Dream of the Dead

Here is one of my favorite pictures of all time. My sister Rachel, my cousin Alex, and Rachel's daughter, Violet in 2008, though I don't know the exact date. 

Day of the Dead--Dia de los Muertos--began on Saturday and ended on Sunday. 

On Saturday night, I dreamed that I was to show Rachel her tombstone. She and I walked through the cemetery where she is buried, and I took her to her grave site. In the past, when I've dreamed of her, she's been alive in my dreams.  This was the first time that, in my dream, she was dead, but she was there walking with me.

Then I was alone.  I walked over to these raised garden beds about twenty feet away, which had overgrown broccoli which had been cut back. Imagine about ten broccoli stalks without florets or blooms, three feet long, inches thick, horizontal, with roots exposed. (Can you imagine this? I will include a picture of a broccoli plant too, below, just in case) but in my dream, my task was to tear them apart. I was peeling the fibrous stalks. If i could break them down, they could be back in the earth faster, composting, nutrients for future plants. That was the point.

That was my dream.

Here are the pictures:

I pulled this broccoli off a google search, from here.

I hope we meet again soon.

Being a Woman in the World, Part I

I put "Part I" in the title of this post, because I imagine this will be a series of anecdotes. Here are a couple tales of accidental insults for this first part.

Careful with Knives

October 3: I started the month off with some severe back pain (slipped disc, pinched nerve, muscle spasms, etc.) but was finally well enough to go out!  My parents were in town to see Kings of Leon, and they invited me and Ryan to go out with them. We ate at Public Kitchen, a very good restaurant at the Hotel Roosevelt.  The food was great, and the concert was terrific fun, but I have to skip the lovely family moments and talk about our waiter.

I generally have not been one to eat a ton of red meat, but I ordered a hamburger.  For some reason, it came with a steak knife. My father's dinner did too.  When the waiter handed a steak knife to me, he said, "Be careful with this," which was a red flag, so I watched his next move closely (I could see the other knife on the tray). When he handed a knife to my father, he said, "This is for self-defense."  I know the intent was to be cute or something, but I had to call him out on it.

I think I said something like, "The feminist in me has to point out that you told me to be careful and told my dad that it's for self-defense. We will both be careful and defend ourselves as necessary." My mom said, "Good job, Katie."

He actually made another inappropriate comment after that. I ate a lot of my hamburger (not all of it though). He told me as he cleared the plate that he was surprised by that, because I'm "such a little girl." His tone made it sound like a compliment, but I found it completely weird. Yes, I'm thin, but I'm also tall and also in my late 20's.

I hope he realizes some day that treating someone like a child is not a compliment.

What are you studying?

October 31: I was at a conference for work and had a room reserved so that I could film people somewhere quiet. Abbie and I were working together in there, but it was slow for a little while so I stepped out for a minute. When I came back, a man was in the room and Abbie was explaining what we were doing. The man, an instructor, took mild interest in this.

He then asked if we were students. I said, "I am." He asked, "What are you studying? Besides boys." Abbie jumped in and pointed out, politely, that it wasn't a fair assumption. I wanted to say, "That was offensive," but wondered if that was the best idea, since I was working. He pointed out that my face turned bright red. I finally said, "The feminist in me felt a bit riled up by that." He apologized and said, "My daughter's friend was just telling me she was just in school to meet boys...you know... MRS degree?" chuckles. "Boys are stupid." And Abbie again: "Well that wasn't very nice either."  He apologized, and I apologized for making him uncomfortable, and finally he left.  Thank God for Abbie in that moment.

The Feminist in Me

Abbie pointed out to me that I had nothing to apologize for, and I shouldn't do that. I already had enormous respect for her, but her quick wit and good sense in this scenario made me respect her even more.

Why did I feel like I needed to apologize to these people? To avoid conflict? To show that something so minor wasn't really upsetting me?  In these scenarios I've shared, I've not been hurt, but that is partly due to the fact that I've been really used to it. When I was a teenager, I didn't feel insulted when I was treated like a child, because I didn't feel entirely like a grown-up yet anyway.  Of course I noticed that I was treated differently than men sometimes, but I didn't really pay attention, so it didn't bother me.

Now it bothers me, and I'm still figuring out the best way to address these occurrences as they arise. You probably realized that I used language to distance myself from the situation--"The feminist in me feels..." instead of "I expect to be treated equally to men." I need to stop doing that too. I need to be more direct.

This is all a work in progress.

I took a "comp day" today--a day off since I worked at the conference on Saturday. I needed this day off. I voted. Got a smog check. Renewed my car registration. Got a haircut, a car wash, went to Target... and finally checked in with you all in Nonsensicalifornia.