No White Flag

No one wants to hurt. No one wants to be seen hurting, and no one is born with the wish to hurt others. The flaws of life have created the occurrence of pain. Unforeseen experiences come upon on, and before a breath is drawn, our lives are changed. Permanency is constantly overestimated. Like “q” and “u” together, “forever” walks in step with “until”. Often we anticipate pain in one capacity, and are blindsided when it arrives by another means. Because feelings are the glasses through which we interpret life, we often depend upon them. Because we see qualities similar to ourselves in people, we relate and become endeared to them. Influenced by people and by feelings, we envision the road map of our lives. 

Marching staunchly onward toward a set of goals, we fail to see the beauty in the happenings that refuse to keep time to our rhythm.  Suddenly, the music box is shut, and we have no beat to follow; only awkward glances toward the hand on the lid. Feelings are fickle, people change, and life maps are written on an etch-a-sketch. 

To walk alone is not easy. A hundred hands will gladly reach out to guide you; as they do, they bump you, and balance is further compromised. Oftentimes, the first hand seen is grasped, but take inventory of yourself. If the path you stand on was ever truly yours, it is there still. If the hand you once held was closing doors before you could reach them, grasp the knobs. If walking becomes impossible, plant both hands firmly on the floor and simply move forward. 

There is no shame in change; there is only shame in keeping your eyes shut. There is no shame in tears; life’s color can be seen through water. Keep your hands up, but never clenched. Shake your etch-a-sketch; let no one snatch it from your hands, let no one scrawl a definition upon it. Sweep constantly the broken pieces away from your feet; let nothing trip you. 

Independence is not isolation. Love is intentional, as is the absence of. Pain is progress; in whichever way you choose to show it, hurt for yourself alone, not for any other soul. Love and white flags be damned; there is plenty enough time in later life for domesticity. This is no cry for help; this is a damage assessment to remind the heart that nothing less than epic adventures, or significant betterment of oneself should ever sway your feet from steps which bring a smile. Master your own mediocrity; true love, in whichever capacity your soul needs to receive it, will surely follow.

Privacy is in the Pickle Jar

In the mail today, I received the following courtesy notification from the Matanuska Telephone Association; provider of my internet and phone line.


Information About Your MTA Privacy Options.
How can sharing my information help me? 

When the MTA customer service representatives see all of the services you currently use, we can make recommendations for new services, new technologies and the most favorable pricing plans that will best meet your communications needs. This could save you money in the long run and, we hope, simplify your life.

Will MTA protect my information?

Absolutely. We will never share you information with an outside company. We are only asking permission to share information within MTA. Besides being legally obligated to protect the confidentiality of your information, protecting your privacy is the right thing to do.
You can always change your mind about sharing your information with MTA. Just give us a call and explain your needs. Whatever your choice, MTA will continue to provide you with the same high quality of service you currently receive.

If you want us to share information within MTA, you don't have to do anything.
If we don't hear from you after 30 days, we may occasionally use your information to send you new and updates on special MTA savings and programs.  


Over a tall glass of wine, I drafted my response.

Ladies and Gentlemen of MTA:

Thank you for your letter. It is a relief to know that my privacy is your utmost concern. As you have access to my phone number/numbers, physical address, payment card #, full name and recent history, it is obvious that I place a great deal of trust in our relationship. It is my viewpoint that relationships be equal and mutually fulfilling; you may use my personal information as requested on these conditions: firstly, I must receive an organized list of the personal information identical to that of my own which you hold, pertaining to every person representing the company of MTA, along with their likes and dislikes, activities they are involved in and beliefs that they hold. As you have agreed not to share my privacy outside of your company, I shall only use this information within my personal realm of contacts, strictly limited to: Facebook friends, chess club, running team, neighbors, co-workers and mailman.

In return for this information, I shall send you occasional updates pertaining to services my 800+ Facebook friends offer, including: Girl Scout cookie sales, Avon orders, soccer team sponsorships, words with friends, Mafia wars, My Calendar, Farm/City/Castle/Hoboville, Bingo, pink ribbon fund raisers and requests to talk about becoming a Jehovah’s Witness. I will never (as long as you notify me within 30 days) use your payment card information to fulfill any of these notifications.

I will advise each of my acquaintances not to share any of MTA’s representative’s personal information with anyone else, (unless we have two or more mutual friends in common), as protecting your privacy is, I believe, the right thing to do.

Secondly, each person whose information I receive must send me a letter answering this question: “Does a citizen of the United States have to spell out his desire for the right to privacy to be upheld in order for it to be honored?” And, if they answer affirmatively, also give a good reason why.

If you wish to decline, consider your offer also declined.
Respectfully,
Brenna A. Cliver


If I receive any response, I shall appropriately post them here.

If you give a moose a muffin, this may not happen to you.

With a fully-assembled ten seconds of consciousness on my repertoire for the day, I stumbled out of bed and downstairs to let the dogs out. This always makes me feel like a good pet owner- the basic feeding, watering, allowance or reversal of freedom etc, even if they are not my pets. Similar to children, I am currently in the market only for returnable dependents. 

Noticing that the temperature was at a point of semi-decency this morning, I forewent the usual ritual of up-down-turn-around-zip-tie-lace-up-layer preparation associated with venturing into the outdoors, in Alaska, in February. Besides, my survival apparatus coffee mug was in my truck, a mere 20 steps away from the front door.  “I’ll-coffee-just be-need coffee-quick”, said my ever alert and innovative mind.

The dogs were barking, typical; most likely asking their own urine stream what right it had to be on the property. I reached into the cab of my truck and retrieved the mug, just as one of the dogs (Jo) raced between my legs, under the open door of the truck, and stopped. “That’s-coffee-slightly-coffeecoffee-odd”, is what I was thinking as the second dog (Bear) raced in on the heels of Jo, and proceeded to hide behind her haunches.

Minor details were beginning to register: 1) Freaking out dogs, three of them. 2) No coffee. 3) Two dogs showing great faith that I will be able to save them from...well, from whatever. 4) Aren’t I missing a dog?
Glancing up, my brain function suddenly jumped from .5 mph to somewhere around the speed of pimple growth on an 8^th grader. Three thoughts flashed through my mind, nearly simultaneously: You know how rabbits have a high rate of return? Send three rabbits into the woods, they will return with three thousand, etc. So, apparently, do dogs, only in a little more ambitious way; which leads me to my next thought.

“HOLYPISSEDOFFMOTHEROFBULLWINKLEFROMHELL”.

Yes, that was my thought, in its most correct form, as the last dog (Earl) also came sprinting around the corner with an irritated moose hot on his heels. I suppose moose are not morning people either. My last thought was seeing myself from an outside perspective, something to this effect: 

If only road runners wore crocs.