IdeaJones

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  • Why I Fly My Flag (Or Wear My Pin)

    Why I Fly My Flag (Or Wear My Pin)

    As you probably know, I make Safe Harbor pins and give them away. This has been an almost entirely positive experience. I have given them to young people, old people, people of every religion and none, of every color (it seems like I should say “and none” to balance the sentence, but truthfully, there are no colorless people. We’re all some shade of brown from pale tan to burnt umber). I’ve had people hug me, get teary-eyed, get excited… so it’s not the people getting or wearing the pins that are raising dust.

    Most people I’ve met while doing this get it. It’s meaningful for them. Still there are a handful of malcontents who say that the Safe Harbor pin is “just a badge of white guilt,” and meaningless. They’re frustrated, angry and scared, so they’re lashing out, and making a big mistake.

    No symbol, on its own, solves a problem. That isn’t what symbols do. To quote the Oxford Dictionary, a symbol is “a thing that represents or stands for something else, especially a material object representing something abstract.”  Safe Harbor pins are a symbol worn by people who want to act to solve the problems, as a reminder to themselves of their commitment, and a signal to others that they are not alone in the fight. That is the value. They offer a tiny bit of hope and unity in a divided, angry world. Humans have and create symbols because we need them.

    When you are low, or feeling threatened and beaten, a kind word is far from meaningless. Seeing someone sporting a rainbow Safe Harbor pin, or any Safe Harbor pin, is a reminder that there are people, people you don’t even know, may never meet, who want you to be safe and well. I know this because I’ve been told just that by people who saw me wearing one, people who were feeling marginalized, as though their human dignity and worth was being questioned.  Of course, there must be actions behind that symbol, and there are. People calling on their elected representatives to act, to make changes. People marching, people gathering to help those in need. They are part of a movement that is just finding its feet. They wear their safety pins with pride, and I am one of them.

    No one group is feeling more undervalued or disrespected. Point a direction and you are bound to hit someone who feels isolated and scared, for being female, for being gay, or transgendered, or an immigrant, or… There is good in reminding people that we share a common humanity, common concern for ourselves, our families and friends, our country, our world. That is what the Safe Harbor pin says. “We are both human and in this together.”

    I’ve given pins to people who cried, who were at a low point when a kind word meant a lot. And I won’t stop making them. I won’t stop handing them out. I’ve seen the good it does. Symbols matter. Statements matter. They are the flag behind which a movement marches, and without movement, there is no improvement.

    I am proud to wear my Safe Harbor pin, proud to give them out, to share encouragement and hope. It is my symbol, not of guilt, but of determination.

  • Love Bead Safe Harbor Project Is On!

    The Project Is On!

    That thing is a finger, I swear. There’s no good time to have your hand slammed in a trunk lid and broken, but there are definitely *worse* times. Like when you’re trying to create 500 Safe Harbor Love Bead Pins.
    Even so, the project is going forward. We’ve given away almost 100, and this week, the first “sponsored pins” go in the mail. Someone bought three sets of pins, sponsoring three more to be given away free.

    The official GoFundMe is in the works, but as you can imagine, typing is very hard right now, so it’s taking longer. But it’s happening. More Safe Harbor pins are being given away. More hope is being spread. Broken Finger or no.

  • Love Beads and Broken Bones

    This will have to be short. We were going to make an announcement this weekend regarding our Love Bead Safe Harbor Pin Project… then *wham!,* the storm met an open car trunk door, which met my hand… want the gory details? Didn’t think so. Anyway, I will be okay, eventually.  The Project will go on, but the announcement will be delayed. For now, just know that (1) I’ll be teaching a class on Saturday, June 3 at SCRAP in San Francisco (more at Scrap-SF.org) on how to make Safe Harbor pins, and (2) I’ll be at several locations on Sunday, June 4, and more details to come in a couple of weeks.

    Meantime, if you got a Love  Bead Safe Harbor pin from me, or from someone who did and gave away one, as requested, we’d love to hear from you!

  • The Love Bead Project

    The Love Bead Project

    We can all be “Safe Harbors” for the people around us!

    I never pictured myself becoming an activist, and certainly never thought of myself and the word “hippie” in the same sentence. When I was in kindergarten, protesters were the people on the news who shouted at everyone, and hippies were the people hanging out in ragged clothes who looked like they  needed a shower.  Suffice it to say that it looked as though the 60s had missed me — I was too busy trying to learn to tie my shoes. Looking back, there were things I did that were very 60s, raising mealworms to feed birds caught in an oil spill, for example. That was the start of a lifetime of volunteering, still I didn’t think of myself as a real child of the 60s.

    Then I started hearing from people who were being threatened and harassed. Who were afraid, for themselves, their families, their friends, and I got mad. Normally I’m a cheerful sort, and it takes a lot to get me angry, but more and more, people I knew were being ridiculed and threatened. They felt isolated. Unsafe. Unwanted.

    It was about that time that I heard of the Safe Harbor pin, an idea that came to the U.S. from the U.K. Wearing a safety pin was a way of signalling that you were a “safe harbor,” a person who would try to treat someone with respect. I liked the idea and started wearing one. Then word came that white supremacists were co-opting the symbol, wearing plain safety pins. That was offensive, but to whom could I object? Where was the place I could register my complaint?

    So I took my pin and “tarted it up, ” decorating it, making it more flashy and flamboyant. “Good luck wearing something like this, asshole!,” I muttered as I added beads and charms.  I posted a photo of that first pin, and heard from people who said they were now going to “tart up” their pins as well. I made more pins, fastened them to old business cards (perfect size), and started carrying a few with me. Whenever someone  liked my pin, I gave him one.  This created some really interesting and enjoyable interactions.

    Now, I put two on a card, and ask the recipient to give away one, spreading the hope. I don’t ask where that person comes from, what he believes, what his personal life is like. If he wants to talk and I have time, I’m willing to, but the idea is that I don’t have to approve of someone to offer him encouragement, and he doesn’t have to approve of me to accept it. It’s a simple thing, between two human souls.

    I have given away almost 100 pins since December of last year. Now, we’re spreading the hope even further. There’s a class scheduled for June in San Francisco on making Safe Harbor pins, and in connection with the 50th anniversary of the Summer of Love, I’ll be handing out pins in five spots in San Francisco. My goal is to hand out 500 pins.

    But making 500 of anything takes time and money. My husband and I have been funding this ourselves so far, but to get to 500, I’ll be running a GoFundMe campaign (more details to come). Donors will receive a set of pins and sponsor a set to be given away. I’d like to give some away to centers helping at-risk youth as well.

    While doing this, I’ll be putting my sculpting and other artwork on hold. Like I said, making 500 of anything takes time. Mom used to say that time was the gift so precious, people rarely give it to one another. So that’s part of what I give with the pins, a bit of my time, a piece of my creativity, a morsel of hope — and then hope that person spreads it, too.

    More on the GoFundMe to come.

  • Marching Introvert

    Marching Introvert

    Not a crowd person.

    I’ve been meeting a lot of new people lately, which is, for an introvert, a mixed blessing. I enjoy meeting good people, but I’ve been in several crowds lately. For an introvert, that’s a challenge.

    As a friend pointed out, I’m both an introvert and shy. They aren’t interchangeable. The best explanation of the difference between introverts and extroverts I’ve ever seen: Extroverts get energized by being around people. Introverts spend energy to be around people, then have to be alone to recharge. I like people (well, I like kind people), but after a while, I have to be alone to recharge.

    It has nothing to do with liking people or not. My batteries just get tapped out.

    I’ve always been an introvert. Extroverted friends complain about being alone too often. They get bored and lonely. Left to my own devices, I grab a book, or paint, or any number of things.  If an extrovert is with you, he might just want to be with someone. If I’m with you, I want to be with you, specifically. It’ll cost me, but I think it’s worth it.

    There are more extroverts in the population at any given time than introverts, which makes sense. If the species tended more toward introverts, how would enough of us get out and find mates to keep humanity going? But extroverts can find it difficult to understand introverts.

    Mark had a cousin who was a dear lady and an extrovert to her toenails. She was, as my Mom would have said, a “Y’all come” sort. Extroverts can not only handle unexpected company, they may welcome it. Introverts like to know what’s coming, socially, so we can be ready. Mark’s cousin welcomed us into her family circle, invited us to their summer gathering in the woods. Like I say, she was a sweetheart and I really enjoyed her. We rented a cabin nearby, but not too nearby, so I could get some alone time when all the togetherness was too much. As she welcomed us, she said, “Everybody does whatever they want. Relax and enjoy yourself!”

    One day,I needed some of that alone time. It was great playing board games, swimming, hanging out with the family, but my battery needed charging. I was looking forward to it, with a new book to read and a really good grilled cheese sandwich to eat. Mark’s cousin (let’s call her Cathy) decided she wanted to take a drive to visit another relative. Extroverts like to do things with groups of people, as a rule, so she was getting up a group and invited me. I declined, politely, and explained I was looking forward to reading my book…

    “But… are you all right,” Cathy asked.

    “I’m fine,” I assured her. “I just need some time alone and a book.”

    Cathy looked alarmed. “Did someone say something to you? Did somebody hurt your feelings? Who was it?”

    Confused, I shook my head. “No, Cathy, I’m fine. Nobody insulted me. I just want to read my book.”

    “Come with us,” she said, “you’ll feel better.”

    “I feel fine, Cathy. I just want…”

    She grabbed my arm. “We’ll have fun. Some fresh air and a nice drive and you’ll feel great.”

    “I feel great now. I would just feel greater with my book.”

    “But…”

    I told her gently, but firmly, that I wasn’t mad at anyone, I just wanted to spend some time with a grilled cheese sandwich and a book. With that, I left for the lodge, picked up my sandwich, and headed for the cabin.

    A car drove by the cabin, then it was quiet. My sandwich smelled delicious, buttery and golden brown. My mouth watered. Just as I cracked the book open, there was a knock on the door.

    There stood Cathy, some of our relatives peering at me from her car. “Cathy,” I said cautiously, “what’s going on?”

    “We came to pick you up,” she said with a bright smile.

    “But I told you…”

    “Oh, I know,” she said, “and I know you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong and that’s fine, but I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re here alone and miserable!”

    “I won’t be miserable,” I said as patiently as I could. “My sandwich is getting cold.”

    “Bring it with you!”

    “I don’t want to,” I told Cathy. “I want to read my book. Have a good time and I’ll see you when you get back.”

    She took my arm. “Come on…”

    “No,” I said, pulling free. Before she could object again, I stopped her. “Didn’t you say everybody does whatever they want here?”

    “Well… yes…”

    “What you meant was that everybody does whatever you want, didn’t you?”

    She laughed. “Yes.”

    I ushered her toward her car. “Have a good time. I’ll see you later. I’m going to be right here for the next couple of hours, eating my cold sandwich and reading. I’m an introvert, Cathy, and I need some time alone. If I don’t I’ll have to kill someone.”

    She accepted it and left, but really didn’t understand. The next day she asked me if I was all right and was I sure nobody had hurt my feelings. But it came from wanting me to be happy, so I just took it that way and assured her I was okay.

    Extroverts have trouble understanding how being introverted works. It doesn’t mean that we don’t go out, or socialize. If we want to do something enough, we will. If we want to be around you, we will. Then we’ll go home and recharge.

    This weekend, I went up to total strangers at a rally and asked them if they’d like a free “Safe Harbor” pin. The idea of going to a huge rally by myself and walking around talking to strangers made me nervous, but it was something I believed in and decided to do. I met some lovely people, all very different, but nice, people who were there peacefully protesting and standing up for things they believe in with dignity and good humor. I enjoyed meeting every one of them, and I’m glad so many people showed up, and conducted themselves so well. It was great to be a small part of such a huge movement, and I hope the people who marched stay aware and involved.

    And now, time to recharge.