Sunbeams on Snow

Damn that Cathy...

2006-01-24T06:13:00.000-06:00

Tagged by Cathy

Four jobs that I have had:
Promotions Assistant for an Oldies Radio Station (not for the faint of heart)
Waitress on the Graveyard Shift in a Big City (not for anyone who can't stand drunks)
Nanny to a four year old and a six year old child genius
Pre-kindergarten Assistant

Four movies that I can watch over and over again:
The Princess Bride
Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Serendipity
Gone With the Wind

Four places I have lived:
Baton Rouge, LA
New Orleans, LA
Houston, TX
Naurod, Germany

Four TV shows I love to watch:
Gilmore GirlsThe Bachelor (it's like watching a train wreck, I tell you - you can't look away!)
House
Commander in Chief (yes, it conflicts with House. Thank god for programmable recording devices!)

Four websites I read daily (or I at least check on daily):
Loose Ends
Interrupting Cow
Kiki's Blog
Arch Words

Four places I have been on vacation:
Barcelona, Spain
The Grand Canyon
Paris, France
Florence, Italy

Four favorite foods:
Crawfish etoufee
crostini di polenta con pure di funghi porcini e tartufo
biscotti (any and every kind)
homemade beef stew

Four places I’d rather be:
Back in bed, asleep
Tuscany (in Italy)
the French Riviera
Morocco

Four people to tag:
Mel
Natalie
Tess
and I can't think of anyone else who hasn't already been tagged. Sad, huh?

Peripheral Vision

2005-12-11T21:56:00.000-06:00

There was a time when I would have told you I am more spiritual than religious. This is still, and probably will always be, true. I am not an enormous fan of organized religion - but I am a believer in the presence of God. However, there are times when I lose touch with my own faith, getting caught up in the day to day duties of life. But last night, I happened to walk outside and glance up at the night sky, and it startled me out of my apathy.

All too often, I find myself looking downwards, lost in my own thoughts and reflections. And last night, in the moment I looked up and my vision cleared, I remembered what I'd been missing.

The air was clear, with a breathtaking array of stars scattered across the dark canvas of night. Whether it was the result of my glasses prescription being two years old, or a trick of the light, they seemed to twinkle, sparkle, and shine. If I focused on one particular star, I would see the barest hint of another near by. But as soon as I tried to find it, it was gone. And yet, I knew that if I didn't try so hard, I'd find it again, on the edge of my vision.

That's as apt a description of my faith as anything else. I KNOW that God is there, but the more I seek to find him/her, the more difficult it becomes. But if I focus on what I DO know, on the things I am sure of, trusting in the presence of God - well, I am never disappointed.

Faith is believing, even (and especially) in the absence of proof. But seeking (in this context) is to search for reassurance of our faith - endeavoring to discover God's presence in our world. And much like the explorers of the past - for today, at least, the stars are my compass, helping me to find my bearings.

A moment for poetry....

2005-10-27T23:40:00.000-05:00

"Do Not Go Gently Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
*********************************************

Dylan Thomas, gifted poet, had a way of turning a phrase that makes me catch my breath every time. If you haven't read his work before, but enjoy this brief glimpse, check out more of his mastery of the English language here.

A book meme thingy

2005-10-12T22:12:00.000-05:00

1. How many books I own: Best guess would be 2500-3000. That may seem like a slight exaggeration, but I have four floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in this room alone that are not only filled to the maximum capacity intended by the shelf manufacturer, but then there are at least six shelves with double rows of books. Then there are the boxes upon boxes upon boxes of books that are awaiting the purchase of additional shelves. Plus the three super sized bookcases filled with children's books that are currently on loan at my mum's library. Then there are the files of magazines... but that's a whole different meme I guess.

2.) The last book I bought: Cool to be Kind, by Val Litwin, Brad Stokes, Erik Hanson, and Chris Bratseth. These guys fascinate me... if you haven't heard of them and their "Kindness Tour", check them out at the Extreme Kindness website.

3.) The last book I read: A Breath of Snow and Ashes by Diana Gabaldon.

4.) Five books that mean a lot to me:
1. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
2. The Earth Speaks by Steve Van Matre
3. Little Women by Lousia May Alcott
4. A Vision of Light by Judith Merkle Riley
5. Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery

5.) Five people I’ve tagged: (Assuming they haven’t been tagged already.)
Kiki
Mel
Natalie
Aerin
Tess

Banned Books meme

2005-10-02T22:33:00.000-05:00

(I saw this meme at Postcards from the Mothership, and had to join in. Below is a list of the 100 most banned and challenged books from 1990 through 2000. The bold titles are the ones I've read.)

The idea of banning books horrifies me. Many of the books on this list have made an impact on my life, or helped me through difficult times and milestones. Granted, there are books on this list that I have read, and IMO, they just plain suck. I wouldn't recommend those particular titles to anyone. But others... well, how can you NOT want your child to read and understand "To Kill A Mockingbird" or "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings"? The idea is beyond my understanding.

Looking at this list and the number of them that I have read, I have gained a new appreciation for the education I received. Many of these were books that I was encouraged to read within the classroom - to move beyond the "comfort zone" of my reading selections and push the boundaries of my understanding and awareness of the world around me.

I had intended to begin a weekly feature this evening, of a new book recommendation every week. But what better way to begin a weekly celebration of reading than to encourage you to pick a book from this list that you haven't read, and try it? Why not... who knows what you'll discover. :)
***************************************************

1. Scary Stories (Series) by Alvin Schwartz
2. Daddy’s Roommate by Michael Willhoite
3. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
4. The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
5. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
6. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
7. Harry Potter (Series) by J.K. Rowling
8. Forever by Judy Blume
9. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
10. Alice (Series) by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor
11. Heather Has Two Mommies by Leslea Newman
12. My Brother Sam is Dead by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier
13. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
14. The Giver by Lois Lowry
15. It’s Perfectly Normal by Robie Harris
16. Goosebumps (Series) by R.L. Stine
17. A Day No Pigs Would Die by Robert Newton Peck
18. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
19. Sex by Madonna
20. Earth’s Children (Series) by Jean M. Auel
21. The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
22. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
23. Go Ask Alice by Anonymous
24. Fallen Angels by Walter Dean Myers
25. In the Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak
26. The Stupids (Series) by Harry Allard
27. The Witches by Roald Dahl
28. The New Joy of Gay Sex by Charles Silverstein
29. Anastasia Krupnik (Series) by Lois Lowry
30. The Goats by Brock Cole
31. Kaffir Boy by Mark Mathabane
32. Blubber by Judy Blume
33. Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan
34. Halloween ABC by Eve Merriam
35. We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier
36. Final Exit by Derek Humphry
37. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood
38. Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George
39. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
40. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Girls: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Daughters by Lynda Madaras
41. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
42. Beloved by Toni Morrison
43. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
44. The Pigman by Paul Zindel
45. Bumps in the Night by Harry Allard
46. Deenie by Judy Blume
47. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes
48. Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden
49. The Boy Who Lost His Face by Louis Sachar
50. Cross Your Fingers, Spit in Your Hat by Alvin Schwartz
51. A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein
52. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
53. Sleeping Beauty Trilogy by A.N. Roquelaure (Anne Rice)
54. Asking About Sex and Growing Up by Joanna Cole
55. Cujo by Stephen King
56. James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl
57. The Anarchist Cookbook by William Powell
58. Boys and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
59. Ordinary People by Judith Guest
60. American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis
61. What’s Happening to my Body? Book for Boys: A Growing-Up Guide for Parents & Sons by Lynda Madaras
62. Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume
63. Crazy Lady by Jane Conly
64. Athletic Shorts by Chris Crutcher
65. Fade by Robert Cormier
66. Guess What? by Mem Fox
67. The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
68. The Face on the Milk Carton by Caroline Cooney
69. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
70. Lord of the Flies by William Golding
71. Native Son by Richard Wright
72. Women on Top: How Real Life Has Changed Women’s Fantasies by Nancy Friday
73. Curses, Hexes and Spells by Daniel Cohen
74. Jack by A.M. Homes
75. Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo A. Anaya
76. Where Did I Come From? by Peter Mayle
77. Carrie by Stephen King
78. Tiger Eyes by Judy Blume
79. On My Honor by Marion Dane Bauer
80. Arizona Kid by Ron Koertge
81. Family Secrets by Norma Klein
82. Mommy Laid An Egg by Babette Cole
83. The Dead Zone by Stephen King
84. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
85. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
86. Always Running by Luis Rodriguez
87. Private Parts by Howard Stern
88. Where’s Waldo? by Martin Hanford
89. Summer of My German Soldier by Bette Greene
90. Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman
91. Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
92. Running Loose by Chris Crutcher
93. Sex Education by Jenny Davis
94. The Drowning of Stephen Jones by Bette Greene
95. Girls and Sex by Wardell Pomeroy
96. How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell
97. View from the Cherry Tree by Willo Davis Roberts
98. The Headless Cupid by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
99. The Terrorist by Caroline Cooney
100. Jump Ship to Freedom by James Lincoln Collier and Christopher Collier

To read, or not to read?

2005-10-01T00:10:00.000-05:00

If you're reading my blog, you've more than likely seen the site Post Secret at least once. If not, I'll explain it briefly. The idea is that you create a postcard with a secret on it, and mail it in. The Post Secrets are then displayed online in a variety of places.

I admit that I've read them more than once. Sometimes they're fascinating, sometimes they're hilarious - but more often than not, they're scary and frightening and utterly depressing. And that leads me to my current mental predicament.

When I read Post Secrets, I like to think that I am doing the posters a favor. For those who did something "wrong", it is a way for them to forgive themselves, I think. By broadcasting it to the world, maybe the person that they wronged will read it and know that they are sorry. There have been one or two posts that applied to me (as in, the person who was wronged). Sometimes I think that maybe they are intended for me to read them, and it helps alleviate my anger towards past situations.

And yet, so very very many of them are horrid terrible things. Things witnessed, things done, things thought. They aren't simple and they aren't pretty and they aren't easily "solved". And whenever I read them, I begin to lose faith in the world and in humanity.

You see, when it comes down to it, I believe in good. I believe that good and light will triumph over evil and darkness. I believe that hope should reign supreme, even in the most difficult of times. I believe in love and faith and courage. I believe in forgiveness and gratitude. I believe that good things come to all of us, but we have to have our eyes open and our hands unclenched in order to see them and grasp them long enough to appreciate them.

Post Secrets, while intriguing, often calls to light situations that go against everything I believe in. And that is painful for me to deal with.

So maybe, instead of a Post Secrets idea where people tend to write in about negative and hurtful secrets, there needs to be a sight dedicated to the positive, the joyous, the uplifting. I have no idea what it should/would/could be called, but maybe it will be done, or is already being done and I just haven't been introduced to it. In the meantime, pay it forward... the good stuff, that is. :)

Closet Tag!

2005-09-26T12:52:00.000-05:00

I am sad to say, I am the latest victim in this bizarre online game of "Closet Tag". The "perp" in this case, is Mel ,and she is now warned that I intend to throw old incontinent rodents at her if this post doesn't end up at least mildly amusing. I'd never in a million years post about my closet otherwise, but I don't want to be a spoilsport, so here goes...

Three Random Facts About My Closet:
1) There are two entire shelves devoted to gift wrapping supplies/materials/crap. Bows and paper and whozamawhuzzit's that you're supposed to attach to gifts to make them look pretty. They are all remnants of my Martha Stewart phase of life, which I hit at approximately 18 years of age. Pathetic, I know.
2) In addition to shelves for shoes and gift wrapping junk and guns and whatnot, there is also a bookshelf inside my closet. With books on it. I'm not sure WHY it's there, other than I ran out of wallspace in the rest of the house, or when I intend to sit in my closet and read a book. Maybe I'll start putting myself in "Mommy Time Out"s in the closet, just so I can read.
3) My husband has as many pairs of shoes as I do - and he's anal retentive about them being lined up in order. Punk.

Three Items I've Never Worn But Still Haven't Tossed:
1) An ugly-@ss nursing shirt. I keep it because no matter how bad I look, I can always look at it and think, "Well, at least I'm not wearing THAT." and feel better about myself.
2) A ridiculously tight black dress that I bought when I was 19, and never had the guts to wear. I just like to look at it and remember a time when I COULD have worn it if I wanted to.
3) Leopard-print bellbottom spandex pants. I will NEVER EVER wear them, but they were a joke purchase on a trip back to New Orleans with a good friend. And I was the lucky one - she ended up with weird metallic mesh pants that look like they could transmit radio signals to outer space. :oP

Three Items I'll Never Get Rid Of, No Matter How Ugly They Get:
1) The "United States Navy Rescue Swimmer" sweatshirt that supposedly belongs to my husband.
2) My neon orange bellbottoms. They glow in the dark. Should the power ever go out at night, I'll just wrap them around my head in lieu of a headlamp. :oD
3) The green and white bellbottom jumpsuit I inherited from my mom - it was what she was wearing when she and my dad got engaged.

Three Items People Wouldn't Expect To Find In My Closet:
1) The Constitution of the United States. It's on the bookshelf, which is something people probably wouldn't to expect either. Haha.
2) A hoopskirt and other related items.
3) Ice skates. I love to ice skate, even if the closest rink is 20 miles away from me.

Three items that made me go, "Oh Lord, what was I thinking?":
1) The aforementioned neon orange bellbottoms.
2) A red and white checkered dress that looks like Marsha Brady being attacked by a picnic table. I haven't worn it since I was 14 and could get away with stupid outfits like that.
3) Anything with the word "corset" in the description.

Three things that I have a surprising number of:
1) Coats. For a girl who lives in a town with approximately 12 cold days a year, I have a ridiculously large collection of coats. At least 20.
2) Hats. I never wear them, but I like to know that I could if I wanted to.
3) Formal gowns. There was a time when I wanted to be a designer - so I made/designed a different gown for every formal event in high school/college. I don't have the courage to count them all, since I might feel obligated to give some of them away.

Three dominant colors in my wardrobe:
1) Red
2) Black
3) Brown

Three items that never fail to put me in a good mood whenever I wear them:
1) Great fitting jeans
2) My red dress from Express.
3) My character shoes. They look like normal heels, but they're comfortable enough to dance in, jump in, be a moron in, or just act like a normal human being. :) I wore them in my wedding, since I refused to wear uncomfortable shoes.

Three people I will tag:
I can't tag anyone at this moment. Everyone I know has already been tagged. Apparently, I was the last person picked for the team, and there ain't no one left to pick. (sob, sob). Oh well.

On behalf of my city

2005-09-08T12:39:00.000-05:00

**The following letter is not something I can claim as my own words - it was written by my uncle, a native of New Orleans. May you all be as moved as I was and am. ***

Dear Mr. Shafer,

This is in response to the following article:

I am a native of New Orleans, born, raised, and educated all the way through law school. Most of my family is from there or from the surrounding parishes. We've been there since the 1760s. My wife's family is from there. Three of my children were born there.

I know the city, in all its glory and splendor, and all of its apathy and squalor. I attended numerous public schools there, from the very best (Franklin and McMain) to some of the worst (Gregory Jr. High, Kennedy High). I love that place like no other, yet hate the way it has so often been neglected and mistreated by its own residents. Like many young professionals, I left New Orleans to find better pay, better schools, better housing, lower crime. I left the city to its problems.

I say all of this in preface, so that you will know that I have some basis for my opinion regarding your article. I don't condemn you for writing it. Unlike many of my NOLA brethren, I recognize the hard facts of the place, and do not blame others for pointing them out. You have every right to say these things about my city, my homeland.

But I ask you to consider this: why is it that a city that is so beloved by the World, for our culture, our food, our music, our joie de vivre, is so easy to abandon once you've had to look at how things really are? Surely you've visited before. Enjoyed a fine meal at Commander's Palace or Antoine's, perhaps. Maybe gone to Jazz Fest or Mardi Gras. Marveled at how a single place can at the same time be so European, so Caribbean, and so American. You've taken the good, skimmed the cream. Benefited from our largesse of spirit in inviting you there time and again. But I'm willing to bet you never had to look beyond the surface details that we emphasize for you outsiders. Never wondered why the hotels and restaurants can be so cheap compared to other tourist destinations (hint: because nobody doing the grunt work in NOLA's hospitality business makes any money at it). Never thought about why so many people are willing to shuffle for your amusement, doing little dances, playing instruments in the street.

We are your Jamaica, your Cozumel, your Bermuda, right here in America. We are every tourist's playground, where you go to forget your cares. We are where you go when you need things to be easy for a while. We feed you, amuse you, love you, give you the comfort of a warm bed at night and strong coffee in the morning.

Well, now things aren't easy. Things aren't pleasant. There's no shucking and jiving now, because the shuckers and jivers are dead or dying, or displaced. We can't give you the illusion and the pretty show you want now. All we can show you is our need, our desperation. We have been laid waste, torn asunder. And what is your response to this? Evacuate the residents, sure. Give them some water and an MRE. Let them have food stamps.

But abandon their homes. Let the city lie fallow. Turn the shotgun shacks into nothing more than another series of raised crypts. Don't waste the time, the money, or the effort in reclaiming what was theirs. They shouldn't have been there in the first place. No sane person would have built a city there. They're corrupt. The schools are disastrous. Crime is high. WHO NEEDS THEM ANYWAY?

You do.

You always have.

You've needed us when escape from your mundane world was the only thing that would keep you sane and healthy. When you needed to be transported to some otherworldly place where time is slow, meals are savored, music is breath, is life. We have been your spiritual succor for so long, longer than most of the country has existed. Without us, there is no America. The Mississippi river made this country great. We are the Mississippi. Our music, jazz and blues, is the very cornerstone of all that is original in American music. Our cuisine has fed your presidents, your senators, your captains of industry. We are the salt that has given this country flavor. We are the mistress that America cannot admit out loud that it loves.

You need us. To be America, the real America, you need us. To have the culture that you have, we have to have been there from the start.

But now, now that things are hard, you tell yourself it wasn't worth it. It was a fool's venture. A crazed dream in the middle of a godforsaken swamp. You want to return to your gray flannel life, your insurance tables, your accountant's rationality. You want to be calm, and measured, and dispassionate. Naturally, in doing so, you want to leave our city to rot. We are not of your world, do not share your way of doing things.

The very thing you have always loved, our separateness, is now the thing which leads you to cast us aside.

You have every right to feel as you do, to say what you have said. But we are listening. We who carry the legacy of our dead and dying city are watching. We will remember, not just our homeland and the people and places we have lost, but your words, and your deeds.

Did San Francisco deserve to be rebuilt after the Great Earthquake of 1908? Did Chicago deserve rebuilding after the Great Chicago Fire? Did Iowa deserve assistance after the 1993 floods, even though they always knew they were on a 500 year flood plain? Was Atlanta worth saving after Sherman's march? None of these places has given you what we have given you. None of them were forsaken in their hour of need.

We have loved you from the start. And now you leave us to die in a flood that you swear was our own fault. This is the hour of our despair. But it is also the hour of your shame. May it follow you to the end of your days.

-(name withheld)

"The Rainy Day" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

2005-09-03T02:24:00.000-05:00

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the moldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the moldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

*** The current crisis involving Hurricane Katrina made me think of this poem, particularly the last section. The bad days must have their place in our lives, in order for us to fully appreciate the good ones. May those good days come soon..

And it begins...

2005-08-30T16:33:00.000-05:00

When the sun arose this morning, the world had changed for many, myself included. The radio turned on, my brain began to comprehend, and I began the mourning process.

I understand that many lives were lost in this tragedy, and I mourn for them. But on a more personal level, I mourn for the city of my childhood, the land of my ancestors, the home of my family and friends. I mourn for New Orleans. Say what you will about the other places being hit harder, but no other place has as much impact (in my life, at least) as Nouvelle Orleans.

Gone are the majestic oaks that lined St.Charles Avenue. Gone is the antique and rare bookshop I haunted as a teenager. Gone is the home my grandparents have owned since before I was born, the first place I was taken after my birth. The cemetaries I explored as a child are now desecrated swamps, with the remains of tombs and tombstones floating away. The park I used to play in with my sister is now a contaminated lake, unfit for any human life.

Even in the squalor of Bourbon Street, New Orleans has always been a city of magic, mystery, and allure. Maybe it is partially due to its torrid past. Passing through the hands of France, Spain, welcoming the Acadians exiled from Canada, the people combined the influences of everyone, creating their own unmistakeable culture.

The tastes and smells and sights of New Orleans are unmistakeable and irreplaceable. Jackson Square and Cafe du Monde. The St.Charles Cathedral. Bourbon Street and its filthy, yet alluring state. Chicory coffee and beignets at any time of day. The sounds of Creole and Jazz, and the paddleboats on the river. Audubon Zoo. The trolley cars rolling along St.Charles Avenue, decorated by the sunlight filtering through the oak trees that have stood for generations upon generations.

Some of these sights may still be there. But the feel and ambiance of the city will be overshadowed by the sense of loss. Maybe temporarily, maybe forever.

While I rejoice in the fact that so many lives were spared and saved, I mourn the destruction and loss that runs rampant through the city. I mourn the loss of the keystones of my memories.

I mourn for the city of New Orleans.

The habits instilled today

2005-08-29T21:26:00.000-05:00

As a parent, I know that the day will come when my daughter wants nothing to do with me. (Or so she will say.) The things I buy her won't be trendy enough, the clothes I wear won't be cool enough. I won't be able to bake cookies like Becky Lou down the street's mom, who manned the bake sale for the Drama Club and still managed to say out of sight. I will, in short, be an embarassment to my child.

That day will come. And while I dread it, I have a secret plan. Listen up.

By the time my child is 6 or 9 or 13 or 15 or 19, there will be something about me that embarasses her. These things will change as she grows older. I ((GASP)) kiss her goodbye at school. I offer to drive her to school instead of riding the bus with her friends. I take her to buy a training bra. I wait up for her after a date. I kiss her goodbye when I bring her to Freshman Orientation at ND. But by then, I will have brainwashed her but good. ;)

Starting from 6 months (at least), I began to create rituals/habits/routines within our days. Every morning, I sing the same song to her. When we see a butterfly, we sing the same song about butterflies flying. When scary storms strike, we sing the the same song about angels. At night, we brush her hair with 50 strokes, and then my hair with 100 strokes. (And yes, she helps with both.) And when it's time for bed, we sing the same two songs. These are just some of them... the ones I've started now. As she gets older, things will change, and routines will be added and adjusted.

(Looking at them, you probably notice that many of them involve music. I am a firm believer that many people can easily associate a song with a particular action, event, or feeling.) By the time she's old enough to question her mother's "cool-ness", these songs and habits will be an irreversible part of her mental and emotional make-up. They will be the threads that bind us together, even when her words or looks or actions say otherwise.

Every night, she will brush her hair, and I will know. Every time she sees a butterfly, I know that even if she doesn't really sing it, she will remember the song, and somehow think of me. And I will have made myself a part of her day.

Even on the days when she wishes I was more like Becky Lou's mother.

To each (generation) his/her own

2005-08-21T23:35:00.000-05:00

If someone were to ask you what music you listened to as a kid, what would you think of? My mental soundtrack of childhood is as varied and eclectic as my list of "dream jobs". Among the many, I think of: Ella Fitzgerald, Eric Clapton, John Coltrane, Kiri Te Kanawa, New Kids on the Block, Prince, The Mamas and the Pappas, Kathleen Battle, Joan Baez, Billy Holiday, and the London Philharmonic.

Even though I heard her music decades after it was recorded, the music of Joan Baez was a major influence in shaping my ideas and morals. "China" was a key player in molding my opinions of politics and human rights. 90% of the time, I try to avoid politics. I get angry, I get discouraged, and nothing changes. But for now, I have your attention, so bear with me.

One of my biggest issues with our current administration, is that they seem hell-bent on acting as if terrorism is a new thing. As if no other generation has ever before experienced this degree of fear or threat, and they are the only ones who will ever have to (or have ever had to) address it and act against it. I feel that they have a hidden agenda motivating them, all while they use "terrorism" and "a violation of human rights" as the headline rationale/excuse for their aggressive tactics.

Wrong.

Every generation has had it's own event or series of events that were a gross violation of human rights. Their own terrorists. Their own bloodbath and slaughtering of innocents.

The Armenian Genocide in 1915-1917. The Holocaust. The slaughter and exile in Tibet in 1950. The Massacre of Poles in Volhynia by Ukrainian guerrilla groups. The Arab-Isreali conflict. Tian'namen Square protests of 1989. The concentration camps and famine in North Korea. Chechnya. The "stolen generation" between 1900 and 1972 in Australia. Rwandan genocide. Ethnic cleansing and enslavement in Sudan.

The list could go on and on.

So what makes this particular set of events that we are currently experiencing any worse than the others? In a speech at West Point, Bush stated that, "America has no empire to extend or utopia to establish. We wish for others only what we wish for ourselves -- safety from violence, the rewards of liberty, and the hope for a better life." Isn't it interesting how this "active promotion of freedom and democracy" in all regions of the world has only extended to certain countries (Iraq, Iran, Russia, North Korea), but not others (Sudan)?

Promoting freedom and democracy should not be a pick and choose game. If we want it for all, then we fight for all. If we claim to promote it worldwide, then by god, stand up for it worldwide, instead of only fighting in situations which will benefit the United States.

And if you're going to claim that "America has no empire to extend or utopia to establish", then why have so many people in the current administration been involved with the conservative think-tank Project for the New American Century, which supports and advocates the dominance of world affairs by the United States?

There are too many questions here for me to rest easy, knowing that these are the people in charge of "promoting freedom and democracy". KWIM?

Oh, to be a Chicken Farmer

2005-08-19T22:33:00.000-05:00

Recently, the universe conspired to (again) remind me of high school. In the process of (gasp) cleaning my house, I ran across a book titled "I Could Do Anything I Want.... If Only I Knew What". A friend asked me what my "dream job" was. My muse-of-the-day, Kiki, wrote about Thomas the Train in her blog.

What is the connect between these things, you might wonder? Well, they all remind me of this ridiculous test I had to take in high school, called the CAPS, COPS, and COPES Test. Yes, that is all just one test. The idea is that it will assess a student's abilities, interests, and ambitions, and then cross-analyze them all to determine what direction they should take in their career path.

When our results were handed back, I had a very memorable conversation with our resident genius. (Yes, genius. 200+ IQ, 1600 SAT, graduated at 15, etc. etc.) His results indicated that he would be perfectly suited for a career in the math and sciences, particularly business or engineering. No surpise there for any of us. My results, on the other hand, were not as clearly defined. Basically, according to the test, I had the interest and ability to do anything I wanted to.

I was not at all happy about this. In fact, I was down right pissed. I wanted the damn test to tell me to quit school and be a chicken farmer. Or get my diploma, and become a unionized garbage man. Or something. Tell me just one thing to go do. Tell me I'm too dumb to do many of the things I'm interested in, and I would be much happier.

Why? Why am I complaining about this? Because I do not have the ability to choose one thing and stick with it forever. I am always flip-flopping, mentally if not physically. If you ask what my "dream job" is, the answer will be in list format, ranging from medical researcher, to theater stage manager, to Italian-language interpretor, to a kindergarten teacher. And I'll still have left something out that interests me.

So what am I doing with my life? Well, I am proving that the stupid test was probably right. I teach kindergarten, and study Italian, French, German, and Spanish on the side. I hum show tunes in the shower and wonder if I could have actually made a career out of my music, as my teachers once urged me to do. I have rough drafts of plays in my desk, and partially finished portraits in my art pad. I mentally direct music videos, and read medical journals for fun. I am looking into the feasability of becoming a grant writer, and trying to determine what I could do with a Masters degree in Art History. I am raising my child, taking care of my husband, and attending school. I am walking a very fine line between what is and what could be. And I am worrying that when I am old, I will have failed to live in the here and now, opting instead to look over the edge at what could have been but never was.

Maybe that test was right. I could be whatever I wanted to be. And I after seven years, I am learning to embrace that, instead of resent it. I am no longer angry that I was not limited to being a chicken farmer, even if that might have made my life "easier". That is not who I am, nor who I ever was. But neither does it limit or define the person I will become. Because of all the things I could do or be, what I most want to be, is present. Mentally, spiritually, emotionally, physcially present. Embracing myself for the multi-faceted person that I am, and know that no matter what I am doing, I am doing it with my whole heart and self, learning from it, and taking those lessons with me where ever I go.

My reminder (to myself and others), is this: Do not let yourself be defined by what you do. We are more than the sum of our parts, or the individual pieces. What we become is ultimately determined by our attitude as much as it is by our experiences. And while we cannot completely control our experiences, we can shape and adjust our own attitudes to give them the "spin" that we want them to have. Be a "spin doctor" of your own life... go on, give it a whirl. See just how much fun one person can really have. I dare ya...

Begin anew

2005-08-12T00:05:00.000-05:00

If you created a storyboard diagram of your life, what would it look like? Would we see you watching tv for endless hours at a time? Would we see you outside playing with your kids? Would we see you spending hours cleaning a house, only to have it trashed in ten minutes?

Would you be happy with what you see there?

Before I was pregnant, I imagined myself being a bizarre cross between Donna Reed and Ani DiFranco, if you can imagine. The woman with the perfectly coiffed hair, and pristine living environment, shuttling her children to Mamapalooza and the local N.O.W. meetings. With two college-graduate parents (one of whom has a degree in education), the TV would rarely be on, because since we'd rather read or discuss current events. If it were a bottled fragrance, it would be Eau du girl sweat and homemade apple pie. Sounds lovely, doesn't it?

The reality of my life as a mother (thus far), is very, very different. On any given day, my hair may or may not have been thoroughly brushed. A ponytail or a single braid is about as elaborate as it gets. My house is rarely clean, and then only for special occassions. I have developed a quirk of thinking that any horizontal surface needs to be covered and given dimension, achieved only by stacking miscellaneous items upon one another, frequently defying the laws of gravity. I can't spend any time cooking, because my time in the kitchen is often spent removing all traces of dog food or dog water (and placing them on the aforementioned horizontal surfaces), or trying to calm my hysterical child who has become attached to my leg. My microwave does all the fancy cooking. And when it comes to entertainment or free time, I am ashamed to admit that we spend far too much time in front of the television set. If I turn it off, thirty-seven rounds of "Twinkle twinke little star" and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" later, I'm madly flipping through channels, frantically trying to determine whether Judge Judy or Divorce Court is more harmful to my child. I think of "Family Feud" as a vocabulary game, and "Zaboomafoo" is a blessing in disguise. I can sing you the theme song to "The Backyardigans", and can correctly identify each of the Teletubbies 9 out of 10 times.

It is not always like this, but it is definitely more often than I would like. I fear I have become my own worst nightmare.

The good news, is that it's still early. I can confess my parental sins, and repent. Prostrating myself upon the altar of parenthood, I can take the necessary steps to move forward in my parental evolution. But I run out of things to do. I have an educational background intended to prepare me to assist other people's chidren in developing mentally, emotionally, and socially, and yet, I have no idea how to entertain my own 15 month old daughter for an entire day without the aid of a tv or movie.

I am floundering on the shore of motherhood, praying for a life preserver. And while it saddens me to say this, I am also very afraid that the very women I respect and admire so very much, many of them fellow mothers (posse, you know who you are) will read this and cease to have any respect for my parenting abilities. I hope that is not the case...

I believe Nelson Mandela, when he says that "the greatest glory in living lies not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall". I may have fallen, tripping myself in my own tangled web, but I can rise up and begin anew. Tomorrow is a new day, a new hope, and new chance to succeed. I know what I will do with it - what will you?

Giving them up to the unknown

2005-08-10T23:28:00.000-05:00

"..the giving of love is an education in itself."
Eleanor Roosevelt 1884 - 196

I recently found myself flipping through my old high school yearbook (for some reason I can't remember), and came across a message from a friend that read, "Who will be # 10,482?" She was referring to what my mother called my "collection of boys". Remember how in middle/high school, a couple would begin "going out" together? Well, I was a notorious speed dater. My shortest record was 2 hours. It got to the point where there was a betting pool on how long my relationships would last.

Sad? Maybe. I prefer to look at it as a series of tests. I didn't date until I entered high school, and suddenly there was a plethora of options. I would begin a relationship, and end it as soon as I'd decided it was not what I was looking for. I couldn't have verbalized what I was looking for, but I knew when something wasn't it. None of them were what could be described as a "serious relationship", despite rumors to the contrary. All in all, it was a highly entertaining way to spend the high school years.

It wasn't until I entered college that I had my heart broken. I was in a relationship with a wonderful fellow, which I thought was going somewhere, when it ended suddenly. He had met someone else. After locking myself in my room and sobbing until my nose was puffy, my eyes were red, and my vision was blurry, I came to the conclusion that if I truly cared about him, then I would want him to be happy. So I wrote a long letter to him, explaining that because I cared so much, I was willing to toss my hopes for our former relationship aside and move on.Looking back, I wonder at the ease with which I moved on. I wonder if my ability to let go as easily as I did indicates that my commitment to the relationship wasn't as serious as I had thought.

The funny thing, is that as much as I dated, I tended to worry about the men I dated. I worried that in sending them back out into the dating pool and it's inevitable pit of water moccassins, they would get hurt. The fear of the unknown. The "I may not be the best thing for them, but what if they end up with someone worse" feeling. Nevermind that it's no longer a relationship I wanted to be in. Would they find someone else? Would that person make them laugh? Would that person encourage them to be themselves, or would they try to "change" them?

I am now very happily married, but I still have the same feeling - only this time, it's with puppies.

Yes, puppies. We have a small litter of puppies hanging around our house. I know that they will soon be brought to the No-Kill Animal Shelter to be given to good homes, but I worry that the homes they find won't be as good as the one they have here. Nevermind that I can't afford to feed three more grown dogs. Will they be well fed? Will they have another dog to play with? Will they have lots of room to run around?

I keep telling myself - if I truly care about them, I will let them go. They need to find their own place in the world, their own family to love. Giving them up to the unknown is the hardest thing. I know that as a mother I will more than likely experience a very similar feeling as I watch my children grow up. The world can be a scary place, and sending them out into it is even scarier. No longer can I protect them from everything, and filter their experiences. No longer can I shelter them from all evils, and minimize their pain. So I rely on the only thing I can tell myself: let go, and let God.

Let go, and let God.... Let go, and let God.... Let go, and let God....

Faith can be the scariest thing, and simultaneously the most reassuring thing of all.

My Muse, The Tequila Shot

2005-07-29T21:58:00.000-05:00

I will be the first to admit that I have a bizarre perspective sometimes. I fixate on the oddest things: a ray of sunlight hitting a sewer cover, a lock of hair curling behind an ear, the way the salt settles on the rim of a tequila shot. More often than not, these things inspire me to create. Be it a painting, a sketch, or a poem, something comes of these brief glimpses of the world. The problem is, what I produce can frequently lead others into creating a misguided idea of who I am.

Take the tequila shot, for example. I adore the way the salt looks a bit like snow. It reminds me of snowglobes, and happiness... and when I voice this, I sound like a raving drunk. And then, when I go home, I end up imagining what it must be like to find yourself in a bar every night... looking at the same people, telling the same old sob stories, trying to put aside the rest of the world and focus on the drink in hand... And I end up writing this:

Dismantleing

I gaze in empty eyed longing
at my memory of your image
falsified and altered by my imagination.
My thoughts scatter in an attempt
to remain true to your character,
while avoiding the destruction of my memories entirely.

Skirting the shores of the sea of self-pity,
I allow my tormented soul to
drink you into oblivion,
if only for a night.
For tomorrow I will return to myself,
and my memories of you,
and repeat the painful process
of temporary amputation.

And of course, most readers think I'm an alcoholic. Far be it from me to argue, because there are few things worse than an alcoholic in denial (or so I'm told). But then they read a poem inspired by a girl with gorgeous red hair, reminiscent of a Botticelli model, and mistakenly assume I'm gay.

Wrong on both counts. What I am, is an inspired artist. And it is my own belief that one cannot decide whether their art will be happy/sad/hopeful/depressing. Not when they are truly inspired. It is not for me to direct my art to where I think it should go, or what it should become. I am but another tool, driven by the inspiration offered up daily by the world. As DaVinci said, "Where the spirit does not work with the hand there is no art."

I am motivated to create by the spirit - which ultimately means that my work is sporadic, at best. But in the end, I am (more often than not) rather pleased... :)

The Staple Theory of Human Behavior

2005-07-29T21:46:00.000-05:00

As I drive down the road, trying to understand the complex relationship I have with the Financial Aid office at school, I discover that I have inadvertently formed a new theory. I call this theory "The Staple Theory of Human Behavior" (working title, please forgive). My sister thinks I'm on crack, but maybe some of you nameless readers will understand. Here it is...

Human beings are very much like staples. We exist in large groups, until various events separate us, usually under duress. Once on our own, we have a responsibility, a job to do, if you will. However, there is a limit to what we can do on our own. There is a breaking point, which when reached, can bend us out of shape, rendering us useless. There is hope, though. Because the more staples that are used together, the more they can accomplish. Together, a group of staples can hold up something one staple would never dream of supporting on its own (assuming staples dream, of course). They can overlap sections to hold together a ream of paper, as opposed to the measly stack a single staple can hold. Ultimately, the lesson is that when staples are used efficiently and cohesively, they are more powerful and productive than a single staple, or even a group of staples working separately.

We should remember the staple. It has potential to be a powerful symbol within the workplace, reminding us of our humanity, our fragility, and our potential.

Or maybe this is all just the rantings of a woman who has yet to reach her minimum caffeine level for the day....

a + b x c doesn't = crap to me

2005-07-28T12:47:00.000-05:00

I sit here at my desk, trying my damndest to avoid looking at the Probability and Statistics book that sits at the edge of my peripheral vision, like a monster in the closet waiting to attack me. It's only biding its time until I'm at my weakest...

If you don't know, you should be aware that I hate math. Really. Not a little, not sort of. It is a pure, deep, dark well of hatred (maybe combined with a little fear) for most things related to numbers. Or letters that think they're numbers, or vice-versa. (((sigh))) If there's a phobia of all things math that I haven't heard of, I probably have it and just wasn't aware.

For some reason, though, I do not fear geometry. Maybe it's because I like shapes and pictures, but geometry is my friend. Of all the math classes ever taken, I remember Geometry fondly. Part of it may have to do with the fact that I got a 108 in the class. Never before, and never again, have I gotten an A in Math. At least not since 5th grade. The other part may have to do with the fact that it seems applicable to me, as opposed to the utterly uselessness of algebra.

See... someday I may need to know the length of the shadow being created by my ladder leaning against an eight-story building. If the ladder is part of an art instillation, I may need to know how and where the shadow will be in order to create a cohesive piece. Or maybe I just want shade to lay down in, and need to know if the shadow is long enough. Either way, the point is that I see a reason to understanding Geometry. I see no reason for Algebra, other than to make me feel like an ignoramus.

But then again, maybe I just like geometry because I have mad tangram skills. While other people made a flower, I made a picture of a little girl swinging on a swingset.

So you may be better at Algebra, but whose picture will be displayed prominently on the refrigerator, huh, suckas?

Love and Hope and all that accompanies such things

2005-07-21T23:37:00.000-05:00

While I try to avoid politics, the current situation regarding the Supreme Court judges has again made me think about the harsh realities of living in a democracy. My biggest point of contention is with what I call the Legislation of Human Rights. Basically, I'm referring to any legislative acts intended to restrict the personal decisions of the individual. Under this broad description are such issues as gay marriage and abortion rights, among others. And allowing politicians to make decisions about such delicate issues gives me a case of the willies, to put it simply.

Needless to say, abortion and gay marriage are delicate subjects, not usually brought up at the dinner table. Most people feel strongly about them, and have a difficult time tolerating the opposing side's point of view. However, I can sum up the basis of my feelings on both subjects in two words: love and hope. Yes, I sound a bit like Pollyanna, but it's true. Give me a minute to explain.

When it comes to abortion, it is not a choice I would make for myself. I have a daughter and I love her dearly. I cannot imagine making a decision to end what is the beginning of a human life, because I know that I am a part of a family who will love and support me and my children, no matter what. It is the love of my family, and my love for my own child, that makes me so certain that abortion is not an option for me. However - I will not be the one to look in the eyes of a rape victim and tell her that she must carry and give birth to a child who is the product of a hateful act. I will not look into the face of a ten or twelve or fourteen year old girl and tell her that she will forever have to deal with the product of a mistake she made when she was but a child herself. I will not tell a drug addict that it is better for her to carry and give birth to a baby, knowing that in all likelihood she will not be able to avoid taking drugs during the course of her pregnancy. These women, and many others in different situations, deserve hope. They have the right to make a decision about their own lives, their own well-being, and their own happiness. They deserve the right to hope that someday, they won't have to deal with the pain of making such a decision. They deserve to be able to have some hope that their future will be brighter. So while abortion isn't something I can do, it isn't a right I will take away from them.

On the topic of gay marriage, I am a proponent of the idea, hands down. Simply put, I believe that marriage is based on love. I don't care if it's between a man and a woman, two men, two women, whatever. Love has no limits. It cannot be forced or confined. It simply is. And to take away the right of two people to publicly declare and celebrate their love for one another is ridiculous. And to take it a step further, it is a matter of legal rights. Gay and lesbian couples deserve the same legal protections as their heterosexual counterparts. They deserve to say who has the right to inherit their property, act as guardian to their children, or make medical decisions in the event of an accident. And in the event that their marriage isn't any more successful than the gazillion heterosexual unions that dissolve each year, they deserve the legal protections of divorce and alimony and custody and child support, and all that a marriage recognized by the government entails.

Love and hope is what it all boils down to, for me at least. Of course, I am something of a romantic, and have been accused of being in love with love. But if that's the worst that can be said about me - I'd say I'm doing pretty well. :)

Tangible hope

2005-07-21T00:13:00.000-05:00

As the end of summer draws near, my thought turn to the beginning of school. Another year of school, another year to see if there is any hope for the world. I'm not necessarily talking about the students, though. Each year, I manage to forget how some parents and educators can be. I'm not naive - I know that not everyone is happy, cheerful and upbeat all of the time. I will be the first to admit that I'm not. I can be downright negative and bitchy. But I have a much harder time being negative when I'm dealing with children. Particularly on the first few days of school. But maybe my experiences have something to do with it.

A few years ago, I met a lovely girl about my age, who was expecting her first child. At the time, she was 16. Needless to say, it wasn't a planned pregnancy. But despite all the obstacles facing her, she decided to have and keep the baby. When her son was born, she was 17. Still in high school, living with her parents, estranged from the child's father. And yet, she did what she had to do. She handled, at 17, what women twice her age have a hard time handling. She went to school during the day, stayed up with a screaming baby at night. When she nursed him, she also read her homework. There was little time, if any, to relax, and no thanks for any of it. In spite of the fact that she accepted responsibility for her actions and behaved admirably, she was often treated with hostility, criticism, and disgust by others - parents of friends, teachers, etc. At a time when what she most needed was support, she was given the cold shoulder.

Her son is now six years old. He is a bright, happy, healthy little boy. His mother works full time and takes college courses part time. She gets him up and ready for school in the morning and sees him to the bus stop. She gets off work each day in time to greet him when he gets out of school, and takes all school holidays off to spend with him. While there are times when she is as much of a kid as he is, if that's the worst thing that can be said about her parenting skills, she's doing pretty well in my book. And yet, when she brings her son to school, there are times when the teachers refuse to talk to her about how he is doing, and instead address her mother. The school principal ignores her concerns about a teacher's treatment of her child, and tells her that "young mothers" often have children with maturity issues. Other parents tell their children that she can't be the mother, she must be the sister of their classmate. Her battle begins again every year.

When we were sixteen, I had the temerity to ask my mom why other parents wouldn't let their kids hang out with her. My mom, in her wisdom, said that the other parents were concerned about the possibility of what their own kids might do if given the chance. And in their concern, they were forgetting one thing: that babies are always a good thing. Babies don't always come at the best possible time, or when the parent is "ready". But when they do come, they should be welcomed with open arms and hearts, and supported through the rough times and the times of celebration. Which is why we would stand by my friend, and welcome her and her child with gladness and joy.

Almost ten years later, that bit of wisdom is the basis for many of my feelings about all children. Children (and babies, especially) are hope made tangible. They are beings composed entirely of possibility. We can't forsee the future, or know how each child will turn out. So instead, we help them to open their eyes, and hearts, and minds to the wonders of the world. If we encourage them without fail, they can achieve amazing things. And in that, we are blessed.

My friend's life was saved by her child. Had she not had him, she more than likely would have continued on a path of self destruction. He wasn't a planned baby, but his birth set both of them onto a path of new possibilities. And at the end of the day, she goes home to that child, that being of tangible hope, and knows that she is doing all that she can to give him a bright future.

And as this school year begins again, she will hug him, and hold him close, and remind them that this year will be a great year, because they will work together, and try their hardest, and have fun learning. And she will remind him of this whenever things seem hard, or scary, or when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed. We all need encouragement sometimes, but kids need it all the time. So won't you do the same for your kids?

Rejoice... and again I say, rejoice!

2005-07-18T23:01:00.000-05:00

Recently, my husband saved a man's life. Yep, really and truly. And naturally, the man and his family are supremely grateful by his actions. It changed their present and their future, all for the good. The following weekend, my mother went to church, intending to share the good news. Except that the people on one side of her had just lost a family member to liver cancer. And the people on the other side of her had recently lost a family member in a tragic car accident. So she didn't want to "brag" too much, because she worried about it being hard to hear that one person's life was saved, when someone close to you wasn't.

On one hand, I understand her hesitation. However, I worry that maybe the failure to share the good, the hesitancy to rejoice in that which is worth rejoicing, may be part of why so many people seem to be depressed and in despair. What is there to be happy about, when all you hear about are the bad things? The newspapers, the tv, the internet. Open on up, or turn one on, and the first thing you see are reports of death, murder, adultery, or war. Where are the reports of people celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary? On page 20, section F. Where are the reports about lives being saved? Who knows. I can't even find them.

My point is this: share the good. Laugh at the funny. And laugh LOUDLY so the world can hear you. Call someone up and tell them the best thing that's happened to you lately. Make up a new game with your kids called "Good, Better, Best", coming up with something good that happened that day, something even better, and the very best thing about the day. Rejoice in the world, in your family, in your friends. And know that even if today was lousy, the sun will rise again tomorrow and give you a whole new opportunity to smile.