their families, lives, jobs, etc. In turn, I tell people somewhat scripted, but sincere stories about my kids, how much I love my job, role playing games, my cats, my educational background, etc. I'm there for them, and they don't really need to know about me. I need to know about them, and I need to maintain an empathetic but professional distance.

I have patients who request me for their second sleep study with CPAP titration. I see former patients everywhere, all the time. It's a joy to hear about how well their home treatment is going, how getting a good night's sleep has changed their lives, etc. Being requested and being recognized make me happy. I love the feeling of making a positive difference.

Several of my patients have physical and mental health issues, which might be exacerbated by their sleep problems. In the past few weeks I've had a few broken people. A few more than usual? Not sure. Some get broken by circumstances, lack of access to adequate or preventative health care, bad cards, bad choices, etc.

Recently I had a patient who was broken by someone else. Someone close to her, and the abuse touched everything and everyone around her. It became her defining moment. I won't go into details, it's not my story to tell. What she told me had nothing to do with sleep problems. It explained a little why she was on so many medications, maybe why she was so nervous. I had her again for a CPAP trial a few weeks later. The first thing she told me was that she had not been doing well lately, that she had changed some of her medications, she wound up in a mental hospital for a few weeks, and even though she had the same room for the sleep study, the same tech (me, and she had requested me), and the same set up other than the added CPAP, she was even more afraid. Without her telling me any of this, it was clear she had to make an effort to keep it together.

And as before, she was hopeful that something would change with her. A new treatment, the constant of her support network (luckily she has a good one, too), she plans to cut her hair, and start fresh.

I'm not really going anywhere with this. I'm a little haunted by my patient and her story.The defining moment for this person was quite heinous and while she tries to rise above the trauma, it still haunts and trips her. After a week of celebration of national and global hope and change, I encountered someone desperate for a little of that light on the local level. At the very least, I hope she'll be able to sleep a little better.

Photo credit: Chris Anthony (remember him from the joy of Paintalicious? Man, he rocks!)

My country is made of win!

Yes we are!