communication, complaints, home, music, rants

I think Kate Bush sang it best, back in 1982…

Good afternoon, ladies and germs… Today, on this Wednesday, and the third day my house has been occupied by inconsiderate clods, I have an old Kate Bush song in mind. It’s a song from her brilliant 1982 album, The Dreaming, which also happens to be the very first album I ever heard her do. The song, quite appropriately for my mood today, is called “Get Out of My House”.

Here are the lyrics…

When you left, the door was
(slamming)
You paused in the doorway
(slamming)
As though a thought stole you away
(slamming)
I watched the world pull you away
(Lock it) So I run into the hall
(Lock it)
Into the corridor
(Lock it)
There’s a door in the house
(slamming)
I hear the lift descending
(slamming)
I hear it hit the landing
(slamming)
See the hackles on the cat
(standing) With my key I
(lock it)
With my key I
(lock it up)
With my key I
(lock it)
With my key I
(lock it up) I am the concierge chez-moi, honey
Won’t let ya in for love, nor money
(“Let me in!”)
My home, my joy
I’m barred and bolted and I
(Won’t let you in)
(Get out of my house!) No stranger’s feet
Will enter me
(Get out of my house!)
I wash the panes
(Get out of my house!)
I clean the stains away
(Get out of my house!) This house is as old as I am
(Slamming)
This house knows all I have done
(Slamming)
They come with their weather hanging ’round them
(Slamming)
But can’t knock my door down
(Slamming) With my key I
(lock it)
With my key I
(lock it) This house is full of m-m-my mess
(Slamming)
This house is full of m-m-mistakes
(Slamming)
This house is full of m-m-madness
(Slamming)
This house is full of, full of, full of fight
(Slam it) With my keeper I
(clean up)
With my keeper I
(clean it all up)
With my keeper I
(clean up)
With my keeper I
(clean it all up) I am the concierge chez-moi, honey
Won’t letcha in for love, nor money
(“It’s cold out here!”)
My home, my joy
I’m barred and bolted and I
(Get out of my house!)
(Won’t let you in) No stranger’s feet
(Get out of my house!)
Will enter me
(Get out of my house!)
I wash the panes
(Get out of my house!)
I clean the stains
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
Won’t enter me
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
Yeah! Won’t let you in
(Get out of my house!)
(Get out of my house!)
“Let me in!”
“Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the memories!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the Devil Dreams!
“I will not let you in!
Don’t you bring back the reveries
I turn into a bird
Carry further than the word is heard
“Woman let me in!
I turn into the wind.
I blow you a cold kiss,
Stronger than the song’s hit.
“I will not let you in
I face towards the wind
I change into the Mule
“I change into the Mule.”

God, I love her. She is amazing.

I know not everyone appreciates Kate Bush. I think she’s an incredible singer, songwriter, piano player, and all around goddess. I’ve loved her music for about 40 years– that is, since I was ten years old. Kate Bush is pretty intense for a ten year old, but even back then, I loved how creative and gorgeous her music was, and how interesting and intelligent the lyrics were. “Get Out of My House” even incorporates a mule, complete with braying, which as a former horse girl, I can totally get behind.

I’ve read that this song is really not about a literal house. Instead, she’s referring to her psyche– not letting anyone in to get to know her, or what’s deep inside of her soul. She is the master of herself, and she won’t let anyone in “for love nor money”. She protects her heart and her mind by becoming very stubborn, like a mule, complete with “hee haws”. She keeps everything under lock and key.

Well, I’m not as much like that with my psyche or, at least this week, with my house. Yes, it’s a rental, and yes, as I’ve pointed out, the work being done this week is for our own good. And I have seen a little bit of progress. For instance, the two workmen have stopped habitually leaving the front door open, and they have turned down their god awful dance music, so my head doesn’t pound incessantly.

However, the two guys who have been here all week have really been annoying me. Every day, they make messes that they don’t clean up. They move my stuff and just leave it wherever they put it. Yesterday, they left chocolate on the floor where Noyzi could get to it. I think my landlord brought it over for them with the customary German coffee break, but they just left it on the steps. Fortunately, Noyzi doesn’t eat things he hasn’t been invited to eat. If Arran were still here, we’d really have a problem. He would have eaten that chocolate in a heartbeat. Chocolate can be very toxic to dogs.

This morning, the guy didn’t even ring the doorbell before he came barging into the house. I mean, where I come from, if you don’t live in a house, you don’t just come in without at least knocking. At least not the first time you show up during the day. It’s common courtesy and basic manners. Tomorrow, I won’t be deactivating the door lock before they arrive. They can ring the fucking doorbell like civilized people. I may be a tenant, but this is still my home.

And, sorry, I know this is going to sound really petty and kind of mean, but right now they are outside at my freshly oiled teak patio table, sitting on the chairs with new cushions on them, eating lunch, while listening to their industrial powered radio. Much to my shame, when I saw that, it really pissed me off. I wish I were a more laid back, less territorial person, but I can’t deny that I feel like telling them to get off my patio and get back to work, so they can finish up and get the fuck out of my house. It’s an irrational response, I know… but it’s the one I’m honestly experiencing right now.

It’s not so much that I mind them using the patio or even the table and chairs. It’s the fact that they didn’t even ask, and they have no regard for the fact that they have invaded my home, and are messing with my things. I can’t speak to them, because we don’t speak the same language. I didn’t hire them, and have nothing to do with their employment, other than the fact that I live in this house and they have invaded it, as they take their long coffee breaks. I’m sure it never even occurred to them how annoying they are to me, nor would they even really care. But they can have lunch on my table and chairs without so much as a “do you mind?”. Earlier this week, they ate in their van.

The two guys reek of pheromones, inconsideration, and sexism, and I want them OUT of my life. I feel like I used to feel when I waited tables and was forced to be nice to people who were assholes. But this time, I’m not working for anyone. I just have the misfortune of being a tenant.

And y’all, before anyone leaves me a lecturing or shaming comment (cuz it’s happened before), bear in mind that I do have some idea of how difficult it is to do this kind of work, especially when it’s hot outside. I do have some empathy for that. I wish I were a more compassionate person than I am. I guess it comes from being treated with little consideration for most of my life and, in turn, not necessarily being taught to be considerate myself.

Yes, that’s right. I kind of had to learn from people other than my family to have regard for others. But even when I try to be hospitable, it comes off as kind of awkward and weird. Usually, people don’t accept, anyway. At my age, I figure I might as well be real. And I want these dudes to finish their job and just beat it. Get the fuck out of my house! NOW!

Just one more day… just one more day. Hopefully, I won’t emulate Marguerite Perrin before tomorrow…

“Get the hell out of my house in Jesus’ name I pray!

I’m getting really close, y’all.

Standard
complaints, dogs, home, housekeeping tips

I never said it would be easy, only that it would be “worth it”…

Good afternoon, y’all. I’m getting a late start today. My house has been overtaken by alien forces.

The guys in my house right now should add this song to their playlist…

Actually, what’s happening is that this week, our landlord is having new windows put in. We’ve been through this before. When we lived in our former German house, it was half furnished with new windows. The remainder were put in within weeks of our tenancy. I remember the process to be quite a pain in the ass, especially since the people who made the windows got the wrong measurements. We had wood over our windows for about a week or so, until new ones could be made.

This time, it looks like they got the right measurements, but the whole house is being done all this week. The same guys did our landlord’s house last week. Now, it’s our turn to deal with the noise and the dust. I’m at a disadvantage, though, because I’m not the one paying the window guys. I’m just the tenant’s wife, who doesn’t really speak German and is kind of in their way.

I’d take off if I could, but that would mean leaving Noyzi home alone. He doesn’t fit in my car, and it’s not running right now, anyway. It needs a new battery, and probably new tires. And these guys have already shown me that they were born in a barn. They came into the house this morning– promptly at 8 AM– and immediately started moving stuff in my office, Noyzi’s room, and the bathroom. I had just finished writing a blog post, but hadn’t yet published it. I had to rush through that, then move to my bedroom, where I quickly practiced and restrung my guitar.

When I took Noyzi for a walk, I realized that sitting upstairs would probably be a bad idea. The workers’ crap is all over the place. I’m all hot and sweaty and I’d really like to take a shower, but the upstairs bathroom is a mess.

I asked the guys in English to keep the front door closed, because I don’t want Noyzi getting out. I don’t think he’d actually go out by himself, but I don’t want to take the risk. He spooks easily, and we live near the Autobahn. We already lost one dog that freaked out and got killed there. I don’t want that to happen to Noyzi, too. I don’t actually think Noyzi would get hit on the Autobahn. He’s very street smart, and avoids danger quite adeptly. But he’s still a dog, and he gets scared. Not only would I be heartbroken to lose him; it would also cost us a lot of money if he got hit by a car, even though we’re insured.

Far be it for me to criticize anyone for not being fluent in English when we’re in Germany. BUT… most younger people, which these guys are, know a little bit of English. I would expect them to at least know “close the door.” I mean, I could probably say that in German, if I had to, and I might have even tried, if the guy hadn’t immediately cut me off and said he doesn’t speak English without even trying to listen to my request. It’s one thing when I open the door and someone starts going off in rapid fire German at me. I never invited them to a conversation. I’m just minding my own business, in my own space.

This guy is in my home, which we’re paying a lot of money to live in, and I have the right to make a simple request that he and his colleague not leave the door open so my dog doesn’t escape. I was NOT impressed by his basic lack of respect toward me. Moreover, if Noyzi got out because those guys left the door open, I would be raising major Hell.

I’m pretty sure I rolled my eyes and gave the guy a major bitch glare when I said, “Keep the door closed. Because of the dog.”

The guy seemed to understand my request. I did also ask the landlord to tell them to close the door. Nevertheless, even though they seemed to understand that I wanted them to close the door, they continued to leave it open a few times. So I moved downstairs and, much to my shame, took a passive aggressive approach to teaching them. Every time they left the door open, I closed it HARD. There were also a couple of glares, too. I know you get more bees with flies than honey, but to me this is a pretty simple thing.

Another thing that is annoying me is that these two have a love for German pop dance music. It has a very hard, driving beat that pulsates through the floor. It’s giving me a headache. So, I decided to turn on my music downstairs. It’s an eclectic mix of everything from bluegrass to disco. That should entertain them as much as it does me. And, although it’s only 2:45 PM, I’m strongly considering doing some day drinking… because fuck them. 😉

Normally, I wouldn’t take this attitude. I have a lot of respect for tradesmen and service providers. But yes, it does annoy me when someone invades my home, immediately spreads their shit all over most of the upstairs, where I do my work, and without even asking me if it’s okay to start there, and playing their crappy music, while acting like they were raised in a barn and not closing the fucking front door behind them. I don’t even care if they think I’m a raving bitch, either. They wouldn’t be the first. 😉 Besides, I’ve got underwear older than they are.

With any luck, this won’t go on for the whole week…

On the plus side, as today’s post title indicates, the end result will be worth it. I know from our last house that new windows will make our house more comfortable on many levels. The house does need them. And next year, we’ll probably get a heat pump… if we don’t move. That will mean no more buying tanks of oil every year and, maybe, better heating and cooling. Maybe… we’ll see.

I do appreciate our landlord. He’s a good guy who treats us with respect and never harasses us. I doubt we’ll have to sue him when we eventually move out. I am grateful for the upgrade in the house. I just wish these guys were more considerate and didn’t treat me like I don’t have the right to be in my own home.

Standard
complaints, money, rants, work

Repost: Got big expectations? Want quality? Well, quality costs… and right here is where you start paying for sweat.

Here’s a repost from my original blog. I wrote this on September 23, 2018. As Christmas approaches, I think it’s relevant… and I’m still deciding on today’s topic. My mom made the socks on my feet in the featured photo, too.

A friend shared this post from Scary Mommy yesterday.  It was originally written in March 2018, but somehow I missed the viral round.  I entertained myself by reading it as Bill and I came home from our excursion.  The Scary Mommy story was gleaned from a Reddit post that shows just how completely rude and entitled people can be sometimes, especially toward creative people.  

A guy on Instagram asked a crocheter named Krafty Katt if she takes commissions.  He wanted her to make him a queen sized blanket using expensive wool yarn and employing a complicated stitch.  She told him she’d do it for $400, with $200 paid upfront.  The guy’s response was very profane and he basically told her she was ripping him off because he could go to Walmart and buy a blanket for $15. He used every trick in the book to get her to lower her price for creating something stunning by hand.  She wouldn’t budge and eventually doubled her price.  I offer mad props to her for being so calm and handling that jerk the way she did.

I must admit, she was a whole lot nicer than I would have been.  I probably would have told the guy to go eat a bag of dicks the first time he started using foul language toward me.  Some people don’t seem to understand that handmade goods don’t just cost the price of the supplies.  They also require time and effort.  The guy’s insistence that the crocheter could buy yarn on sale and basically work for free was extremely insulting, especially considering how rude he was being to her.

My mom was making this the last time I visited her.

She also made this.  I did not inherit any of my mom’s talent for needle creations.  My sister got that gift.

I probably have even more insight into this phenomenon than other people do.  I grew up watching my parents making money from their creativity.  My mom ran her own knitting and needlework shop for over 25 years.  She ran her shop out of our home and taught countless people, mostly women, how to knit, needlepoint, cross stitch, and candle wick.  When I was really young, she even used to make clothes for me.  My mom has a gift for making beautiful things and she sold high quality supplies to like minded people who wanted to create beautiful things.  She probably knows all about the yarn Krafty Katt wrote of on her Reddit thread.

My dad had a complementary business doing custom picture framing and selling art by local artists.  Both of my parents made their livings laboring over beautiful things.  People would bring their creations to my mom when they needed help.  I remember her “blocking” needlepoint done by other women or finishing up projects for people.  I remember my dad and his assistant, Deborah (who took over his business), creatively framing pictures and making shadow boxes for patrons.  It all took a lot time, effort, skill, and most of all, vision.  Most people were very pleased with the end results, although some bristled at the cost.

Edited to add for 2021– this is my mom and one of her creations. She’s in her 80s and still does this…

Besides running her own knitting and needlepoint business, my mom was also a church organist for over 50 years.  People were eager to hire her to play for weddings and funerals because she is extremely talented.  I don’t remember her charging a lot of money to play the organ, but I do remember that each event required her to practice.  She had to practice for each Sunday service, every wedding, and all funerals.  That took time, energy, and effort, and she was entitled to be paid for it.

I have run into this issue myself.  I am a writer and a singer.  Writing and singing are two of my innate talents, so they come fairly easily to me, but I still have to develop them.  I studied voice for several years and put in a lot of time practicing and learning how to breathe.  I paid for music and an accompanist, as well as instruction from a teacher.  Now I can sing pretty well, but that skill didn’t come without cost, commitment, and a lot of effort.

My mom also made these.

It takes time and effort to make music or write a piece for someone else.  A lot of the pieces I’ve written for money have required extensive research, fact checking, and equipment.  Computers cost money.  Software costs money.  So do subscriptions to publications that provide the information I need to write something factual and credible.  I went to school for seven years past high school to develop the knowledge and skills to be able to write professionally.  God knows that took money!  Some people might argue that one can learn how to write well without a college degree.  I might agree with that.  However, I went to graduate school and studied specific areas that give me expertise that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.  It’s been awhile since my last freelance assignment, but back when I was writing for money, I was earning anywhere from $40 to $80 an hour in the Washington, D.C. area.

I even had a social work professor who told his students that we should never give away our work for free, even if we only charge a dollar.  When someone pays for something, they value it more.  Although I don’t always think monetary compensation is required for one person to value another person’s contribution, I do agree with the idea that nothing is really free.

A person is more likely to take another person’s work seriously if payment is required.  The payment doesn’t always have to be monetary.  It can also be given in the form of gratitude.  For instance, I would never expect someone to give me money for a gift I present to them.  A gift is, by definition, given without the expectation of money.  I would hope that the recipient would “pay” me by saying thank you, although that doesn’t always happen, either.  Sometimes people are clods… myself included.

Bill had this kilt made when we went to Scotland in 2017.  The kiltmaker measured him and created that kilt by hand.  It’s absolutely beautiful, but it cost plenty and took about three months to create.  Ultimately, it was worth it.  I’m glad we went to the kiltmaker instead of a big company that makes kilts in bulk.

Aside from the hard costs of producing something beautiful, there’s also the issue of time and labor.  No one wants to be a slave.  There has to be a pay off for being productive, and the more productive a person is, the bigger the pay off should be.  Krafty Katt is obviously very good at what she does– good enough that the guy who proposed that she make his blanket asked if she does commissions.  But then he insulted her by accusing her of ripping him off by demanding to be paid for her work.

I would not have made a blanket for the guy on Instagram for any amount of money.  I don’t think I could put my heart into creating something for such a selfish prick.  I think his best bet is to go to Walmart and buy something that was made in a sweatshop.  That’s the quality of person he seems to be… and probably the quality he deserves.  

Standard
complaints, dogs

A pox on people who don’t leash their dogs…

We’re expecting a few packages today, but the weather is really nice– sunny and kind of warm– so I decided to walk the dogs a little earlier than usual. Actually, this is more like a return to an old habit. When we lived near Stuttgart, I used to walk them in the mornings as a matter of course, but lately I’ve been walking them later in the day.

Arran has me a little worried. His poop is looking kind of abnormal. Parts of it look normal and parts are dark brown/black and greenish. I know he’s been having some digestion issues lately. We took him to the vet last month and had him checked for worms, which they didn’t find. But although he’s pretty perky and playful, he’s not his usual self. He’s also gained some weight lately, which may be causing acid reflux (maybe he also has another mast cell tumor, although I haven’t seen it).

In any case, on our walk, we had to wait for the trash truck, which was maneuvering out of our narrow, crowded street and down the one way road out of the neighborhood. Then we made our way through the main drag, which is narrow and crowded with cars parked on the street. The sidewalks are also crowded with trash bins. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief as we were turning down a pedestrian area where people keep their gardens. I noticed Arran was about to poop and I wanted to have a look at it before I threw it away.

This is one reason why Noyzi is always leashed. He runs like a freight train.

I noticed a guy with an athletic looking female dog approaching as I bent down to pick up Arran’s poop. I had managed to scoop up the shit, noticing that it looked somewhat more normal, although I think I saw some remnants of a toy in the last turd. My dogs were both on leashes, although Arran’s is a Flexi-lead tape leash. He probably doesn’t need it anymore, since he doesn’t run as much as he used to.

Guy with athletic female dog did not have her leashed. She started barking at Arran as I was finishing cleaning up the poop. She also lunged at him, which caused him to lunge back. German guy grabbed his dog, but still didn’t have her secure. So I was trying not to get shit on my hands while handling two dogs who were leashed. Meanwhile, his unleashed bitch was harassing Arran.

I probably gave him a super annoyed look. I didn’t say anything, since my German sucks… but I’m sure all he needed to know was written all over my face. Then I noticed another person with an unleashed dog, but he stayed out of the altercation and was obviously better trained. His owner managed to get him in her house before he got into any trouble.

Seriously, though… why not put your dog on a leash? Especially when you see someone is trying to be responsible and clean up dog shit, plus they have two dogs they’re juggling? Fortunately, this time, no one got hurt. This is not the first time someone’s out of control dog has intruded on my dog’s space. One time, it happened when a dog was able to climb out of his fenced yard. We were living at Fort Belvoir, an Army installation, at the time. He attacked my beagle, Flea, who was feisty but only weighed about 25 pounds to the other dog’s much larger stature. We ended up with a $200 vet bill, thanks to that incident.

My dogs are ALWAYS on leashes. Until we got Noyzi, our dogs have always been beagles, and we can’t let them go off leash because their noses can get them into trouble in a hurry. Aside from that, I don’t fancy having one of them get a bee in his bonnet and wind up on the Autobahn, which is very close to our house. We already lost one dog to that deadly highway last year.

The guy hurried ahead on the trail. I noticed his dog was staying by his side… until she wandered out into the field and took a big crap. Naturally, he didn’t bother to clean it up. That doesn’t really surprise me at all. Asshole.

Standard
family, psychology

…Put up, show up, shut up…

Some people think I’m not a very “nice” person, mainly because I often speak my mind and don’t roll over to their demands. I think it’s better to be kind or good, rather than “nice”. There is a difference. A “nice” person is pleasant to be around and doesn’t make waves. They usually have self-serving reasons for being “nice”, which range from simply wanting to be liked by others, to actively wanting to take advantage of other people.

A good person with kind intentions might make waves for the good of all, even if it causes temporary strife. A good person does things that might not be popular with the crowd, but are ultimately in everyone’s best interests. A good person has mercy and compassion and thinks of the big picture, even if it means temporarily pissing off other people.

Nice people often end up screwing over the unaware, even if the screwing doesn’t cause any pain at first. Superficial charm can be a valuable weapon against the weak. Someone who is pleasant at first can easily end up turning into a nightmare, leaving others bewildered, shocked, and reeling from the surprise pain they cause. But good people are sometimes abrasive for the right reasons. What they say and do might hurt at first, but they take those actions because they want to minimize pain in the long run.

Sometimes I feel badly about being less likable than I could be. But then I realize that Bill loves this about me, because I encourage him to be assertive and stick up for himself and others. Also, since I don’t need to be liked as much, I often have a broader perspective than he does about some things. He rules more with his heart and emotions than I do, and that sometimes leads him down the roads to Hell. However, with me around to be firm and offer another perspective, he’s often more able to make decisions that hurt fewer people. Sometimes those decisions are unpopular and make people angry, but in the grand scheme of things, they turn out for the better.

Yesterday turned out to be kind of a yucky day for Bill. He had a very busy and frustrating day at work. Then he came home and found out that his dad is very sick and in the hospital. How did he find out? Through that ever popular medium, Facebook… and it was a family friend’s post that alerted him that something was wrong, not his sister or stepmother.

I think he was hurt that his family didn’t tell him before the news wound up on Facebook, although he wasn’t surprised. This is not the first time he’s been left out of the loop, although in fairness to the family, we are pretty far away and he is a product of his father’s first marriage. My husband’s stepmother doesn’t like Bill’s mom and was jealous of Bill when he was a boy, taking his father’s attention from her. She also doesn’t like me, because I don’t let her push me around and she doesn’t think I’m “nice”. Still, Bill has always loved his dad and has done his best to be a good son. So he was saddened that no one bothered to let him know about his dad’s situation.

Mood music for this post. I was introduced to the magic of Lyle Lovett by a Mormon couple I knew when I was serving in the Peace Corps. I consider it a gift they gave me far more valuable than the Book of Mormon.

I am familiar with this kind of pain myself. Last year, my favorite uncle passed away suddenly, having suffered a stroke. I found out about the stroke, not from a family member, but from a friend of the family… someone I don’t know personally. She’d posted her best wishes to my cousins. When I later asked my cousin why I had to find out about her dad on Facebook, she claimed she’d asked my sister to tell me. That made me sad, since I’m not that close to my sister. In fact, before this happened, I would have thought I was closer to my cousin than my sister. But I guess she didn’t have the same regard for me that I did for her.

About a week or two later, when my uncle died, I did hear about it from a relative. This time, it was another cousin who told me… one of the few who talks to me anymore. I remember when my dad died, I didn’t hear too much from most of my family then, either. I’m beginning to feel a bit divorced from them. I guess I can’t blame them too much. It’s been awhile since we last saw each other, and my outspokenness about politics has turned off a lot of them.

I still couldn’t help but remember back in 2017, when a very old and dear friend of mine took the time to send me a private message on Facebook to tell me that her dad died. She said he’d always liked me and she didn’t want me to read about his death in the paper. It meant a lot to me that she’d had the regard for me and the consideration to tell me about that, rather than letting me read about it on a public social media posting. It was more consideration that I’ve gotten from my own family when relatives have gotten sick or died.

This morning, Bill was getting updated on his father’s condition. He’d had to ask his sister about it after seeing the status update from the friend of the family, indicating that something was wrong. She has kindly been explaining the situation. It turns out Bill’s dad may have been exposed to COVID-19, so he’s currently in isolation. He’s got some underlying chronic health issues that could make him less likely to recover from this illness, especially if he’s had the virus. They are testing him now to determine if he has. At this point, he’s still lucid and seems to be feeling better. But he’s in the hospital and is showing some signs that he might have been infected with COVID-19 and possibly gotten over it while, unbeknownst to him, sustaining lung damage.

Naturally, that led to us thinking about what we should do if he doesn’t get well. This would be a difficult problem, even if there wasn’t a global pandemic going on. We live in Germany, and our families are in the United States. Going home means being on a plane for hours. Going home during the pandemic means being on a plane for hours, masked and exposed to strangers, and dealing with whatever COVID-19 policies are in effect in the United States. Then, once it’s time to go back to Germany, quarantining… but only after being exposed to people who lived with a man who may have had COVID-19. That means Bill might be be exposing people who are also in transit, then coming home to our neighborhood, which has many elderly people in it. I have asthma, although I don’t take medication for it. I’m also pushing 50 and overweight. It wouldn’t be good if I got the virus.

We are so lucky to live in Germany, which so far has not had the horrifically high number of COVID-19 cases the United States has had. But living in Germany comes with a cost when it comes to seeing family, especially in times of crisis. I suspect that if the worst happens, there could be quite a shitstorm. I advised Bill to think long and hard about whether or not he should risk possibly going home at this time, given how many people could be affected.

Bill’s stepmother is a difficult person. She has a tendency to think mostly of herself. She’s quick to take offense without looking at the big picture. I’ve written about this situation a few times over the years, but for the sake of clarity, I’ll write about it again.

In 2004, my husband’s ex wife decided to try to force us all to spend Christmas together at Bill’s dad’s house. She claimed she wanted the children (from three different fathers) to feel like we were all one big happy family. I thought it was a terrible idea, but no one consulted me about it. I was simply informed of the idea and expected to put up, show up, and shut up.

I was newly married to Bill at the time, and Ex probably figured that she could try to pressure me into being “nice”. But I knew that if I went to that gathering, it would be a shitstorm of epic proportions. I have experienced many epic holiday shitstorms with my family of origin. In fact, I had experienced one the year prior. And in 2004, by golly, I wanted to have a relaxed Christmas with no fighting. Moreover, we were broke back then and couldn’t really afford the trip. I figured no one in that group needed to see me, especially the kids, who typically don’t care about their stepmothers so much. Given the difficulty of the situation, I opted to stay home. Bill went to see his kids– for the last time, it turned out. Since then, he’s only seen his younger daughter in the flesh once– and that was in March of this year.

Bill’s stepmother was very angry that I didn’t show up. She thought I was snubbing the family. She took my absence as a dig– and was probably spurred on to think that by Ex, whose plans to humiliate me were dashed when I didn’t show up and no one told her I wasn’t coming. Meanwhile, I was thinking that what I did may not have been “nice”, but it was ultimately the kindest solution, since I knew that if I had to spend days watching my husband’s toxic ex wife in action, I’d probably want to kill her with my bare hands. I doubt it would have been a civilized scene. I figured Bill’s dad and stepmother just wanted to see the kids and Bill. Ex had made it clear that no one liked or cared about me, anyway. So I stayed home, saved the money on airfare and dog boarding, and drank lots of wine. Later, I was blamed for how shitty the gathering was, even though I wasn’t there and it wasn’t my idea to plan it.

Several years later, I did explain to Bill’s dad and stepmother my line of reasoning. They seemed to accept it, once they heard me tell them what my reasons were for not attending. While I was thinking of my own mental and physical health, as well as our precarious finances at the time, when I opted out of that gathering, I was also thinking of them and the kids. The kids were especially innocent in that situation. It was Christmas, and I thought they should enjoy it without seeing their mother and stepmother seething at each other. Moreover– I didn’t plan that gathering. I wasn’t asked how I felt about it. I was simply expected to put up, show up, and shut up, as usual. I might as well have been a cardboard cutout of a woman, with no thoughts or feelings, and no right to an opinion.

Unfortunately, even though we explained why I did what I did, other situations have since come up in which Bill has been yelled at by his stepmother for not showing enough deference or regard for his father. She also does this to Bill’s younger daughter. Stepmom is very good at shaming and blaming other people when things aren’t to her liking. And this situation with Bill’s dad, especially if it ends up having the worst outcome, will surely invite drama. Bill will be expected to make a trip to the States if the worst happens. But I have already told him that I think he should consider what going there would mean for other people, to include some who just happen to live in our neighborhood.

Bill thanked me for offering that perspective to him. He said he needed to hear it. I’m sure I will be blamed for it if he chooses not to go, but that’s okay. Lots of people think I’m a bitch. As Ex once famously said, I can’t help how other people feel. Moreover, if stepmother does crawl up Bill’s ass for not showing proper respect by jumping on a plane to see his father, he can tell her that she never even bothered to tell him he was sick in the first place. Respect is a two way street. And while going to comfort her would probably be the “nice” thing to do, it would not be the good or kind thing to do for the vulnerable people who live and work with Bill every day. Even if he did go, she probably wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.

In any case, we don’t yet know if Bill’s dad has been exposed to COVID-19. He might not have been… although being in a hospital during a pandemic isn’t really being in a safe zone, either. And he might very well recover, which would be the outcome we’re all hoping for.

For some reason, I’ve found myself in the crosshairs of a lot of manipulative people– women, in particular– who try to pressure me into being “nice”. But, as I said before– it’s better to be good and kind, rather than nice. And being good and kind doesn’t always feel “nice” to others, even if it is the best thing in the long run. I have resolved not to “put up, shut up, and show up” anymore in order to avoid other people’s wrath. I have my own wrath, and my own right to make choices that work best for me and others around me. If other people choose to be loyal to themselves, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t anyone? Especially a man as lovely as Bill is.

ETA: COVID-19 test was negative.

Standard