(Trigger alert: Avoid this if a sad pet story is not what you need today.)
Monday, May 20, 2013
Sunday, May 19, 2013
me and Mr. Shore
I've run across a blog by a guy named John Shore, which would probably only appeal to a niche interest group, but I guess that's the way most blogs are. Mr. Shore is Christian, enthusiastically so, and also married and straight. Lately he has been writing quite a bit about the illogic of Christians opposing homosexual love. He has an interesting point of view, and I love reading it.
But I don't think he gets the Evangelical mindset. He didn't grow up as an Evangelical, he converted to Christianity as an adult. He seems to think that if you point out the logical fallacies in Evangelical thought, they will realize the error of their ways and lighten up. But that's not the way most Evangelicals think. For most Evangelicals, the fact that homosexuality is defined as a sin at some point in the Bible (any point) is enough.
They don't want to discuss it, think about it, or question their own assumptions and biases. In fact, in their minds, to do so would be moral weakness. If their arguments are illogical, they will simply tell you that what seems illogical to human beings is not necessarily illogical to God ("Because that which the world deems foolish in God is wiser than men's wisdom" 1 Cor 1.25). Their arguments don't have to make sense, because that would be relying on the human intellect instead of relying on faith in God's Word, and in their opinion, God's Word says that homosexuality is a sin.
All they need is to be able to point to a verse that says that backs up their belief --and in spite of what most liberal Christians want you to believe, there are verses that say that homosexuality is a sin (try Romans 1.26-27, or 1 Corinthians 6.9-10, for example). And that's all they need. God said it, I believe it, that settles it, a favorite Evangelical phrase goes. It's maddening and infuriating, because exactly what "God says" is often far from obvious (and has to do as much with what they've been taught to believe as it does with what the Bible actually says), but that's the way it is.
I haven't read everything he's written, but Mr. Shore seems to argue that Bible doesn't really say that homosexuality is a sin. I think that's the wrong way to approach it. Evangelicals love to get nit-picky about what Bible verses say, you'll never convince them that way. They'll just get more and more stubbornly attached to their interpretation of exactly what the Bible says in verse x, y, or z. What might work instead is examples of faithful, committed Christians, who go to church and participate in outreach and ministry, and study the Bible and pray, but don't believe in shaming, judging, or condemning other people because their sexuality doesn't match up with traditional heterosexual norms.
Actually, I think we should meet the madness head-on. Yes, the Bible says homosexuality is a sin, but I disagree. I am a Christian and I do not think this is a problem. God gave me a brain to use and I'm going to use it, and it just doesn't make sense that God would have a problem with monogamous LGBT couples.
But then. I started looking up verses in the Bible for this post, and you know what? Mr. Shore has a point. I hadn't done this in a long time--looked up all the references to homosexuality in the New Testament (I'm not worrying about the ones in the Old Testament, because if we have to follow Old Testament law, we're all in trouble. Read Galatians if you think Christians still need to keep Old Testament law.) Those two passages (Romans 1.26-27 and 1 Corinthians 6.9-10) are really the only problematic ones if you ask me, and as plenty of other people have said, Jesus never mentions it at all.
The rest of the references could very well be about sexual promiscuity or unspecified "unnatural" sexual acts rather than about gay-ness. It says a great deal about homophobia in our culture that it is possible to see the words "unnatural" and "unclean" and immediately assume that they refer to homosexuality. But the Jews probably had a far wider definition of those words, especially "unclean." There were many ways you could be unclean that have nothing to do with homosexuality--by violating certain dietary restrictions, or having sex with your wife while she was menstruating, for example.
-------------------
So this has been sitting in my draft box for a month now because I didn't really come to any conclusions, it ended up with me just thinking out loud. (Well, the internet equivalent of thinking "out loud.") I have no idea what the best approach is. But there are going to be several of these this week (I hope), not necessarily about homosexuality but about Christianity--some of them inspired by further reading of John Shore's blog--so here you go. I know for those of you who aren't interested in Christianity this and some of the others this week are going to be far more information than you want, so feel free to tune out.
But I don't think he gets the Evangelical mindset. He didn't grow up as an Evangelical, he converted to Christianity as an adult. He seems to think that if you point out the logical fallacies in Evangelical thought, they will realize the error of their ways and lighten up. But that's not the way most Evangelicals think. For most Evangelicals, the fact that homosexuality is defined as a sin at some point in the Bible (any point) is enough.
They don't want to discuss it, think about it, or question their own assumptions and biases. In fact, in their minds, to do so would be moral weakness. If their arguments are illogical, they will simply tell you that what seems illogical to human beings is not necessarily illogical to God ("Because that which the world deems foolish in God is wiser than men's wisdom" 1 Cor 1.25). Their arguments don't have to make sense, because that would be relying on the human intellect instead of relying on faith in God's Word, and in their opinion, God's Word says that homosexuality is a sin.
All they need is to be able to point to a verse that says that backs up their belief --and in spite of what most liberal Christians want you to believe, there are verses that say that homosexuality is a sin (try Romans 1.26-27, or 1 Corinthians 6.9-10, for example). And that's all they need. God said it, I believe it, that settles it, a favorite Evangelical phrase goes. It's maddening and infuriating, because exactly what "God says" is often far from obvious (and has to do as much with what they've been taught to believe as it does with what the Bible actually says), but that's the way it is.
I haven't read everything he's written, but Mr. Shore seems to argue that Bible doesn't really say that homosexuality is a sin. I think that's the wrong way to approach it. Evangelicals love to get nit-picky about what Bible verses say, you'll never convince them that way. They'll just get more and more stubbornly attached to their interpretation of exactly what the Bible says in verse x, y, or z. What might work instead is examples of faithful, committed Christians, who go to church and participate in outreach and ministry, and study the Bible and pray, but don't believe in shaming, judging, or condemning other people because their sexuality doesn't match up with traditional heterosexual norms.
Actually, I think we should meet the madness head-on. Yes, the Bible says homosexuality is a sin, but I disagree. I am a Christian and I do not think this is a problem. God gave me a brain to use and I'm going to use it, and it just doesn't make sense that God would have a problem with monogamous LGBT couples.
But then. I started looking up verses in the Bible for this post, and you know what? Mr. Shore has a point. I hadn't done this in a long time--looked up all the references to homosexuality in the New Testament (I'm not worrying about the ones in the Old Testament, because if we have to follow Old Testament law, we're all in trouble. Read Galatians if you think Christians still need to keep Old Testament law.) Those two passages (Romans 1.26-27 and 1 Corinthians 6.9-10) are really the only problematic ones if you ask me, and as plenty of other people have said, Jesus never mentions it at all.
The rest of the references could very well be about sexual promiscuity or unspecified "unnatural" sexual acts rather than about gay-ness. It says a great deal about homophobia in our culture that it is possible to see the words "unnatural" and "unclean" and immediately assume that they refer to homosexuality. But the Jews probably had a far wider definition of those words, especially "unclean." There were many ways you could be unclean that have nothing to do with homosexuality--by violating certain dietary restrictions, or having sex with your wife while she was menstruating, for example.
-------------------
So this has been sitting in my draft box for a month now because I didn't really come to any conclusions, it ended up with me just thinking out loud. (Well, the internet equivalent of thinking "out loud.") I have no idea what the best approach is. But there are going to be several of these this week (I hope), not necessarily about homosexuality but about Christianity--some of them inspired by further reading of John Shore's blog--so here you go. I know for those of you who aren't interested in Christianity this and some of the others this week are going to be far more information than you want, so feel free to tune out.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
more than you wanted to know....
Well, I am chatty Kathy this week. What happened? Last week I almost decided to stop blogging, this week I can't shut up. You know what? I just decided to chalk this up to menopause. I'm still close enough to it that I can blame the emotional rollercoaster on hormones, right? RIGHT? *grabs poor defenseless reader by the lapels and glares* ummmm, yeah. Right.
OK, then.
Moving on.
So I overcame temptation this week and did NOT buy a new book. The rules have evolved since the last time we discussed this (my new year's resolution to not buy any new books in 2013). I bought a couple of guide books for Southern Utah before we went on spring break and decided that the resolution only applied to fiction. And I bought two kindle books-- one to support a friend of a friend's newbie writing career, and one because it was an author I like and it was on sale for ninety-nine cents. But other than that, I haven't paid money for any books this year.
Until yesterday, when one of my online acquaintances announced the book for the online book club she hosts at her blog every month. It's one I want to read, and I enjoy participating in her monthly discussions. Then two or three people chimed in saying that they loved the book (Hi, Karen!). So there I was on Amazon with my finger hovering over the "send to my kindle" button.
But I resisted. I may still give in (I've already made it far longer than I thought I would on this resolution), but I decided to at least wait. That's one of the keys to dealing with temptation, you know. You don't tell yourself you can't do it, you just tell yourself to wait. I'm on the waiting list at the library for a copy, and the date of the discussion is still two weeks away. We'll see.
In other news..... I went to see Lynne, my alternative medicine friend, and she said to just give in to the tiredness and let my body rest. Everybody needs a break sometimes, she said. She also pointed out that I'm probably still recovering from three years of hyper-stress because of grad school. So I will try to stop berating myself for not being particularly productive, effective, or useful, and relax.
And we're blaming this all on hormones, anyway, right?
I googled around and found this creepy Chatty Kathy commercial on youtube. How did any of us who were kids in the 60s turn out sane? *insert horror movie music* OR DID WE?
OK, then.
Moving on.
So I overcame temptation this week and did NOT buy a new book. The rules have evolved since the last time we discussed this (my new year's resolution to not buy any new books in 2013). I bought a couple of guide books for Southern Utah before we went on spring break and decided that the resolution only applied to fiction. And I bought two kindle books-- one to support a friend of a friend's newbie writing career, and one because it was an author I like and it was on sale for ninety-nine cents. But other than that, I haven't paid money for any books this year.
Until yesterday, when one of my online acquaintances announced the book for the online book club she hosts at her blog every month. It's one I want to read, and I enjoy participating in her monthly discussions. Then two or three people chimed in saying that they loved the book (Hi, Karen!). So there I was on Amazon with my finger hovering over the "send to my kindle" button.
But I resisted. I may still give in (I've already made it far longer than I thought I would on this resolution), but I decided to at least wait. That's one of the keys to dealing with temptation, you know. You don't tell yourself you can't do it, you just tell yourself to wait. I'm on the waiting list at the library for a copy, and the date of the discussion is still two weeks away. We'll see.
In other news..... I went to see Lynne, my alternative medicine friend, and she said to just give in to the tiredness and let my body rest. Everybody needs a break sometimes, she said. She also pointed out that I'm probably still recovering from three years of hyper-stress because of grad school. So I will try to stop berating myself for not being particularly productive, effective, or useful, and relax.
And we're blaming this all on hormones, anyway, right?
I googled around and found this creepy Chatty Kathy commercial on youtube. How did any of us who were kids in the 60s turn out sane? *insert horror movie music* OR DID WE?
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
mother's day hike
The advantage of living here-- we could do this leaving at 2:30 in the afternoon and be home by 8:30, including stopping for root beer floats and burgers on the way home.
a river moving in you
I've been thinking lately about joy. I let joy leave my life, and for the past couple of months, I've been working on getting it back. I'm not miserable, and I'm not depressed. I'm still doing what I need to do, getting things done, taking care of my family and our animals and putting one foot in front of another. But there hasn't been much joy. This is a work in progress, I have no great conclusions to pass along here. Just several random thoughts, plus some quotes I found on The Google, and a hope that you will pass your ideas along to me.
an aside: since like everyone I did a mini happy dance when hyperboleandahalf reappeared on my feed, I want to say that none of this applies to someone who is truly depressed. After reading her description, I don't think I ever have been. If you are, you have my sympathy, and you can ignore this.
I think joy is different than happiness. Happiness comes when things are right, everything's coming up roses, you get a book contract or a promotion to the job you always wanted or a raise. Or you're on vacation. All it takes is a blow, something that goes wrong, vacation ends, to turn happiness into sadness, grief, or pain. And that's as it should be--the circle of life and all that.
But maybe joy is something different. It springs from life itself, from the gift of being alive, waking up to another day, a whole new world every single 24 hours. I think it has something to do with gratitude, with acknowledging that gift. It's #2 on the list of fruits of the Spirit in St. Paul's letter to the church at Galatia: "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control..." It seems to me it should be something that bubbles up of its own accord if we can manage to get out of its way.
If that's true, it should be possible to feel joy even when things aren't right, when things aren't going your way, when getting through the day feels like pushing Sisyphus's boulder up a hill. But I certainly haven't been feeling it lately.
Maybe part of it is slowing down, noticing. Colors, sounds, spring. The world is coming to life around me as I sit here typing in front of an open window.
Maybe part of it is taking a vacation from cynicism, from that dry, dreary, unshakeable belief that if anything bad can happen, it's going to happen, to me, at the worst possible moment. Because this is demonstrably not true.
Maybe part of it is lowering the bar on our expectations. We're Americans, we have a tremendous sense of entitlement. We believe that we're entitled to a great life, 100% health, a good job, a nice house, a car to drive, a happy childhood safely tucked away in our memories. We believe that we deserve ease, comfort, spa treatments, and chocolate for dessert. So we're not only disappointed but angry when things don't go the way we want. In much of the rest of the world, I suspect that three meals a day and a roof overhead is cause for contentment.
Maybe part of it is not taking the burden of changing the world too seriously. It's not like any specific one of us was given the job to change the world. Maybe each of us can let go of the burden now and then. We can do our part, and then let other people take over when we need a break.
Maybe part of it is developing a more robust sense of self, and also a healthy respect for the person I am. That way I wouldn't be dependent on the people around me in order to be able to be myself. I'd like to be able to say that I am who I am no matter what's going on around me. (cue Popeye.)
Maybe part of it is taking that most difficult step of faith and believing that we are just fine as we are, without any changes. I think part of my lack of joy recently has to do with realizing that I'm never going to become the amazing person I wish I was. I'm 51, almost 52. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now. But the flip side of that is that by concentrating on that amazing person I wish I was, I miss the amazing person I am right now. If change is going to come, it needs to be motivated by joy, not the deadening belief that I'm a disaster and I'll only be a worthwhile person if I change.
I spotted a book on Paperback Swap a couple of weeks ago that may help: Second Innocence: Reconnecting with Joy and Wonder. Haven't read it yet, but I will pass along any gems of wisdom.
Some thoughts from others:
When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself.
Tecumseh
When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy. --Rumi
Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy. --Thich Nhat Hanh
"joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed." Kahil Gibran
And I found out that line I passed along last week is from Teddy Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy."
an aside: since like everyone I did a mini happy dance when hyperboleandahalf reappeared on my feed, I want to say that none of this applies to someone who is truly depressed. After reading her description, I don't think I ever have been. If you are, you have my sympathy, and you can ignore this.
I think joy is different than happiness. Happiness comes when things are right, everything's coming up roses, you get a book contract or a promotion to the job you always wanted or a raise. Or you're on vacation. All it takes is a blow, something that goes wrong, vacation ends, to turn happiness into sadness, grief, or pain. And that's as it should be--the circle of life and all that.
But maybe joy is something different. It springs from life itself, from the gift of being alive, waking up to another day, a whole new world every single 24 hours. I think it has something to do with gratitude, with acknowledging that gift. It's #2 on the list of fruits of the Spirit in St. Paul's letter to the church at Galatia: "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control..." It seems to me it should be something that bubbles up of its own accord if we can manage to get out of its way.
If that's true, it should be possible to feel joy even when things aren't right, when things aren't going your way, when getting through the day feels like pushing Sisyphus's boulder up a hill. But I certainly haven't been feeling it lately.
Maybe part of it is slowing down, noticing. Colors, sounds, spring. The world is coming to life around me as I sit here typing in front of an open window.
Maybe part of it is taking a vacation from cynicism, from that dry, dreary, unshakeable belief that if anything bad can happen, it's going to happen, to me, at the worst possible moment. Because this is demonstrably not true.
Maybe part of it is lowering the bar on our expectations. We're Americans, we have a tremendous sense of entitlement. We believe that we're entitled to a great life, 100% health, a good job, a nice house, a car to drive, a happy childhood safely tucked away in our memories. We believe that we deserve ease, comfort, spa treatments, and chocolate for dessert. So we're not only disappointed but angry when things don't go the way we want. In much of the rest of the world, I suspect that three meals a day and a roof overhead is cause for contentment.
Maybe part of it is not taking the burden of changing the world too seriously. It's not like any specific one of us was given the job to change the world. Maybe each of us can let go of the burden now and then. We can do our part, and then let other people take over when we need a break.
Maybe part of it is developing a more robust sense of self, and also a healthy respect for the person I am. That way I wouldn't be dependent on the people around me in order to be able to be myself. I'd like to be able to say that I am who I am no matter what's going on around me. (cue Popeye.)
Maybe part of it is taking that most difficult step of faith and believing that we are just fine as we are, without any changes. I think part of my lack of joy recently has to do with realizing that I'm never going to become the amazing person I wish I was. I'm 51, almost 52. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now. But the flip side of that is that by concentrating on that amazing person I wish I was, I miss the amazing person I am right now. If change is going to come, it needs to be motivated by joy, not the deadening belief that I'm a disaster and I'll only be a worthwhile person if I change.
I spotted a book on Paperback Swap a couple of weeks ago that may help: Second Innocence: Reconnecting with Joy and Wonder. Haven't read it yet, but I will pass along any gems of wisdom.
Some thoughts from others:
When you rise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life, for your strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason to give thanks, the fault lies in yourself.
Tecumseh
When you do things from your soul, you feel a river moving in you, a joy. --Rumi
Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy. --Thich Nhat Hanh
"joy and sorrow are inseparable. . . together they come and when one sits alone with you . . remember that the other is asleep upon your bed." Kahil Gibran
And I found out that line I passed along last week is from Teddy Roosevelt: "Comparison is the thief of joy."
Monday, May 13, 2013
blog update
Hi, y'all-- I have a couple of posts that need to go up but that probably aren't anything that you will find interesting (like how to get from Dulles to the Convention Center in Washington) (see? I told you), so I'm going to back post them just to get them up. Feel free to ignore.
Also, I need to go back and add labels to a whole bunch of posts. I thought that I could do this without republishing the post (on my end, it's just a matter of clicking in a checkbox), but the last time I did it, I noticed it popped back up to the top of my feed in Feedly. So, massive apologies, because when I get around to doing this there will be a flood of a dozen or more old posts, which are absolutely unchanged except for the labels. Sorry!! I will try to do better at remembering to label them when I originally post them.
Also, I need to go back and add labels to a whole bunch of posts. I thought that I could do this without republishing the post (on my end, it's just a matter of clicking in a checkbox), but the last time I did it, I noticed it popped back up to the top of my feed in Feedly. So, massive apologies, because when I get around to doing this there will be a flood of a dozen or more old posts, which are absolutely unchanged except for the labels. Sorry!! I will try to do better at remembering to label them when I originally post them.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
how to get from Dulles into Washington, D.C.
This will probably not interest my regular readers a bit, so my apologies. But for an airport as large as Dulles, it was surprisingly difficult to figure out how to get from the airport into the city. Even though I googled it ahead of time, I ended up just poking around Dulles after I got there until I figured it out. So I decided to write it out in the hopes that it will help out someone else.
I saved almost $200 by flying into Dulles (IAD) --which is about 30 miles from Washington, D.C. But the savings would have been practically wiped out by taking a taxi into the city for $70 each way, as most sources recommend. (Taking the taxi would be a bargain if you could split it up between 3-4 people, because you don't have to worry about switching between buses, trains, etc. and presumably the taxi would take you exactly where you need to go.)
So: In the baggage claim area, follow the signs to the Washington Flyer Bus. They're not exactly prominent, but if you're looking, they're not hard to find. You follow a ramp up to Door 4, where there is a ticket counter so you can buy a ticket. You can buy a one-way ticket for $10, or round-trip for $18. The bus comes about every half hour. The bus was a big, clean, uncrowded tour-type coach.
The Washington Flyer Bus will deposit you at the West Falls Church Metro Station, which is on the Orange Line of the Washington metro subway system. If you are planning to ride the Flyer bus back to Dulles again at the end of your trip, note where the bus drops you off. There is no ticket desk for the return trip, you just get on the bus when it pulls up and pay when you get back to Dulles.
The metro is pretty easy to figure out if you have any experience with public transportation. There are route maps and automated ticket machines inside the metro station--you can pay with cash or a credit or debit card. I needed to get to the convention center, which is the Mt. Vernon Square metro stop. At the bottom of the route map sign, there is a list with the fare to each other stop from your current location. You add a dollar to that amount and that's how much metro fare you need to purchase. I had to ride the orange line to L'Enfant Plaza, then switch to the green line to Mt. Vernon Square.
Total expense for getting into the city: less than $14. The downside: it took an hour and a half from the time I got on the Flyer bus. Note-- if you're going to be using the metro frequently during your trip, you can get a credit-card-like smart card, which saves you the $1/trip surcharge for using a paper card. If you're a complete newbie when it comes to public transportation, the metro website has lots of information for how to get around, try starting here.
Someone on the flyer bus told me that there is also a public transpo bus 5A that you can catch from either the L'Enfant Plaza metro station or the Rosslyn metro station to Dulles, but I didn't find out about it until too late to do it. Also, there are shared vans that you can use --there's a desk just outside of baggage claim, but since I didn't use them, can't comment on them. The method I've described above worked just fine, though, and was pretty cheap. It just took awhile.
I saved almost $200 by flying into Dulles (IAD) --which is about 30 miles from Washington, D.C. But the savings would have been practically wiped out by taking a taxi into the city for $70 each way, as most sources recommend. (Taking the taxi would be a bargain if you could split it up between 3-4 people, because you don't have to worry about switching between buses, trains, etc. and presumably the taxi would take you exactly where you need to go.)
So: In the baggage claim area, follow the signs to the Washington Flyer Bus. They're not exactly prominent, but if you're looking, they're not hard to find. You follow a ramp up to Door 4, where there is a ticket counter so you can buy a ticket. You can buy a one-way ticket for $10, or round-trip for $18. The bus comes about every half hour. The bus was a big, clean, uncrowded tour-type coach.
The Washington Flyer Bus will deposit you at the West Falls Church Metro Station, which is on the Orange Line of the Washington metro subway system. If you are planning to ride the Flyer bus back to Dulles again at the end of your trip, note where the bus drops you off. There is no ticket desk for the return trip, you just get on the bus when it pulls up and pay when you get back to Dulles.
The metro is pretty easy to figure out if you have any experience with public transportation. There are route maps and automated ticket machines inside the metro station--you can pay with cash or a credit or debit card. I needed to get to the convention center, which is the Mt. Vernon Square metro stop. At the bottom of the route map sign, there is a list with the fare to each other stop from your current location. You add a dollar to that amount and that's how much metro fare you need to purchase. I had to ride the orange line to L'Enfant Plaza, then switch to the green line to Mt. Vernon Square.
Total expense for getting into the city: less than $14. The downside: it took an hour and a half from the time I got on the Flyer bus. Note-- if you're going to be using the metro frequently during your trip, you can get a credit-card-like smart card, which saves you the $1/trip surcharge for using a paper card. If you're a complete newbie when it comes to public transportation, the metro website has lots of information for how to get around, try starting here.
Someone on the flyer bus told me that there is also a public transpo bus 5A that you can catch from either the L'Enfant Plaza metro station or the Rosslyn metro station to Dulles, but I didn't find out about it until too late to do it. Also, there are shared vans that you can use --there's a desk just outside of baggage claim, but since I didn't use them, can't comment on them. The method I've described above worked just fine, though, and was pretty cheap. It just took awhile.
Thursday, May 09, 2013
sneaky chickenz
The number of eggs we've been getting recently has really dropped off, but since we had way more eggs than we needed anyway, I wasn't really worrying about it. Turns out that they've been laying, just not in the coop. Look what I found this afternoon when I went to drag out the pots for my flowers:
Silly chickens.
I spent the weekend in Washington, D.C. with my mom and my sisters--we had a great trip. But I've spent the week catching up. Back soon.
Silly chickens.
I spent the weekend in Washington, D.C. with my mom and my sisters--we had a great trip. But I've spent the week catching up. Back soon.
Wednesday, May 01, 2013
nostalgia for the second wave
The history of feminism is often defined by waves: the first wave was the era of the suffragettes, women fighting for the most basic rights--the right to vote, to own property, to hold a job; the second wave was the feminism of my college years, the era of fighting for equality--a woman can be just as good as a man at anything she wants to do; the third wave started somewhere around the 90s, and acknowledged that women's rights come in all different sizes, shapes, colors, races, and ethnicities.
In the 80s, we were all about getting rid of the trappings of femininity that had limited what we could do--the traditional women's roles of cooking and housekeeping and raising children took up so much time that you couldn't do anything else. We were all about convenience foods and day care and streamlined plans for cleaning the house (or not cleaning at all) because suddenly there was a whole world of things we'd rather do--write a software program or go for a hike or become a potter or work overtime to advance our careers.
All the old female pastimes seemed like a cage that was designed to hold us back. We wanted to be taken seriously, because we hadn't been before; we wanted to be judged on the merits of what we could do, not on how we looked or what we wore or (worst of all) what our husbands/bosses did. We wanted a level playing field with the men.
The obvious outward sign of this was clothing. When I was in early grade school in the 60s, girls were still required to wear dresses or skirts to school. The boys could run around the playground, hang from the monkey bars, and slide down the slide, but if you were wearing a dress, there were serious limitations to what you could do. Some of us figured out how to wear shorts under our dresses (Danskins were perfect because they fit snugly and didn't show), but even then you ended up with a bunch of fabric wadded up around your waist that boys just didn't have to deal with.
So when the second wave came along, most of us were overjoyed to switch to jeans, pants, gauchos (remember those?)--anything that didn't restrict our movement. Skirts and dresses became something that you wore to weddings, funerals, and job interviews. High heels were seen as a torture device designed by patriarchy to keep us looking good but unable to move. Fussy clothing--ruffles, lace, bows, puffs-- UGH. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
So it was with a great deal of surprise that I and many other second wave feminists watched the third wave take up girl-y clothing and make it into its own kind of power. Girl power, grrrrl power, however you want to spell it-- you had the Spice Girls wearing 5-inch platform shoes and even though they were all adults, being unabashedly girly. Manicures that had to be fussed over, mini-skirts that kept you from being able to lean over, stiletto heels that would break the ankles of lesser humans--instead of signs of weakness and subservience, these became signs of female power. We can kick ass and look good doing it. We bring men to their knees.
There were, of course, many great things about this. First of all, it meant that this generation of women could take it for granted that they would be taken seriously, which is is something so profoundly wonderful that it brings tears to my eyes to think about it. They could wear flirty, feminine clothes, dress like an eight-year-old, a vamp, or a diva, and it didn't even seem to occur to them to worry that someone would ignore them or accuse them of sleeping their way to the top.
And there were lesser positives, too-- when I was in high school, having your bra strap showing was enough to send you red-faced and embarrassed to the restroom to stow it away again. By the mid 90s, camisoles were designed specifically to show your bra strap, and underwear came in vivid colors and animal prints--the whole intention was for it to be seen. And it was lot of fun to play dress-up and feel powerful doing it.
But there were also moments when I just shook my head--like one time I was wandering around the women's clothing section at REI and came across a bunch of tops intended for rock climbing that tied with a bow in back. Seriously? How can you be taken seriously as an athlete if your clothing ties in a bow? What if it came untied and presented a climbing hazard? But of course times had changed. No one thought about it like that anymore.
But recently I've wondered if things have finally come full circle. I've been increasingly disturbed at the pictures that women post of themselves--or parts of themselves. Cleavage shots, shots of their butts, torso shots where their only coverage is an arm across their breasts. It's the same thing of course-- women feeling powerful in their bodies--and there's nothing wrong with that. I will admit to some prudish, eyebrow-raised reactions, but usually even I can tell that this isn't about prudery.
But it has struck me recently as a little odd that we've gone in the past thirty years from women being outraged that they might be judged for their tits and ass to now being insistent on being judged that way. The pictures seem to demand: see me as a a lace-clad pair of boobs, or judge me by my awesome tush or whatever.
It's not an observation that they would appreciate. They see it as a claiming of their own power to be able to revel in looking good. But as a former card-carrying member of the second wave, it just strikes me as odd.
In the 80s, we were all about getting rid of the trappings of femininity that had limited what we could do--the traditional women's roles of cooking and housekeeping and raising children took up so much time that you couldn't do anything else. We were all about convenience foods and day care and streamlined plans for cleaning the house (or not cleaning at all) because suddenly there was a whole world of things we'd rather do--write a software program or go for a hike or become a potter or work overtime to advance our careers.
All the old female pastimes seemed like a cage that was designed to hold us back. We wanted to be taken seriously, because we hadn't been before; we wanted to be judged on the merits of what we could do, not on how we looked or what we wore or (worst of all) what our husbands/bosses did. We wanted a level playing field with the men.
The obvious outward sign of this was clothing. When I was in early grade school in the 60s, girls were still required to wear dresses or skirts to school. The boys could run around the playground, hang from the monkey bars, and slide down the slide, but if you were wearing a dress, there were serious limitations to what you could do. Some of us figured out how to wear shorts under our dresses (Danskins were perfect because they fit snugly and didn't show), but even then you ended up with a bunch of fabric wadded up around your waist that boys just didn't have to deal with.
So when the second wave came along, most of us were overjoyed to switch to jeans, pants, gauchos (remember those?)--anything that didn't restrict our movement. Skirts and dresses became something that you wore to weddings, funerals, and job interviews. High heels were seen as a torture device designed by patriarchy to keep us looking good but unable to move. Fussy clothing--ruffles, lace, bows, puffs-- UGH. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
So it was with a great deal of surprise that I and many other second wave feminists watched the third wave take up girl-y clothing and make it into its own kind of power. Girl power, grrrrl power, however you want to spell it-- you had the Spice Girls wearing 5-inch platform shoes and even though they were all adults, being unabashedly girly. Manicures that had to be fussed over, mini-skirts that kept you from being able to lean over, stiletto heels that would break the ankles of lesser humans--instead of signs of weakness and subservience, these became signs of female power. We can kick ass and look good doing it. We bring men to their knees.
There were, of course, many great things about this. First of all, it meant that this generation of women could take it for granted that they would be taken seriously, which is is something so profoundly wonderful that it brings tears to my eyes to think about it. They could wear flirty, feminine clothes, dress like an eight-year-old, a vamp, or a diva, and it didn't even seem to occur to them to worry that someone would ignore them or accuse them of sleeping their way to the top.
And there were lesser positives, too-- when I was in high school, having your bra strap showing was enough to send you red-faced and embarrassed to the restroom to stow it away again. By the mid 90s, camisoles were designed specifically to show your bra strap, and underwear came in vivid colors and animal prints--the whole intention was for it to be seen. And it was lot of fun to play dress-up and feel powerful doing it.
But there were also moments when I just shook my head--like one time I was wandering around the women's clothing section at REI and came across a bunch of tops intended for rock climbing that tied with a bow in back. Seriously? How can you be taken seriously as an athlete if your clothing ties in a bow? What if it came untied and presented a climbing hazard? But of course times had changed. No one thought about it like that anymore.
But recently I've wondered if things have finally come full circle. I've been increasingly disturbed at the pictures that women post of themselves--or parts of themselves. Cleavage shots, shots of their butts, torso shots where their only coverage is an arm across their breasts. It's the same thing of course-- women feeling powerful in their bodies--and there's nothing wrong with that. I will admit to some prudish, eyebrow-raised reactions, but usually even I can tell that this isn't about prudery.
But it has struck me recently as a little odd that we've gone in the past thirty years from women being outraged that they might be judged for their tits and ass to now being insistent on being judged that way. The pictures seem to demand: see me as a a lace-clad pair of boobs, or judge me by my awesome tush or whatever.
It's not an observation that they would appreciate. They see it as a claiming of their own power to be able to revel in looking good. But as a former card-carrying member of the second wave, it just strikes me as odd.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
above us only sky
Fear is the cheapest room in the house, with the worst view.
I would like to see you living in better conditions.
--Hafiz
There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives.
The touch of Spirit on the body.
--Rumi
We've had the privilege for the past two nights now to hear a muezzin from Seattle (a muezzin is the person who sings the call to prayer in a mosque). It's really quite beautiful. He and another representative of the interfaith community in Seattle came at the invitation of our local multi-faith choir.
Last night, the call to prayer was accompanied by readings of poems by the two Muslim poets Rumi and Hafiz. The second man told a story, a Muslim folk tale, that I've been thinking about. His accent was quite heavy and the acoustics in the room were not particularly good, so I probably don't have the details right, but I think this is the gist of it.
I would like to see you living in better conditions.
--Hafiz
There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives.
The touch of Spirit on the body.
--Rumi
We've had the privilege for the past two nights now to hear a muezzin from Seattle (a muezzin is the person who sings the call to prayer in a mosque). It's really quite beautiful. He and another representative of the interfaith community in Seattle came at the invitation of our local multi-faith choir.
Last night, the call to prayer was accompanied by readings of poems by the two Muslim poets Rumi and Hafiz. The second man told a story, a Muslim folk tale, that I've been thinking about. His accent was quite heavy and the acoustics in the room were not particularly good, so I probably don't have the details right, but I think this is the gist of it.
There once was a merchant who owned a beautiful parrot. The parrot was one of his prized possessions. When he was travelling to India, he asked all of his household, including the parrot, what they would like to receive from India. The parrot asked the merchant to seek out his wild brethren and to give them his greeting. The merchant knew this meant that the parrot wished to be free, but he could not bring himself to let he parrot go.
So the merchant did as the parrot asked and greeted the wild parrots he encountered in the name of his beloved caged friend. When the wild parrots heard of their caged brother, one of them fell to the ground dead. The merchant was shocked and mystified.
When he returned home, he told his parrot of the strange happening. The parrot immediately also fell down dead. The merchant was broken-hearted. He carefully removed the parrot from the cage and placed his body on the ground. Whereupon the parrot revived and flew up to the top of the garden wall.
I immediately understood the message of my brothers, the parrot told him. If you want to soar, sometimes you must play dead for awhile.The storyteller told us that the story has been applied to various different situations for centuries, including temptation (sometimes the best way to deal with temptation is to put your obsession to death--figuratively put it to death), success (sometimes the best way to get what you want is to give it up), and compromise (sometimes the best way to make your point is to give your ideas a rest). Interesting, yes?
Monday, April 29, 2013
Riffday: Another one already?
1. Thanks for your patience with my whiney day on Friday, but I have to say there were more comments on that post than on anything in a long time, so maybe I should whine more often.
2. There was a brief discussion about migraine remedies in the comments of that post, so I will update you on what I've tried. Hmmm. that could get fairly long. what I've tried in the past week, let's put it that way. Just a couple of weeks ago I read about another blogger's near-miraculous success with peppermint oil. I've heard of lavender (which gives me a headache), but not peppermint oil. So I tried it, and I give it a guarded thumbs-up. For low-level headaches, it works as well as advil. It didn't do anything for the major one I had on Tuesday. Eva mentioned ginger, which was also new to me. I have ginger tea here at the house but I haven't used it as a headache remedy. It worked better than the peppermint oil, but still not as well as Maxalt--which is the prescription drug I've used for years now. But Maxalt is expensive and has side effects and I start running out of it when I have a long run of headaches, so overall I'm happy to know about both of these. All remedies are individual in how well they work, but these are definitely worth a try if you are also a headache sufferer.
3. We've never had a dog that likes to ride in the car before. Zeke, the border collie who was our first child, hated to ride in the car and would drool all over the place (which our vet said was a sign of carsickness). Jazz is happy to go in the car but she gets so obnoxiously excited that I can't stand to take her anywhere. She spends the whole trip with her head hanging over the seat, panting. But Sadie just wants to go. If I pick up my keys, she heads straight for the back seat, and she settles right down and goes to sleep. It's kind of nice to have company on my interminable rounds of errands. I've joined the legions of Montanans who drive around with their dog(s) in the car.
4. April Reading Report: Skinny Dip by Carl Hiaasen (fun book, perfect vacation read). If Chins Could Kill by Bruce Campbell (interesting insider look at the movie industry). Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (fabulous, wonderful, loved it--but it's Gaiman so no surprise there). Women Food and God by Geneen Roth (thought provoking. It seemed to me to be more about life in general and applicable to men as well, unlike the title sounds). All of them good and well worth reading, but none of them seemed worth writing out a full review. Or maybe I'm just not in the mood this month. Some thoughts inspired by the Geneen Roth book may show up later.
5. I think we should all read Great Gatsby before the movie comes out. It's not that long (less than 200 pages) and it's not a terribly difficult read. It doesn't have a happy ending, but the writing is beautiful. I might even vote for it for the Great American Novel, or at least one of them--I suppose we could create subcategories: "Greatest U.S. Novel about the Myth of the Self-Made Man."
6. Brag On My Children Time: MadMax broke the freshman record for discus throw at a meet on Saturday--for his high school and possibly for the state. And PellMel got into medical school--it happened about a month ago but I don't think I ever told you. So she will be busy for the Next Eight Years. My children totally rock.
7. I sang tenor in choir this week! There were four altos but only two tenors, so I moved up to the top row with the guys. It was fun.
2. There was a brief discussion about migraine remedies in the comments of that post, so I will update you on what I've tried. Hmmm. that could get fairly long. what I've tried in the past week, let's put it that way. Just a couple of weeks ago I read about another blogger's near-miraculous success with peppermint oil. I've heard of lavender (which gives me a headache), but not peppermint oil. So I tried it, and I give it a guarded thumbs-up. For low-level headaches, it works as well as advil. It didn't do anything for the major one I had on Tuesday. Eva mentioned ginger, which was also new to me. I have ginger tea here at the house but I haven't used it as a headache remedy. It worked better than the peppermint oil, but still not as well as Maxalt--which is the prescription drug I've used for years now. But Maxalt is expensive and has side effects and I start running out of it when I have a long run of headaches, so overall I'm happy to know about both of these. All remedies are individual in how well they work, but these are definitely worth a try if you are also a headache sufferer.
3. We've never had a dog that likes to ride in the car before. Zeke, the border collie who was our first child, hated to ride in the car and would drool all over the place (which our vet said was a sign of carsickness). Jazz is happy to go in the car but she gets so obnoxiously excited that I can't stand to take her anywhere. She spends the whole trip with her head hanging over the seat, panting. But Sadie just wants to go. If I pick up my keys, she heads straight for the back seat, and she settles right down and goes to sleep. It's kind of nice to have company on my interminable rounds of errands. I've joined the legions of Montanans who drive around with their dog(s) in the car.
4. April Reading Report: Skinny Dip by Carl Hiaasen (fun book, perfect vacation read). If Chins Could Kill by Bruce Campbell (interesting insider look at the movie industry). Anansi Boys by Neil Gaiman (fabulous, wonderful, loved it--but it's Gaiman so no surprise there). Women Food and God by Geneen Roth (thought provoking. It seemed to me to be more about life in general and applicable to men as well, unlike the title sounds). All of them good and well worth reading, but none of them seemed worth writing out a full review. Or maybe I'm just not in the mood this month. Some thoughts inspired by the Geneen Roth book may show up later.
5. I think we should all read Great Gatsby before the movie comes out. It's not that long (less than 200 pages) and it's not a terribly difficult read. It doesn't have a happy ending, but the writing is beautiful. I might even vote for it for the Great American Novel, or at least one of them--I suppose we could create subcategories: "Greatest U.S. Novel about the Myth of the Self-Made Man."
6. Brag On My Children Time: MadMax broke the freshman record for discus throw at a meet on Saturday--for his high school and possibly for the state. And PellMel got into medical school--it happened about a month ago but I don't think I ever told you. So she will be busy for the Next Eight Years. My children totally rock.
7. I sang tenor in choir this week! There were four altos but only two tenors, so I moved up to the top row with the guys. It was fun.
Friday, April 26, 2013
in which Aunt BeaN waxes neurotic
I don't know if you can tell from the few posts I've done over the past month or so, but things have been a bit rough for me lately. For one thing, I've started having headaches again. Lots of them. In the past four months, I've had almost as many days with headaches as without--sometimes just a low-level irritating ache, sometimes full-on miserable migraines. It's frustrating and irritating and makes me grumpy as hell. Just ask my family.
I want to be able to overcome them through force of will. Other people don't have chronic headaches, so it must be some flaw in me that makes this happen, right? So if I do everything right, get all my ducks in a row and avoid caffeine and sugar and make sure I get daily exercise and take my vitamins and meditate daily and and and, then they'll stop, right? I can control them. I know I can. *grits teeth and mutters must. be. in. control.*
But it never seems to work that way. Doing everything just right seems to work for some people, but for some reason it doesn't work for me. Dean is naturally one of the people who can accomplish pretty much whatever he wants through force of will. But when I try it, first of all I can never quite manage to get it 100% right-- there are always those moments of weakness where I choose the iced latté or I forget to meditate or I just freaking don't want to exercise today.
But also it turns into a kind of moral perfectionism--an insistence that if I do what I'm supposed to do, I've paid my dues and everything in my life should turn out just right, because damn it I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do so I deserve the life I think I should have, a life that fits in with some mythical standard in my head of what it should be like.
And that never works. When I state it baldly like that, the flaws in my logic are clear-- bad things happen to people who are doing everything right. There are no guarantees. Just because you go to church and say your prayers and pay your taxes doesn't mean you get a guarantee that everything will turn out fine. And anyway, what I "should" want has absolutely no bearing on anything.
The frustration for me comes because it looks like other people can get this to work. They do what they're supposed to do, and it works--they're healthy and happy and functional. When I do all the things I believe I'm supposed to do, I am restless. (Suddenly we aren't just talking about headaches.) I want to be like everyone else. I'm willing to lop off arms and legs and ideas and dreams to fit into my idea of what my life should be like.
But then I get the headaches. And I'm not happy. No matter how badly I want to be able to be happy with the things I think I'm supposed to be happy with, I'm not. Maybe I should be grateful for the headaches, yes? And maybe I should recognize that I don't know what the hell is going on in anyone else's life. When I look enviously at someone who looks like they've got everything going the way they want it, it may be a reflection of my own insecurities I see, my need to beat myself up, not anything real.
Is this making even the slightest bit of sense? Funny, as I'm thinking back over times in my life when I've had bad bouts of headaches, every time it has served to nudge me out of a rut of determination to make myself fit into someone else's life. (or my idea of what someone else's life is like.) And no one does this to me--it's my own determination, my own self pressuring me. I'm fricking fifty-one years old and I'm still figuring this stuff out. This seems like something you should deal with when you're 25.
See? measuring myself by a mythical Someone Else's standards. There's a phrase going around on Fitocracy and Facebook these days that I should have tattooed on my wrist so I can see it all the time: Comparison is the thief of joy.
I want to be able to overcome them through force of will. Other people don't have chronic headaches, so it must be some flaw in me that makes this happen, right? So if I do everything right, get all my ducks in a row and avoid caffeine and sugar and make sure I get daily exercise and take my vitamins and meditate daily and and and, then they'll stop, right? I can control them. I know I can. *grits teeth and mutters must. be. in. control.*
But it never seems to work that way. Doing everything just right seems to work for some people, but for some reason it doesn't work for me. Dean is naturally one of the people who can accomplish pretty much whatever he wants through force of will. But when I try it, first of all I can never quite manage to get it 100% right-- there are always those moments of weakness where I choose the iced latté or I forget to meditate or I just freaking don't want to exercise today.
But also it turns into a kind of moral perfectionism--an insistence that if I do what I'm supposed to do, I've paid my dues and everything in my life should turn out just right, because damn it I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to do so I deserve the life I think I should have, a life that fits in with some mythical standard in my head of what it should be like.
And that never works. When I state it baldly like that, the flaws in my logic are clear-- bad things happen to people who are doing everything right. There are no guarantees. Just because you go to church and say your prayers and pay your taxes doesn't mean you get a guarantee that everything will turn out fine. And anyway, what I "should" want has absolutely no bearing on anything.
The frustration for me comes because it looks like other people can get this to work. They do what they're supposed to do, and it works--they're healthy and happy and functional. When I do all the things I believe I'm supposed to do, I am restless. (Suddenly we aren't just talking about headaches.) I want to be like everyone else. I'm willing to lop off arms and legs and ideas and dreams to fit into my idea of what my life should be like.
But then I get the headaches. And I'm not happy. No matter how badly I want to be able to be happy with the things I think I'm supposed to be happy with, I'm not. Maybe I should be grateful for the headaches, yes? And maybe I should recognize that I don't know what the hell is going on in anyone else's life. When I look enviously at someone who looks like they've got everything going the way they want it, it may be a reflection of my own insecurities I see, my need to beat myself up, not anything real.
Is this making even the slightest bit of sense? Funny, as I'm thinking back over times in my life when I've had bad bouts of headaches, every time it has served to nudge me out of a rut of determination to make myself fit into someone else's life. (or my idea of what someone else's life is like.) And no one does this to me--it's my own determination, my own self pressuring me. I'm fricking fifty-one years old and I'm still figuring this stuff out. This seems like something you should deal with when you're 25.
See? measuring myself by a mythical Someone Else's standards. There's a phrase going around on Fitocracy and Facebook these days that I should have tattooed on my wrist so I can see it all the time: Comparison is the thief of joy.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Riffday: too much TV
1. I stayed up until after 2 a.m. last night (Thursday night) watching the manhunt. Turns out the guy they hunted down in the wee hours last night was uninvolved. He was just an innocent bystander who was stripped and handcuffed and interrogated by the FBI up against a wall with a flashlight in his face, but he was just a normal guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. You could tell it was a major blunder because nobody talked about it this morning--he hasn't even been mentioned all day. Only those of us who were still watching in the middle of the night will remember. He has my prayers, because what an awful, awful experience. I wouldn't be able to sleep for months. In fact, I had a hard time falling asleep last night because I watched too much. The entire scenario is difficult to wrap your brain around. Even though they have the second suspect in custody now, the whole thing just leaves me feeling a little bit sick to my stomach--all of it, from the bombings on Monday to the crowds chanting "USA" on TV tonight, as if we had won a soccer game.
2. I mourned the damage to the marathon community in my last post, but on the Colbert Report, Stephen Colbert reminded me how unlikely it is that marathoners will be deterred by terrorism: "But here is what these cowards really don't get. They attacked the Boston Marathon. An event celebrating people who run 26 miles on their day off until their nipples are raw — for fun. And they have been holding it in Boston since 1897. ...And when those bombs went off, there were runners who, after finishing a marathon, kept running for another two miles to the hospital to donate blood. So here's what I know. These maniacs may have tried to make life bad for the people of Boston, but all they can ever do is show just how good those people are."
3. Moving on. We had more winter this past week than we did when it was actually winter. Enough already. Today we finally had some blue sky and it got up to 48, which is the best we've had in awhile. Every year I get tired of wearing a jacket and wool socks somewhere at the end of March, so I stop. So now I am cold all the time.
4. Sadie outgrew her puppy collar and got a real collar a couple of months ago. We underestimated how big she was going to be--she outgrew that one, too. Now she has a beautiful turquoise collar and she looks quite stylish. And big.
5. During her catbox problems, we thought Cinder, our 16-year-old cat, was at death's door. So I thought we could indulge her a bit. We have always fed our pets dry pet food since that's what every vet we've ever been to recommends. But since I thought Cinder was about to die, why not get her Trout and Cod Buffet in Gravy? or Savoy Salmon Feast? Needless to say, she was thrilled about her new diet, and because of that or some other reason, she perked right up. So now she is addicted to smelly, nasty canned cat food and I can't quite bear to stop giving it to her--partly because she is so elderly, and partly because she has a high-decibel yowl that she has no problem using when she's unhappy with us (which fortunately isn't very often). It would be about as miserable for us as it would be for her. The things we do for our pets. At least it's cheap. (she still gets her dry food, too, don't worry.)
6. Going back to this conversation: I read yet another book discussion this morning where people were equating "lack of resolution" at the end of a book with "real" life. I still just don't get this. One woman said that the book under discussion ended "messily," just like real life is a mess. And that makes some sense to me, more sense than saying "lack of resolution" is the same thing as real life. In real life, resolutions do happen--people fall in love and get married, or change jobs and find the change fulfilling and satisfying, or work very hard to achieve a goal and then reach the goal. Why is it less like real life to end a story after one of those resolutions than to end it in between resolutions? Why is it only "real" if it ends in despair, chaos, or confusion? You like unresolved endings, fine. But don't tell me it's not real unless it's unresolved and depressing. Of course I know that "real" life rarely has happily ever afters, but this adamant opinion that a "realistic" novel must be depressing and miserable seems as stubbornly unrealistic as the candy-coated opposite.
7. I have a friend I dearly love here locally who is famous for greeting her women friends with "Hey, beautiful!!" or "Hi, gorgeous!" or "Hey there, hottie!" When I first met her years ago it seemed fake, because she always said it, even when I was wearing grungy clothes and looking my worst. But after awhile, I found myself counting on it--even when I was feeling my very most ugly, if Nat was going to be there, I knew I could count on her to tell me I looked great.
We were very sad to find out a couple of months ago that she and her family are moving at the end of the school year. Earlier this week, I was commiserating with another friend about how much we will miss her. That friend said, "Who is going to tell us we're beautiful now?" We both laughed, because we're in our 50s and obviously not many people are going to tell us we're gorgeous and hot anymore. But I got to thinking about it later and realized how odd that is. We are beautiful. We're genuine and real and our lives show in our faces. I decided that I'm going to start telling more of my friends that they're beautiful. Because it's true.
2. I mourned the damage to the marathon community in my last post, but on the Colbert Report, Stephen Colbert reminded me how unlikely it is that marathoners will be deterred by terrorism: "But here is what these cowards really don't get. They attacked the Boston Marathon. An event celebrating people who run 26 miles on their day off until their nipples are raw — for fun. And they have been holding it in Boston since 1897. ...And when those bombs went off, there were runners who, after finishing a marathon, kept running for another two miles to the hospital to donate blood. So here's what I know. These maniacs may have tried to make life bad for the people of Boston, but all they can ever do is show just how good those people are."
3. Moving on. We had more winter this past week than we did when it was actually winter. Enough already. Today we finally had some blue sky and it got up to 48, which is the best we've had in awhile. Every year I get tired of wearing a jacket and wool socks somewhere at the end of March, so I stop. So now I am cold all the time.
4. Sadie outgrew her puppy collar and got a real collar a couple of months ago. We underestimated how big she was going to be--she outgrew that one, too. Now she has a beautiful turquoise collar and she looks quite stylish. And big.
5. During her catbox problems, we thought Cinder, our 16-year-old cat, was at death's door. So I thought we could indulge her a bit. We have always fed our pets dry pet food since that's what every vet we've ever been to recommends. But since I thought Cinder was about to die, why not get her Trout and Cod Buffet in Gravy? or Savoy Salmon Feast? Needless to say, she was thrilled about her new diet, and because of that or some other reason, she perked right up. So now she is addicted to smelly, nasty canned cat food and I can't quite bear to stop giving it to her--partly because she is so elderly, and partly because she has a high-decibel yowl that she has no problem using when she's unhappy with us (which fortunately isn't very often). It would be about as miserable for us as it would be for her. The things we do for our pets. At least it's cheap. (she still gets her dry food, too, don't worry.)
6. Going back to this conversation: I read yet another book discussion this morning where people were equating "lack of resolution" at the end of a book with "real" life. I still just don't get this. One woman said that the book under discussion ended "messily," just like real life is a mess. And that makes some sense to me, more sense than saying "lack of resolution" is the same thing as real life. In real life, resolutions do happen--people fall in love and get married, or change jobs and find the change fulfilling and satisfying, or work very hard to achieve a goal and then reach the goal. Why is it less like real life to end a story after one of those resolutions than to end it in between resolutions? Why is it only "real" if it ends in despair, chaos, or confusion? You like unresolved endings, fine. But don't tell me it's not real unless it's unresolved and depressing. Of course I know that "real" life rarely has happily ever afters, but this adamant opinion that a "realistic" novel must be depressing and miserable seems as stubbornly unrealistic as the candy-coated opposite.
7. I have a friend I dearly love here locally who is famous for greeting her women friends with "Hey, beautiful!!" or "Hi, gorgeous!" or "Hey there, hottie!" When I first met her years ago it seemed fake, because she always said it, even when I was wearing grungy clothes and looking my worst. But after awhile, I found myself counting on it--even when I was feeling my very most ugly, if Nat was going to be there, I knew I could count on her to tell me I looked great.
We were very sad to find out a couple of months ago that she and her family are moving at the end of the school year. Earlier this week, I was commiserating with another friend about how much we will miss her. That friend said, "Who is going to tell us we're beautiful now?" We both laughed, because we're in our 50s and obviously not many people are going to tell us we're gorgeous and hot anymore. But I got to thinking about it later and realized how odd that is. We are beautiful. We're genuine and real and our lives show in our faces. I decided that I'm going to start telling more of my friends that they're beautiful. Because it's true.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Lighting a candle for Boston
Dean has run in marathons. Five of them. It was a long time ago now, probably ten years since he ran the last one. I'm afraid I wasn't the most supportive wife. Marathon training takes hours and hours (and hours and hours), and MadMax was small and toddler-ish for the early ones. I wasn't happy that Dean was not only gone long hours at work, but then had long hours of marathon training on top of it.
But in spite of my grumpiness about his commitment to marathon training, I loved the marathon day itself. It's hard to describe if you've never been to one. The finish line is a place of joy and celebration--not so much for the elite runners who finish early (although even that is really cool, to see these amazing athletes sail across the finish line as if they'd just been for a jog around the block), but for the average people who come along an hour or two later. Average being relative of course, because they're still finishing a marathon, which is hardly average.
You see people who are weeping with relief at finishing their first one, or limping in pain but still determined to finish, or defiant and triumphant with their arms raised, or calm and composed but just slow. There are people who are running to prove that they've beaten cancer or some other disease, people who are running in honor of someone who can't run, people who are running to raise money for all kinds of good causes. For all of them, first-timers and experienced marathoners, it's an incredible achievement. The finish line is a joyous celebration. There's music and applause, fist bumps and high fives, cramps and nausea, hugs and tears. It's inspiring and amazing and so happy.
And then there are those bombs exploding in the middle of it. It just sickens me. My heart goes out to everyone involved, the families, the victims, the responders, the traumatized spectators, the runners who didn't get to finish. Every marathoner everywhere, everyone who loves a marathoner or has cheered for one or has witnessed a race, is grieving for something that will never be the same again.
Shame on you, whoever is responsible. Shame on you.
But in spite of my grumpiness about his commitment to marathon training, I loved the marathon day itself. It's hard to describe if you've never been to one. The finish line is a place of joy and celebration--not so much for the elite runners who finish early (although even that is really cool, to see these amazing athletes sail across the finish line as if they'd just been for a jog around the block), but for the average people who come along an hour or two later. Average being relative of course, because they're still finishing a marathon, which is hardly average.
You see people who are weeping with relief at finishing their first one, or limping in pain but still determined to finish, or defiant and triumphant with their arms raised, or calm and composed but just slow. There are people who are running to prove that they've beaten cancer or some other disease, people who are running in honor of someone who can't run, people who are running to raise money for all kinds of good causes. For all of them, first-timers and experienced marathoners, it's an incredible achievement. The finish line is a joyous celebration. There's music and applause, fist bumps and high fives, cramps and nausea, hugs and tears. It's inspiring and amazing and so happy.
And then there are those bombs exploding in the middle of it. It just sickens me. My heart goes out to everyone involved, the families, the victims, the responders, the traumatized spectators, the runners who didn't get to finish. Every marathoner everywhere, everyone who loves a marathoner or has cheered for one or has witnessed a race, is grieving for something that will never be the same again.
Shame on you, whoever is responsible. Shame on you.
Monday, April 15, 2013
to journal or not to journal, that is a question
I think I am going to start journaling again.
There is a history here. I started keeping a journal when I was in high school, and I was an obsessive journaler. I would start writing late at night and go on for pages and pages. I wrote about who I had a crush on and how my classes were going and God and the Bible and my parents and how much they misunderstood me.
At the time, it seemed horribly significant. I would write a paragraph that seemed particular beautiful, and I would want to share it with everyone (thank god, I never did, because I was also horribly shy about my writing). I would think, the world needs to read this.
Ah, the megalomania of youth.
Then I spent years in therapy (it was what one did back in the 80s), and like most people who go through some kind of therapy, I found it helpful. It gave me some perspective on my life, helped me grow up and be less self-obsessed.
For better or for worse, the new, more mature me equated journaling with all that self-obsession. All the endless ruminating on what I was thinking and feeling, the belief that it was so important that it needed to be written down. Even though I never showed it to anyone, I believed in some tiny corner of my mind that someday someone would find it and read it, because it was important.
So I stopped. I haven't kept a journal in more than fifteen years. Eventually I started this blog, and then I had a place to write when I was trying to work something out in my head that didn't feel so self-absorbed, because you guys read it and you give me feedback and I can tell which posts are interesting and which ones are just meandering bits of fluff. It doesn't feel so enclosed.
But I've got lots going on in my head these days, and I don't usually post private stuff. Occasionally I publish posts here that are so personal that I am later embarrassed (I would link to an example or two, but that would just call attention to posts that I really am not sure I want anyone to read). But usually I write about what I'm reading, or what I was learning in school, or some issue that is interesting to me and that I think will be interesting to you.
For the last several weeks, everything I can think of to write about feels too private (and maybe more importantly, too boring) to post here. The thought of journaling still bugs me, though. It's strongly associated in my mind with a particular period in my history that I don't want to revisit. But there's stuff in my head that I need to get out.
I know some of you keep journals, do you have any advice? I decided to try it this morning. I sat down this morning and stared at the blank screen for awhile and couldn't get up any enthusiasm to write about anything. So I fell back on an old standby from when I used to go to those spirituality workshops which seemed to always promote journaling-- write a list. Start with "I am" statements (I am a mother, I am a student, I am hungry, I am lonely, I am not sure I want to do this, etc), and then let yourself branch out, but keep to a list format. I made it to 30 statements in about eight minutes, so I guess that is pretty good. Huh. I just found myself thinking, "But I still would rather write something that feels important enough to post here." Interesting.
There is a history here. I started keeping a journal when I was in high school, and I was an obsessive journaler. I would start writing late at night and go on for pages and pages. I wrote about who I had a crush on and how my classes were going and God and the Bible and my parents and how much they misunderstood me.
At the time, it seemed horribly significant. I would write a paragraph that seemed particular beautiful, and I would want to share it with everyone (thank god, I never did, because I was also horribly shy about my writing). I would think, the world needs to read this.
Ah, the megalomania of youth.
Then I spent years in therapy (it was what one did back in the 80s), and like most people who go through some kind of therapy, I found it helpful. It gave me some perspective on my life, helped me grow up and be less self-obsessed.
For better or for worse, the new, more mature me equated journaling with all that self-obsession. All the endless ruminating on what I was thinking and feeling, the belief that it was so important that it needed to be written down. Even though I never showed it to anyone, I believed in some tiny corner of my mind that someday someone would find it and read it, because it was important.
So I stopped. I haven't kept a journal in more than fifteen years. Eventually I started this blog, and then I had a place to write when I was trying to work something out in my head that didn't feel so self-absorbed, because you guys read it and you give me feedback and I can tell which posts are interesting and which ones are just meandering bits of fluff. It doesn't feel so enclosed.
But I've got lots going on in my head these days, and I don't usually post private stuff. Occasionally I publish posts here that are so personal that I am later embarrassed (I would link to an example or two, but that would just call attention to posts that I really am not sure I want anyone to read). But usually I write about what I'm reading, or what I was learning in school, or some issue that is interesting to me and that I think will be interesting to you.
For the last several weeks, everything I can think of to write about feels too private (and maybe more importantly, too boring) to post here. The thought of journaling still bugs me, though. It's strongly associated in my mind with a particular period in my history that I don't want to revisit. But there's stuff in my head that I need to get out.
I know some of you keep journals, do you have any advice? I decided to try it this morning. I sat down this morning and stared at the blank screen for awhile and couldn't get up any enthusiasm to write about anything. So I fell back on an old standby from when I used to go to those spirituality workshops which seemed to always promote journaling-- write a list. Start with "I am" statements (I am a mother, I am a student, I am hungry, I am lonely, I am not sure I want to do this, etc), and then let yourself branch out, but keep to a list format. I made it to 30 statements in about eight minutes, so I guess that is pretty good. Huh. I just found myself thinking, "But I still would rather write something that feels important enough to post here." Interesting.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)