The Constancy of Change

Body love and hate

2012-01-24T15:11:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's because I'm sick of law school or maybe it's because I'm making an effort to do more things for me in order to survive law school, but I'm writing another blog post. Whoa. Slow down, me!

At any rate, I was reading a recent post by Chandelle about dieting, exercise, and body acceptance. I've only met Chandelle a couple of times in real life, but something about her connects with me, and I consider her a dear friend. Go read her post. I'm responding to her challenge.

I've addressed body issues here before. Most recently (almost two years ago now) here. Like most women, I've had a mixture of contempt and love for my body since I was very young. I'm going to give some full disclosures before I get too much further. Aside from the information about my family background at the end of that last post, I weighed 120 lbs. until after I had my second child. At that point, I went up to about 145 lbs. I'm five feet, almost nine inches tall. I wear a size seven. Sometimes a size five. Right now I weigh anywhere from 135 lbs. to 140 lbs. My diet is terrible. I eat lots of processed foods, lots of chocolate, lots of dairy and lots of bread. Some evenings on my way home from school, I'm so tired and hungry that I stop and get fast food rather than try and cook something for dinner.

Up until three days ago (which hardly means I can call it a habit), I almost never exercised. So to make a long story short, I'm tall and relatively thin no matter what I do. It runs in my genes. I sometimes hesitate to talk about my own body issues because I realize that according to today's standards, I have it lucky. I don't garner automatic sneers when I walk down the street. Most people don't feel they're entitled to comment on my body.

As it is, I was embarrassed by my body for a good portion of my adolescent and adult life. My mother played basketball when she was in high school and did aerobics semi-regularly until me and my sister were in our teens. She was always in excellent shape. When I was around 14, she told me I needed to start working out because my butt was saggy. I didn't know this at the time, but no 14 year old who is five foot nine and 120 lbs. has a saggy butt. So of course I believed her. I'm not sure what possessed her to say that, but it stuck with me for the rest of my life. I was embarrassed by my butt. I tried sporadic exercise but never fell into a routine, and it never changed. Even my ex-husband told me that I didn't look good in a bikini because of my butt. So I believed him too. To this day, in spite of the fact that my butt still isn't saggy (it is dimpled though. Two kids'll do that to some women), I'm still incredibly self-conscious about it.

Additionally, now I have a muffin top when I wear jeans. Not the end of the world, I know, but it bothers me. All those thin women on the magazines don't have muffin tops. What's my problem? They also don't have a layer of fat on their abdomens like I do. I suck in a lot. What's wrong with me? I think that's the message that I've taken from America's body culture: "You are thin, but you're still doing it wrong!" I'm not thin enough. I'm not fit enough.

For the last three semesters, I've struggled with anxiety problems (sometimes minor, sometimes major). A good friend who's also been through law school assures me that this is par for the course. But this semester, I've decided that I owe it to myself to do something for me. So I've been walking every day since I got back to school. It's 13 degrees out today, so I'm going to borrow my roommates Dirty Dancing Workout Video for kicks (combine that with my rock-like coordination and it should make for high entertainment. Too bad y'all can't be passersby outside my window) and tomorrow I'll probably try some indoor rock climbing.

As Chandelle mentioned in her post, I'm trying not to get hung up on weight loss or toning as an end result. But there's a little part of me that still secretly hopes that if I keep up the walking (maybe turn it into jogging if I get really motivated later) and the rock climbing (yay for having student membership to the gym!) I'll trim off not pounds so much as the muffin top. And maybe I'll finally have that ass of steel. And maybe my tummy will finally not sag a little bit from the layer of fat on top of it.

In the meantime, I'm going to keep moving to try and keep myself from going crazy under all the stress. Not sure how it will go, but I'm hoping that even if I have that muffin top for the rest of my life, I'll be a less anxious person if I can really be authentic in my efforts to exercise.

Issue Spotting

2011-12-20T17:04:00.000-08:00

So... I want to address a topic that I've never really looked at before. I don't really even know how to start it, so I'll just say: I've been thinking a lot about race. I want to start by saying, this post is sincere. If I say something stupid, call me out. I know I've got a lot to learn.

It all started with the Slut Walks (I'm not gonna link. Y'all know how to use Google, and I'm lazy this evening). My issue, the thing that gets me excited or angry or ready to carry a sign, is women's rights. So when I started reading that some black feminists were criticizing the movement, I was taken aback. It took me a few posts and articles to figure out why the Slut Walks, which seemed like an awesome idea to me, were a potentially bad idea for women of color.

After the Slut Walks, it was the Occupy movement (again. no links. Google it. I'm tired). Feminist sites had already pointed out some of the sexist fumbles women were encountering at the encampments (indeed, fumbles is too nice a word. Rape and sexual assault weren't rampant, but they were happening and some blogs were objectifying female occupiers as well). In addition to the feminist critique was the racist one. Occupy is/was largely white washed. Where were people of color in this movement? Of course they were there, but once again they were largely marginalized.

After Occupy it was an evening with an attorney/writer from one of the Indian reservations here in Montana. He came to our university to speak about why he wrote. And he said he wrote because so many people have this image of Indians as stuck in the late 19th/early 20th century. And that's inaccurate. I spent time after the presentation talking with a classmate who grew up on a reservation in Canada, and we talked about her experience growing up Indian.

After that evening, it was my favorite move Iron Jawed Angels. There's a scene where Alice Paul, a personal heroine of mine, tells Ida Wells, a black activist, that she'll have to agree to march in the back of their suffrage parade with the rest of the black women because the women's movement can't afford to mix issues.

And that brings me to where I am now: realizing that I've been living with blinders on for awhile. My own struggle for visibility and search for my own voice made me sympathetic to issues of race (and sexual orientation, gender identity, etc.), but I didn't really see them as something to spend much time thinking about. But the more I think about it, the more of an issue it's becoming to me. I'm becoming more aware of the general assumption of whiteness that pervades almost every aspect of our culture.

I'm finally internalizing that not only does this assumption pervade mainstream culture, but it adds a layer of invisibility for people of color who don't identify as straight or cis-gender or Christian or any number of other things outside this straight, white, Christian male assumption.

I've come across this quote often: "If you have come here to help me, then you are wasting your time... But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together." --Lila Watson

It's always been something that I've given a passing glance at and thought, "Yeah. Ok. That's nice." But now I'm thinking about it a lot more. There's a lot of injustice in our country right now. There are a lot of groups--ethnic, gender, race, religious--being oppressed. But the more I think about it, the more I realize I've got to broaden my focus. The game is fundamentally skewed. The fact that my classmate and I are both women means it's skewed against us both on certain levels. But the fact that I'm white means it's still skewed more in my favor than in hers.

I guess I'm asking: What do we do? What do I do? Obviously the game needs to change--radically. But what does that mean? This is where I'm hitting a wall. What action do I (we?) take from here? How do we write the contributions of all these invisible groups--and for me recently race has been the one on my mind--back into our everyday understanding? How do I teach my sons about these things? How do I help them notice and respect and learn from the contributions of so many groups are institutionally, systemically shut out?

The Thing about Being a Kid and Being a Mom

2011-10-10T11:07:00.000-07:00

The thing about being a kid and being a mom is they don't always mesh. When children are young, we make every effort we can to instill in them the values we wish we'd had instilled in us. The thing is, children grow up, and if we're lucky, they learn to look critically at the ideas we taught them and decide whether our values need to be their values.

This article on The Daily Mail, by Rebecca Walker, illustrates that point to me. Rebecca is the daughter of feminist/womanist icon, Alice Walker. Read the article for yourself, but Rebecca's argument is that her mother, in an effort to instill her own version of feminism on young Rebecca, ultimately neglected many of Rebecca's needs and refused to recognize Rebecca's own desires and personhood. Rebecca asserts that her radical mother didn't prepare her for the role of motherhood that Rebecca herself craved so desperately. And frankly, I think Rebecca is right. Alice Walker seems like the wrong kind of mother for a woman who wanted so badly to be a more traditional mother.

But what about women for whom the opposite is true? By that of course, I mean what about women like me? My own mother was very traditional. She stayed home, she indoctrinated my sister and I with the idea that a woman's place was in the home. Unfortunately, from a very early age, that was not that kind of person I was. So I could say that my mom's efforts to instill her values in me were ultimately damaging. My mom didn't seem to think doing well in school was that important for me and my sister. She'd never gone to college and was fine. If we wanted to go, that was fine, but ultimately, we should be looking for a man to take care of us and so college was mostly something to do until we met such a man. My mom didn't teach me about being independent and driven and passionate about career goals. Those were things I had to figure out for myself.

I guess what I'm getting around to saying is, for Rebecca Walker, the problem was feminism. For me, the problem was lack of feminism. And I guess that's what I'm getting around to saying. We're still not applying enough imagination when it comes to raising children. We look at them as either a burden and form of servitude or as the ultimate fulfilling object of womanhood. I think both do a disservice to children themselves.

The thing about children is they aren't interested in whether they're fulfilling you or not. They're interested in being loved and respected and acknowledged as individuals. My children are simultaneously one of the biggest points of anxiety for me (in that I'm by no means a traditional mother and feel like traditional motherhood would prevent me from attaining my personal goals) and one of my biggest sources of pride as they grow and become smart, loving and capable individuals.

I guess what I'm saying is, we can only expect so much from our children and, as we get older, we can only expect so much from our parents. My mom would have been a great mom for Rebecca Walker (based only of course, on the beefs she has in this article. Otherwise, I understand this is a gross over-generalization). Alice Walker would have been a kick-ass mom for me. As dearly as I love my children, I had them because I felt like I had to--not because I had always longed for a family. It would have been great to have a mom who told me that I didn't have to have kids. It would have been great to have a mom who enforced independence so entirely. Just as Rebecca didn't feel comfortable disturbing her mother from her writing career, I didn't feel comfortable expressing my career aspirations to my more traditional mother for fear of earning her disapproval.

And so I guess that brings me to my point: We have got to stop telling women that they absolutely should or should not have children; we have got to stop making parenting about shaping children and more about recognizing individual children's propensities and interests; and finally, we have got to make parenting more village oriented--stop expecting so much from one woman.

Making Amends (I hope) or a Public Apology

2010-12-15T13:28:00.000-08:00

I am a proud, arrogant, stubborn person. Especially when I feel threatened. Last night, I went into a rampage on Twitter against my ex-husband and his new wife who were behaving in a way that I felt threatened my relationship with my kids. I called the two of them juvenile, stupid and weak. I roared about getting a lawyer if they thought they could just step in and tell me that I no longer had say over my children's lives. I went on a particularly vicious rampage against the new wife, who frankly has been engaging in some power play with my kids. I refuse to apologize for all the terrible things I said about her except for one. I called her short and fat. And for that, I am deeply sorry. I'm not even so much deeply sorry about how it might affect her feelings should she ever see it. I've tried to maintain compassion for her through these little power battles but since she continues to refuse to talk to me (she's never once talked to me. It's not like I've done or said something up to this point that has made her mad. She just won't talk to me), I've decided to quit seeing her point of view and build her into whatever kind of monster my imagination desires. Suck it, chica.

The reason I'm so sorry for that comment is because it was so entirely uncalled for. I had this brought home to me when one of my dear friends sent me a tweet telling me that as a short and fat person, she was no longer following me on Twitter. I realized at that moment that I've internalized the privilege that comes with being thin. I've internalized the messages that tell me that as a tall, thin person, I'm automatically better than someone with a different body type. For me, my comment about that woman's height and weight are equivalent to racist, sexist or religionist (?) comments about someone's skin color, gender or faith. I recently read this post on The Exponent blog and found myself whining about how hard it was to be thin. After my friend's comment to me last night on Twitter, I find that my whining about my body type makes me no better than the white, Christian male who whines about how discriminated against he is.

And the thing is, I should know better. In theory, I have no use for the current beauty culture and the way it idealizes only one body type. I cheer quietly to myself when I see plus-size or just different sized models in feminist magazines. I was at a friend's house just a few weeks ago getting angry at my friends for putting down fat people and refusing to date them. And then I go off and say something to the effect of someone being inferior to me based on appearance alone. My father is six three and weighs around 170 lbs. My mother was almost my height and was thinner than me for the majority of her life. I came into my body type entirely by chance. I have no right to lord it over others.

This particular friend that I've offended has done countless good to me. She's had me in her home, fed me, given me rides when my car broke down, taken me out of town for fun trips and simply been someone I could rail with on all my little soapbox subjects. And yet I managed to betray her entirely. And not just her, but others of my friends who aren't tall and thin like me but have been just as kind and giving. How did I dismiss their worthiness so off-handedly?

I have no excuse. All I can offer as an apology is that I gained some self-awareness from my friend's comment on Twitter. I won't do it again. This will be something I'll be thinking about for a good while. How do I eradicate the feelings of superiority I didn't even realize I had? How do I internalize the concepts that I argue for outwardly but obviously hadn't accepted inwardly? How do I ever make this up to this friend and any of my other friends who saw that comment and were also hurt by it?

Once again, I'm deeply sorry to any of my readers or friends who saw or were told about my behavior. I love all of you so much. You've all been so kind to me with no expectation of return. I'm going to work to change my views on these things. Allow me now to beg for your forgiveness.

Sexual control, consent, responsibility

2010-12-09T11:54:00.000-08:00

Since I have a contracts final in two days, I'm doing the obviously responsible thing and putting off studying to write a blog post about rape. We'd been talking about rape in my criminal law class even before all the drama about Julian Assange went down. So in a morbidly fortuitous way, I'd already been thinking about what rape means in our culture when he was arrested.

True to my lazy ways, rather than go research rape history, I'm going to outline how I've understood rape and leave that open for criticism in the comments. I'm still learning, so if y'all know something I don't, feel free to point me in the right direction.

From the way I understand it, rape was originally about theft, not sex. If a man forced a woman to have sex with her, that was only a problem if he wasn't married to her. Society saw that sex as a theft from the man that the woman actually belonged to. We didn't always recognize marital rape as a valid crime because rape wasn't about the woman originally. It was about a commodity being stolen. As time progressed and women became more fully human under the law (thank you, feminism!), we finally started seeing rape as a means of control or domination over women. It still wasn't about sex. It was about a man overpowering a woman and making her submit to him. It was about him seeing her body as something that he was entitled to. It was about her not having any sexual autonomy. We're finally getting to a point where we're acknowledging as a society that rape isn't about what a woman is wearing or where she's walking at night. Rape is generally about control--which is why we're also realizing as a society that rape is most common in relationships where the woman knows her attacker. Men use rape or sexual to keep women in a place of submission.

And now here we are at a place in history where women have more sexual autonomy than they've ever had before. Condoms are relatively easily accessible (I know they should be even more so if we're serious about preventing unwanted pregnancy, but that's for another post), birth control, at least for most middle class women, is still relatively accessible and while we have a long way to go on sexual education, enough awareness about disease prevention is arising so that most women and men are talking about these things and deciding what kinds of protection they want to use (hmmm. I'm realizing I could be projecting my own experience on to society at large here. Is that sentence naive?).

Which brings me to what I want to discuss. Again, before the Julian Assange drama, we were talking about rape in my criminal law class. We discussed rape history. We discussed consent. We discussed force as an element of rape and whether it should even have to be an element in rape. Legislatures are finally recognizing that some women don't resist because it would further endanger them. They're also recognizing that sometimes women are "forced" to have sex by more than just brute force. Maybe they're manipulated. Maybe they're shamed. But we're slowly realizing as a society that sex without consent can happen even without being beaten to the ground.

And this is where we get into the gray area. This is where I start getting confused and this is why I'm writing this post. We discussed a hypothetical where a man is potentially convicted of rape because he lied about wearing a condom. The woman had consented to have sex with him as long as he wore a condom. After the sex, she found out he hadn't worn one and so she filed a rape charge. I have to say, this makes me extremely uncomfortable. While I'm not going to say this happens all the time, it does happen that a woman will lie to a man about being on birth control. Has she raped him?

I'm all about a woman having a say in how sex goes down for her (heh). And I've been in situations where I felt like my body was being co-opted for someone else's purposes. I've been made to feel dirty and owned by a sexual partner (not this one, but that's also a post for another day). And it messed with me. It gave me issues about my body, control, trust, sexuality, etc. So I can't imagine the emotional trauma that must come from an actual rape.

And yet... I realize that I also have to take responsibility for my sexuality. I'm a big girl. I've never had sex and been unaware as to whether or not a condom was present. I've had condoms break in the middle of sex before (aren't y'all just thrilled at how much information I give you? Sorry. I feel like we gotta say these things out loud for them to get better). And I would hope that if I told a partner, "hey. the condom broke. you gotta pull out" or if the partner said, "oh, shit. the condom broke" and then i said, "ok. then pull out" he would. But if he didn't... I'm not sure it qualifies as rape. Is it wrong? ABSOLUTELY. You gotta stop when someone says stop. Jerk yourself off. Maybe ask her if she'll do it (and be willing to reciprocate. I mean, really guys? This shit is not all about you). But get out when she says get out.

But is that situation going to cause the same amount of emotional trauma that a more manipulative and/or forceful situation is going to cause a woman? Is a guy who keeps going after the condom breaks working under the same "i'm entitled to her" mentality as an uncle who molests his niece? Or is he like, "oh, shit. but i'm almost done!" I mean, no one likes a buzz kill, cock block, interrupted orgasm, however you want to call it. Are we really going to tell women that they're not responsible at all for checking whether the condom is in place before they actually start having sex? Is that helping women to tell them that they're entitled to sexual autonomy but still not capable of taking some responsibility in what we're trying to reform into a mutual relationship between mature adults?

Lastly, I want to clarify that I know I wasn't in the room for the Assange events. I have no idea what those women went through. My questions stem mainly from the hypothetical we discussed in class that seems to be very similar to the Assange mess. I'm also not trying to blame those women for anything. They're certainly entitled to have sex with whomever they want and to insist on condom use. But my questions above are sincere. I really want to understand this issue more. I want an honest dialogue (seriously, chrome? we're not spelling that with "ue" on the end anymore. sigh). So please, discuss.

UPDATED: Just wanted to throw in this delightful video on consent :) You know, lighten things up a bit.

Subjective Experience, Dogma and Community

2010-05-11T19:28:00.000-07:00

As my four, maybe six, readers know, I attend the Unitarian Universalist church here in Idaho Falls. We're an eclectic group. Some of us are Budhist, some are pantheistic, some are pagan, some worship Norse gods and goddesses, some are agnostic, some are atheist (me, me, me!), some are new agey, and some I haven't talked to or figured out yet. But as I've said before, we disagree about where we come from, what we're doing here on earth, and where we'll go after we die. Put us in a room together to vote on anything from our seven principles to whether UUs should adopt a stance on war and peace, and we'll argue, cajole, debate, and get loud. But again, as I've mentioned in previous posts, we manage to make a loving, committed community in spite of these differences. What we generally have in common is our desire for social justice, peace, egalitarianism and deeper understanding of different circumstances. What's even more amazing is we manage to get things done both in our congregation and in the community at large.

What each of us brings to the community is our own subjective experience. Some of us have felt things or seen things or heard things that make us feel like there is some kind of higher power out there watching us. Some of us have never had any kind of experience like that. Some of us may have had these types of experiences, but written them off as emotional responses to beauty, fear, guilt, whatever. But we respect each others' subjective experiences. While most UUs hold very few things sacred, our subjective experiences are one of the things we do.

We also use different language to describe these experiences. Some people use words like revelation, blessings or spirit. Some use words like dream, gifts or connection. But each of us understands that these experiences, regardless of how biological or not they are, are meaningful to us. These experiences help us cope with the difficult elements of life. These experiences give us strength and healing. And for those of us who don't have these types of experiences, perhaps we scratch our head, but accept that the people we're talking with are sincere in their belief and entirely accepting of our own lack of belief.

And this brings me to dogma. I'm not writing this post to convince everyone to become UU. I'm done being a missionary. I will proselytize no more forever. I'm simply using my UU congregation as a microcosm to look at a broader issue I've seen in my larger community lately. Some of my close friends (one of whom even attends the UU congregation here on occasion) have been speaking out against religion and religious language in all its forms. They've been calling out religious liberals for their "irrational langauge," their "adherence to superstition", or their belief in "magic". Just today I was using the phrase, "kool-aide drinkers" in reference to people who accepted their respective faith without question. So I understand the ease of reductive language. But in the case of larger societal discourse, I find it unhelpful. I worry that we atheists are beginning to formulate our own dogma and display intollerance similar to the kind we criticize so vehemently in some religious sects.

I'm not saying that blind adherence to any ideal is a good thing. I'll continue to criticize religious sects or leaders who I feel are harming their members or certain groups of society. I'm not calling for a cessation in criticism, only for an examination of our own prejudices. I know many faithful, believing Christians and hippie, happy pagans who share my ideals of equality for women, the right to choose, equality for gay and lesbian citizens and tolerance and acceptance of beliefs that are different from but do not threaten their own or others' ways of life.

The source for their commitment to equality is their understanding of Jesus' teachings or their understanding of their place in nature just as the source for my commitment to equality is the realization that this life is all I've got and so I should try to make the most of it for myself and others. But ultimately, we're working toward the same goals. Why would I want to alienate myself from these kind, compassionate and motivated people simply because they hold a belief that I find baseless? Is their belief threatening me? No. Are they insistent that I accept their belief? No.

I understand that religion can be harmful. Boy do I understand. The religion of my childhood and adolescence caused me so much pain as I got older and realized that my goals in life conflicted with those prescribed for me by that religion. I'll be honest and say that I feel the higher-ups in many religions do take pains to control their membership with fear and guilt. But I'll also acknowledge that this is not everyone's experience of religion. For some, religion is nothing but a net positive. Religion has spoken to them and prodded them along the path of sharing and love.

So I guess what I'm arguing for is less dogma from either side. Call for questioning of assumptions. Call for questioning of authority. But don't stomp on someone's motivation for causes that you feel strongly about. Where religious liberals are concerned, we must search for common ground rather than getting hung up on differences in motivation. Even if everyone became Christian or pagan or atheistic, we'd still disagree about things. Why not work more on practicing a society who accepts and thrives on those differences (again, as long as those differences aren't harming people or groups) rather than one that insists on such strict conformity?

On Grace

2010-04-02T15:12:00.000-07:00

Amazing Grace is probably my most favorite song of all time. I have lots of favorite songs that are favorites for different reasons, but I always come back to Amazing Grace when I need comfort or need to unwind from stressful situations. Recently, this song has become something of a meditation for me that I will play and sing over and over again when I need to clear my mind.

I've often wondered about my fascination with this song. It's one of the few gospel songs I've maintained a liking for since leaving Christianity behind. Ironically, it was never in Mormon hymnbooks when I was growing up, and while this is somewhat beside the point, I remember feeling somewhat guilty that I liked a non-approved hymn so thoroughly. At any rate, my love for the hymn now stems from a combination of what I feel is a beautiful, versatile melody and from my need to internalize the song in ways that are meaningful to me even in my atheism.

I was discussing atheist spirituality with a friend about a month ago. As usual, he was much more on the ball about writing a post, but finally, here is my own addition to the discussion, albeit slightly more focused on one concept.

I hesitate to explain too much of my former, Mormon views about grace, mostly because I don't want to bog down this post. But I feel a little background would be helpful. Mormons believe grace will save you after you have tried your hardest to be a righteous person and, according to some interpretations I've heard, gone through the temple and received your endowment. As a Mormon, I was always led to believe that other brands of Christianity depended too much on grace for salvation. I was under the impression that other Christians could be horrible people if they wanted to but because of their concept of grace could still receive salvation if they had had their own revelatory experience of being saved or born again. Shortly before my exit from Mormonism, I learned about the concept of grace being something like a boost to help you to God since as a mortal, your efforts to be perfect would ultimately fall short.

It's that last definition that I've co-opted and tinkered with for my own use in how I try to deal with my fellow humans. The guiding principle of my life right now is accepting the ambiguity that is life. We humans are never going to get everything right. How many of us have done something with the best of intentions, only to watch ourselves cause a loved one pain when we were sure we'd be helping them? One could argue for the goodness of our action from our intentions or for the inadequacy of our action from the pain it caused our loved one. But really, the situation is ambiguous. You can't really pin down how bad or good it was. All you're left with is the reality of the pain caused and the regret at having failed someone. For me, this is where grace comes in.

Grace as I currently define it is my own acknowledgment, acceptance of and forgiveness for mine and others' shortcomings. It's that boost I offer to myself and others when I know the disappointment we've caused each other was unintentional.

This definition fits in making Amazing Grace a good metaphor for my life. The thought that my loved ones will forgive me for my foibles, "how sweet the sound." And while I have no hope of an afterlife, I do hope that this concept of grace will save me in a more practical way by allowing me to see the good intentions of others.

Even the line, "twas Grace that taught my heart to fear," holds some truth for me in that leaving Christianity and Mormonism left me painfully aware of my shortcomings and the relative fruitlessness of my efforts. But this definition gives me hope that if I extend grace to others, I'll be the recipient of their own grace when I fall short of their expectations.

I don't really know what questions I have for this post. I'm interested in hearing your own thoughts about spirituality or the lack there of, in criticisms you might have of my definition/use or of your own thoughts on the subject. Please discuss :)

Getting Rich

2010-01-31T16:36:00.000-08:00

I want more money. I realize that's rather an ungrateful thing to say given that my income still puts me in the top seven percent of wage earners world wide. But it's true none the less. I want more money. Given my current situation, I'm always teetering on the edge of financial disaster. I mean, I pay my rent, my childcare, my bills, every month. I feed my kids, though perhaps not as healthily as I'd like to. Thankfully they get most of their meals at daycare each day, and they're able to provide a more balanced diet than I am. I'm able to get a few extras here and there. I can buy an album of music I like from time to time. Every once in awhile I'm able to buy myself or my kids some new clothes or shoes. But if one of us gets seriously hurt or ill, or in the case of my youngest, needs more medication for existing conditions, then I'm pretty much screwed.

But that's not the only reason I want more money. I feel powerless. I admit that ideally, there are some things I'd like to be able to buy without hesitation: music, art from friends, and admittedly new clothes from time to time (although I'm really not that big a clothes horse. I keep all the clothes I own in my closet, and it's not even crowded). I don't need much more out of life than these things. I don't mind small houses; I eventually hope to live and work somewhere where I won't need a car for daily transportation. I don't want to get rich so I can accumulate more stuff (except for where the music, art etc. comes in). But I do want more money so that I have more freedom and don't spend a lot of my time worrying about what happens if something disastrous happens.

Perhaps the last reason I want more money is that I'm tired of not being able to help out. When the earthquake struck Haiti, when the hurricane struck New Orleans, when the tsunami hit India, I wasn't able to give really anything to the organizations over there providing aide. I did contribute a little. Don't get me wrong, I realize that if I can afford a new album here or there I can also afford to give some money to charity. And I try to make sacrifices in my personal wants when I feel like someone else needs my money more immediately. But I'd like to do both some day. I'd like to be able to surround myself with the beautiful things in life as well as help others have those things.

Those of you who know me in real life know that I'm making a move toward hopefully improving my financial situation (I have to be vague as I don't want this getting to my employers yet). But am I being naive? Does more earning ability automatically make one greedy? Am I going to forget this desire to live small and simply and compassionately when I'm bringing home a bigger pay check? Also, for my readers who may still be working toward being settled in, what do you hope for once you feel like you've reached a point of financial stability? For those of you who feel relatively well established, what do you enjoy in life? What are your concerns now?

On Hair. TMI ALERT!

2010-01-20T21:42:00.000-08:00

I want to talk about hair. The hair on my head, the hair under my arms, the hair on my legs and the hair "down there" (read that phrase in a Vogue magazine one time and liked it. Dunno why).

I'm recently learning to love the hair on my head. As you can tell from my profile pic, I'm a brunette. What may not be quite as obvious, is that it's also curly. Not kinky curly, not wavy, but an odd mixture of curls and waves that have a mind of their own. Now, the color of my hair has never bothered me. I'm not one to get highlights or colors put in my hair. I've done it before and liked it, but it seems impractical given my budget and time constraints. But as I said, recently I've learned how to take care of my hair and what products keep it in some semblance of order (or artful disorder, as the case may be). So it's longer than it's been in years, and I'm generally satisfied with how it looks.

I'm really not sure what the hair under my arms looks like. I started shaving it when I was about 14 (I was a late bloomer. I'm sure it's earlier for a lot of women). So all I know about it is that it's dark and gets stubbly after a couple of days without meeting my razor. However, since becoming familiar with Amanda "Fucking" Palmer and her brazen ways, I'm considering changing that. It's not that I mind shaving. Many, many men shave their faces or at least parts of their faces everyday. This isn't necessarily an issue I'm spending a lot of feminist energy on. But I'm tired of shaving under my arms. I'm not entirely certain whether I will or not, but watching a woman like AFP be successful and confident and beautiful all the while having hairy pits... Well, why not? It'd save me that much more time in the mornings (I am not a morning person. I get up in *just* enough time to shower and get my ass out the door).

Now for the hair on my legs. Honestly? I like my legs to be bald. I like the way they feel when I rub them up against each other and they're all smooth. And I like how even cotton sheets feel like satin after I've shaved. So chances are, I'm gonna keep shaving them. I didn't start shaving them til I was in my mid teens. I simply didn't want to mess with it. But if I recall correctly, my leg hair, while dark, is rather fine. So I think I could probably go without shaving them. But I'm not gonna. 'Cause I like it :)

While I like my legs to be bald, I do not like bald pussy. These words by Eve Ensler (in the first chapter of her Vagina Monologues) were incredibly comforting to me, "You have to love hair in order to love the vagina. You can't pick the parts you want." And yet, most underclothing and bathing suit styles nowadays insist that women should be completely bald, except for their heads. Well, sorry. I ain't buyin' it. I mean, I do buy bathing suits and panties. But I don't buy the idea that I should have to be bald. Not down there. However, as I said earlier, I haven't been expending a lot of feminist energy on this. I'll be quite frank, I do some maintenance down there. I mean, folks trim and shave the hair on their heads and faces (or legs and armpits). So I don't see it as being far fetched to do the same to pubic hair. But I refuse to shave it or wax it into non-existence.

Ultimately what I'm saying is that from here on out, my hair will be about me. About what I'm comfortable with, enjoy etc. I'm tired of it being about a larger cultural beauty standard. AFP tweeted this today, "hopefully ... we'll change the cultural beauty & shaving standard this year." And that's what I hope for as well. I have enough things to worry about. I'm tired of this being one of them.

How about my few readers (bless your enduring, "omg, here Lessie goes again, and we're reading anyway" hearts)? How do you all feel about your hair? All of it? Do you like your hair long? Short? Do you like smooth legs or a more natural look? Are you a wild and bushy type down there? Or do you like a hairless look (cause seriously, I really don't care either way)? Do any of these things bother you? Worry you? I wanna hear.

Sorting Memories

2010-01-02T16:15:00.000-08:00

So my ex moved to a new apartment this weekend and found a few boxes of my things that had inadvertently gone to him when we split. Living in a shoebox as I do, I've been going through the boxes all day long so I can get them out of my livingroom as quickly as possible. It's been a trying day.

At this point in my life, I still see my marriage as something that I failed miserably at. I went through the boxes and found receipts and pamphlets from the several get-rich-quick and personal business opportunities that A and I invested in. We literally dumped thousands of dollars on Mary Kay cosmetics, ACN phone company, real estate investment companies and financial advisers. I winced each time I pulled out an item we had put so much hope and expectancy into and that had ultimately only caused us to lose more money. I'm not saying these businesses have never been successful for some, but my ex and I had to learn the hard way at least three different times to figure out that we're just not good at sales. What's worse, each of these ventures caused all kinds of friction in our marriage as we would blame the other one for wasting so much money and time on something that we knew they weren't going to succeed at.

Other boxes are full of cards and letters. Some of them from well-wishers when we got married, some of them to and from each other when we were dating or first married. Some of them from my mom. But most all of them painful reminders of a me that I don't really even remember. I look back on the time that those letters recall as one of doubt and fear. I don't remember the happy, love-smitten, spiritual giant that they describe. It's kept me wondering all day which was more authentic, the person all those cards and letters are talking to or the person that I remember?

Still other boxes are full of baby blankets that people made for our oldest son when he was born. I assume I received these simply because my ex didn't want to have to store them anymore. Still, they bring back ambivalent times. The months leading up to, during and after T's birth are some of the most painful and dark in my recent memory. They exposed a side of my ex that I hadn't known existed up to that point. The happy puppies and teddy bears on the blue and yellow backgrounds just seem flat and burdensome now.

So I guess ultimately what I'm asking is, what do I do with all this stuff? I have such limited space. My little apartment is already bursting at the seams with papers and pictures that the boys bring home from school and daycare. There's not a lot of room for much more. But at the same time, I'm reluctant to get rid of everything in those boxes. As painful as the memories are, they were a real part of my life, and I feel a need to hang on to some of it. Suggestions for sorting through all this mess would be great. How do you decide which memories to keep and which ones to toss?

If Only It Were Just Blindness

2009-10-11T17:40:00.000-07:00

So a friend sent me a message on facebook today. He told me he'd seen some special on PBS about this new technique that allows some blind people to see, at least on a minimal level. While I'm sure this friend meant well, as Gareth gets older, I worry less about his vision and more about the other medical conditions that he was born with. Why isn't everyone concerned about fixing those?

Many blind children also have either debilitating or potentially debilitating diseases that accompany their blindness. With Gareth, it's SOD. Missing a septum pallucidum isn't a big deal. Having an under-developed pituitary gland is. It puts him at higher risk for diseases like diabetes, could potentially stunt his reproductive health and will almost certainly affect his ability to grow normally. From what I understand, there could also be potential cognitive issues that arise if he doesn't receive treatment. Maybe I'm insensitive, but doesn't blindness pale in comparison to these other issues?

But ironically enough, blindness is the "visible" part of his disease. It's the part that everyone else can see when they meet Gareth. He still determinedly rocks his head back and forth. He still walks into table edges if you don't warn him in time. He stumbles over toys in front of him. Daycare workers, family members and your average Jane on the street can see these symptoms. And they think they can potentially relate to them as well. They think, "Gee. That would suck to live in the dark all the time," or "oh, the poor blind child. I bet he's gonna be another Stevie Wonder when he grows up. I'll give him free music lessons. To hell with his sighted sibling." And so they spend all their pity and condescension on fixing that.

But they don't see the cysts in his brain. They don't see his almost non-existent pituitary gland. They don't see him two years down the road when he's receiving hormone shots everyday of his life until he hits a potentially induced puberty. And frankly, next to those worries, I'm not so much worried about the fact that he can't see. That's normal for Gareth. As far as he's concerned, blindness is business as usual. Not that there won't be the occasional insensitive playground bully. Not that he won't face some discrimination. I do realize that it's going to be something he'll have to deal with. But being unhealthy isn't normal for anyone. When your body starts to rebel against what you think it ought to do, you're going to notice--regardless of whether you can see or not.

And who are we kidding? The diseases that accompany most children's blindness are what's going to cause their families the most worry financially as well. Luckily most of us are covered by some kind of state program or other. But we all know that given a sudden rise in income, or an improvement in functionality, our children could lose that coverage and then who's going to pay for that? I admit this keeps me up some nights.

But again, these are the parts of our children's conditions that people don't see. And so they don't send us news about stem-cell research regarding gland re-building, or fighting blood related or auto-immune disorders. We get access to that information through our service coordinators, doctors, etc. But for me at least, it sometimes gets irritating to have family members and friends send me stuff regarding only the blindness, wanting to fix my poor broken child who, if they really took a look, is actually a pretty normal kid overall, but who will also face some serious health challenges as he ages.

Lastly, I know these people mean well. But seriously, folks (and I'm talking more generally. Not to the people who read here. Most of you have been incredibly sensitive in real life), don't be afraid to ask me questions. Don't make assumptions.

Cross-posted.

Sex. You Know You Want It ;)

2009-08-07T16:41:00.000-07:00

I can honestly say that there was a point in my life when I wasn't so sure I did. I was a good girl. I waited to have sex until I was married. I went into it completely blind. I had the basic mechanics figured out in my brain, but absolutely no nuance or idea about how my own body worked. My first time was awful. It hurt. I was scared. And when I asked for a break the next morning, I was guilted into giving in and having sex again. And it hurt. Again. And I was scared. Again. That set the pattern for my married sex life. He asked. I looked for excuses to avoid it. He guilted me. I gave in.

Thankfully, I finally discovered orgasms, and I learned to enjoy sex once I was guilted into it. But I can honestly say that there was only a brief period in my married sex life where I actually craved sex. And you guessed it, that was the period in which he wasn't that interested. And while we're at it, he also happened to most enjoy the sex positions that hurt me the most. Had I craved sex before I was married? Yep. You betcha. But it's funny what fear and guilt can do to a sex drive.

So when I left my ex, I really didn't expect sex to be something I'd want. I was petrified to have sex again. I was afraid of it being another control battle. Of not being able to say no without lots of pouting and accusations.

I was pleasantly surprised. It turns out, I did still have a sex drive. But what to do with it? I sure as hell wasn't going back to my ex. The thought of having sex with him still weirds me out (even though I admittedly still care for him in other ways). So for awhile, I just took matters into my own hands. And while we know this works, it's hardly ideal. But I also wasn't willing to go out and sleep with whoever. I had had such a bad experience with sex the first time around that I figured it was probably a bad idea to find some dude off the street and fuck him. Who knows what kind of psycho I might have ended up in bed with?

Fast forward to my current sexual partner (who wants to remain anonymous on the internets, so no names). Because of his wish for anonymity, I'm going to try to explain this situation without giving details about how/where we met. Suffice it to say we met in a safe social situation. I wasn't really looking for anyone at the time. So to hear him tell it, he had to work hard to get my attention. But he eventually succeeded. We started talking a lot, going out for lunch, watching movies together. And yet, I was still scared. I wanted sex, but not badly enough to have another bad experience. And I certainly didn't want to get into another committed relationship.

Did I mention we talked a lot? We did. And over the course of a few months, we talked about sex, relationships, relationships gone bad (turns out we'd both had one) and what we wanted from each other. It turns out neither of us wanted to settle down. In fact, both of us are fiercely terrified of it. He doesn't want to be in Idaho Falls forever, and I just don't want to feel tied down and owned like I did in my marriage. So we reached an agreement. No expectations. Every day we spent together would be a mutual choice. If the other one needed a break for any reason, we would know that it wasn't a comment on our adequacy. We would not involve my children.

And even still, jaded me wasn't quite ready to have sex. Even though my body was. Finally, slowly, I began to trust this guy. I knew he wasn't a permanent fixture, but I knew that for the time being, he was a sincere fixture. He wasn't going to be dishonest with me. He wasn't going to pressure me (cause he still hadn't up to this point). We were getting physical, but he was reading my signals and backing off when I wanted him to. Finally, I gave the go ahead. But not until I was ready. And you know what? It turns out that some guys will stop when you tell them to. But that's only happened a couple times ;-) Because guess what, I haven't wanted to stop. I actually enjoy sex even before I start now. I want it now. It's fun now.

So now that you know more about me than you EVER WANTED TO, let me get to my point. Marriage isn't the only way to express our sexuality. In some cases, it's not even the ideal way. Not all of us fit into the category of people who want nothing more out of life than to get married and settle down. Some of us value our independence. Some of us don't feel that a marriage certificate changes our decades long commitment. Some of us aren't interested in decades long commitments but are interested in enjoying partners for the moment and then moving on when one or the other partner's needs change, some of us may be okay with open relationships, and some of us may have different ideas about how our relationships will work. But as long as those ideas are fleshed out openly, honestly and entered into consensually, they're all viable.

And lastly, let me say this. I'm not expecting for this current relationship to end painlessly. I'm not in love with this guy. But I do care about him. He has become a very good friend. And when he goes, I'll be sad. But I know from experience now that I'll move on. That there will be other good guys and maybe eventually a good guy that I'll decide is worth keeping. In the mean time, I know now what I should be able to expect from a sexual relationship. Indeed, from a relationship period--respect and honesty.

The Real Issue Behind Global Warming

2009-07-13T16:26:00.000-07:00

So let's talk about global warming. I live in one of the most conservative areas in the country. I get a lot of letters to the editor, some from scientists even, talking about what a scam or hoax global warming is. They point out, correctly as far as I can tell, that our planet has always gone through warming and cooling periods. And I agree with them. However they also go so far as to say that the extreme amounts of C02 that we're putting in the atmosphere aren't really contributing to the latest alarming finds in polar icecap melting, extreme climate conditions and rising natural disaster rates (and you know you've all met, hell maybe even been one of, those lovely people who are just sure these are signs of the times and that the end is nigh). And you know I'm not a scientist. I trust the scientific sources who have told me that we're doing some severe harm to our planet, but I admit that if presented with raw data, I wouldn't know what to do with them.

But to me, these scientists and lay people decrying global warming are missing the point. They are missing the point entirely. This planet will survive whatever we throw at it. We may not, and the polar bears may not, but the planet will. But even this is beside the point. The real point is that global warming is a humanitarian issue far more than it is a planet issue. Regardless of how our carbon footprints are affecting the planet, our blatant consumerism is affecting our ability to sustain ourselves on this planet. There are just too damn many of us.

"Wait! Wait!" say the traditional family values folks among us. "America's birthrate, hell the birthrate of quite a few developed nations is in decline! It's those heathen third world countries who are making too many humans!"

This is true. Third world countries do in general have a higher birth rate than developed countries. But I'll be damned if some woman and her seven children living on a dollar a day consume nearly as much as just me and my two kids living on nearly sixty times that a day. You can bet that in clothing, feeding and transporting my kids that I'm consuming way more than my share of the resources. In fact, if I'm honest with myself, I'm probably able to consume this many resources because this woman and her seven children are working on a plantation of some sort, or a brick molding pit or maybe even a clothing factory producing, harvesting or mining the everyday "necessities" that I feel so entitled too.

The reason we need to cut back on our consumption, the reason we need to downsize our lives, is because we are stepping on other people's backs to be here. We are maxing out our planet's ability to support our lifestyle. There are only so many arable acres, and every time a new subdivision goes in, we're limiting our ability to make that land agriculturally useful in the near future. Every time we slash and burn a section of rain forest to grow corn or soybeans, we're cutting out vital ecosystems that do their part to support local climates and maintain those areas' abilities to feed themselves. And every time a privileged First Worlder (myself included, although I made the decision to have kids before I was aware of this) makes the decision to have another child, we're depriving dozens more already living people of the real time stability needed to have even one third of the "necessities" that we take for granted.

So don't talk to me about the "science" that contradicts actual climate change. Tell me how it is you're looking yourself in the mirror knowing that everything you use today probably came off the back of someone working dawn til dusk and getting paid a minuscule wage just so you could have the latest in fashionable clothes, cars or even breakfast cereal.

(And just so we're clear, I'm the uber-hypocrite and actually don't spend a lot of time looking myself in the eye in the mirror, because I'm so ashamed of my apparent unwillingness to change my lifestyle)

More Parenting Anxiety

2009-05-14T16:00:00.000-07:00

Don't know how many of you knew this, but I also blog here. But I blog there even less than I blog here :P But anyway, that's my most recent post over there.

BEFORE You Friend Me on Facebook

2009-05-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

This is mainly for those of my LDS friends who find me on Facebook. Consider this my full disclosure.

I am apostate. I am an atheist. I am pretty liberal in my political views. I use lots of obscenities and blasphemies in my day to day language, and they come up from time to time in my status updates. I drink alcohol, coffee and tea (but rarely all of them at once ;-P). I watch rated R movies. I disagree with a lot that the LDS Church does, and from time to time, that will also make it into my status updates. I have left my husband. I work outside the home.

I operate on a basic premise as far as status updates and comments go. We are all entitled to our own opinion. I personally am not interested in antagonizing anyone. Thus if I see a post on your wall that I disagree with, I will simply shake my head to myself and let it lie. I expect the same courtesy. If you do choose to argue/disagree, please send me a personal message. While I'm not inclined to argue, I'm certainly not afraid to defend my position.

I am aware of the implications of my behavior from the LDS point of view. I accept full responsibility for my lost and fallen state. Let me assure you that I'm happy; I'm healthy; and I'm sane (heh. I realize this has always been debatable, even before I left the church). I am a human being, not a missionary opportunity.

Lastly, if you friend me, I'm sure I'll be thrilled. I enjoy hearing from the people I grew up with and spent time with. I like hearing about people's high moments and being there for them when they're having a rough time. I'll make no claims about whether I'm a good person or a bad person. All I'll claim is that I'm doing the best with what I've got. Be well, mes amis.

Why an Atheist had to Re-shape God(dess)

2009-04-17T16:02:00.000-07:00

As you all know, I attend the Unitarian Universalist Church. Two of the women in our local congregation are leading a class called "Cakes for the Queen of Heaven", based on this curriculum. While very few readers new me as a child, those who did know that I was fascinated with ancient Greek, Roman, Norse and Egyptian (to name a few) mythologies. So even though I wasn't interested in finding another deity to worship, I was drawn to the group because I wanted to learn more about goddesses in particular.

The first couple of sessions I attended were a little more theist-centered than I was comfortable with. I almost decided not to keep going. But the women leading the discussions stressed to us that they wanted to make our group into its own little community where we could rely on each other. So I stuck out the first five sessions. I'm glad I did. I'm now eagerly attending the next six sessions.

The websites I linked to should give you an idea of what ground the sessions cover. What I want to go into here is how empowering it has been for me to re-create the god I don't believe in as female. When you're raised LDS (my god, that's two posts in a row in which I've dealt with Mormonism), you're taught that Adam and Eve were the first people on the planet and that they worshiped Jesus Christ and his Father. So the concept that other mythologies legitimately predated Christianity was a foreign one for most of us.

Mormon teachings also had the potential for there to be goddesses, but it was never fleshed out, and we were discouraged from searching out this (these) woman (women). We were told that our Heavenly Mother was too sacred, that God was protecting her from blasphemy by not revealing her to us. As I learned more about feminist theory, this idea began to rankle me. Who was God to tell his wife that she couldn't reveal herself to her children and interact with us in ways similar to him?

Mormonism was full of stories about men. It was a boys game. It revolved around a male savior sent by a male god to save men. Women were exalted for bearing more men. Or we were put on a pedestal and told that we were too special and busy with the kids to bother ourselves with any administrative duties (the Relief Society used to be under the sole control of the women called to lead it. Then the men decided they needed to oversee even that. *coughcontrolfreakscough*).

Learning about the history of goddess worship allowed me to rebuild my spiritual history. There were stories about female deities who loved their children, who interacted with them, who guided them. I now have stories I can draw from where women were the heroines. Where we existed for our own sake and not the ends of the patriarchy.

Perhaps the single most important thing this class did was help me let go of some of my remaining reticence about my personal space and ambition. I've always been pretty laid back. But I had taken that to an unhealthy level when I was a member of the church. I didn't know how to say, "no", or "I have the right to goals and ambition as much as you do," or "I'm glad you appreciate my physical appearance, but I'm much more than that." While I had realized these things in theory after leaving the church, having this history of strong women/deities to build off of finally enabled me to put these things into practice. I'm more assertive now and more ambitious.

So I'm still just as much a heathen atheist as I was before attending these discussions, but I'm a stronger woman for it.

Descending from My Pedestal

2009-03-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

G and I were talking awhile back and discussing some of the issues we'd dealt with since leaving Mormonism. I don't go into my issues with Mormonism a lot here. This is largely because while things about the church piss me off, giving myself permission to leave it banished most of the cognitive dissonance that was making life so difficult right there toward the end of my stint.

That said, leaving the church and losing my belief in God necessitated a shift in my world view that was overwhelming at first. I had to reconstruct my reality in very fundamental ways. I had to do everything from change my conception of the cosmos to come to grips with the fact that people I'd taken as real historical figures never even existed. But I think the most difficult thing I struggled with after leaving the church was my overwhelming insignificance. This was what G and I were discussing particularly. We agreed to do blog posts on it. She's much more on the ball than I am :)

My loss of testimony happened the last couple semesters I was in school, so most of my "aha" moments happened as a result of things I was studying. The realization of my nothingness happened as a result of a "History and Philosophy of Science" class that I was taking my last semester. As we worked our way through each successive scientific discovery, I saw the need for a creator god becoming less and less. And while this is clichee I'm sure, our study of the cosmos was key in my realizing just how tiny, vulnerable and unimportant this planet--and as a result of that, myself-- was in the bigger expanse of the universe.

Growing up Mormon, I was taught that I was a daughter of deific parents and would someday, if I was righteous, be a goddess myself. I was told that I was special, that my generation would do magnificent things in the world. As a result, while I never really planned on being famous or anything like that, I still felt pressure to make my own particular mark on the world. The brand of Mormonism I was brought up in said that I would do this ideally through the influence I would have on my children. But the message was the same: You are a daughter of God. You should do great things.

When I left the church, I'd already made decisions that largely cut off the possibility of my making my own, kid-separate mark. I'd had children, hadn't gone to graduate school as I'd wanted, and I'd gotten a largely useless degree that didn't bring me a lot of financial freedom. It hit me at some point that I would probably never be that world famous philosopher. I'd never be a famous singer. I'd probably never make it out of the lower middle class. It was quite a blow to my admittedly large ego.

What was even worse was realizing that even if I did make some mark on this world, it would be transitory at best. I had an Ozymandias complex, I guess. Even if I wrote that great novel, came up with that thought changing philosophy, or even did a great job with my kids, eventually, it would be forgotten. Eventually all the people who remembered my stories would die. This caused me, and if I'm honest with my self still causes me, a lot of angst sometimes.

At my most fatalistic, I realize that if I ceased to exist, people would only be sad for as long as they were alive (and maybe not even that long) and then eventually, no one would care that I was gone. On those days, it's my stubborn, refuse-to-throw-in-the-towel idealism that keeps me getting up in the morning. But overall, the way I've dealt with this is to tighten my sphere of influence. I realized that the most important people in my life were not important to me because they were famous, but because they cared about me. I realized that if I lost any of them, it would be significant to me and their other loved ones, even though the rest of the world would never notice. And I realized that if these people were that important to me, chances were I was important to them too. So what if I never write the all-American novel (or even short story for that matter ;-)? If I've been a good friend, mother, teacher, lover, co-worker, whatever, to the people who share their lives with me, then it's enough. Because these people are absolutely vital in my eyes. If I lose any of them (and they are many) I would be honored to keep their stories alive. And even though I won't care once I'm actually dead, I'm honored to think that they'd be telling mine. Nothing is permanent in this world. And in general, I'm okay with that.

Making Me Feel Better

2009-02-14T16:01:00.000-08:00

We're raising the prices on our obits here at the paper I work for. It had been ten years since we'd done something like this, so I know it's about time. Nevertheless, it made me uncomfortable. I don't like the idea of profiting from others' misfortunes. Still, a few things have made feel better about the idea:

According to my manager (to whom I expressed my pinko-commie concerns), because of estate planning or life insurance policies, most people are better off at the time of their deaths than at any other time.

We're an independent paper. Sure we're a corporation. But we're not part of a corporate conglomerate. A local family and many of the employees own shares in our stock. However, we're also struggling as a result of the poor economy and the information shift to the internet and free media. Raising the prices on our obits (and charging for some other announcements we'd previously offered at no cost) will provide us with instant (even if not hugely significant) profit that will hopefully alleviate a little of the discomfort we're having.

Also, by being an independent paper, we're still able to raise our prices without charging as much as some of the bigger, conglomerate owned papers in the region. So printing an obituary in our paper still won't cost nearly as much as it does at most comparable papers.

It's the second and third one that have my gears turning, as well as this article from TIME magazine (and some stuff I've been learning about how our international finance system influences our ability to create wealth, but that's for another post). What I'm coming to realize is that until we develop a better compensation system, we're going to have to learn to prioritize and be willing to pay a little more for the things that are important to us (i.e. keeping papers, grocers, builders, producers etc. local) on the bet that doing this will eventually make these things cost us less in the long run.

I'm far from living up to this standard in every aspect of my life. Finances are always tight in my neck of the woods, but certainly not as tight as some. But since I've been on my own and have been allowed to prioritize my money my way, I've realized that if I'm careful, I'm able to buy things that make me feel responsible environmentally/socially without breaking my budget. Do they cost me a little more? Yes. But I'm fortunate enough for now to be able to handle it and willing to make what small sacrifices (and in my case they have been small) I have to do this.

Anyway, back to our paper. I have my gripes about my workplace. I think everyone does. Is it a business? Absolutely. Is it's goal to make a profit? Absolutely. But one thing I'm glad of is that we're still independent. The paper claims to and really does care about the community it serves. It functions in and depends on this community. So while I'm hesitant to charge more for what I feel should be a public service (in spite of my gripes about obits in general), I also feel that if our community values us as much as we're still able to value them ("we" being the paper, in this case) then hopefully they'll be willing to pay a little extra for our services knowing that we're still trying to treat them better than other places would.

Woman

2009-01-18T20:27:00.000-08:00

I've been chasing something around in my head lately that I'm having a hard time articulating. I like to consider myself pretty open to gender bending, whether I indulge in it overtly myself or not, I'm not the least bit bothered by trans-women/men, effeminate men or butch women. And yet, I identify very strongly as a woman. I have several very good women friends and a core of close women friends that I consider closer than my family in many respects. I enjoy spending time with these women and laughing or crying over our shared experience as women in our communities, families and society at large.

Even as I say this, I realize that I don't really even know how to define the word woman for myself. I'm certainly not the type of woman my mother and sister are. I've always leaned more toward classic/liberal arts education and before leaving Mormonism, had a hard time relating to other women because of this. I've always been more career oriented and reluctant around babies, another characteristic that made it difficult for me to relate to most women in the church. For the last couple years of my stint in Mormonism, most of my mentors were men, and I related better to the husbands (with a few exceptions) than the wives in my circle of married friends.

Now that I've left the church, I've found more like-minded women and formed bonds that have surprised me with their strength. There's something very fulfilling for me to sit and visit with women in my mother's or even grandmother's generation--as if we share a common heritage or culture all our own. My core female friends are some of the most important people in my life. I relate to them and rely on them and support them in their own struggles on many different levels.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that in theory at least, I don't consider myself to be a gender essentialist. I do think that gender is more fluid than we acknowledge in our society. So it confuses me that so much of my identity is wrapped up in being a woman--not androgynous, not lesbian, not butch, not feminine--but a woman. It's just that my views about gender are so flexible that I have a hard time defining that in any concrete terms. I think of myself as a woman, but I realize that I can't under any circumstances generalize what it means to be a woman from my own experience. So I'm wondering why that label is so important to my identity and why it brings me so much fulfillment.

Anyway, I'm not sure that was as clear as I would have liked it to be. Any thoughts anyone has on the matter would be welcome. How do you define the two genders? How do you see yourself on the spectrum?How do you relate to others of your "assigned" gender? How much of gender bending is perhaps anomalous (by anomalous I mean outside "normal" gender identification but acceptable nonetheless, clear as mud)? How much of gender identity is socially fabricated and how much is biological?

To My Children

2009-01-01T14:16:00.000-08:00

I know that I can be somewhat cynical where my children are concerned. And not towards them, so much as to my own emotional ability to raise them and be fair to them. So let me make a few things clear, both to remind myself that I'm not entirely lost as a parent and to go to a place I don't often go here.

My children fascinate me. I've come to realize this more often in the past couple of months. I think I'd forgotten it for awhile. While I positively loathe pregnancy, I remember being fascinated nonetheless with the concept that I was actually bringing a new individual to life. I remember the anticipation of meeting this person and seeing who he would be (because yes, I totally wanted to know what I was having before I actually had it ;-).

My children continue to fascinate me. They're so small and yet so complete. They have opinions and ideas that are entirely their own, even though Alistiar and I and their other care providers have striven to influence them with ours. And while they have this definite individuality, they are also clearly a product of the two of us and our families. Watching these tensions develop into another person is so intriguing. I get to know them more and more everyday and yet they continue to change in small ways everyday.

I suppose my fascination with their individuality is what informs my parenting (what little of it I actually do). I'm not so much interested in shaping my children as I am in meeting them. I certainly try to make sure they understand important basic concepts, such as "torturing one's little brother (or anyone for that matter) is wrong", "respecting others is important if we want to be respected", "other people see the world differently and that's okay", etc. But in general, I like seeing how they react to problems, I like seeing them interact with others and I like sharing parts of myself with them. I admit it's gratifying when they express interest in the things I want to share with them, but I also admit it's fun to watch them develop their own tastes.

I suppose what I'm saying is that I love my children, fiercely. It's been good to remember this. Indeed, if I'm honest with myself, it's been good to discover this. Theron and Gareth, if you ever have the chance to read this, go in peace, be well, and know that every word of it was written in honesty.

Deliberate Decision

2008-12-09T20:42:00.000-08:00

My divorce was a very deliberate decision and probably an inevitable one. However, I admit that it has still been painful. It hurts to see my soon to be ex-husband hurt. It hurts to see my kids hurt when they can't stay with whichever parent they're in the mood for on a given night. It sometimes hurts to be alone. And yet, I am determined.

I can't speak for myself in twenty years. Who knows who I'll be by then (or since I do edit obits, if I'll even be around then). But I do know that the me right now and the me in high school and early college just isn't the marrying type. I'm not sure why I had so much invested in listening to other people and letting them tell me what was right for my life, but I knew as far back as high school that the things I wanted out of life were incompatible with being married and having children. The only reason I eventually did both is because at the time, I thought I was supposed to.

Unfortunately, rather than joy and fulfillment, for the most part, marriage and children brought me pain and suffocation. I know that sounds ungrateful and dramatic, but it's true. It's not that I don't enjoy companionship, sex, friendship, etc. I do. But at least in my marriage, the trade-off wasn't worth it. I felt like there were all kinds of expectations and duties that I bristled at fulfilling. I felt taken advantage of, unappreciated. I tried so hard to communicate these feelings to my husband. But in all honesty, and he's realized this now, he didn't listen.

To be fair, Alistiar and I had some good times. He could make me laugh, he was always there for me when I was hurting from some outside source. He was so attentive when my mom died, he was okay with my decision to leave the church and while it scared him a bit, he was accepting of me when I finally decided I was an atheist. And I'm grateful to him for all of that. And I hope that someday, Alistiar and I are able to be very good friends. I still like him. I still care for him. But I can't be married. I can't be tied down anymore than I already am with my boys. I need to stretch my wings. I need to be answerable and accountable only to me. Even though Alistiar and I had a decent relationship, there was always a power struggle going on under the surface. Our voices were not equally weighted at all. I was sinking, and in spite of my efforts to help him understand my struggles, he continued to not listen.

Marriage isn't the happy ending for me anymore. It's not that I don't want to be loved or to love someone else. It's that I value my freedom and my independence and my power over my own life. It's not even that I refuse to compromise. It's that I resented having my compromises taken for granted. If I ever love again, I hope to never take for granted the gift that is love. And I absolutely will not stay if I feel like my love is being taken for granted. And I think this represents the paradox that may be my life: I love me best now and someday, that may mean giving me to someone else to show gratitude for them having given themselves to me.

From the Obits Page

2008-10-24T20:13:00.000-07:00

". . . That must be an interesting job . . . " I get this a lot when I tell people that I edit obituaries at my local paper (the fact that I also edit letters to the editor seems to get lost in the shock of the word "obituary"). It has been an interesting job. I wrote a post about it right after I got hired. But in the months since, I've lost some of my sensitivity. It's still difficult for me to work directly with family members, and doing obituaries for young children and infants still gets me down, but for the most part, I've put a certain amount of emotional space between me and the people whose lives I'm reading about. Nevertheless, I still find myself thinking from time to time, "She is totally cool! I wonder if she'd . . . Lessie, she's dead. You're not going to be meeting her in the street anytime soon." Then I have a moment where I ponder the finality of death, sometimes do a mental hat tip to my mom and the other deceased loved ones in my life, and get back to looking for comma splices and misspelled words.

When my mom died, I actually got to write the obituary. It wasn't difficult. Most papers have a format for their obituaries and after reading one or two obituaries in my folks' local paper, I was able to churn out a suitable piece based on the information my dad gave me. The pattern usually goes like this: Name, age, place of residence, date of death, place of death, date of birth, place of birth, parents' names, schools attended, military service, date of marriage, notation of divorces, hobbies, we'll miss you, survivors, folks who died before, service times, the end. There are variations on the theme, but that's the gist of it.

It's the "hobbies" and "we'll miss you" parts that are the most interesting to me. These are the couple of sentences (at least in the cheap obits) that ostensibly tell you the most about the deceased (in the expensive obits, the whole damn thing might center around these two sections because the family is paying a truckload of money for that space, but I'll visit that later). These sentences usually go like this, "John/Jane Doe enjoyed cross-stitching, skiing, hunting, cooking, but especially, s/he loved her/his family. John/Jane was the kindest, most loving, patient mother/father/grandma/grandpa and spent his/her entire life doing everything for his/her family."

It was my experience writing my mother's obituary that clued me in to what these sentences actually show: the person that they wanted the deceased to be or the person that they think the deceased should appear to be to the public. That sounds pretty cynical, huh? But ultimately, it's true. We as a society are loathe to introduce ambivalence or nuance into our memories of our dead--at least in public. I wrote similar sentences into my mother's obituary.

But what troubles me about this practice is the extended pain it can actually cause. My mother was kind and patient. My mother was emotionally manipulative and judgmental. My mother was rock solid in her beliefs. My mother doubted her abilities and worthiness. My mother taught me a lot. My mom neglected to teach me some very important things. My mom loved me. My mom didn't love me enough to accept me for who I became. My mom sacrificed a lot for me. My mom took my decisions personally and was offended by them. My mom had an enormous capacity for love and compassion. My mom saw the world in black and white. Do you see what I'm getting at? I'm sure these same sentences could be applied to any number of the people whose lives I read about every day. The only thing they all have in common is that they all had the best of intentions.

But as it is, they were all human. And we humans have a tendency to hurt those we love even when our intentions are good. When we codify and make public only the idealized version of our loved ones, I think we do ourselves a disservice. We make it taboo to discuss the more troubling aspects of our interactions with these people and therefore interfere with the healing process.

I confess I'm somewhat at a loss to understand why we do this (and I'm totally unaware of how other cultures speak about their dead, anything anyone has to add in that respect would be welcomed). Do we feel bad talking disparagingly about someone when they're no longer there to defend themselves? Are we too overcome with grief when we write the obituary to see our loved ones in all their mottled glory? Are the believers among us afraid to face our loved ones later when we've been talking badly about them behind their backs? Are we afraid of how others will perceive our own capacity for love and compassion assuming we spoke about the less ideal aspects of our loved ones? Are we relieved that we no longer have to remember the painful things our loved ones (however inadvertently) inflicted on us? Do we, perhaps, welcome death as the way to bury not only the corpse, but also the painful associations we had with that person?

A penny for your thoughts (not really--I'm broke :). But please, I'd be interested to hear what you think.

Conflicting Moralities

2008-10-18T10:02:00.000-07:00

Good Saturday afternoon! And welcome to Lessie's philosophy class :) Today we're going to talk about Kant and Nietzsche (it took me forever to learn to spell that correctly :). Now because I only have the equivalent of a minor in philosophy, this may not be a particularly sophisticated analysis, but this is how I perceive them.

Kant has a lovely thing called the "Categorical Imperative". I'm sure I have the exact quote lying around in one of my books somewhere, but I'm going to paraphrase him (glancing around at bookshelves to see if the anthology I'm thinking of is within easy reach . . . doesn't appear to be. Paraphrase it is). His Categorical Imperative states that individuals should always be treated as ends in themselves and never as a means to an end and that when deciding whether or not an action is moral, one should consider whether it is universally applicable or not. Kant was rather stringent in his application of the imperative; he was wary of stepping outside the boundaries that he believed his imperative set. From this stringency came a profound sense of duty to others.

Learning my philosophy at a religious institution as I did, Kant's imperative was a convenient co-opt of the Golden Rule (which we all knew Jesus had come up with first, regardless of the fact that the Buddha and other proponents of the rule had lived hundreds of years before him). We commended Kant on his ability to rationally necessitate the Golden Rule; we were down right smug, I think.

However, not only did Kant give us philosophically sound ground for being Christian, he also provided me personally with a reason to stay in what was a very . . . difficult, conflicted place, id est my marriage (which I had entered into before studying philosophy, btw). Not only did being Mormon-Christian require one to live the Golden Rule, but it also required one to live the commandments. My impression of the commandments at the time was skewed by well meaning but misogynistic religion professors who managed to turn even the parable of the talents into an admonishment to get married and have lots of children. Well, I had gotten married and had a child up to that point, but it had all been under severe cultural pressure. My husband's and my relationship had consisted of making out in the back of my car and talking about whether or not we should get married. I felt like I had a duty to marry this apparently righteous priesthood holder and so I did (although I look back now and see that I was actually going against Kant's ideas of treating him as an end rather than as a means to an end). After I got married, I realized that I really had nothing in common spiritually, intellectually or emotionally with my husband. However, in Mormonism, short of abuse or adultery, divorce is frowned on. Plus, I'd had a child with this man and that increased the amount of duty I felt in staying with him (if for no other reason than out of duty to the child to be raised in a two-parent home). It's amazing that in our co-opting of Kant's imperative, we had managed to twist it to the point that we actually were using others as a means to our own purported salvation (but we were doing it out of duty, by god!).

Now let's talk about Nietzsche. How do I describe Nietzsche? The Nietzsche that you learn about in undergraduate philosophy classes is famous for his Will to Power. At my school, his was a dangerous school of thought. He was blamed for everything from the Nazi invasion to our modern materialistic culture. His Will to Power asserted that the Christian ethic of pity and charity was weak and prevented humanity from reaching it's full potential. If you give to your neighbor, don't do it out of smug superiority but out of a sheer excess of your own power. Do it because you are a truly great human and that's just what great humans do. At the same time, though, Nietzsche advocated for a tantalizingly individualistic world view. For Nietzsche, the only authority that one need consult was oneself. I still remember walking out of my class the day we read excerpts from his "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" being changed forever. At the time, he was like a revelation from God. Nietzsche offered me the philosophical permission to make my life what I wanted it to be. He freed me from listening to outside voices like prophets and apostles. I think a part of me knew even then that reading Nietzsche had given me permission to leave my marriage.

My marriage wasn't what I wanted out of life. I had wanted to go to graduate school and immerse myself in academia (originally I had wanted to do comparative linguistics, but I fell in love with philosophy and changed my mind). My mother had told me that I couldn't have a career and be a good mother and so I had decided I just wouldn't get married and have kids. When I was in high school, this seemed like a good idea. But I had also internalized the idea that the prophets knew what was best for my life, and so when I was told that my life's work was to get married and have babies, I decided to do it and give up my career ambitions. After all, it was clearly what God wanted me to do.

The Kantian model was enough to keep me in my marriage until I realized at some point that I was simply making myself into a means for other people's ends. Also, as I lost my belief in an afterlife, I realized that I only had one shot at life--if I was going to do anything, I had to do it now and chances are I'd have to do it by myself. Finally, I got up the courage to switch my morality. I work from the Nietzschean Will to Power. Is it easy? No. Does it hurt sometimes? Yes. Is it fun hurting other people? No. But ultimately, I was hurting so badly by hanging on to the vestiges of duty bound morality that I knew I had to give myself permission to live for me. And so here I am. A little lonely from time to time, but lonely on my own terms. And for now, that makes all the difference.

Faith in Humanity

2008-10-12T13:17:00.000-07:00

I woke up pretty damned depressed this morning. I was feeling too keenly how very little control one has over one's life. I was resenting the dependency on others that, try as I may, I could not completely escape. I was also resenting the dependency of others on me. I suppose, as I write this, that a little of that is coming back into play. Part of what wasn't working for me in my marriage were the claims that I felt others had on me that I didn't want to honor. When I left Alistiar, it was in an attempt to show myself that I got to choose who had a claim on me and who didn't. Of course, it didn't take me long to realize that there are a lot of claims that I was making on other people that made my life bearable. And so it was that I woke up jaded and angry that it was necessary to give myself to others in order to be happy.

I moped around all morning, was late for church and close to tears throughout the service (not a whole lot of which I remember, by the way). When people asked me how I was afterward, it was almost impossible for me to keep my voice from breaking. I was miserable. But it was a pot luck Sunday, and so I decided to go ahead and stay (no good post Mormon would refuse free meals :). I sat with an older-than-me couple and we talked about languages and music and I started feeling better.

It was also forum Sunday. On a whim (I do a lot on a whim, it would seem . . .) I decided to stay for that as well. I attend the Unitarian Universalist Church and today's forum was a chance for members to look over their seven principles and decide if they were still relevant, if they were succinct or if they needed some revision. Quite a debate ensued. Each of us in that room had strong opinions about what we thought was important and what we thought needed to be changed. But debate we did. It was fantastic! We philosophized, we jested, we pouted. But we all got heard and we all knew that we were respected nonetheless.

I realized that I do indeed depend on others and that they in turn depend on me. Today I had my faith in that interdependency restored. I saw what could come of it when mutual respect was present. I still want this space that I've created for myself. I do need some time to figure out what kinds of claims I feel comfortable making and allowing. I still feel like we should be careful about the claims we make on other people--I know from first hand experience how damaging those claims can be if we don't keep the other person's needs in mind. But I learned a little gratitude for those who let me into their lives and their communities. I realized that the trade-off is delicate but can also be enriching.

(And now let's have mfranti and G play us a chorus of Kumbaya on their guitars :P, because I have clearly reached my sap limit for the day :)

Death. Again.

2008-10-09T12:40:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry to keep going here. I think I'm slowly starting to let the reality of my mom's death sink in. I don't expect this to be a long drawn out post. But there's something that's been bothering me that I had to get off my chest.

Something my mom always assured me of when she was sick was, "I'm going to be fine. I know the Lord can take this sickness from me." Or on days when she was scared and tired, "I'm going to be okay, right? I can do this?" God, it haunts me. I was never sure, you know? I knew cancer killed in the most random fashion. I had no idea whether she'd live or not. I wanted her to live. I wanted her to beat it. But I also knew that she was continually getting mixed reports from her doctor. The cancer kept spreading, at first in little spurts that they thought were containable. After that happened the third time, I started to realize that my mom probably wasn't going to make it through this. But I couldn't tell her that. She practically plead with me to tell her she was going to be okay.

Maybe this post will go longer than I thought. Let me tell you about the days leading up to her death.

She had just gone to seek a second opinion about her condition (her oncologist had been consistently confusing her chart with someone else's). The new doctor had looked over all her records and told her that he had a new treatment for her to use. It was a more aggressive chemo treatment. I talked to my mom when she got back from his office and was excited for her that things weren't looking grim afterall. I think that was on a Friday or Thursday.

Sunday evening, I called home with some question or other and my dad answered the phone. My mom was moaning in the background. I mean moaning. Deep, labored moans. My dad told me he'd call me back. He called me to tell me that if she wasn't better by the next morning, he was taking her to the hospital.

Monday morning he called from the emergency room of a little town near our home. They were taking my mom in an ambulance to a hospital in a larger city. I could hear my mom moaning in the background. She wasn't saying anything. Just moaning.

At the larger hospital, they put her on morphine and antibiotics and then gave her three blood transfusions. The chemo had obliterated her immune system and she had a UTI, a blood infection and possible pneumonia. The cancer had also spread to her liver and so her liver wasn't functioning correctly. The blood transfusions did nothing to increase her platelet count. Monday night, my dad called me while I was at a friend's house and told me that if the antibiotics didn't start improving the situation soon, then he would move her back to our small town hospital and put her on comfort care until the end. I could hear my mom moaning in the background. My dad was calling from the hallway.

Tuesday morning my dad called again. He had taken her off the antibiotics and was getting ready to have her transferred to the hospital near home. He let me tell her that I loved her. She moaned. I made travel arrangements and was in Oklahoma by Wednesday night.

At the smaller hospital, they increased my mom's dose of morphine and sedatives. When I went to see her Thursday, she was completely unconscious. They had taken off her wig and her false teeth. Her cheek bones protruded grotesquely under her skin and her mouth was hanging open. She had small whitish whiskers on the sides of her head. Her arms were swollen with fluids. And she was pale . . . almost grey, but not.

For all of Friday and into Saturday morning, my mom lay like that. Her breathing was shallow and clogged with fluid. If someone spoke too loudly, too closely to her ear, she moaned and coughed. My dad decided he wanted to be alone with her when she died. My mom's best friend called us Saturday morning and told us to call our dad. He told us she had died. We went to the hospital again and she lay there still. She was still. Her mouth was still and hanging open. Her eyes were still and closed. Her body was still.

It hurts me so badly to think that she may have died confused and in pain. Was it better that she be unconscious for the last few days of her life? Did it keep her from having to deal with the ultimate betrayal? And where was my mom those last few days? All I saw was a sentient being reduced to nothing but pain. Why should anyone have to lose their humanity like that? There was nothing of dignity or peace in my mom's dying. Her suffering finally ceased, but not in a way that does her any good, because she ceased with it. And now I'm left to make sense out of this. To rebel against the idea that sometimes, the only way we can stop the suffering of another person is to obliterate them.

Black v. White, Man v. Woman

2008-10-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, bear with me, friends. I know you're probably thinking, "Great. Lessie leaves her husband and goes immediately off the deepend." But this post is in response to BiV's post and John's response.

I realize that analyzing something can change the thing somewhat, but stay with me for a minute. BiV and John were having fun with a cultural standard and the resulting rebellion against that standard. But as I got to thinking about it, I began to wonder what the response to either post would have been if it had been women dancing around in white shirts or posing in sexy black ones. So I'm interested in your thoughts. Does my being a woman change your response? Are women allowed the same playful license with their bodies yet, or are they still restricted to the realm of eye candy? Have I completely betrayed my sex? Or have I empowered myself (I have my own thoughts, but I'm interested in yours)? I'm interested also in discussions of how clothing styles and grooming standards differe between men and women and again, what they mean. Am I lucky because I get to wear makeup and expose more skin as a rule? Or am I playing into a patriarchal conspiracy?

Let me know your thoughts. And now, one final plea: be nice! I'm feeling very exposed (for obvious reasons and then add that to the fact that I still suck at photo placement).

Let's Talk Politics

2008-10-04T11:43:00.000-07:00

I don't know that I've gone here before on my blog. I mean, I did the post about my being in the parade. But just for the record, I'm vice chair of the Bonneville County Democrats. I ran sort of on a whim (don't run for political office on a whim, btw. More on that later). The party here is struggling with some . . . not in-fighting, but certainly some tensions between a couple of the executive officers. They wanted some new blood and so a couple of my friends asked me to run. I had been wanting to get more involved in local politics, and so I did. Imagine my surprise when I won. That's really not where I'm wanting to go, though.

I picked rather an interesting time to run, id est an election year. The entirety of my stint as vice chair so far has been sitting in on executive and central committee meetings as we try to decide how best to help our local candidates win their respective races. In case you didn't already know this about Idaho, we are a RED state. I mean really, really RED. For the first time in a long time in our county, we have several blue candidates running for different offices not only in our state and federal elections, but also right here in our county elections. It's rather exciting.

There's only one problem: no one seems to care. Let me tell you what I've learned about politics up to this point. Behind the scenes politics are painfully tedious. The committee meetings I attend drag on and on about who was in charge of getting what data to the state, how much money for this or that activity we have available, who's going to canvas the precincts, etc. It's tempting to sit and poke myself in the eye to break up the monotony. And yet, something I've also learned about behind the scenes politics are how important they are to getting the more visible things done. The vibe I get from most people who have been involved politically is that they donated some money, attended a rally or five, went to this or that fundraiser, etc. And while I don't want to discount those efforts (god knows the money they bring in is the bread and butter of our organization), there's a lot that goes on behind the scenes to make real change.

The unfortunate truth is that local politics are unromantic. People will go out and canvas for Obama or (gulp) McCain. But will they go out and canvas for Laun Cook? Will they take time out of their afternoons to go and register people to vote? Will they make phone calls for John McGimpsey (although John didn't mention needing phone calls this morning, but you get my point)?

I don't want to down play the importance of our national elected officials. But I also know that on a national level, it's really hard to feel like we're making a difference. My good friend puts this quote in the signature line of her emails: "If voting changed anything, they'd make it illegal" (Emma Goldman). I certainly understand such a sentiment. The last eight years of the Bush Administration have been some of the most painful and disasterous that the United States have ever seen. And indeed, there were certainly some stolen elections (not naming names *cough* Florida and Ohio *cough*). But now that I've been involved on a local level, I can assure you that voting does make a difference. So if you have a hard time getting jazzed up for the national elections, I don't blame you. I'm feeling pretty jaded myself. But folks, get involved locally. Gear yourselves up for mindnumbing discussions of finances and sunshine reports (which I know are important and I pay attention to, they're just so boring it hurts) but get in there and get a little dirty. It's not nearly as fun as a peace rally. But it will probably make a more immediate and noticeable difference. And we've got to start somewhere.

Separation and parenting miscellany

2008-10-01T15:52:00.000-07:00

Well, as those of you who know me in real life already know, I've recently decided to separate from my husband. My relationship with A is something I haven't blogged a whole lot about--mostly because of the ambivalence I feel toward it. However, now that we've separated, I feel the need to explore our relationship and societie's definitions of relationships in general.
And since we're on the subject, let me tell you what happened today. I was on the phone with a friend when my daycare called. I ignored the call and let the voicemail take it. After I hung up with my friend, I forgot to check my voicemail and they didn't call back. I went about my day until about fifteen minutes ago and realized that I'd forgotten to check that voicemail. I listened to it and found out that my youngest son, Gareth, had been sick and they needed someone to come and get them. "No problem," I thought, "They would call Alistiar if they weren't able to get a hold of me." So I called Alistiar assuming that everything was taken care of. Not so. They never called him.
Is it me, or should it not be common practice if one parent is inaccessible they call the other one? I'm rather upset at the assumptions underlying this oversight. Why is it that they assumed it would be easier for me to leave my job than for my husband to leave his? Why is it they assumed that they didn't need to call him when I wasn't responding? If they insist on reinforcing these kinds of gender assumptions, then why in hell didn't they call me again?
As it turns out, he was fine afterall and I'm staying the rest of the work day, but I am absolutely incensed at their lack of effort to make sure Gareth was taken care of. I realize it's not their job to play phone tag with me all day long, but I think it should be default practice to call both parents before deciding to give up.

Sept. 21, International Day of Peace

2008-09-21T11:37:00.000-07:00

The UN declared Sept. 21 "International Day of Peace". In my search for holidays that don't have Christian bases, this has been a favorite. I still haven't figured out any ways to celebrate it, but I enjoy going through my day, thinking about peace, hoping for peace and trying to think of ways that I can help bring about peace--if only in my own home/community for right now.

Karen Katz did a wonderful book for small children about the day. I'll read it to my boys later. I'm also going over to a friend's house to watch Iron Jawed Angels and talk about social issues. I don't know that that really brings my participation down from the theoretical to the practical yet, but hopefully someday I'll be in a position to do more.

Anyway, a quick quote from the book:

All around the world, children want to go to school, to walk in their towns and cities, to play outside, and to share food with their families. They want to do all these things and feel safe. No matter how we say it, we all want peace.

There are a lot of places, even here, where this isn't possible for people. Let's keep that in mind as we go about our day.

My Mother's Corpse

2008-09-15T18:30:00.000-07:00

Luckily, I didn't have to dress it. I anticipated that the entire time I was journeying to Oklahoma. Mormon's dress their dead in ceremonial clothing and I was petrified that as the only purportedly endowed child, I would have to help. Luckily, I got away with something less extensive, but still somewhat traumatic in its own way. I got to pull the veil down over her face and remove the white cloth covering her ceremonial apron.

But still, it was somewhat traumatic. In general, I consider myself a pretty laid back person. Shit happens and while it bothers me, I try not to be dramatic about it. But this whole death thing is hard for me to accept with the same resignation. Every part of me rebels at the thought that eventually, my body will simply stop. I will not be able to just keep breathing and force death away. I will only be able to fight for so long before my body takes over and gives up consciousness.

Then, I will cease to be human. I will be nothing but a stiff, mottled corpse.

My mother's hands were heavy when I tried to pull the cloth out from under them. They were without any inertia. They dragged grotesquely with the cloth as I pulled at it. My grandmother and the funeral director told me to just keep pulling, and I did, but not without some consternation at the way her yellowing hands held onto the cloth without actually doing so.

I had never felt rigor mortis before. When I brushed my finger on her cheek, it was like brushing a resin or rubber figurine. I told it, "I love you," even though she was no longer "she". It's amazing the things we do to keep up appearances and appease other people. But I was so afraid that if I didn't touch her in some way, I would offend my grandmother and father, who seemed to have no qualms about kissing her goodbye. I was relieved when the apron was uncovered, the veil drawn and the casket closed.

Unfortunately, a couple of nights later, I dreamed she came to life in the funeral home. I remember being simultaneously glad to see her and terrified at the thought that my mother was alive in spite of the fact that her internal organs were in a plastic sack inside her abdominal cavity. I wish now that I hadn't touched her at all, that I had let her friend help my grandmother with her veil and apron. I confess that for now, I am repelled by lifelessness.

Morbid Relief

2008-09-11T13:09:00.000-07:00

I think one of the things I've been struggling with the most since my mom died is the sense of relief I feel at not having to hide my unbelief from her. I am too well aware that I will never be seeing my mother again. So what is wrong with me that such an idea brings me relief? Am I also feeling pain? Yes. But right now, there has been a sense of rest for me at not having to feel like she's always around the corner waiting to catch me with some words of spiritual inquiry. When I'm on the phone with my dad, I can talk freely--cuss words, blasphemes and all. I can gripe and complain about how much Mormonism screwed me over and not worry about my mother's feelings being hurt or her judgment being incurred.

And yet, for all my issues with my mother, she is still the first person I think to call when one of my boys does something adorable. When I'm upset with something that happened at work, I still think about calling my mom for a good gripe session when I get home. She was my major connection to my family in Oklahoma. She always made sure to tell me who was doing what and when. She kept me posted on my aged and ailing grandparents, my crazy uncles and cousins and the members of the Mormon branch that I still love. My dad would rather have a root canal than talk to me about makeup or clothes shopping. He couldn't care less about breakouts or shaving nicks. My mom had a definite niche in my life, and it hurts to have that empty.

I'm so torn between the relief I feel right now and the pain that comes when it hits me that she is not there. She is not on vacation. She is not at a doctor's appointment. She is not visiting her parents. If I call and she is not home, it is because she is dead. And I feel bad to feel relieved over such a permanent situation. I wanted resolution with my mother, but not in this form.

Elle est Morte

2008-08-31T14:00:00.000-07:00

My mother died Saturday, August 30, 2008, at 10:32 a.m. Will say some more later on the plethora of emotions and thoughts that this has caused. But I just wanted to let you know what finally developed on that front. I already miss her.
Thanks for your thoughts, well wishes and suggestions on how to tell my mom about my spiritual issues. Ultimately, I decided not to say anything. So while my mom knew I didn't attend church and knew I had chosen to stop wearing Mormon garments, she never ended up finding out the full extent of my beliefs. I think it was for the best. I have no regrets about that. I regret more that she won't be a part of my children's lives. She loved them so much.
Meanwhile, I'm out in the boondocks of small town Oklahoma and am borrowing my cousin's internet connection. I'll write more when I get back to Idaho.

Coming Out in Style

2008-08-23T19:23:00.000-07:00

Had rather an interesting evening. I went to a church function with hubby tonight. It wasn't anything overtly religious, just food and socializing (Alistiar participated in the pie eating contest). But it was surreal to see the looks on people's faces as they greeted me. I recognized the look from when I used to be a full believing member. They were so excited to see me, the disaffected, finally attending with Alistiar. They came up and touched me on the arm, gave me that penetrating look, and said, "How are you today?" They repeatedly told me they were glad we had come. They were being so nice, so sweet. I suppose some would say I was reading too much into it, except that I remember the act from when I was a member. It certainly didn't seem like an act at the time, so I know they aren't purposefully being manipulative, but now that I'm the one receiving the kindness, it just seems icky. I know I'm a project (of course, my suspicions were confirmed the other day when Alistiar came home and told me that they had told him, "Don't worry, we'll get her to church.). I know I'm a project because I used to make people projects. I meant well, but now I realize that no one wants to be a project.

I was getting cranky, having to be so nice and act like I didn't know what was going on. So when the conversation turned to blogging and they asked me if I blogged, I said, "yes." They wanted the blog address and I said, "Okay, but I should warn you, I'm an atheist, and that's what I blog about."

"We still love you," they said. But they didn't ask for the URL again. Part of me felt good to get it out, to let them know, "You want a project, then fine, have a project, but I'll be damned if I don't know what you're up to!" The other part of me wondered if I had just cast my proverbial pearls before swine and had opened up the way for even more overt lengths at saving my soul. I would go into a stream of questions about why it's so hard for people to accept that the church isn't everything and a bag of chips, but I know the answer. I remember the incomprehension. I remember not understanding why people would ever leave the church. I remember the pity, the indignity I felt upon hearing someone had left or refused baptism. The odd thing is that even though I remember it, I don't understand it anymore.

I still understand the pull that religion has. I even attend a different church because I enjoy the community that religion offers. But I don't understand the pity and the intolerance anymore. By the time I was ready to say goodbye to the idea of god, I had figured out that even assuming there was a god, the important thing was how we acted right now. And all the exclusion that happened in most religious sects didn't seem like the right way to be going if we wanted to restore some order to the planet. I don't really pity these people because they belong to what I consider to be a harmful institution. I don't look at them with the soul searching glance and ask them how their rational thought is coming.

And I suppose what bothers me about this is that until they have a similar change in perspective (not necessarily leaving the church, but in what is really important), there's going to be this pity and intolerance. And that's what makes these events so difficult for me.

Back in Business

2008-08-23T12:34:00.000-07:00

I'm back in business (although that still doesn't mean that I'll necessarily write a lot, am kind of flaky that way)! Thanks JohnR, for coming up and saving our internetless home! He had to pick his kids up from grandma's in Utah and drove a little out of the way to bring us a computer. He's also taking our junker back with him to hopefully recover the lost family photographs, essays and short stories that we had on there.

I have missed everyone so much. I just didn't feel comfortable writing and commenting on blog posts from work (mostly 'cause I'm so damned long winded that both things take a significant amount of time for me).

For the Record

2008-08-21T10:23:00.000-07:00

For the record, I thoroughly enjoyed my weekend with my blogging friends. My home computer, however, crashed while I was gone, and so I haven't been able to write anything until now (people are dying at slow rates and no one seems to have any gripes they want published). Just suffice it to say, that mfranti, G, Chandelle, JohnR, Kaimi and others are some of my favorite people and it was so refreshing to meet some of you for the first time and see some of you again.

Pain

2008-07-19T21:18:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine, whom I will not link to out of respect, has had a tragedy hit. And I hurt for her. Losing a child hurts so badly. I can't imagine the pain, but the pain I feel on her behalf is horrible.
This friend of mine is faithful. She's good. So is her husband. They prayed, thousands of people prayed. But it didn't change anything. And supposing this baby had lived, would that have been such a terrible thing? Would the universe really have been worse off if this child had been able to live? Do not tell me that. Don't tell me that that child didn't need a shot at life. If life is really that shitty, then why do we cling to it so desperately?
Did my friend really need such a harsh lesson? And what was she supposed to learn from it? Will she learn from it? Yes. Absolutely. She has no choice. But do not tell me that the amount of pain she's suffering was because she was deficient in some way.
It hurts because we know the injustice of it. We know that life is really special. We know what it is to love and when the loved one dies, we know what it is to hurt for the lack of that person, knowing we'll never see them again. We know how cruel loving can be. And yet we do it anyway, because it's the only thing that keeps us holding on. That's the irony that is life: that what keeps you going can almost put an end to you.

Les Bruns

2008-07-17T21:05:00.000-07:00

Well, at the request of a couple of friends, here is a family picture. It's not very good, my little sister is the only photographer in the family, and while I think she took this, she took it more as a point and shoot concept than as a professional. Still, it should give you a basic idea of who we are.

Color

2008-07-16T14:18:00.000-07:00

Asking me to pick a favorite color would be like asking my mom to pick a favorite child (although, that may be easier for her now that I've left the church :-). Anyway, we are building a house and I get to have my own office. I'm ecstatic, except that I can't decide on which color to paint the walls. I like reds because of the associations they've had with women, for better or worse, through out Western History. I like blues because, well, it's blue . . . and it was always associated with integrity back when I was still active and integrity has always been important to me. I like greens because I read somewhere one time that the Celts associated it with magic and growth, because the plants around them grew without a seeming explanation. I like purples because they represent royalty (and even though I'm totally not thrilled with the idea of monarchy, I find it romantic anyway). I like black because it gets such a bad rap. Browns are so warm and inviting. Yellows and oranges, while they aren't always top on my list, have some shades that just make me happy. And white, well, of course I like it. But I don't like being surrounded by it, and so that's why I want my walls to be colorful.
Anyway, this was totally superfluous, but I just thought I'd put it out there and see what you guys like. And if you have any suggestions, that'd be cool too.

Fourth

2008-07-15T20:57:00.000-07:00

Here's what we did for Independence Day. Theron and I rode the Bonneville County Democrat's float. We kept it simple this year, mostly recycling the donkey from a couple of years back and then making signs based off the Idaho Democratic Platform. We had everything from "protect productive farmland" to "torture? not in my America". We also had some of our candidates walk along with us and hand out their literature. One candidate in particular, Debbie Holmes, is really exciting to me. She was a real estate agent in Boise and was seeing the housing crisis up front. She got mad and decided to run for Congress. The woman has no rhetorical/oratory skill, but is as genuine as you could want.

Obviously, I have no skill at uploading images, so forgive me. But there we are. It was a fun day overall. In what used to be an uber conservative enclave, our float got cheers and peace signs and thumbs up. It was a pleasant surprise. As for the rest of the political spectrum in the U.S. Yeah, we still have a lot of hurdles to make it over. But at least on the fourth, I was feeling a little glimmer of hope.

Corporate Conglomerate

2008-07-06T20:30:00.000-07:00

This is in response to Chandelle's post about corporate food. Now, I don't know nearly as much as she does about the food world, but tonight, as I was skimming through the Sunday paper, I found a rather hefty flyer called P&G brandSAVER. Now, obviously, if Proctor and Gamble is putting all their brands into one flyer to advertise, then it's not overly concerned about folks knowing they practically own the household market, but still, I was surprised by how many of the products I use on a daily basis (and indeed, how many products I thought were competing products), were made under Proctor and Gamble's label. Also, here are a couple of links about their legislative pull. Just makes you all warm and fuzzy, huh? Note especially the part where they mention that approximately 80 percent of the rest of the globe hasn't so much as seen a disposable diaper and I wanted to hurl (but for full disclosure, I haven't made the switch to cloth yet). Anyway, here's a list of all the products they make (even though one of those links also outlines it):
Pantene, Aussie, infusium, Olay, Noxema, Covergirl, Herbal Essences, Clairol, Secret, TAG, Gillette, Always, Tampax, Old Spice, Venus, Crest, OralB, PUR, febreze, Swiffer, Dawn, Cascade, Iams, Charmin, Bounty, Pepto Bismol, Tide, Downy, Head & Shoulders, Metamucil, Prilosec, and Pampers. This may not be all inclusive, but it was overwhelming nonetheless. It certainly opened my eyes. Illusion of choice indeed. Thanks for raising awareness, sista!

Juneteenth

2008-06-19T15:21:00.000-07:00

Today is Juneteenth. Go to the website for more specific information, but basically, on June 19, 1865, in Galveston, Texas, the last African American slaves were officially recognized as free citizens. Now obviously, there were still problems. Many slaves at that time had no land, no possessions, no connections except those with their former owners, but many modern African Americans recognize this as their own Independence Day.

I just wanted to remind those of us here in the U.S. that while our constitution contains some worthy and high ideals, we have a long way to go before we reach them. I think we've made wonderful progress. I'm so glad I live now and didn't live then, but I still sometimes wonder how long it will be before we truly recognize the basic rights that we have claimed pertain to every human. Anyway, happy Juneteenth!

Fathers Day Miscellany

2008-06-16T13:17:00.001-07:00

So, yesterday being Fathers Day, I went to an LDS ward with my hubby to show support. The opening hymn was "O My Father" which used to be one of my favorite hymns. Sure enough, at the last verse, I started crying and couldn't make it through the rest of the song. I sat there confused at my reaction and wondered if maybe I should give the church another try. The youth speaker spoke about obeying her dad (which is a generally good idea, within reason) and then the next speaker got up. She was young (approximately my age, give or take a couple of years) and was talking about how to honor, respect and otherwise kiss your husband's ass. She spewed the most disgusting patriarchal vomit that I've heard in a while. Her talk was full of archaic bullshit about how women shouldn't give their husbands too much trouble and assumptions that the husband would be the only bread winner in the family and so should be especially pampered. Ick, ick, ick. Her husband's talk was slightly more redeemable in that he spoke about not exercising unrighteous dominion, but it was still based on the idea that she should defer to him. I don't think either one of them even tried to touch on the equal partner language in the Family Proclamation (even thought that document has its own vomit issues). Suffice it to say that I left upset (although I tried to contain it since I didn't want to ruin hubby's day). Hubby simply found it amusing, because he knows how much it bothers me and thought that it was ironic that they would say those things on the one day I chose to come. Anyway, it was a nice reminder about why I was keeping my distance.

On to other Fathers Day stuff. I will now do a tribute to my own father. My dad is a pretty good guy in general. And we've definitely had our times when we didn't see eye to eye. In high school, when I was at my most zealous, I had no use for anything that my agnostic father wanted to tell me. As I look back now, I realize that even though my father's politics are generally conservative (as are his views of what married women should do), the things he tried to tell my sister and I about being independent were pretty much spot on, and I should have listened to him a lot more. He still annoys me at times, I still get angry at him sometimes, but I'm also finally learning to appreciate some of the things he says. So, here's to you, Dad. I love you.

Death

2008-05-31T19:17:00.000-07:00

Well, I have a new job. I edit obituaries for the local newspaper. For the most part, my job consists of reading about old men and women who have lived long, meaning-filled lives. But every once in a while, I have a day like today. First, a funeral home director sends me the obituary of a two month old infant. The grieving parents have written up some beautiful nonsense about how this baby made everyone want to live a better life. Then, a woman calls me to ask how to submit an obituary for her son.
"I'm sorry," I say, about to cry since I'm still upset over the baby.
"I've already buried two daughters," she says, "And this is so wrong."
"I know," I say, and again, "I'm sorry."
These are the ones that affect me the most, perhaps because they hit so close to home. The thought of losing one of my babies, or my husband (who is probably about the same age as the second woman's son) almost immobilizes me.
I will be honest, death scares me. It scares me badly. The thought that I could possibly be happy again if I lost one of my boys just seems ludicrous to me.
I recently read The Voyage Out by Virginia Wolfe, and she describes a poignant death scene. The fiance sits and listens to Rachel's breathing slow and finally stop. He sits quietly with her for some time, and then, when his friends come and get him, he finally realizes what death means--he will never see Rachel again. All of a sudden, he understands. That's how it's been for me lately. Death is final. And even though eternity scared me (maybe I'll go into that later), finality scares me even more.

Mothers Day

2008-05-11T06:40:00.000-07:00

This will be somewhat eclectic. More and more efforts are being made to remind the American public that Mothers Day was originally founded by Julia Ward Howe in an effort to prevent more wars. Howe looked around at the devastation of the Civil War and thought, "I didn't teach my sons this. I taught them love, peace, and kindness. Maybe if more mothers spoke up, we wouldn't have as many wars." In the spirit of her original intent, many places around the U.S. are holding peace rallies today. I plan to participate in two--one where we are going to write the names of the fallen soldiers and civilians in Iraq (and maybe Afghanistan, I can't remember), and the other one a simple protest where we'll all congregate by the bridge here in town and let folks know that we support alternative ways of dealing with other countries.

On to the next point I wanted to talk about. Mothers Day has been hideously hijacked by Hallmark and the like. So for the last two years, I've been trying to approach Mothers Day from a non-consumerist ideal (although I admit I'm still consuming far more than I need to, so don't think I've made as much progress as I plan to). Last year, when my girl friends were getting bread machines and ice cream makers (neither of which is bad, I suppose), I told Alistiar that I wanted a day to myself. He took the boys and I rode my bike to a local park and read a book. I took a nap, I wrote in my journal, and all the time I was uninterrupted by my boys unless I went to them first. This year, as I mentioned, I'm going to the peace rallies and maybe my local UU service. I will probably ride my bike again. However, this year I'm also insisting that my boys (all three of them) join me (except maybe for the UU service). I want my boys to know how important peace is to me, and I want to set that example for them.

Lastly, a tribute to my own Mother. Right now, I admit that I have a lot of anger issues with my mom. I'm unashamedly blaming her for some of the things that are happening in my life while still recognizing that I am an adult now and will have to deal with these things from my own initiative (but that's another, whinier post). Let me just say that while I feel that my mother did some major things wrong (although nothing in the way of abuse, just not really preparing us for the real world), I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mom loves me. I know that she did her best and meant only the best for me and my sister. I know that my mom has her own demons to face and that raising children in the face of demons is daunting. I hope I do well by my children in the face of mine. I suppose the one thing I'm grateful to my mom for trying to teach me (even though I eventually had to learn it the hard way) is compassion for others. My mom realized how difficult it is to make judgments about a person's choices in life when we don't know their inner workings. She reminded me of this several times in high school when I would make blanket judgments of the kids around me. I now realize how right she was and try very hard to keep my assumptions about people to a minimum. I'm even trying really hard to do this concerning her (although it's hard considering the anger I'm harboring right now). Anyway, even though I don't plan on my mother ever reading this, I love you Mom. Thanks for everything. I hope I can succeed in raising good kids as well as you did.

A Little Something

2008-05-10T20:25:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Dale McGowan's Parenting Beyond Belief: On Raising Ethical, Caring Children Without Religion. Very good reference for agnostic/atheistic parents in a religion permeated society. Anyway, here's a fun poem by Yip Harburg entitled, "We've Come a Long Way, Buddy".

An ape, who from the zoo broke free,
Was cornered in the library
With Darwin tucked beneath one arm,
The Bible 'neath the other.
"I can't make up my mind," said he,
"Just who on earth I seem to be--
Am I my brother's keeper
Or am I my keeper's brother?"

So there's your evening chuckle.

Are Child Molesters an Anomaly?

2008-05-08T12:31:00.000-07:00

I recently got a temp job at the local newspaper. I get a lot of time to read the news now and I'm glad. However, this morning a coworker pointed out a story to me that made me mad, and sad, and a little depressed. A ten year old girl from a nearby town gave birth to a baby in the hospital about two weeks ago. She was raped. No one even saught help for this girl until she went into labor. The rapist was thirty-seven. I have a few questions. What factors go in to making a person decide that they want force sex on a ten year old? Are people like this an anomaly? Or do they have severe sexual entitlement issues? Were they sexually abused as children (in general)? Are cultural values to blame? Perhaps my readers could give me some stats, some information, some understanding of what leads to behavior like this so that we can take active steps toward eradicating it.

I know that the media can sometimes make different crimes seem more common than they really are because they only publish the worst crimes--but really, it seems that child molestation is becoming more common, and I want to know why. I also want to know what contributes to it, because I have two boys and I don't want to screw up so badly that they decide it's okay to have sex with ten year olds. Can you imagine the trauma that this young girl and her family (although why the hell didn't they seek help earlier) must be going through after all this? I don't want to be responsible for perpetuating hell.

Two Sides of the Same Coin

2008-04-29T17:16:00.000-07:00

I can tell you that because I have seen these images, I see plenty of evidence that our society and the media normalizes child sexuality and pornography every day. Go to your run of the mill child dance recital and you see over-sexualized children doing a bump and grind, all to the applause of LDS parents who think they are cute. That is exactly what is being done here - the normalizing of child sexuality. It is appalling.

Michelle, in a post on fMh about Miley Cyrus disrobing for Annie Leibowitz (#38).

Throughout the world and over time and cultures, girls who begin menarche are considered women. They begin to marry and bear children. It has been in the past 100 years only that we have decided that young girls should have more choice and should put off childbearing until later. As a feminist, I believe this is a good thing. But who is to say that it is the only true and proper choice? Some studies have shown that childbearing at younger ages is healthier and more optimal for infant and mother. I believe in the right of this group to choose their family patterns and customs. Teaching their children to submit is not abuse, it is a different lifestyle choice. There are many tenets of this faith which are clearly healthier and more moral than mainstream teachings.

BiV in a post about the alleged FLDS teenage pregnancies.

Now, my question to my readers is, how are these two things really that different? In both cases, we are having young, under-aged girls reduced solely to their sexual power. Indeed, groomed for it. One could argue that Miley has simply been introduced to a different lifestyle choice than that of these young FLDS women (that hers is mainstream isn't really an issue for me right now). Either way we are telling young women that their only power is in their bodies. I am aware that the implications of these two lifestyles are different--in the FLDS homes, these young women will go on to nurture kind, polite, loving children. In the mainstream world, we really have no way of knowing where Miley will end up literally, but we do know that it will be determined by her continued willingness to be a sex object. But will either way yield strong, public role models for other young women to watch? Will either way show young women that they have options, that they can be whoever they want to be, achieve whatever they set out to achieve? I don't think so. Neither of these extremes shows young women what feminism has been reaching for for years--that they are capable (alongside their motherhood/sexuality if they so choose) of being not only singers/actresses, but also lawyers, doctors, school teachers, social workers, engineers, IT experts, scientists, political leaders, or Nobel winners (in any field). When are we going to escape these two extreme portrayals of what women can be (even though they're based off the same biological power) and show young women all the variations in between?

Clothes

2008-04-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

So this probably won't be very long, but it's been on my mind a lot lately. Several posts (xJane's comment #8 over at Mind on Fire, G's post at Figuring It Out, and Chanson's mention of a Carnival of Sexual Freedom) have had me thinking about women's bodies and sexuality. I figure that which ever way we look at it, we're pretty much doomed to be making a choice that someone else will see as blatant submission to the patriarchy. For example (and shukr, I hope I don't say anything that will offend you) we sometimes criticize Muslim women for wearing a hijab, or a head scarf (and I'm making an assumption here that they are two different things--I'll edit me if I find out later that I'm wrong). We accuse them of being an accessory to men's ideas about not being able to control themselves at the sight of an attractive woman. However, we also criticize women who wear revealing clothing. We accuse them of objectifying themselves and giving men an excuse to not control themselves at the sight of an attractive woman. Either way, it's all too easy to hurl accusations of submission to the patriarchy. Either way women come out reduced to objects of sexual desire. Supposing I dress "modestly" one day and "immodestly" the next, different people are going to respect or despise my decisions depending on how they look at the issue. I just wanted to put that out there. Because really, I don't believe that the way we dress ultimately matters one way or another. Maybe I'd even go so far as to say, "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." Then, where ever I am, I'll fit in. I'm beginning to think that fashion shouldn't have to be a moral decision (even though I've been making it one for myself lately). Indeed, I'll go ahead and say it and then stop torturing myself and others about it. Fashion shouldn't be a moral decision. You know you. Dress in the way that makes you like you. To hell with everyone else (can an agnostic say that?:).

Acceptance and Love

2008-03-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

Tuesday was a really long day. I didn't sleep well Monday night for worrying about different things going on in my life, then that morning, I got turned down for some financial help that would have been really, well, helpful. My son's vision teacher came Tuesday as well. She is definitely what I still sometimes think might be a blessing (don't you love the convolutions we agnostics go through?). We each have our issues with the church's doctrines/cultures. She remains active, I don't. But anyway, I was discussing a dilemma I have with her, and she was sharing some of the stuff that she's dealing with now. We were both crying by the time we finished our visit (not because we were angry at each other, but because we were hurting together). So here's my dilemma and maybe later some thoughts about where I am right now spiritually.

My mom is a faithful Mormon in what most of us would consider a very traditional, by the book sense. My father is agnostic, maybe even atheistic (he's actually reluctant to define it, which is his prerogative). Growing up, my sister and I heard my mom lament his inactivity and talk about how she didn't understand why he deprived her of the blessing of a righteous priesthood holder in our home. At times, she even considered leaving my dad in order to find someone else whom she could rely on for eternity. When C (my sister, I don't know if she'd appreciate me using her name assuming she knew about my blog) and I left for college, we picked a university that was half way across the country. We still hear from our mom about how much pain it causes her that we don't live closer so that we could shop together, hang out together, etc. Fast forward to now--my mom has breast cancer.

While she was here in Idaho last, she expressed to me that she thought maybe God was giving her this cancer so that she could die and not have to live with the pain that my dad's agnosticism and our long distance gave her. On the other hand, she also believes that she has received a revelation that she will be cured. So. As it turns out, she really is responding incredibly well to treatment. It really does look like she'll be in remission very soon. My dilemma is whether to tell her about my own agnosticism. I worry that if I actually tell her, she'll give up her mostly positive attitude and let the cancer overtake her. However, I've also been blatantly lying to her when she asks how church is going etc. (it's been almost a year since I quit going). I know that that will hurt my mom immensely. Especially considering what Kathryn (my son's vision teacher) and another older friend have told me regarding their adult children keeping things like this from them. Basically what it boils down to in their opinion is that my mom already knows something is up, but just isn't willing to ask what it is. So if that's the case, we're stuck in this passive-aggressive battle just waiting for the other one to break the ice and really get things out in the open.

The other thing making this difficult is the pressure I feel to be the perfect daughter that I used to be (okay, not perfect, but definitely compliant). That's another reason I haven't said anything to her. However, it's also killing me to lie to my mom (and other assorted family members I guess). My integrity is one of my most . . . cultivated (?) values. It's killing me to lie to her. I AM NOT A LIAR. At least, not most of the time. But now I am lying and it's killing me. It's also killing me to act out a person I no longer am. I have dreams where I tell my mom the truth and it's such a huge relief. It sucks waking up and realizing that I'm still dealing with that emotional burden.

Lastly, my folks are coming this summer for about a week. In most circumstances, I would say a face to face revealing would be better, but since my dad will be gone for most of the week (he's camping with a seldom seen friend), it would be just me and my mom for the majority of her visit. I don't want to have to explain everything to her and then spend the rest of the week dealing with all our drama. I'd rather tell her before she gets here so that we can at least begin the healing process before she gets to my house. That way, my box of Earl Grey tea, my striped underwear, my tank tops, aren't going to be a shock for her. I may not partake of anything but the underwear while she's here, but still, she'll see them around and I don't want those to be a surprise to her.

Anyway, thoughts? Ideas? HELP?

Green Magazine Question

2008-03-10T21:54:00.000-07:00

Just a small dilemma that I hope my few readers can help me with. I really am trying to be greener in my habits. However, I subscribe to a couple of magazines (and assuming our financial situation improves, hope to subscribe to a couple more in the near future) and they obviously use up a lot of paper (I do try to recycle these magazines when I'm done with them). Some of these magazines have the option to receive only an online copy. The only problem is, I don't like sitting in front of my computer monitor to read all of my media--sometimes a good book or magazine that can accompany me to the couch is great. I could print off the magazine if I wanted to, but there we are back at the too much paper option. What do you guys do? Does anyone know about the impact of magazines and other paper media on the environment? How do you deal with the issue of staring at a monitor for long periods (which if I'm not mistaken, can be minimally unhealthy)? Anyway, ideas please.

Afterlife

2008-03-08T13:17:00.000-08:00

I was reading a post over on fMh (which I don't feel like linking directly to--it's the one about "Are Skirts Eternal" or something) when I realized I was getting bored with the discussion. Everyone is talking about gender, sex, enforced vs. natural gender roles etc. and whether or not things will be like that in the after life. I found myself thinking, "Who the hell cares?". There are so many more important things to worry about right now. I think that's one thing that my agnosticism has done is forced me to focus on the present. I'm not going to say I never think about death or the future (that's an entirely different post). But I find myself being much more concerned with taking action right now, changing things right now. If you think gender roles are a problem now, then do something about it now. If you think gender roles are going to be a problem in the afterlife, then decline to participate--for me that was how my journey away from religion started. If that's what God wants from me (not just the gender role thing, there were tons of other issues) then I decline to participate. There are more important things to worry about.

Book Meme

2008-02-25T09:35:00.000-08:00

Okay, so the book laying closest at hand was Virginia Woolf's The Voyage Out.

The full and romantic career of Evelyn Murgatroyd is best hit off by her own words, "Call me Evelyn and I'll call you St. John." She said that on very slight provocation--her surname was enough--but although a great many young men had answered her already with considerable spirit she went on saying it and making choice of none. But her donkey stumbled to a jog-trot, and she had to ride in advance alone, for the path when it began to ascend one of the spines of the hill became narrow and scattered with stones.

So, pick up the nearest book that is at least 123 pages, find the first five sentences, post the next three. Then tag five people.

I tag g, shukr, mr. pink's mom, and any two other people who might be reading this post (my blog community is still pretty small and anyone else I might have tagged has already been tagged). Thanks to John and Chandelle for tagging me.

A Haiku for Summer

2008-02-17T16:25:00.000-08:00

Au milieu de l’hiver

J’espère à l’été

Si le ciel garde sa teinte grise,

Je vais perdre tous.

Valentine's Day

2008-02-14T19:47:00.000-08:00

Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day! My hubby left before I woke up, but he left me with a rose and some chocolate dipped strawberries and a box of pecan sandies. He's a sweety. And I feel bad, because we usually don't make a big deal out of Valentine's Day and so I didn't do anything in return. Sigh.

When I Grow Up

2008-02-14T19:45:00.000-08:00

I love literature. I love philosophy just about as much, maybe a little bit more. I love feminist thought and all the ways it's taught me to look at life. So I thought that when I grew up, I would probably teach feminist philosophy at a university somewhere. However, as I've been looking at the social issues that feminism has opened my eyes to, I've been feeling the need to take responsibility for this knowledge and go into something that will allow me to effect real change. I didn't study much sociology, but I'm thinking something along those lines would allow me to get into the ugliest parts of the fray where I could closely observe, assist, and analyze the roots of some of these problems. I've also thought about going into law (something I would have laughed at had someone suggested it even a year ago). But law would allow me the language tools I need to not only understand how things are currently set up, but also how to change them. I've also considered politics. That way I can be in the thick of the decision making process--whether at the local, state, or national level. Really though, I think that these different fields are all rather inter-dependent (whether any of them would admit it or not). But I don't really have the time and money to go about pursuing each of them. So I'm having a hard time figuring out where I want to go next in my life.

I'm also aware of the endless list of problems that need to be addressed and I'm having a hard time settling on one. I want to help women and children who have been victims of domestic abuse: I want to help educate women; I want help women brake the wage barrier that still exists in the lower income levels; I want to help women learn to love their bodies for what they are and not fall pray to our horrendous beauty culture; and I want to help with the plethora of other issues that I didn't address in this paragraph. The thing is, I know that if I spread myself that thin, I'd never really be able to make a significant difference to anyone. However, I feel bad "turning my back" so to speak, on the other issues that I end up not taking part in.

Right now I'm full of idealism, full of energy that's driving me crazy, but what happens after I've actually encountered the evil, the ugly, the hopeless? What if I don't have what it takes? What if I waste a lot of my and my family's time towards the goal of trying to help only to find out that I was too weak. Worst of all, what if I wind up a cynic (although I already have strains of that from time to time)? And yet, I don't want to risk raising boys who think that it's okay to feel sorry for the bad things around them and yet not do anything. I don't want them to get too comfortable with life. I want them to see their mother actively involved in changing the bad things that happen in this world. I just don't know where to start. And the immobilization is killing me.

The Spirit

2008-02-09T10:36:00.000-08:00

For a lack of more obvious communication with the spirit, I decided that whenever I felt moved to tears, or got tingles all over, I was feeling the spirit. As a child, I remember this happening once--while I was watching my sister get baptized. I was so proud and even though I was only two years older than her, I felt like that gave me the right to say things like "I can't believe how much she's growing up" etc. As an adolescent, I felt it all the time. At church, out in the woods where we lived, watching church videos, reading scriptures, at youth conference (which means basically a huge emotionally manipulative boot camp for the young and spiritual). The only places I didn't feel it were when I was praying for a witness that the Book of Mormon/Gospel was true and when I was praying for comfort during rough times. When I left for school, I continued to feel it mainly in the above referenced contexts. Until I started dating my husband, then things began to change a little. We broke off our relationship for about a month (he said he needed more time to think about this whole thing). I was heart broken, but I talked to my bishop and he said to pray that the enabling power of the atonement would be with me. I did, it seemed like it was, and after a lot of chocolate and self pity, I was finally bouncing back and being okay with life by the time he re-proposed. However, when I prayed for a confirmation of whether or not I was supposed to marry him, I never got one (should have been my first clue, eh? lol).

It turned out my hubby just wasn't spiritual (I was blind to this at the time, but oh well). I would be on the verge of one of these moments, and he would say some goof ball thing that would ruin it. For instance, when we were looking out over Adam Ondi Ahman on our honeymoon, he said, "It's just a field of dirt." Good feelings gone. I was rather upset. He did this during the romantic scenes of movies too, in Sacrament Meeting, where ever I was about to have a little moment of excitement. It took me forever to finally figure out that he's just like that, he didn't mean anything by it, and to just let it slide and enjoy my moment anyway.

However, early on in our relationship, I had a miscarriage. I was certain that God was punishing me for my wicked thoughts of not wanting to have children. I prayed and prayed for comfort. It never came and it started the series of events that followed and eventually led to my leaving the church. Anyway, around the same time, I began taking philosophy classes and learned that it was okay to ask questions. I asked tons of questions. I also continued to try and find some comfort in what was a very painful situation for me. I began feeling the spirit less and less in church and more and more in nature, listening to different music (classical, opera, etc.) reading more in depth literature (Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov was life changing), and looking at artistic works. I would be moved to tears at museums, modern dance concerts, and have tingles and tears at concerts where I was introduced to the spiritual music of other faiths. But still, when I would beg for comfort, for reassurance that I was doing the right thing, in the right place, I would feel empty inside. I began to realize that I was feeling more inspired by what humanity could do than by what God had supposedly done. The spirit wasn't manifesting comfort so much as it was manifesting beauty. I would feel optimistic after watching a well executed performance that if we were capable of such beauty, then perhaps we were capable of learning to coexist peacefully. Gradually, I began to wonder how important it really was for everyone to join the same religion. I decided I thought it was more important for us to simply make beauty together. And I felt that some of the rich cultural/artistic efforts of different faiths was a good place to start.

Which finally brings me to the event that inspired this post. Last Sunday, my husband and I went to a choral performance. It was at a Baptist church here in town. My son's vision teacher sings in the choral and had invited us to come. We walked into the chapel and I was briefly overcome by the urge to cry (what I would formerly have identified as the spirit). The chapel had a vaulted ceiling and was paneled with juniper or cedar. There were several stained glass windows on one side. It was beautiful. I'd never been inside a different church before--only LDS ones. I wondered what it was about us that sometimes made us deny ourselves beauty simply for fear of rocking social norms. Why are we so narrow minded sometimes about the beauty that each of us can bring to this life? Why do we legitimize beauty only when it fits into our own narrow context of understanding? Perhaps, after humanity lost the need to explain the cosmos in terms of the divine, they started seeing divinity in the beauty that they were able to create. In the movie, The Davinci Code, Tom Hanks' character asks the female lead, "Why can't human be divine?" I think it is. I think divinity became a way for us to connect with what was most beautiful in human experience. Now if only we can recognize that in each other.

Me

2008-02-04T14:57:00.000-08:00

After reading Lisa's post over on fMh, I decided to do an introduction post. I mean, there's my profile over there on the left side of the screen, but it doesn't really have a whole ton about me. I was raised in Oklahoma--some time in Oklahoma City and some time in a little town called Clayton. Oklahoma was a fun place to grow up. Clayton was in the middle of a little range of mountains. They were covered mostly with pine as the logging industry had long ago cut down almost all the deciduous trees. We lived an hour away from the nearest Walmart and forty-five minutes away from the nearest branch of Mormons. There were thirty five people in my graduating class. I have duel citizen ship in one of the Native American tribes. However, my family was largely ignorant of what this meant except for free pencils and notebooks at school. My mom really romanticized our heritage. We did fur trade re-enactments as a family and while me, my mom, and sister where all white as you could wish, she always made us dress in Native American garb for these re-enactments. I was basically prejudice against my own tribe for years without really realizing it because we were never really taught anything about modern tribal issues, etc.

I was also a horse nut as a kid. When we moved to our small town, I begged and begged for a horse. I read books and magazines about horses. I put horse posters on my bed room wall. Finally in the eighth grade, I got a horse. An old, twenty four year old gelding. But I was thrilled. Unfortunately, I was also very quickly disillusioned. I wouldn't admit it, though, because I had begged for so long. It turned out that I didn't like getting up early to feed, water, muck out stalls, pick up rocks in the pasture, clear brush, etc. However, that was the image I had picked and become known for in high school and so that was the image I kept. I still love horses--they're beautiful animals, but if I ever own them again, it will be after I've decided I'm ready to make the necessary sacrifices.

I had said that I wanted to major in farm and ranch management (that only took an associates degree and I was pretty sure I hated school). However, my sophomore year, while studying French, I decided that I'd like to go to school and eventually get a Ph.D. in linguistics. Then, my senior year, inspired by my English teacher, I decided I'd teach high school English (and get that Ph.D. later).
I went to Ricks college on a whim (it was the only college I applied to--crazy, I know, but no one clued me into this until later). I majored in English, but still had a thing for languages and so I ended up taking two semesters each of Ancient Greek, Classical Latin, and Biblical Hebrew (they didn't offer anymore than two semesters of each one). So I know the basics of a few dead languages, but not really enough to read them at leisure. I minored in French and Philosophy. I love unmarketable thinking stuff like that. I puzzle over metaphysics, epistemology, mind/body problems, etc. when I take the time from blogging and feeding small children.

I actually met my husband while he was serving his mission in the tiny little branch we attended. I was one of five Laurels (in Mormon speak that means I was in a class of other young women approximately 16-17 yrs. old). The only young men there were twelve and I was their Sunday School teacher (a calling that I loathed, by the way). I walked into church and the missionaries were greeting people at the door. "Elder B" had gorgeous brown eyes and I was smitten. According to mission rules, however, the missionaries aren't allowed to flirt, date, etc. and so I kept this to myself. He was from Idaho, and by that time I had been accepted to Ricks college and had announced it to everyone at the branch. When he eventually got transferred to another area, he said, "I'll see you in Idaho." When he got off his mission, we dated long distance for a mere nine months and got married after my sophomore year. We had a little boy (Theron) about a year and a half later and another three years later we had another little boy (Gareth) who is now a year old.

So, there's my life story in a nut shell. I'll probably be drawing off of it from time to time as it has obviously shaped who I am and how I think now. However, the ways in which I was influenced by those things are subject matter for a different post, so I decided not to go into them here.

Til Death do Us Part

2008-01-14T22:25:00.000-08:00

A common enough phrase, whether raised in the LDS world or not, wouldn't you say? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Especially in regards to the Mormon response of Time and all Eternity. I went to the Rexburg Temple Open House today and got to hear some prophets and apostles talking about how heaven wouldn't be heaven without their wives and children, and how they were so grateful for the idea of time and all eternity (and of course they got that dreamy, happy look in their eyes that we always see on missionary videos). Now, I don't know how I feel about an after life (a post unto itself), but supposing we do live on after death, what would our relationships be like afterwards? According to non-LDS Christianity, we would go to heaven and not have our familial relationships. We might recognize people that we'd spent time with on earth, but we wouldn't necessarily look at them as spouses, mothers, etc. but rather as fellow praisers of God Almighty. According to LDS theology, not only will we recognize others in the same relationships as we have now, but we will also stay in those relationships if we've been through the temple to have them sealed up.

This got me to thinking about the way we practice time and eternity. Historically (from a Christian view point) a man married a woman and they (at least in theory) stayed faithful to each other until one of them died, then the other one was free to find a different spouse if the need or desire arose. In early LDS practice, a man could marry more than one wife regardless of whether or not wives could marry other husbands. However, if the husband died, then the various wives, if so inclined, could try and find another husband. Now, a woman marries a man and they stay faithful to each other until the other one dies and then the left over spouse is free to marry again. Is it me, or has "til death do us part" been in force throughout?

I know that some will say, yes, but because of the temple, they can be married after they die. What I'm saying is that "til death do us part" has been severely misinterpreted. "Til death do us part" simply refers to the life long commitment that couples have made to remain faithful to each other. It means that they are not to go forming other marriage-like relationships while their current spouse is living. However, once that current spouse is dead, all bets are off and they can find someone else. It works this way with or without a temple sealing. You don't see a widower/widow who was sealed to his/her deceased spouse staying single for the rest of her/his life (well, not regularly at least) do you? No, because death has parted the two of them and so the living one is free to find another partner.

So what I'm saying is that if there's an afterlife, then we will indeed either have our relationships as they are now or not, but I don't think the sealing power will really be relevant. Those who marry again waited for death to part them from their first spouse (at least ideally) before moving on. I don't think we need to worry about not having our spouses there with us. They'll be there waiting for us either way.

Parenthood

2008-01-04T20:51:00.000-08:00

I don't think this will be my "issues with motherhood" post, but I was reading Vada's post over on Mormon Mommy Wars and it got me thinking about my own son with disabilities. My youngest son is a year old. He's blind. It was such an odd experience, when even at a month and half old, I could tell that something was wrong with his eyes. I knew it was true, but didn't want it to be true. I kept telling myself that blindness wasn't so bad, that there are worse disabilities to have, that if he was really blind, he's still be able to live a functional life. But when we finally saw an ophthalmologist at six months, we were heart broken to have it confirmed.

I don't know how to express how overwhelming it is to be the parent of a blind child. How painful it is to hear people tell you how special you must be to have received such a child when you know so deeply your own inadequacies. To feel the pressure that such statements put on you to do a stellar job of raising your child. People keep telling me that I'm the perfect mother to have such a child, but only I know how dark my parenting days get sometimes. Only I know how resentful I sometimes get at being a mother when I could have been doing other things right now. Only I know how much I struggle doing little kid things. They couldn't be more wrong when they say things like that. I live in constant fear of having my son grow up and think that he might have been better off had he had a more adequate mommy.

And to make it worse, I know how important it is to do things right. To balance his needs with the needs of my older son who is normal. To make sure I explain enough to this little guy so that he makes those connections that are second nature to my sighted child. And yet I feel like most days are abject failures. Days when I get so scared and overwhelmed that I sit and stare at the computer so that I don't have to deal with all this. I love my boys more than I ever thought possible. I feed them, clean them, clothe them, but sometimes I worry that I'm failing them miserably because I'm not emotionally able to handle their needs. Do they know I love them? I think that's what scares me to death--is that they might doubt that. That they might grow up, look back, and doubt that I was doing my best and that I loved them.

Benazir Bhutto Assassinated

2007-12-27T18:50:00.000-08:00

Well shit. Shit, shit, shit. That's about all I have to say about it right now. I didn't know tons about her, I don't know how much about her corruption charges are true, I don't know much about Pakistani politics, but I don't see why anyone thought this was a good idea. What is going on in peoples' heads? Jeeze, people wonder why I'm so down on the idea of God. If he's telling people to do crap like this, then, "Thank you, I respectfully decline to participate." And I know that most folks don't believe God would really condone such things, but how many of the Big Three have wide scale war and terror in their histories? Let's be real. Whatever nut case did this, whether it was a political assassination or a terrorist, they probably were pretty sure that God wanted it to happen. So here's my question, is it really that they believe God wants it to happen or that their higher ups have serious control/power issues and so tell them that God wants this to happen? Then they go and do it because their religions have deprived them of the very critical thinking skills one would need to see the manipulation in such a request?

Tell me all your thoughts on God

2007-12-14T11:02:00.000-08:00

Since I'm still not sure about this whole God thing, I think I'm going to do a series of posts about the different things that I like and dislike about the idea of God as I know him. Some of these things, obviously, are what keep me from believing full fledged anymore, and some of them are what keep me hanging on to the shreds of desire to believe.

Probably the first thing that bothers me about God, is that he is a he. Oh I know, several religions/mythologies have made room for a female goddess or counterpart to God, but really, we've heard very little from her. She hasn't started any religious movements, she hasn't spoken to any prophets/prophetesses, she hasn't validated her existence in any way nearly as clearly as God has. And, no matter how far back you go looking for the Goddess, she always reports to the God. She doesn't share power ever, she is delegated power and must connive and/or cajole the God for anything that may run contrary to him. And in traditions where there is an acknowledgment of her but no worship of her, she doesn't do a whole lot to protest said arrangement.

So that sometimes gets me to wondering if religion is a boys' game. Something that crept into human existence a long time ago in order for men to rule with a little bit more validation. Or perhaps, drawing from an article I read in TIME once, some guy was scared about his impending death and had this hallucination that simply confirmed his status in relation to the women and made death not quite so scary. But really, all the major religious movements that we now recognize were founded on the visions of men who simply confirmed the already patriarchal society in which they moved. But do we have any records of women receiving such visions complete with admonitions to gather followers? Nope.

At this point, I must admit that I am sorely lacking in my knowledge of Goddess lore. I know that some women believe they have tuned in to her, can pray to her, etc. But they've had to do their searching outside any religious structure. And they have yet to form a movement around this idea. So I'm going to make some assumptions from this: 1) The Goddess doesn't exist and is simply a belated response from women who have finally realized that they are worth just as much as men, 2) The Goddess does exist, but women were so oppressed for so long they didn't know where to find her (although this calls into question her mercy/love for her daughters if you ask me), 3) The Goddess exists but realizes that religious movements can cause more harm than good and so has not felt the need to gather groups around her in great numbers--she's happy to speak to each of her daughters individually without getting into dogmatic bullshit about how to approach her, when, who's worthy, etc., and 4) God really does transcend gender/sexuality but hasn't felt the need to tell humanity that females are worth just as much as males (since the two genders/sexes really aren't separate after death) until the last hundred and fifty years give or take a decade.

Now I know that this sounds rather gender essentialist in a lot of ways, and I don't really consider myself an essentialist. I just know that for a long time, the sexes have been considered to have essential differences that reach beyond biological function and so women's and men's experiences have been different for a long time and thus a lot of women would take comfort in a deity who could understand their particular troubles. Obviously the non-existence of or gender transcendence of God would make these issues moot, but then, that's why I have so many issues to begin with. All the conceptions of deity that I've been able to think of are still vastly problematic when I view them from my own sense of justice, mercy, and love (and to all believers, that was probably the most arrogant sentence in this whole post, huh?). Okay, enough for now. Must go do something productive.

My Undoing

2007-12-08T11:54:00.000-08:00

I'm still incredibly confused. Just when I think I'm okay with my agnosticism, I hear some Christmas music and all the joy, peace, excitement, and comfort in the season come rushing back. I guess I'm still not one hundred percent ready to give up my belief in God, although I still have major issues with concepts of him thus far presented to me.

Quimby, over on fMh, wrote a beautiful piece about the diversity that could have attended Christ's birth. Even though I don't quite know what to do with it, Christmas and the surrounding story still fill me with hope and joy. I think the reason is because I yearn so much for peace and tolerance among the nations, indeed, even among families. I hurt so much for all the pain and suffering that people have to go through. Christ still represents that hoped for unity to me, although I don't know what to do with his divinity, etc.

I read a scheme of ethical development one time that suggested that after a person has discovered relativism, they sometimes eventually return to their original beliefs understanding that they aren't perfect, or even wholly true, and I wonder if that's what I'm doing right now--recognizing the issues involved, but comforted by the goodness that is supposed to come from Christianity. I know Christ wasn't the first one to preach peace, nor the only one to claim Savior status, nor is belief in him necessary to see the imperative of peace, but his is the peace that was taught to me as a child, and it is peace in this context that I still hope for, even if I never make another effort to convert someone to Christianity (which I probably won't), I will probably always see peace through that lens. Now however, I know that Christ isn't jealous, only humanity is, and that whatever God there may be, wants peace more than s/he wants anything else for his/her children.

Idealism Damaged

2007-10-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

For all my idealism, I have days when I think I should just trash the whole show. I was reading an excerpt of a memoir in Ms. Magazine about a woman who hears a horrific abortion story from her grandma. A couple of weeks ago, I was reading in TIME about the Burmese Monk Protest being crushed. I just don't know how to handle humanity at times like these. I just cry. I don't know what else to do right now but cry. It breaks my heart to see so many lives wasted in the name of power, or decency, or secrecy, or whatever. And on days like this, I just want to stop. But stopping isn't an option, or at least not one that I could entertain in good conscience. It's just hard not to get mired in the hopelessness when I read things like this. Someday, I keep promising myself, I'll have the resources I need to help make things like this obsolete. It just seems like someday is an awful long way away.

Therapy

2007-10-17T14:56:00.000-07:00

Supposedly I'm a fiction writer (graduated about a year ago in creative writing). However, I'm having a hard time really generating stories that aren't agenda laden. So I'm thinking maybe this space will help me get my issues off my chest so that I can just write stories without imposing anything on them--id est, any issues that arise in the stories will be more genuine and not generated solely from my need to prove a point. So there's that for a little introduction at least.

And yes, I suppose my blog title might be a little cliche, but that's how my life is right now. Everything's changing and that's about all I can count on.

Idealism

2007-10-17T14:33:00.000-07:00

My dad and I were talking on the phone the other day about the condition of the world right now. He's rather cynical and said that he believes humanity will destroy itself someday (he said man, but I'm editing him). I'd like to hope that we can learn from our past mistakes. I don't think we'll ever reach a Utopian state, but I think we could do better than what we're doing right now. I know where he's coming from. The global scene is somewhat discouraging even if things are good in some places of the world. I guess I look at the good parts and hope, believe even, that with enough effort, we could make things like tolerance and respect the norm. In fact it's that our scene is global now that is so encouraging to me. We can't be ignorant of things anymore, so hopefully we'll start trying to change more since we're aware of the things that are going on outside our local community.

The first step for such a thing to happen, is to get over our religious selves. I'm sort of religious--I'm kind of agnostic right now. However, part of what disenchanted me from religion was the us/them structure of most religions (Eastern spiritual practices excluded from what little I know of them). This applies especially to the big three--Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. Their "choice people" rhetoric is inherently dangerous to global peace. Each of the three religions is busy talking about how special they are compared to the poor heathen (who is a conglomeration of which ever two aren't being spoken of at the time) who has no idea about God, is being deceived by the evil half, and who will most certainly wind up in a less than happy (sometimes downright hellish) place after death. And so the proponents of these religions argue back and forth about whose right, who has the most rights because of their divine "election" and how that should be played out in life.

Lastly, I've wondered if the "prophecies" of these religions is to blame somewhat. Because of the belief from most of these traditions that God is omni-everything, they've taken their prophecies to be statements of future fact, rather than things that would happen if they weren't willing to live by the various standards of their faith. So it is that the world is in such a precarious and yet potentially good position. Most people in the world belong to one of the Big Three and are just waiting for Armageddon, the second coming of Christ, or the first coming of Christ (depending on which persuasion you apply to). And because they've accepted the cataclysmic events that are supposed to accompany all of these events, they are taking a kind of "this is how it's supposed to be so I'm not going to do anything about it" stance. And this is where I part with religion. All of the Big Three claim (at least in most circles) to be big proponents of peace, love, charity, compassion, etc., and yet are reluctant to throw a bone to the other two for fear of giving up their "chosen" status. I don't know if humanity will destroy itself or not; I don't know if Christ is coming or not; but I do know that if we would stop saying "this is how it has to be" and say "let's surprise God by doing great things for each other regardless of where we come from" then perhaps all of this war and unrest would go the way of all the earth. And then, if God is there, he'll be pleased that we've worked out our differences and if he's not, then humanity will still be better off than it has been since we started organizing ourselves into civilizations.

Lastly (for real this time), let me clarify. I'm not anti-religion. I think that if religions would really practice what they preach about peace and love, then they have great potential to effect change. Even though I don't know about where I stand in religion doesn't mean I want to eradicate the traditions. I think that a militant atheist/agnostic is just as bad as a militant Christian, Jew, or Muslim. So what I'm advocating is a little more willingness to admit how much we don't know and work together on what we do know--that humanity is capable of good things. I think that then, things will get better. Oh, and also, I realize that each of the religious powers has a tendency to cover its ploys for power and gain in religious clothing--but that's a whole other post.