What happened to discussions? Discuss.

I've started several blogs (some in my head, some a few lines typed) since my last post which seems FOREVER ago. My challenge lately has been not making everything about my job. It's not that I don't do tons of fun things with my family, like this:

and this:

and this:

But, I spend the majority of my time at work. I enjoy my work. While simultaneously wishing Hardy Girls didn't have to exist (meaning there's no systemic ridiculousness to fight against and girls are societal-ly taught to be whole, creative, smart humans who kind, smart, emotionally free men respect and value as equals). The framework I look through at work is hard to remove at home - like contact lenses that have melded into my eyes. I've become obnoxious (/informative, my family doesn't say this, but I'll speak for them on this point. :) ) to watch TV with.

And I read like eating steak with an iron deficiency. I read How to be Black by Baratunde Thurston and I keep talking about it everywhere. The author is hilarious and so is the book, but funny in that way that satire is where you start laughing and end up feeling a little (or a lot) sad that jokes can be made because the things they are joking about are true. I started it before Ferguson and finished it after. Several theories have been rolling around in my head since then. It's like when Jared learned the word "furtive" and he attached it to everything. Furtive eating. Furtive walking. Furtive radio. Or when you purchase new, favorite article of clothing and wear it with everything. I've been trying these theories on and layering them with old thoughts. Experimenting with understanding. Coloring my perspective.

I read the Skimm (one of the best things to happen in my life) and find myself saying, "HOW ARE WE STILL TALKING ABOUT THIS??" For instance, gay marriage. I'd say this should have been legal years ago, but that would validate it ever being not legal. Two adults. Two consenting adults. Or how about women's reproductive health, which should include general, preventive care but now just equals abortion. The Supreme Court decided this BEFORE I WAS BORN. Then again, let's not pretend Hobby Lobby isn't ten steps back. And Ferguson. I just read a statistic that 70%+ of white people surveyed don't believe Ferguson is about race. Um... okay. I mean, really, what do you say to that?

Anyway, this isn't supposed to be a rant. I was talking with my boss this week and she shared a story about her daughter. Her daughter had asked her for something she was inclined to immediately shut down. However, putting aside her own fear and judgement, she let her daughter argue her case. She talked about how important it is to show our children they can influence others and adults can be influenced. Kids can advocate for themselves, thinking through their needs and wants, and share those to varying degrees of achieving desired outcomes. But can realize that we aren't, as parents, tyrannical gate keepers to Yes Land.

Because since when did discussion get to be such a bad thing. An indulgent thing to be avoided and only used by academics. I grew up arguing discussing with my dad. And I hope my boys do the same. Of course, it's completely mandatory to teach them critical thinking skills, it is sometimes near debilitating to raise them once they get those. I just don't know what I'll do if they take up residence in Myopia (which happens to be in black and white and resembles The Handmaid's Tale in case you aren't familiar with it).

When I think of scaffolding, supporting, helping each other out, I remember the summer/fall I spent working in a flower shop in Spokane. The floral designer/arranger, Paul, was a quiet guy with a sly sense of humor and an almost pastoral demeanor. Unruffle-able. My job was to clean the buckets, green up the vases and answer phones. Sensing my appreciation of art and color, Paul would throw tips in my direction the way the best teachers do, without you even knowing. After a month or so, he suggested I try making an arrangement. He told me how much I had to work with and a general color scheme. I, despite having spent a month shoving greenery stems into oasis, went straight for the flowers. Gerber daisies, asltroemeria, and dahlias. I measured them against the vase, clipped their ends and put them in the water. They tipped and dipped, leaning over the sides like scattered pick-up sticks. I tried to prop them up to lean on each other (how I imagine the first teepee assembly might have gone) before looking to Paul. He was casually arranging another bouquet. "They need support," he said, slicing off leaves without looking. "The greens make a lattice." I removed the flowers and wove the fern stems with green-leafed branches and sticks with berries. When I put the flowers back in, on top of this network, they stood like exclamation points.

We can't expect people or things to just stand up on their own. Even flowers, symbols of growth and beauty, need a system of life beneath them. And we're not just talking about "broken, lazy" flowers. Even the tallest, strongest, hardiest stems require support. My own greenery is made up of family and books and education and friendship and art and travel and purpose. For people who don't have access to one or any of these things, that's one less leaf to prop a petal. One more strain on the flower's trunk. Our vases are different, our stems vary, but it isn't a question of if that support is needed, but how and where and what. And how are we to know any of this without discussion? If we don't talk to each other, we can say racism is gone. We can tell women to lean in and request raises. We can say people are taking advantage of the system. But you just try watching a lone flower splayed in a massive vase and tell me you don't want to do something.