We have to be so careful not to offend!

Someone recently asked me, “What is your background?” I actually thought she had noticed my Oklahoma accent; but no, she was inquiring about my educational and professional history. She wanted to know if I had a clue about what I had just said. I responded by saying I was white and American Indian and changed the subject. I am sorry to say I was, in fact, mildly offended.

I now have removed that chip from my shoulder.

Just making small talk these days is fraught with peril!

Check out these “triggers to avoid”:

WHAT ‘MICROAGGRESSIONS’ SOUND LIKE

A sampling of language and behaviors called “microaggressions,” provided to Clark University students, that universities are urging students to avoid.

“Of course he’ll get tenure, even though he hasn’t published much — he’s black.”

“What are you? You are so interesting looking.”

Telling a nonwhite woman, “I would have never guessed that you were a scientist.”

When a nonwhite faculty member is mistaken for a service worker.

Showing surprise when a “feminine” woman says she is a lesbian.

“You are a credit to your race.”

I went to the animal fair.  The birds and the beasts were there.

Also the curly fries.

Nothing extraordinary.  Just a lovely summer week.

Connie and I celebrated 20 years of friendship with the Lunch Bunch at Minto Island Growers and Konditorei cake back at Connie’s.  She got my favorite — Raspberry Lemonade.  Lots of pink powdered sugar icing.

And a leisurely end-of-the-week paddle on the Willamette with Dave.  Smooth water.  Friendly heron.

Good friends.  Good food. Good river.  I guess that is extraordinary after all.

I was reading an article in the New Yorker about student complaints at “elite” liberal arts colleges when I came across a mouth-boggling phrase: cissexist heteropatriarchy.

Now, that’s giving my Spell Check fits!. But I can figure out what it means, even though I went to a big state university.

There were claims of racism when the “ethnic” offerings served in the “food commons” (read: cafeteria) were deemed not authentic. Good lord.  I hope they didn’t serve General Tso’s chicken or  Hawaiian pizza.  Maybe you could just eat the food your parents paid for and be grateful.  They’re no longer there to tell you you have to clean up your plate.
And a student actually wanted “trigger warnings” when her class studied Antigone because it offended her womanhood. Poor baby. And “baby” is the only word I can think of to apply here.

You’re in a prestigious college. Lucky you! Now, stop complaining, be a grown up, and get to class.
Whatever your sexuality, your color, your economic status,  your frailties, in the adult world, you will often be confronted with people who treat you unfairly for so many reasons. Be strong. Learn to cope. Let that be one of the first lessons you learn in college. And you might even learn something about how to do that by studying Antigone.

Good pictures tell a story with no need of a narrative and say so much more than words can.

Still, There are things to be said.

A desk tells so much about the couple who share it.

Something needs to be said about a scary message on the back of a pickup truck at a gas station stop, but I can’t think what to say.

Putting my feet up on my boat and bird-watching in the rocking chair from the front window say a lot about who I am becoming.

Where but in the Badlands of Eastern Oregon would you find a rest stop with an area to exercise your horses?

There were many signs I didn’t slow enough down to photograph.

And mountains and canyons too many to name them all.

Wisely driving through SLC mid-day on a Saturday, I laughed at a sign that read “Modest Attire for Brides and Moms,” followed shortly by a sign advertising an “adult shop.”

Out in Eastern Oregon, BLM does not stand for “Black Lives Matter.” (You’ll never see a black face out there.) But I did see signs that read “Support the Hammonds,” and “This is your public land.”

Moving safely with the flow of traffic (Read: 80 mph and the occasional ranch vehicle.) I caught glimpses of  Rattlesnake Road, Road Kill Ranch, and  next gas 99 miles.

Finally, proof of a 2310 road trip.  Too much fun.