Being pragmatic

My friend Carrie called me "pragmatic" this weekend. We were talking about interactions and how people communicate. It started with me asking (married) friends if they fight. We were sitting at the dinner table and chatting. Carrie said that I am a good listener, but I start off with "First, stop crying" and then move straight on to the facts without emotion. My mother used to tell me that I am not very sympathetic. But I think that I am both sympathetic and empathetic. I just don't melt down. Carrie learned early on in our friendship that we can argue, and that it will never affect the friendship. In fact it has made us understand each other, be more open, find it easier to turn to each other in need instead of think that one fight will be the end and that we can be so vastly different and so incredibly compatible.

I generally stay away from commenting on Facebook on politics or sensitive matters. I read posts and react to them but it is rare that I comment publicly. When I do, it's because I feel strongly about the subject, like the time that someone gave Keith a hard time when he posted about people that didn't want to swear the Canadian Citizenship Oath. Generally I say what I need to say, to the person I want to say it to.

When I was younger I was not as brave. But many experiences have taught me that it's actually pretty easy to confront someone with an opinion or idea as long as you are open to receiving it back. Over time I have found myself a lot more comfortable being confrontational, and less tolerant of today's passive-aggressive behaviour I see, especially on Facebook. Maybe confrontational is the wrong word; I'm communicative.

Social media has changed the world in such a big way; different to what I grew up with and no doubt more different to that my grandparents knew. When I was growing up we spoke among ourselves in a confined space. This happened in our homes, over the phone, at school, over dinner. Sometimes information would flow outwards from these conversations and sometimes it would flow back. But today there are few boundaries. There are constant talk shows with panels of people spewing forth their opinions, there are tweets and posts and statuses (stati?) and it is a simple thing like security settings that determine how far outward the information flows. 

When you come home from work, and experienced something on the bus that annoyed you, and post a comment about it on Facebook is it venting? Is it just being silly? Do you really think the man who spat near you on the sidewalk on you will read it and apologize? When he did it, why didn't you say something to him? Or do you just want your friends to know about your awful day and commiserate? Does it matter? Am I being too serious? Sometimes I am.

Last week, a Facebook friend posted multiple comments that I wondered at. It was not the first time he had posted about this specific person, the circumstances were different, but the sentiment was the same. As with so many posts, I read it and opined and moved on. But a specific comment made me stop, and I decided to ask him about the comment(s). Sure, I asked in the public forum, but I directed it to him in response to a public post. His response was immediately defensive. So I explained myself; that I would rather ask directly to understand than to post my own nondescript public comment that was actually directed at him but yet cryptically exposed to the world instead. There to gain public opinion but not the answer I seek. He said he understood. I'm not really sure he did, I think he was still pissed at me. But that's OK. 

Things are as they are. We live in this world that we adapt to and fit in to. I will continue to read the comments, mostly with amusement, but sometimes with a resulting comment of my own. If you are my friend then know that I will always say it to your face. If it's worth saying.

42.72

To Cherise. A Birthday Tribute.

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a flat in Glenhazel (I think) who was friendly with a boy from school. That boy met another boy with the same name and they became boyfriends. The boy introduced the boy with the same name to the girl. This was in 1992. They've been friends ever since.

The boy with the same name went to hang out at the girl's place. She lived with her sister (I think) and she had a dressing table in the lounge. The boy thought that was a little weird. The girl was a waitress at the Black Steer in Yeoville.  The boy was impressed, because the girl had her own credit card. She seemed to be quite grown up.

The girl decided to go to school and study computers and make something of herself. The boy knew she would be successful even though the girl always said she was not clever enough. Little did she know that she would become quite an expert in her field (to her constant denial) and a strong woman very much in control of her life and her future. The boy always admired that about her.

For a while the girl disappeared. She had gone to live in London. This made the boy sad.

He found a way to get her back many years later, by giving her cell phone number to his mother.

The girl and the boy have a friendship that spans more than 20 years. Through these years they have grown, shared, nourished, flourished, loved, cried, lived, lost. It is important to the boy to have people in his life to whom he can say "remember when?". The girl remembers. He does too.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STINKY POO POO HEAD

42.71

To Olga. A Birthday Tribute.

One word comes to mind when I think of Olga and that is dependable. I know that it doesn't matter where she is, or what she is doing; if I need something, Olga will do it for me.

Our friendship started through Keith, and the more that they started spending time together, the more that I got to love her. She is a free spirit, a strong woman, a caring and loving friend. She will give you the shirt off her back, and her room in her house. I know she's done that. 

In 2010 Keith was turning 50 and I had planned a surprise trip to Amsterdam. I knew that he would like nothing better than to see Olga and of course she said she would meet us. Keith and I flew from Toronto to Chicago and after getting him settled in the lounge I met Olga and she followed me back to where we were sitting. She just sat down in front of him, he looked at her and you could see his brain was trying to compute but computer said No. It took about 5 seconds before he realized that his best friend was sitting right in front of him. It was a priceless moment.

One of my favorite memories is seeing Olga drive past in her little black car, with this huge Boerbull sitting in the back. All you could see was Diesel's head staring out the window. He was a beautiful gentle giant.

Thank you for years of friendship, we don't speak often and we are far away but when I need you, your voice is there. I love you. I don't know anyone that doesn't.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY OLGARINA!

P.S. Remember what I said about you at the beginning of this post? I'm still waiting for copies of that TV show ;-)

42.70

To Traci. A Birthday Tribute.

I honestly don't remember when we first met. My earliest memory of Traci is at her townhouse, her green car, checking out her living stuff and realizing that her neighbour and I were old friends. I think it was around the time that she and Ken were deciding on living together.  I can say for sure that we all approved. There are so many stories I could tell, so many moments and memories that I sit here struggling to write them all down.

If you look at our Facebook profiles you will see she has listed us as siblings. Traci has called me her brother for as long as I have known her. And treated me as good as my sister did when she was alive. 

Leaving South Africa was tough for so many reasons, but one of the hardest things we had to do was say goodbye to Ken and Traci. Not a week went by that we didn't see each other and when you move across continents and time zones it is not always easy to keep the connection. But despite the distance, there is always that moment when a silly email pops up in my inbox, or my phone beeps with a hello or a funny (rude) pic (at 3am) to remind me that she's not far away. 

Traci is the purest soul I know. She is kind, and beautiful, gentle and warm. I love her stories, her gestures, her mannerisms, her laugh. She has comforted me in crisis and she has walked with me when the world was speeding by and I needed to go slow. 

Happy Birthday Traci. You are truly loved. 

 

 42.69