Random stuff

Have you ever known someone who is just contrary about everything?  If you say the sky is blue, they will insist on pink.

I have such an acquaintance.  Every statement I or someone else make must be qualified and backed up with fact.  There are no shades of grey when it comes to possibilities.  Example:  I post on social media that I find the photo of a certain room to be inviting and warm.  Response?  Well, this person would change some of the furniture and possibly the fung-shui of the room, and then it might be acceptable.  Any photo posted on social media is never a statement of fact; it has been photo-shopped to suit an individual agenda.

Folks like that are the reason I have taken my opinions here, to my private playground.  As I said in my opening missive, if you don't like my opinions as here stated, GO AWAY.  This is my olive branch to my social media friends who don't necessarily view things in the same perspective as I do.

I admit to being an opinionated woman in every sense of the word.  I am also prone to verbosity, courtesy of a father with an inquiring mind.  My mother used to say that if you asked Daddy what time it was he'd take the watch apart and show you how it worked.  He worked in his time off from his job at Inland Steel to educate himself and be able to challenge his daughters as they grew and learned.  I am several years younger than my only sister, and about the time she was in college, I was in junior high and in the midst of my communicant studies to join the Presbyterian church.  Daddy was very fond of opening a discussion, getting you to take a position on an issue, and then purposely arguing against you, whether it was what he believed or not.  He just wanted us to be able to prove our point.  The night I remember so vividly revolved around a discussion of Christianity v. religion.  The three of them were going at it hot and heavy and I was sitting on the fringes, listening.  Then I decided to put my two cents in and was immediately told that this discussion had nothing to do with what I was learning at church, thank you, and go to bed.

Harsh?  Maybe.  But this is the same man who took me out to lunch at least once a week during his lifetime just for some one-on-one time.  The restaurant we frequented had place mats that changed by month, and on the mats was printed the names and birthdates of important people.  No, not Hollywood stars or pop singers, but those who had changed the world.  As we waited for our food, I was gently quizzed:  Who was Gandhi?  What did he do?  Why was he important?  I remember learning about Marie Curie through one of those lunchtime schoolings.  I close my eyes and I can still see the mats; I also remember asking for an extra to take home so that I could know things I had missed by next week.  Everything was a learning experience.

Hours were spent in the world-class museums of the city of Chicago so that I would have exposure to things and ask questions.  I have index cards in Daddy's handwriting in a drawer here in the house where he studied medieval and Renaissance artists in order to enlighten me.  I've been to Chicago's Art Institute twice in all the years since he died, and I still cry when I walk in the door.  That was "our" place.  Yet I made a point a couple of summers ago of taking our youngest granddaughter; the one who so favors my dad's side of the family, to the Institute.  I felt guilty that I hadn't studied, but I could feel Daddy urging my memory and guiding Erin to make note of certain things.

Sadly, I lost Daddy when I was 14 years old; he dropped dead one winter afternoon of a cerebral aneurysm.  Several people tried to step in and mentor me in his absence, but circumstances within my home prevented it from coming to fruition.  So I assumed grown-up responsibilities at home and tuned out of just about everything else in the world.  Becoming the head of household at that age tends to reinforce different character issues, both positive and negative.  I acquired a dogmatic stance on many things just to cover the lack of self-esteem I was combating on the inside.  Both still bite me in the butt today.

So when I get something in my head, you're going to have to go a way to sway me that you're wrong.  I work hard at not being contrary just for the sake of doing so, but I know I come across that way to others on occasion.  Don't tell me that's purple when I know it's green if it's a matter of importance or affecting the education of one of my children or grandchildren.  I will take you to my dying breath.  I hope that I never become like my social media acquaintance and criticize petty things because of whatever reason; I try to occupy my mind gainfully.  I am a voracious reader of history, biography and other non-fiction; if I read a novel, it's because my brain is about to overload.  Daddy made me a news junkie; if he was still alive today he'd have the 24 hour news channels on constantly and have his iPad in his lap to catch what wasn't coming across on the television.

To quote Popeye the Sailor Man, "I yam what I yam."  I am far from perfect and it's still a constant battle for me to become comfortable in my own skin.  But I owe my father a huge debt of gratitude for encouraging the little kid who used to take her drum apart to see how it made noise.

Here's to us and those like us - damn few left - who want to know the whys and the wherefores and will spend sleepless nights studying history ("That happened 50 years ago!  Does it matter?"  Yes!) and applying the lessons learned to today's world.  May we rave forever.