One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Showing posts with label this is important y'all. Show all posts
Showing posts with label this is important y'all. Show all posts
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
On God, Same Sex Marriage and the First Amendment
In case you're living under a rock and haven't noticed, there's been a ton of HRC activity on Facebook lately. I didn't change my profile picture or anything, mostly because those that know me know that I ardently and avidly support equal rights (and I don't need to change my profile picture to prove it). For a while there, I was also a card carrying member of the ACLU.
Once-upon-a-time, I had a supervisor at my old job who, in retrospect, was actually a really good supervisor, though at the time I thought she was a bitch. It turns out, she just knew how to keep business and personal separate. We're Facebook friends now and I'm glad for it. She's a pretty cool person. Anyway, she posted an eloquently stated status opposing the use of biblical symbology in support of anti-gay marriage stances. Fuh real, it was REALLY good.
I don't presume to have her eloquence or her diplomacy (she was REALLY diplomatic on the topic. A lesson our congress could take a page from), but she inspired me to pipe up and chime in. Here's what I had to say.
Once-upon-a-time, I had a supervisor at my old job who, in retrospect, was actually a really good supervisor, though at the time I thought she was a bitch. It turns out, she just knew how to keep business and personal separate. We're Facebook friends now and I'm glad for it. She's a pretty cool person. Anyway, she posted an eloquently stated status opposing the use of biblical symbology in support of anti-gay marriage stances. Fuh real, it was REALLY good.
I don't presume to have her eloquence or her diplomacy (she was REALLY diplomatic on the topic. A lesson our congress could take a page from), but she inspired me to pipe up and chime in. Here's what I had to say.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
On the Connecticut Shooting
Like most of us, I was horrified to learn of the events in Connecticut that transpired yesterday. I went from horrified to heartbroken pretty quickly - I'm sure like most of us -- when I learned that most of those killed were so very, very young.
This event further underscores the need for gun control in this country; to address mental health issues in an open and candid manner; to minimize the amount of violence our children are exposed to through electronic media.
...But now is not the time for these discussions. Soon, but not now. Now, it's time to hug our children a bit tighter. to make sure that we say "I love you" an extra time. To be grateful for every single minute that we have with these precious beings who still have so much potential and life to live, when some of their peers no longer have that option and whose parents don't have the option of one more kiss or snuggle.
My heart breaks for those parents. I can't even begin to fathom the magnitude of their suffering. No parent should ever have to bury their child, but most especially not for this reason. No parent should ever have to wish they had one more minute to hug their little ones, or to say "I love you."
There is nothing I, a complete stranger, can say to bring an iota of comfort or solace now. I wish I could -- as I'm sure most of us do -- make yesterday un-done and have those little ones back in their parents' arms, safe and alive.
This event further underscores the need for gun control in this country; to address mental health issues in an open and candid manner; to minimize the amount of violence our children are exposed to through electronic media.
...But now is not the time for these discussions. Soon, but not now. Now, it's time to hug our children a bit tighter. to make sure that we say "I love you" an extra time. To be grateful for every single minute that we have with these precious beings who still have so much potential and life to live, when some of their peers no longer have that option and whose parents don't have the option of one more kiss or snuggle.
My heart breaks for those parents. I can't even begin to fathom the magnitude of their suffering. No parent should ever have to bury their child, but most especially not for this reason. No parent should ever have to wish they had one more minute to hug their little ones, or to say "I love you."
There is nothing I, a complete stranger, can say to bring an iota of comfort or solace now. I wish I could -- as I'm sure most of us do -- make yesterday un-done and have those little ones back in their parents' arms, safe and alive.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Why yes. Yes, I DO kiss my mother with this mouth.
Not that you can tell most of the time, but I was raised with manners. I know which fork to use with which course, and I know how to set a table. When out to eat, I usually remember to keep my elbows off of the table. I know that you're never supposed to talk about money, religion and politics in mixed company. I know when you're supposed to stop wearing white (and when you can start again). I know that when invited over for a dinner party, you should always bring a bottle of wine and/or a dish to share (and you're never supposed to bring the leftovers home with you). I might not make Miss Manners proud, but my mom's pretty happy with the way I turned out.
Except when it comes to thank you letters.
I don't know what it is about writing a thank you letter that makes me so bad at it. Maybe it's the forced politeness. Maybe it's because I never have postage stamps or good stationary. Or maybe it's my flaky nature that makes me inclined to forget things easily. Whatever it is, it's usually months after I receive a gift that I get around to sending the letter.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not grateful. As a rule, I'm phenomenally grateful for the gift and the thought, and gush to anyone who will listen about the awesomeness that I received. I just forget to gush to the giver of the gift.
So, I know it doesn't technically count, but here are my thank you letters:
Uncle Brion:
You have no idea how grateful I am for your presence in my life. You keep me young with every box you send. Your generosity speaks volumes about your selflessness. Because, seriously? You send your 34 year old niece a Christmas gift and birthday gift, without fail, every year. You even remember to include gifts for The Trolls -- one of whom you've never laid eyes on. In short: you're awesome in ways that I can't even begin to describe.
I suck at thank you letters (as I'm sure you've noticed but have never pointed out). But don't let that be a tell. Those boxes mean the world to me. Actually, it's not the boxes -- you could send an empty box and I would be grateful (but please don't. You have the best taste in gifts. See? I'm awful!). It's the love that's in there. It's the thoughtfulness. It's the support and the belief you have in me. Please know that I feel all of that for you, too.
So thank you for being indulgent. Thank you for being tolerant. Thank you for everything.
Much Love,
~S
Nana:
Every day that I still have you in my life is a day I'm thankful for. You have taught me so much and been so supportive. You haven't always liked all of my choices, but you've been there, right behind me, every step of the way. You are my anchor. Thank you for YOU because YOU is an awesome thing and because you get me, I don't even need to finish this sentence in any coherent way.
And thank you for the birthday cashola. I know I cashed that check quickly, but wasn't so quick to get the thank you letter out. It's because I suck at thank you letters. That isn't a reflection on how you raised me -- because you did a good job. I'm just a space cadet (I blame Dad).
Also, thank you for not doing the near-death routine that Dottie's been pulling. I know you're 83 now and are officially at the age you promised me you'd live to. But if it isn't too much trouble, could you hang around for another couple years? I'm not ready to let you go. I don't think I'll ever be ready to let you go (what's a ship without an anchor?). So, I guess you're just going to have to live forever. But you're superwoman; living forever shouldn't be too hard for you.
I'll be home for a visit soon. I'm going to squeeze you. I'm also going to take pictures of you. And I'm going to spend endless amounts of time telling you how much you mean to me and how damn grateful I am for you. Make sure you have extra batteries for your hearing aids. You have fair warning.
Love 'til bursting,
~S
Dorothy Ann:
Woman, you better quit with the near death shit. Yes, I know you're my grandmother and I shouldn't use the word "shit" in your presence, but if you can start swearing then so can I. I also know that I shouldn't start any letter to you with "woman." That was rude of me and I apologize.
But seriously, you can stop with the almost-dying. You aren't allowed to die. You are allowed to not be in pain, and if you have to die in order to not be in pain anymore, then we'll have to figure out a different way to keep you from being in pain. But if you are going to die, you need to wait until I can get back home and squeeze you. And take lots of pictures of you. And listen to your life story.
I want you to know how much you mean to me and how much I love you. I suck at being a long-distance granddaughter, which is why you always had to come and pick me up. Every-other-weekend, you'd make that awful drive to pick me up and bring me back to your house and feed me breakfast in bed. Until I was seventeen. Actually, no. I was eighteen. You didn't get mad when I wet your bed when I was five; you just flipped the mattress and said "accidents happen." You didn't get grossed out when I puked all over your bedroom floor because I'd had too many Halloween cookies. You just got me in the bath and cleaned up the mess.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that you've always supported me. You've always understood me -- in ways that few other people on this planet do. You kept me safe and made sure that I felt loved.
So, hang in there you stubborn old thing. I'll be home soon for a visit. You better take an extra percoset, because there will be squeezing. And I'm not going to let you kick me out at 7 PM. You're just going to have to be a night owl.
Love you to the moon and back,
~S
Except when it comes to thank you letters.
I don't know what it is about writing a thank you letter that makes me so bad at it. Maybe it's the forced politeness. Maybe it's because I never have postage stamps or good stationary. Or maybe it's my flaky nature that makes me inclined to forget things easily. Whatever it is, it's usually months after I receive a gift that I get around to sending the letter.
Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm not grateful. As a rule, I'm phenomenally grateful for the gift and the thought, and gush to anyone who will listen about the awesomeness that I received. I just forget to gush to the giver of the gift.
So, I know it doesn't technically count, but here are my thank you letters:
Uncle Brion:
You have no idea how grateful I am for your presence in my life. You keep me young with every box you send. Your generosity speaks volumes about your selflessness. Because, seriously? You send your 34 year old niece a Christmas gift and birthday gift, without fail, every year. You even remember to include gifts for The Trolls -- one of whom you've never laid eyes on. In short: you're awesome in ways that I can't even begin to describe.
I suck at thank you letters (as I'm sure you've noticed but have never pointed out). But don't let that be a tell. Those boxes mean the world to me. Actually, it's not the boxes -- you could send an empty box and I would be grateful (but please don't. You have the best taste in gifts. See? I'm awful!). It's the love that's in there. It's the thoughtfulness. It's the support and the belief you have in me. Please know that I feel all of that for you, too.
So thank you for being indulgent. Thank you for being tolerant. Thank you for everything.
Much Love,
~S
Nana:
Every day that I still have you in my life is a day I'm thankful for. You have taught me so much and been so supportive. You haven't always liked all of my choices, but you've been there, right behind me, every step of the way. You are my anchor. Thank you for YOU because YOU is an awesome thing and because you get me, I don't even need to finish this sentence in any coherent way.
And thank you for the birthday cashola. I know I cashed that check quickly, but wasn't so quick to get the thank you letter out. It's because I suck at thank you letters. That isn't a reflection on how you raised me -- because you did a good job. I'm just a space cadet (I blame Dad).
Also, thank you for not doing the near-death routine that Dottie's been pulling. I know you're 83 now and are officially at the age you promised me you'd live to. But if it isn't too much trouble, could you hang around for another couple years? I'm not ready to let you go. I don't think I'll ever be ready to let you go (what's a ship without an anchor?). So, I guess you're just going to have to live forever. But you're superwoman; living forever shouldn't be too hard for you.
I'll be home for a visit soon. I'm going to squeeze you. I'm also going to take pictures of you. And I'm going to spend endless amounts of time telling you how much you mean to me and how damn grateful I am for you. Make sure you have extra batteries for your hearing aids. You have fair warning.
Love 'til bursting,
~S
Dorothy Ann:
Woman, you better quit with the near death shit. Yes, I know you're my grandmother and I shouldn't use the word "shit" in your presence, but if you can start swearing then so can I. I also know that I shouldn't start any letter to you with "woman." That was rude of me and I apologize.
But seriously, you can stop with the almost-dying. You aren't allowed to die. You are allowed to not be in pain, and if you have to die in order to not be in pain anymore, then we'll have to figure out a different way to keep you from being in pain. But if you are going to die, you need to wait until I can get back home and squeeze you. And take lots of pictures of you. And listen to your life story.
I want you to know how much you mean to me and how much I love you. I suck at being a long-distance granddaughter, which is why you always had to come and pick me up. Every-other-weekend, you'd make that awful drive to pick me up and bring me back to your house and feed me breakfast in bed. Until I was seventeen. Actually, no. I was eighteen. You didn't get mad when I wet your bed when I was five; you just flipped the mattress and said "accidents happen." You didn't get grossed out when I puked all over your bedroom floor because I'd had too many Halloween cookies. You just got me in the bath and cleaned up the mess.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that you've always supported me. You've always understood me -- in ways that few other people on this planet do. You kept me safe and made sure that I felt loved.
So, hang in there you stubborn old thing. I'll be home soon for a visit. You better take an extra percoset, because there will be squeezing. And I'm not going to let you kick me out at 7 PM. You're just going to have to be a night owl.
Love you to the moon and back,
~S
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Where are my ruby slippers??
Sometimes I'm thoroughly convinced that Facebook is the devil. It has ruined relationships, friendships and probably has contributed to a great deal of really phenomenally low self-esteem in many people. I'm half tempted to cancel my account, but Facebook is how I stay in touch with family and friends back home. Which is currently why I think Facebook is the devil.
Last night, back home, they slept with the AC off and the windows open. Here, it's still 84-degrees out at 11 o'clock at night. Back home, they're gearing up for the county fairs next month. Here, I can't even garden because it's too miserably hot during the day. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that here is not THERE and I want to be there. I miss home deeply right now. I'm homesick in a way that I haven't been in five years or more.
I mean, I am quite literally ANGRY at myself for having moved to Florida in the first place. Logically, I know it was the right decision at the time and all, but emotionally, I'm kicking my ass for it. now I know why so many people back home stay there - there's no earthly reason to move - unless you're an idiot or something. Which, I am. Apparently.
This soul deep longing to return to my roots is further proof that I need to get off my ass and get working on getting home. For good. The Boyfriend™ is even feeling repressed and stifled here, too, and he's FROM here.
I take a great deal of comfort in knowing I can get there - and will - even if it'll take some time. I'm incredibly impatient though, and don't want to wait. It sucks this waiting stuff.
Last night, back home, they slept with the AC off and the windows open. Here, it's still 84-degrees out at 11 o'clock at night. Back home, they're gearing up for the county fairs next month. Here, I can't even garden because it's too miserably hot during the day. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say that here is not THERE and I want to be there. I miss home deeply right now. I'm homesick in a way that I haven't been in five years or more.
I mean, I am quite literally ANGRY at myself for having moved to Florida in the first place. Logically, I know it was the right decision at the time and all, but emotionally, I'm kicking my ass for it. now I know why so many people back home stay there - there's no earthly reason to move - unless you're an idiot or something. Which, I am. Apparently.
This soul deep longing to return to my roots is further proof that I need to get off my ass and get working on getting home. For good. The Boyfriend™ is even feeling repressed and stifled here, too, and he's FROM here.
I take a great deal of comfort in knowing I can get there - and will - even if it'll take some time. I'm incredibly impatient though, and don't want to wait. It sucks this waiting stuff.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Insert some clever quip about the rapture here
I'm sure you're all aware: the rapture was supposed to have started today. So far, I've heard no word about a massive earthquake, unlike any seen before, that started in New Zealand. The Jesus freaks down the street are still very much here and, surely, if anyone were slated to go heaven bound, they would be.
I live in Florida, so if I'm doomed to Hell, I'm pretty sure I'm already here (and have been for the last six years). The only indication that the rapture may be here is The Boyfriend™'s sudden urge toward domestication. He's on a cleaning kick at the moment and I'm feeling rather guilty about not helping. But not guilty enough to start helping before I've finished my coffee.
But all this rapture talk has had me thinking a great deal along theological lines. What if my grab bag philosophy (which The Boyfriend™ insists is just confusion, but which I insist is more along the lines of wandering) isn't right. What if that book is right? What if God IS coming back and boy! Is he pissed! Is it too late fir me to repent? Or will God be wise to my eleventh hour about face? What about The Trolls who, through no fault of their own,have not turned their hearts toward Jesus? Is God going to damn the innocents for the sins of their fathers? Further, what about all of the indigenous people, who have never heard the word of God? Are the damned by default?
If you believe Reverand Camping, the answer is yes. (Aside: is it just me or does that Camping dude look an awful lot alike that preacher guy from Poltergiest who told the family "YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE IN THERE!")
Here's my thought on God and the end of the world. Actually, it's a series of thoughts. Semantics...
I don't think God is vengeful. I know the evangelical kooks would like us to believe so, but We're going to have to agree to disagree about that. Personally, I think God has a great sense of humor and is a rather indulgent parent.
...incidentally, I use the word God for conversational ease. I don't believe in a singular heavenly father any more than Christians believe that there's a Goddess figure floating up in the sky.
I think that, as I indulgent as God is, God also makes sure that we live with the consequences of our actions. For conversational ease, we'll call this karma.
Do I believe that the world as we know it is going to end? Yes. Do I believe it's going to end today? No. But there is plenty of scientific and anecdotal evidence that makes it plain that global scale culture (the world we live in) cannot continue to support itself.
We've become greedy, we people. We take too much and give back too little. We want bigger, badder, faster, more, more, more. We've lost sight of compassion and have become complacent and lazy. Zealotry, be it religious or capitalistic in nature, has only served to make us lose sight of our true purposes here. We've devalued thought and learning, and replaced it with sound bites and video games.
I'll be the first to admit that I succumb, more often than not, to laziness and idolatry by way of the television. When I should be painting, I'm tuned in to the latest episode of Swamp People. Should be doing Yoga, but I'm sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. But my greatest sin - and the greatest sin of most of us - is complacency. We adopt a mob mentality about the gimmicks and comfort zone: if everyone else says it's OK, it must be.
But the way we live our lives is broken, and it needs fixing. But not by way of rapturing or bringing people to Jesus. We need to be compassionate. We need to embrace simplicity. We need to return to the mother and honor the gift that is this earth we live on. We need to put down our cell phones and iPads and remote controls and have block parties with our neighbors. We need to plan more family reunions. We need to reach out to that long lost friend and say hi. We need to tell our beloveds that we love them more.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love.
I live in Florida, so if I'm doomed to Hell, I'm pretty sure I'm already here (and have been for the last six years). The only indication that the rapture may be here is The Boyfriend™'s sudden urge toward domestication. He's on a cleaning kick at the moment and I'm feeling rather guilty about not helping. But not guilty enough to start helping before I've finished my coffee.
But all this rapture talk has had me thinking a great deal along theological lines. What if my grab bag philosophy (which The Boyfriend™ insists is just confusion, but which I insist is more along the lines of wandering) isn't right. What if that book is right? What if God IS coming back and boy! Is he pissed! Is it too late fir me to repent? Or will God be wise to my eleventh hour about face? What about The Trolls who, through no fault of their own,have not turned their hearts toward Jesus? Is God going to damn the innocents for the sins of their fathers? Further, what about all of the indigenous people, who have never heard the word of God? Are the damned by default?
If you believe Reverand Camping, the answer is yes. (Aside: is it just me or does that Camping dude look an awful lot alike that preacher guy from Poltergiest who told the family "YOU'RE ALL GOING TO DIE IN THERE!")
Here's my thought on God and the end of the world. Actually, it's a series of thoughts. Semantics...
I don't think God is vengeful. I know the evangelical kooks would like us to believe so, but We're going to have to agree to disagree about that. Personally, I think God has a great sense of humor and is a rather indulgent parent.
...incidentally, I use the word God for conversational ease. I don't believe in a singular heavenly father any more than Christians believe that there's a Goddess figure floating up in the sky.
I think that, as I indulgent as God is, God also makes sure that we live with the consequences of our actions. For conversational ease, we'll call this karma.
Do I believe that the world as we know it is going to end? Yes. Do I believe it's going to end today? No. But there is plenty of scientific and anecdotal evidence that makes it plain that global scale culture (the world we live in) cannot continue to support itself.
We've become greedy, we people. We take too much and give back too little. We want bigger, badder, faster, more, more, more. We've lost sight of compassion and have become complacent and lazy. Zealotry, be it religious or capitalistic in nature, has only served to make us lose sight of our true purposes here. We've devalued thought and learning, and replaced it with sound bites and video games.
I'll be the first to admit that I succumb, more often than not, to laziness and idolatry by way of the television. When I should be painting, I'm tuned in to the latest episode of Swamp People. Should be doing Yoga, but I'm sitting on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. But my greatest sin - and the greatest sin of most of us - is complacency. We adopt a mob mentality about the gimmicks and comfort zone: if everyone else says it's OK, it must be.
But the way we live our lives is broken, and it needs fixing. But not by way of rapturing or bringing people to Jesus. We need to be compassionate. We need to embrace simplicity. We need to return to the mother and honor the gift that is this earth we live on. We need to put down our cell phones and iPads and remote controls and have block parties with our neighbors. We need to plan more family reunions. We need to reach out to that long lost friend and say hi. We need to tell our beloveds that we love them more.
What the world needs now is love, sweet love.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Boyfriend™ and The Bloggess
First, The Boyfriend™ is remarkable and beautiful beyond description. He expressly asked me not to say anything 'til later, so I am going to abide by his wishes... for now. But suffice it to say, he literally left me speechless.
Universe... in case I haven't said it enough, THANK YOU for that man!!
The Bloggess also makes the roll for remarkable and beautiful beyond description. She did this whole pay-it-forward Christmas thing on her blog that literally gave me goosebumps. But I'll tell you what, there is still time for all of you to get in on the action.
If you can contribute, even one little bit, go here and help out a family who may have to tell their kids that Santa doesn't exist. Not because it's time for them to know, but because the parents have to choose between keeping the lights on and buying their kids presents.
That's a shitty place to be, y'all. I know. I've been there. If it hadn't been for some really wonderful and miraculous people I worked with, my kids wouldn't have had a Christmas. Since then, I've been extraordinarily blessed to never have to be in that place again, but there are FAR too many families out there who aren't as blessed as I am.
Go, please. Do what you can do. If you can't give a cash donation, take a present that you've wrapped and see if you can send it to a family in need. Or go to your local Women's Shelter and help some kids out. Keep Santa alive for these kids... BE Santa for these kids. The world's a scary and dark enough place as it is without having to kill off that jolly bastard.
Universe... in case I haven't said it enough, THANK YOU for that man!!
The Bloggess also makes the roll for remarkable and beautiful beyond description. She did this whole pay-it-forward Christmas thing on her blog that literally gave me goosebumps. But I'll tell you what, there is still time for all of you to get in on the action.
If you can contribute, even one little bit, go here and help out a family who may have to tell their kids that Santa doesn't exist. Not because it's time for them to know, but because the parents have to choose between keeping the lights on and buying their kids presents.
That's a shitty place to be, y'all. I know. I've been there. If it hadn't been for some really wonderful and miraculous people I worked with, my kids wouldn't have had a Christmas. Since then, I've been extraordinarily blessed to never have to be in that place again, but there are FAR too many families out there who aren't as blessed as I am.
Go, please. Do what you can do. If you can't give a cash donation, take a present that you've wrapped and see if you can send it to a family in need. Or go to your local Women's Shelter and help some kids out. Keep Santa alive for these kids... BE Santa for these kids. The world's a scary and dark enough place as it is without having to kill off that jolly bastard.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The sexiest women in the world? Really??
As I may have mentioned, I don't have cable. As such, I'm not subject to as much commercialization as the bulk of America. For this, I give thanks.
But I do have internet access, which means that I am kinda sorta aware of what's going on in the world around me. I guess, earlier this week, Victoria's Secret had some sort of runway spectacular, where a bunch of emaciated-looking, scantily-clad women trotted around making approximately 99.74565% of the women watching this thing feel like utter and complete shit about themselves.
It didn't help that the show advertised that the sexiest women in the world would be modeling.
Really? Really?! These are the sexiest women alive?
This is a rhetorical question, really, but when in the hell did Victoria's Secret become the standard to which all beauty must be held?!
When did this become beautiful?!
Seriously, I want to take this girl home and force feed her a sandwich.
But it's not her fault. Not really. She's just as much a victim of fashion's pervasive hold on our aesthetic psyche.
And when Victoria's Secret touts this as one of the sexist women in the world, the world is clearly sick. As far as I'm concerned, this is socially sanctioned abuse of women.
Worst of all, we allow it to happen. We allow ourselves to be abused.
As a student of history, I know that women have almost always been expected to shape their bodies to someone's ideal of perfection. We pluck, we tuck, we paint, we dye. All in the vain attempt to look different from ourselves; to be desired not for our inner worth, but our outward appearance.
Even the Rubenesque ideal, as more honest a depiction of real women as it was, was still not attainable by the average woman of that time:
Ironic, I know.
I spent the last 11 years of the 13 I spent with The Ex concerned about how I looked, lest I get too heavy for him to love. I knew -- intellectually -- that I was better than that, but still allowed myself to feel less than because I couldn't get rid of the baby weight. I knew that I was intelligent, beautiful, witty and charming. I knew, on some level, that I was, in fact, sexy. But because I was heavy; because I didn't still possess my swimmer's body, the value I gave myself was close to nothing. Any worth I had was closely tied to his opinion of me.
It's bullshit, really, but it's a mindset that isn't easily shaken. Even now, I have an adoring loving boyfriend, who finds me ridiculously sexy, and I still won't let him see me naked because I don't look like a Victoria's Secret model.
I even have a hard time finding this picture of me sexy, because I know that I deliberately positioned myself so my mom apron wouldn't be in the picture. I made Miguelito take the picture using the whole depth of field trick so my stretch marks wouldn't show. I wore the shirt so my droopy, saggy boobs wouldn't be too obvious:
I don't find this picture of me really sexy and yet, this is The Boyfriend™'s favorite picture of me.
What's worse, is that I still have a hard time finding myself intrinsically valuable despite all indications to the contrary.
There is something inherently wrong with that. Fo'reals... how am I not one of the sexiest women in the world? How is The Best Friend (R) not? How is The Nancarita not?
Fact is, we are some of the sexiest women in the world!
I can't change the world over night (until such time as I become the ruler of the world, which will happen. Mark my words), but I can change how I view the world -- and myself.
All of you fabulously un-airbrushed women out there! Those of you without personal trainers and personal chefs. Those of you that stay at home raising your children, or are out in the world working your heinies off to feed your children. Those of you without children, or with grown children, or with grandchildren. Those of you who can comfortably wear a size four and those of you who squeeze into a size fourteen. And everything in between -- all of you, join me in declaring yourselves THE SEXIEST WOMEN IN THE WORLD!
Because YOU ARE the sexiest women in the world! Let your light shine through and LOVE YOURSELVES. Turn off the TV and go stand in front of the full length mirror and love the hell out of those curves and stretch marks and saggy boobs. Worship yourselves for the goddesses you truly are!
Then, when you're done, remind yourself that it's what's INSIDE that makes you truly beautiful!
But I do have internet access, which means that I am kinda sorta aware of what's going on in the world around me. I guess, earlier this week, Victoria's Secret had some sort of runway spectacular, where a bunch of emaciated-looking, scantily-clad women trotted around making approximately 99.74565% of the women watching this thing feel like utter and complete shit about themselves.
It didn't help that the show advertised that the sexiest women in the world would be modeling.
Really? Really?! These are the sexiest women alive?
This is a rhetorical question, really, but when in the hell did Victoria's Secret become the standard to which all beauty must be held?!
When did this become beautiful?!
 | |||||
| Image taken from http://ednosgirl.wordpress.com/thinspiration/ |
But it's not her fault. Not really. She's just as much a victim of fashion's pervasive hold on our aesthetic psyche.
And when Victoria's Secret touts this as one of the sexist women in the world, the world is clearly sick. As far as I'm concerned, this is socially sanctioned abuse of women.
Worst of all, we allow it to happen. We allow ourselves to be abused.
As a student of history, I know that women have almost always been expected to shape their bodies to someone's ideal of perfection. We pluck, we tuck, we paint, we dye. All in the vain attempt to look different from ourselves; to be desired not for our inner worth, but our outward appearance.
Even the Rubenesque ideal, as more honest a depiction of real women as it was, was still not attainable by the average woman of that time:
 |
| Paul Rubens - The Three Graces |
I spent the last 11 years of the 13 I spent with The Ex concerned about how I looked, lest I get too heavy for him to love. I knew -- intellectually -- that I was better than that, but still allowed myself to feel less than because I couldn't get rid of the baby weight. I knew that I was intelligent, beautiful, witty and charming. I knew, on some level, that I was, in fact, sexy. But because I was heavy; because I didn't still possess my swimmer's body, the value I gave myself was close to nothing. Any worth I had was closely tied to his opinion of me.
It's bullshit, really, but it's a mindset that isn't easily shaken. Even now, I have an adoring loving boyfriend, who finds me ridiculously sexy, and I still won't let him see me naked because I don't look like a Victoria's Secret model.
I even have a hard time finding this picture of me sexy, because I know that I deliberately positioned myself so my mom apron wouldn't be in the picture. I made Miguelito take the picture using the whole depth of field trick so my stretch marks wouldn't show. I wore the shirt so my droopy, saggy boobs wouldn't be too obvious:
 |
| Yup, this is me. Picture taken by Michael Barnard |
What's worse, is that I still have a hard time finding myself intrinsically valuable despite all indications to the contrary.
There is something inherently wrong with that. Fo'reals... how am I not one of the sexiest women in the world? How is The Best Friend (R) not? How is The Nancarita not?
Fact is, we are some of the sexiest women in the world!
I can't change the world over night (until such time as I become the ruler of the world, which will happen. Mark my words), but I can change how I view the world -- and myself.
All of you fabulously un-airbrushed women out there! Those of you without personal trainers and personal chefs. Those of you that stay at home raising your children, or are out in the world working your heinies off to feed your children. Those of you without children, or with grown children, or with grandchildren. Those of you who can comfortably wear a size four and those of you who squeeze into a size fourteen. And everything in between -- all of you, join me in declaring yourselves THE SEXIEST WOMEN IN THE WORLD!
Because YOU ARE the sexiest women in the world! Let your light shine through and LOVE YOURSELVES. Turn off the TV and go stand in front of the full length mirror and love the hell out of those curves and stretch marks and saggy boobs. Worship yourselves for the goddesses you truly are!
Then, when you're done, remind yourself that it's what's INSIDE that makes you truly beautiful!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Aaand.... GO!
Woo doggy! There is just a ton going on, much of it requiring that I float in this sort of holding pattern for a bit longer. All of it rather disjointed and leaving me feeling mostly empty and devoid of anything tangible to offer in this here blog space.
...Except for a smidgen that is reminding me of all the immense wonder and good that is coming down the pike. I hold on to that smidgen tightly these days -- it's my life preserver.
So what have I been up to lately? I'm glad you asked!
Learning to live with the restrictions of gallbladder disease is still a process, but one that is keeping me acutely in tune with the rhythms of my body. While this particular journey is one about learning to live with restriction, I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know my physical being a bit better. The process is definitely helping me to learn to love myself; to find my curves voluptuous and sexy, rather than the unpleasant consequences of a hedonistic lifestyle.
I'm amazed that this particular medical malady has triggered a wellspring of self-love and healing. Seriously, the best presents come in the plain wrapping paper -- and when least expected!
And in other news, I think I can safely announce The Thing That Needed To Happen thing... The Boyfriend™ and I will o-fficially be living together at the end of January (that's when my lease is up)! Yay!
...No. I still haven't met his mother yet. Yes, I'm aware that this is all very ass-backwards.
The process of choosing to live with someone is foreign to me. When The Ex and I moved in together, it's because I was very, very pregnant with The Monkey. And even then, I stayed a night or two with The Rental Units until they moved to Florida, forcing me to spend every single night with The Ex. Living with The Ex is my only frame of reference for this kind of thing, sad as that may be.
However, I'm learning to navigate these strange waters of choice. The process is bringing The Boyfriend™ and me closer, allowing us to learn to communicate with each other from a very fundamentally honest place. We are speaking from our hearts about our fears and concerns -- and not just about living together, but also about the whole scope of our relationship. Skeletons are being exorcised from their respective closets, so to speak. The Ghosts of Exes Past are being trotted out, greeted and promptly dismissed. Quirks and neuroses (yes, even The Boyfriend™ has quirks) are being discussed, poked, prodded and told to shut up.
In addition to the lovely-ness that this move is creating in my relationship with The Boyfriend™, it's also lighting a fire under my ass to start purging myself of all my clutter, which is in keeping with my life list goal to live more simply.
And, frankly, co-habitation will enable me to more easily and readily pursue other items on my Life List, as it frees up some of the necessary cash flow. More importantly, however, The Boyfriend™ is a constant support for my life goals, never really allowing me to rest on my laurels and constantly, yet gently, reminding me to get on with it already! Despite his claim that he can never remember anything, home boy certainly remembers to remind me about going back to college... and to re-type the family letters, like I promised my nana I would do.
(Universe, if you're listening, THANK YOU!! for the wonderful, delightful miracle that is The Boyfriend™)
Of course, it's not all sunshine and magic faerie dust. The impending move stuff is happening smack dab in the middle of getting ready for Christmas. And when you have Trolls under the age of 15 living with you, you can't just skip over all the Christmas stuff.
Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I decided that this year I'd be making Christmas gifts for all of my nearest and dearest, in the style of the Magical Box of Delight that is my annual Christmas and birthday gifts from my Uncle Brion*. This means that most of my free time is being consumed by creating gifts, which means that there isn't room left for me to create for the sake of creating.
Strangely, I'm OK with this for right now. I think my soul needs the down time and space to process all this change coming 'round the bend. As soon as I'm settled in my new digs, I will being jumping back into my art as if my life depended on it -- and that may very well end up being the case.
In between all of these marvelous things, is my spiritual progress. I'm learning so, so much right now:
- I'm learning to find my limits and in those limits, learning to say no without feeling guilty.
- I'm learning that selfish impulses are a normal part of the human condition -- we just don't have to act on them is all. But occasional indulgence is good for you.
- I'm learning that it's OK to feel empathetic to a friend's plight or "lack" without having to diminish your own happiness... or feel guilty about your own plentitude.
- I'm learning that, much like how the universe handles us all, there's only so much help you can give someone emotionally, physically, monetarily before you have to say, "Enough. Start helping yourself now."
- I'm learning how to hold my tongue -- especially when a loved one is not in the head space to hear the truth.
- And I'm learning that MY truth is not THE truth, and may not work for everyone.
- I'm learning to simplify. Sifting through the physical detritus of my life thus far, and getting rid of a lot of it, has been a wondrous catharsis.
So, as you can see, there is so, so much going on! So, so much to do -- and more of it yet to do. This is the ramp-up; the training before the big race, where the finish line is all of my dreams coming true, and happy little check marks appearing next to all of the things on my life list.
I wish ALL OF YOU this joyous wellspring -- as overwhelming and exhausting as it can be at times. I wish YOU ALL these miracles.
-Namaste.
*My uncle Brion always sends me these wonderful boxes filled with things that only Uncle Brion knows how to find. Things like weird socks and lip balms and journals and odd clay jewelry. His presents never fail to delight me no end. I'm starting to think that Uncle Brion is actually Santa Claus
...Except for a smidgen that is reminding me of all the immense wonder and good that is coming down the pike. I hold on to that smidgen tightly these days -- it's my life preserver.
So what have I been up to lately? I'm glad you asked!
Learning to live with the restrictions of gallbladder disease is still a process, but one that is keeping me acutely in tune with the rhythms of my body. While this particular journey is one about learning to live with restriction, I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know my physical being a bit better. The process is definitely helping me to learn to love myself; to find my curves voluptuous and sexy, rather than the unpleasant consequences of a hedonistic lifestyle.
I'm amazed that this particular medical malady has triggered a wellspring of self-love and healing. Seriously, the best presents come in the plain wrapping paper -- and when least expected!
And in other news, I think I can safely announce The Thing That Needed To Happen thing... The Boyfriend™ and I will o-fficially be living together at the end of January (that's when my lease is up)! Yay!
...No. I still haven't met his mother yet. Yes, I'm aware that this is all very ass-backwards.
The process of choosing to live with someone is foreign to me. When The Ex and I moved in together, it's because I was very, very pregnant with The Monkey. And even then, I stayed a night or two with The Rental Units until they moved to Florida, forcing me to spend every single night with The Ex. Living with The Ex is my only frame of reference for this kind of thing, sad as that may be.
However, I'm learning to navigate these strange waters of choice. The process is bringing The Boyfriend™ and me closer, allowing us to learn to communicate with each other from a very fundamentally honest place. We are speaking from our hearts about our fears and concerns -- and not just about living together, but also about the whole scope of our relationship. Skeletons are being exorcised from their respective closets, so to speak. The Ghosts of Exes Past are being trotted out, greeted and promptly dismissed. Quirks and neuroses (yes, even The Boyfriend™ has quirks) are being discussed, poked, prodded and told to shut up.
In addition to the lovely-ness that this move is creating in my relationship with The Boyfriend™, it's also lighting a fire under my ass to start purging myself of all my clutter, which is in keeping with my life list goal to live more simply.
And, frankly, co-habitation will enable me to more easily and readily pursue other items on my Life List, as it frees up some of the necessary cash flow. More importantly, however, The Boyfriend™ is a constant support for my life goals, never really allowing me to rest on my laurels and constantly, yet gently, reminding me to get on with it already! Despite his claim that he can never remember anything, home boy certainly remembers to remind me about going back to college... and to re-type the family letters, like I promised my nana I would do.
(Universe, if you're listening, THANK YOU!! for the wonderful, delightful miracle that is The Boyfriend™)
Of course, it's not all sunshine and magic faerie dust. The impending move stuff is happening smack dab in the middle of getting ready for Christmas. And when you have Trolls under the age of 15 living with you, you can't just skip over all the Christmas stuff.
Because I'm a glutton for punishment, I decided that this year I'd be making Christmas gifts for all of my nearest and dearest, in the style of the Magical Box of Delight that is my annual Christmas and birthday gifts from my Uncle Brion*. This means that most of my free time is being consumed by creating gifts, which means that there isn't room left for me to create for the sake of creating.
Strangely, I'm OK with this for right now. I think my soul needs the down time and space to process all this change coming 'round the bend. As soon as I'm settled in my new digs, I will being jumping back into my art as if my life depended on it -- and that may very well end up being the case.
In between all of these marvelous things, is my spiritual progress. I'm learning so, so much right now:
- I'm learning to find my limits and in those limits, learning to say no without feeling guilty.
- I'm learning that selfish impulses are a normal part of the human condition -- we just don't have to act on them is all. But occasional indulgence is good for you.
- I'm learning that it's OK to feel empathetic to a friend's plight or "lack" without having to diminish your own happiness... or feel guilty about your own plentitude.
- I'm learning that, much like how the universe handles us all, there's only so much help you can give someone emotionally, physically, monetarily before you have to say, "Enough. Start helping yourself now."
- I'm learning how to hold my tongue -- especially when a loved one is not in the head space to hear the truth.
- And I'm learning that MY truth is not THE truth, and may not work for everyone.
- I'm learning to simplify. Sifting through the physical detritus of my life thus far, and getting rid of a lot of it, has been a wondrous catharsis.
So, as you can see, there is so, so much going on! So, so much to do -- and more of it yet to do. This is the ramp-up; the training before the big race, where the finish line is all of my dreams coming true, and happy little check marks appearing next to all of the things on my life list.
I wish ALL OF YOU this joyous wellspring -- as overwhelming and exhausting as it can be at times. I wish YOU ALL these miracles.
-Namaste.
*My uncle Brion always sends me these wonderful boxes filled with things that only Uncle Brion knows how to find. Things like weird socks and lip balms and journals and odd clay jewelry. His presents never fail to delight me no end. I'm starting to think that Uncle Brion is actually Santa Claus
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
One Last Thing -- and this is kinda of a huge, big deal
I was going to wait until tomorrow to post a sort of book review about Life is a Verb by Patti Digh, which I heard about through one of the blogs that I follow, and finally got this week to check out. This book is sixteen kinds of awesome! While some of it is really rather intuitive, a lot of it is giving me those AHA! moments that are inspiring me and keeping me on this path.
Cuz sometimes it's really hard to stay on the path. All I want to do,most some days, is lay down on the side of the road and take a nap, y'all.
But life isn't just about living your dream; it's about living in such a way that you can make a difference -- no matter how big or small -- in the world. You have to give back. And I don't mean "have to" in the obligatory "I have to go to my parents' for Christmas" kind of way, but in the "You know what? I want other people to feel as great as I do, so I'm gonna pay all this goodness forward" kind of way.
Bottom line: we're darn lucky to be living the kinds of lives that enable us to whine about inconsequential stuff, such as hating our 9 to 5s. There are entire countries being ravaged by HIV/AIDS, and other treatable, preventable diseases. There are oppressed cultures, orphans, war zones, natural disasters, Republicans... the world really is much bigger than we think it is.
I am not in a position where I can afford to donate to all the charities and organizations that really need my money, but I can do a small part in letting you all know about some wonderful efforts made by some magical and talented people.
I'm going to excerpt directly from Gypsy Girl's Guide here, because they say it so much more eloquently that I can:
We are honored to support this month’s collaboration between our gypsy friends and contributors, Christine Mason Miller & Marianne Elliott. As you know, Marianne has taken the challenge to raise $20,000 for HIV/AIDS Projects in South Africa. Here is one way you can be a part of this very important endeavor:
For the entire month of October, Ordinary Sparkling Moments will be available at Christine’s Etsy shop for $24 instead of $28. Christine will donate $10 from every book sold to Marianne’s project, which you can read about right here.
To sweeten the deal a little bit more, Christine will also include a FREE set of four notecards as a special Thank You for your help towards reaching the project’s goal.
And if you already own a copy of Ordinary Sparkling Moments, if you have enjoyed this lovely book, please consider purchasing another copy this month as a gift to someone you love.
Also, if you feel inspired, we would appreciate any shout-outs, tweets and anything else you do to help spread the word.
I'll tell you what, too, I cannot wait to get a copy of that book. It'll do my soul a whole lot of good.
Cuz sometimes it's really hard to stay on the path. All I want to do,
But life isn't just about living your dream; it's about living in such a way that you can make a difference -- no matter how big or small -- in the world. You have to give back. And I don't mean "have to" in the obligatory "I have to go to my parents' for Christmas" kind of way, but in the "You know what? I want other people to feel as great as I do, so I'm gonna pay all this goodness forward" kind of way.
Bottom line: we're darn lucky to be living the kinds of lives that enable us to whine about inconsequential stuff, such as hating our 9 to 5s. There are entire countries being ravaged by HIV/AIDS, and other treatable, preventable diseases. There are oppressed cultures, orphans, war zones, natural disasters, Republicans... the world really is much bigger than we think it is.
I am not in a position where I can afford to donate to all the charities and organizations that really need my money, but I can do a small part in letting you all know about some wonderful efforts made by some magical and talented people.
I'm going to excerpt directly from Gypsy Girl's Guide here, because they say it so much more eloquently that I can:
We are honored to support this month’s collaboration between our gypsy friends and contributors, Christine Mason Miller & Marianne Elliott. As you know, Marianne has taken the challenge to raise $20,000 for HIV/AIDS Projects in South Africa. Here is one way you can be a part of this very important endeavor:
For the entire month of October, Ordinary Sparkling Moments will be available at Christine’s Etsy shop for $24 instead of $28. Christine will donate $10 from every book sold to Marianne’s project, which you can read about right here.
To sweeten the deal a little bit more, Christine will also include a FREE set of four notecards as a special Thank You for your help towards reaching the project’s goal.
And if you already own a copy of Ordinary Sparkling Moments, if you have enjoyed this lovely book, please consider purchasing another copy this month as a gift to someone you love.
Also, if you feel inspired, we would appreciate any shout-outs, tweets and anything else you do to help spread the word.
I'll tell you what, too, I cannot wait to get a copy of that book. It'll do my soul a whole lot of good.
Things I'm Grateful For - Part 7
Despite the sheer amount of complaining I do - about my job, The Trolls, perpetual sunlight - I actually have a pretty great life. Sure, there's some bullshit and minor drama that I deal with, but in the grand scheme of things it's really not all that bad (this fact, however, will not stop me from whining about my life -- with a startling regularity).
Every once-in-a-while, I get handed a big heaping dose of perspective that actually shuts me up for a while -- and for that, I am grateful.
Today, I'm on my way into work, listening to NPR, as I usually do, and they featured an interview about this web site, which is dedicated to featuring emerging music from the Middle East. On the surface and taken at a very American face value, that's not such a big deal. Right? Except that in most Islamic countries, being in a hip hop band, for instance, is grounds for death.
Death, y'all. These kids can be killed for being hip hop artists.
Truth be told, it's not really as simple as being killed for being a hip hop artist. You can also be put to death for being in a metal band or being a female in a band. There's really a laundry list of punishable-by-death musical offenses. You can be put to death for speaking out about social issues, religious issues or promoting a band whose lyrical content speaks of dissent.
Listening raptly to the interviewee, a sense of gratitude came over me -- for the perspective to realize that, as long as The Trolls aren't inciting a riot, they can be in a band that speaks out against their government; that my biggest issue is teaching The Trolls when to pick their battles, figuratively speaking. Which is a damn sight better than their having to pick their battles literally. That I can teach The Trolls to speak up against authority -- to question it and to live the life they want without fear of death or dismemberment. That I can create any kind of art I want, freely and without fear of governmental reprisal.
With a sense of relief that I live here, where freedom of expression is encouraged, my gratitude is overwhelming. Today, I am grateful for perspective.
Every once-in-a-while, I get handed a big heaping dose of perspective that actually shuts me up for a while -- and for that, I am grateful.
Today, I'm on my way into work, listening to NPR, as I usually do, and they featured an interview about this web site, which is dedicated to featuring emerging music from the Middle East. On the surface and taken at a very American face value, that's not such a big deal. Right? Except that in most Islamic countries, being in a hip hop band, for instance, is grounds for death.
Death, y'all. These kids can be killed for being hip hop artists.
Truth be told, it's not really as simple as being killed for being a hip hop artist. You can also be put to death for being in a metal band or being a female in a band. There's really a laundry list of punishable-by-death musical offenses. You can be put to death for speaking out about social issues, religious issues or promoting a band whose lyrical content speaks of dissent.
Listening raptly to the interviewee, a sense of gratitude came over me -- for the perspective to realize that, as long as The Trolls aren't inciting a riot, they can be in a band that speaks out against their government; that my biggest issue is teaching The Trolls when to pick their battles, figuratively speaking. Which is a damn sight better than their having to pick their battles literally. That I can teach The Trolls to speak up against authority -- to question it and to live the life they want without fear of death or dismemberment. That I can create any kind of art I want, freely and without fear of governmental reprisal.
With a sense of relief that I live here, where freedom of expression is encouraged, my gratitude is overwhelming. Today, I am grateful for perspective.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
The Everything I Love to Do List
I think I mentioned that, through a moment of synchronicity, it was Karen Walrond's blog - www.chookooloonks.com - that set me on the course of living my most authentic life.
Her story is remarkably similar to my own, to the point where I find myself constantly nodding my head in agreement, as if I were bobbing my head along to my favorite song. I check her page every day for inspiration and to keep me true on the path when I feel like I should just give up and do what "I should."
So, thank you, Ms. Walrond, for being my beacon. While you don't know me from Adam, I owe you a debt of gratitude.
Because she's been right on the money so far, I am taking Karen Walrond's advice and listing everything I love to do that fills me with joy and/or grace.
I am, more-than-likely, going to forget a whole lot of things that I love - mostly because the fact that I love something doesn't hit me until I'm smack dab in the middle of doing it, where, upon the epiphany of love, I relish the moment and then promptly get distracted by something shiny.
No, I don't have ADD. Why do you ask?
Without further ado, and in no particular order, here's my list of things I love to do:
1. Drawing, painting, sketching, collaging -- basically, anything at all have to do with making art.
2. Photography -- especially if it's urban decay. How I love urban decay.
3. Reading
4. Drinking coffee (I need to marry Juan Valdez)
5. Yoga (I really need to do this more often. I always feel tons better afterward... except during that one period when I was getting angry all the time during and after)
6. Date Night with The Trolls -- a little tradition started back in the day. I'll post a blog about it one of these days.
7. Wikipedia-ing - I love, love, LOVE looking up inane topics, like medieval cooking processes.
8. Spacing out - other than when creating art, this is the only time my mind actually stays still.
9. Road trips - I love exploring new places and feel such a sense of accomplishment when I can follow directions.
10. Cooking -- it soothes me to no end, and I love that feeling of providing sustenance to people I love.
11. Making plans for anything - there's nothing like a good plan to make you feel successful. Now, if I can learn how to follow through on said plans.
12. Visiting museums, historic landmarks or anything else that feels like I'm reaching back through time to connect to a people or civilization.
13. Taking things apart to figure out how they work.
14. Being able to answer The Trolls' questions -- and have them pay attention to the answer.
15. Listing to The Trolls laugh -- The Monkey is going through The God Awful Puberty, so hearing him laugh is a rare blessing these days. The Nugget's laugh is ridiculously contagious, so much so that he once got an entire airport terminal laughing, just from listening to him laugh.
16. Stealing back my time - between all the have to's and shoulds, this little act of rebellion is especially necessary for my soul.
17. Singing in the car -- I sing it loud and proud.
18. Making Lists - I mentioned how my mind doesn't sit still, right? Lists make me feel safer. Weird, I know.
19. Visiting with my family - now that I live so far away from the vast majority of the nest, these visits are especially meaningful.
20. Having one of "those" conversations -- you know the ones, where you feel so very connected to the person you're talking to, and you feel like you could solve the world's problem just from that conversation alone.
21. Discovering something new to be obsessed with - like steampunk, Tim Burton art, traveling to Turkey or the app for my camera phone.
22. Early morning snuggles with The Boyfriend™ -- oh, those do my soul SO much good. I could get drunk on those snuggles.
23. The Best Friend®'s kitchen -- well, and spending time with her, too.
24. Experiencing through my olfactory sense -- food cooking, concrete after it rains, my nana's basement, the woods back home in Massachusetts. Some of my best memories are associated with scent.
25. Making a friend feel better... or at least making them smile.
26. Experiencing the world anew, through The Trolls' eyes.
I will have to add to this as I think of more things. It feels exceptionally awesome to take a moment to reflect on that which brings me joy!
Why don't y'all take a moment and make a list, too. It'll do your heart good.
Her story is remarkably similar to my own, to the point where I find myself constantly nodding my head in agreement, as if I were bobbing my head along to my favorite song. I check her page every day for inspiration and to keep me true on the path when I feel like I should just give up and do what "I should."
So, thank you, Ms. Walrond, for being my beacon. While you don't know me from Adam, I owe you a debt of gratitude.
Because she's been right on the money so far, I am taking Karen Walrond's advice and listing everything I love to do that fills me with joy and/or grace.
I am, more-than-likely, going to forget a whole lot of things that I love - mostly because the fact that I love something doesn't hit me until I'm smack dab in the middle of doing it, where, upon the epiphany of love, I relish the moment and then promptly get distracted by something shiny.
No, I don't have ADD. Why do you ask?
Without further ado, and in no particular order, here's my list of things I love to do:
1. Drawing, painting, sketching, collaging -- basically, anything at all have to do with making art.
2. Photography -- especially if it's urban decay. How I love urban decay.
3. Reading
4. Drinking coffee (I need to marry Juan Valdez)
5. Yoga (I really need to do this more often. I always feel tons better afterward... except during that one period when I was getting angry all the time during and after)
6. Date Night with The Trolls -- a little tradition started back in the day. I'll post a blog about it one of these days.
7. Wikipedia-ing - I love, love, LOVE looking up inane topics, like medieval cooking processes.
8. Spacing out - other than when creating art, this is the only time my mind actually stays still.
9. Road trips - I love exploring new places and feel such a sense of accomplishment when I can follow directions.
10. Cooking -- it soothes me to no end, and I love that feeling of providing sustenance to people I love.
11. Making plans for anything - there's nothing like a good plan to make you feel successful. Now, if I can learn how to follow through on said plans.
12. Visiting museums, historic landmarks or anything else that feels like I'm reaching back through time to connect to a people or civilization.
13. Taking things apart to figure out how they work.
14. Being able to answer The Trolls' questions -- and have them pay attention to the answer.
15. Listing to The Trolls laugh -- The Monkey is going through The God Awful Puberty, so hearing him laugh is a rare blessing these days. The Nugget's laugh is ridiculously contagious, so much so that he once got an entire airport terminal laughing, just from listening to him laugh.
16. Stealing back my time - between all the have to's and shoulds, this little act of rebellion is especially necessary for my soul.
17. Singing in the car -- I sing it loud and proud.
18. Making Lists - I mentioned how my mind doesn't sit still, right? Lists make me feel safer. Weird, I know.
19. Visiting with my family - now that I live so far away from the vast majority of the nest, these visits are especially meaningful.
20. Having one of "those" conversations -- you know the ones, where you feel so very connected to the person you're talking to, and you feel like you could solve the world's problem just from that conversation alone.
21. Discovering something new to be obsessed with - like steampunk, Tim Burton art, traveling to Turkey or the app for my camera phone.
22. Early morning snuggles with The Boyfriend™ -- oh, those do my soul SO much good. I could get drunk on those snuggles.
23. The Best Friend®'s kitchen -- well, and spending time with her, too.
24. Experiencing through my olfactory sense -- food cooking, concrete after it rains, my nana's basement, the woods back home in Massachusetts. Some of my best memories are associated with scent.
25. Making a friend feel better... or at least making them smile.
26. Experiencing the world anew, through The Trolls' eyes.
I will have to add to this as I think of more things. It feels exceptionally awesome to take a moment to reflect on that which brings me joy!
Why don't y'all take a moment and make a list, too. It'll do your heart good.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
On Book Banning (also, I totally just used bronzer as eyeshadow*)
*I'm all about the levity. Or that's what I tell myself to make myself feel better when I interject inanity into an otherwise important topic.
As a rule, I usually don't like most of what I hear or read. No, really, I don't. It's because, in my opinion, most people are inherently full of shit or have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about. They'll extrapolate the fuel for their fire to prove a point, completely ignoring the rest of the content, which would invalidate their point.Then there's just bad writing (*cough*Chuck Palahniuk*cough*).
It really gets my goat, y'all.
Just because I don't happen to like what you say or write, doesn't mean I think you should stop saying or writing it. I'm not going to ask my local library to ban your book, or call your producer and have him fire you. That would be insane. You know what I'll do instead? Turn off the radio (I don't have cable, so changing the channel is rather moot for me), put the book down or stop reading the article. It's really that simple.
Let me go on the record, again, as saying I am not a Christian. In fact, I find most organized religion rather hypocritical, but Christianity takes first prize in the hypocrisy contest (hey all you Presbyterians! Thanks for still going to the church my grandfather's family established. No, they really they did.). I'm not going to go running around to libraries and bookstores demanding that the bible be banned, or anything written by a Christian author be removed from the shelves. I'm not going to ask the FCC to remove Christian broadcasts from the airwaves. Why? Because I have the option to just not read it or listen to it. That's right, I can choose.
I can choose whether or not I want The Trolls to be exposed to viewpoints I don't agree with, or to let them be exposed to explicit (sexually and otherwise) material, violence, radical concept or alternative lifestyles.
When people insist on banning or removing a book, it speaks volumes about the character of that person (or lack thereof). It reeks of laziness and implies that you think that your opinion is the only one that matters. And you know what? I can choose to ignore you and go ahead and read those banned books.
Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do. To celebrate Banned Book Week, I am going to have The Trolls read the Bill of Rights, specifically:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
And we will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird together. If we have time, we might even get to Huck Finn.
As a rule, I usually don't like most of what I hear or read. No, really, I don't. It's because, in my opinion, most people are inherently full of shit or have absolutely no clue about what they're talking about. They'll extrapolate the fuel for their fire to prove a point, completely ignoring the rest of the content, which would invalidate their point.Then there's just bad writing (*cough*Chuck Palahniuk*cough*).
It really gets my goat, y'all.
Just because I don't happen to like what you say or write, doesn't mean I think you should stop saying or writing it. I'm not going to ask my local library to ban your book, or call your producer and have him fire you. That would be insane. You know what I'll do instead? Turn off the radio (I don't have cable, so changing the channel is rather moot for me), put the book down or stop reading the article. It's really that simple.
Let me go on the record, again, as saying I am not a Christian. In fact, I find most organized religion rather hypocritical, but Christianity takes first prize in the hypocrisy contest (hey all you Presbyterians! Thanks for still going to the church my grandfather's family established. No, they really they did.). I'm not going to go running around to libraries and bookstores demanding that the bible be banned, or anything written by a Christian author be removed from the shelves. I'm not going to ask the FCC to remove Christian broadcasts from the airwaves. Why? Because I have the option to just not read it or listen to it. That's right, I can choose.
I can choose whether or not I want The Trolls to be exposed to viewpoints I don't agree with, or to let them be exposed to explicit (sexually and otherwise) material, violence, radical concept or alternative lifestyles.
When people insist on banning or removing a book, it speaks volumes about the character of that person (or lack thereof). It reeks of laziness and implies that you think that your opinion is the only one that matters. And you know what? I can choose to ignore you and go ahead and read those banned books.
Actually, that's exactly what I'm going to do. To celebrate Banned Book Week, I am going to have The Trolls read the Bill of Rights, specifically:
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
And we will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird together. If we have time, we might even get to Huck Finn.
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