Synthesis Feminism

"The first principle of full feminism is the simple equality of men and women. And it is an erroneous principle. For here nature steps in and forbids its achievement."  -- CORREA MOYLAN WALSH, Feminism

I've had it pretty easy, I must say. I have grown up in an era where I can vote, I was able to study science, I live in a country where I can dress as I wish, write about whatever I want, and when it comes to becoming whatever I want to be, I face no limits except those brought about by circumstances. Women can run for the highest office in the country, and if you look at recent history it may appear as though the office of Secretary of State is reserved for us. I have to constantly remind myself not to take any of this for granted. 

We have feminism and the women rights movement to thank for this. But feminism is different things to different people. The word is plagued with a myriad of permutations, some positive, some not.  Just as a couple of examples, you have the detritus of society represented by voices such as Rush Limbaugh's, uttering such nonsensical verbiage as"Feminism was established to allow unattractive women easier access to the mainstream" and that pillar of social de-evolution, Pat Robertson, when he stated that "Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." Alas, we do still have freedom of thought and of speech in this country. But what a gift that society was able to grow and move forward despite ill minds like these.

(in progress, more to come)

Completeness

Remember this?

 

Who would have guessed as we first watched "Jerry Maguire" back in 1996 that two lines from this scene would gain the immortality that they did. "You had me at hello" has become as notorious as lines such as "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" or "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore". And then there's "You... complete me."

What does it mean, "You complete me?" Should relationships be about being 'completed' by someone else? Does this mean we're not whole until we find that special someone? Should that be what we seek in a partner, 'completeness'?

In one sense, no. But in another sense, definitely.

No, you shouldn't need someone to make you who you are. You shouldn't depend on another person in order for you to be your own. You shouldn't need another human being to act as a crutch of sorts, without which you can't ambulate through life. Your own sense of self should come from within, from having found yourself and rejoicing in what you have discovered, and staying true to that. You should grow and develop as an individual without the need for anyone else. 

The thing is, I don't see "You complete me" as an expression of need. It is not an affirmation of the type of weakness that renders us incapable of making it through life. It is not a declaration of incompleteness of self. It is not acceptance of being unfulfilled in life. To me, the phrase invokes something much deeper than that. 

We all go through life trying to discover what our strengths are so that we can capitalize on them. Early on we need to find out what we're good at so that we can narrow down a career path. We carve out our lives around that. We make a point to exploit our strengths. And if we're really lucky we discover that these are not only strengths but passions that fuel our soul. For some people career equates with life. They don't have a career to make a living; they live for their careers. Such passion is truly commendable, even enviable. (But perhaps it also begs the reminder that no man ever said on his deathbed "I wish I had spent more time at the office".)

Together with our strengths invariably come weaknesses. I'll be hard-pressed to find someone who is perfect. We are all flawed. Be it little things, like the proverbial toothpaste tube left uncovered or drinking straight out of the milk carton, or deeper flaws, like spending too much money on trivial things driving your bank account into the red every month, or not being able to say "I've had enough" after X number of beers, or being one who cares not about what your words do to others.... Defects, issues, flaws. We all have them.

We should be so lucky to find someone in life that loves us so unconditionally, so genuinely, so purely, that not only do they tolerate these imperfections - a tolerance grown out of their love for us and the realization that they, too, are less than perfect - but most importantly, they aid in complementing them. Someone that helps us become tempered before we lose our temper, to calmly help us see why we're over-analyzing a situation to death when that isn't necessarily in our best interest, who has no issue helping to manage the finances because quite frankly, we stink at it, the person with the level head at a time when we may be too emotionally charged to exercise clear judgment. And someone whose love for us is such that they realize that, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really hurt for the toothpaste tube to remain uncapped, that you can buy an extra carton of milk, that you can deal with minutiae because, truly, there are much more important things in life to worry about. They truly accept us just the way we are; they want to. Love's funny like that.

The black to my white, the hot to my cold, the ying to my yang. THAT is "You complete me" to me. 

When completing a jigsaw puzzle, you focus on one piece and look and look in the pile for that one other piece that fits perfectly next to it. That one piece that will conform exactly to the contours of the one you already have down. You don't have to cut off anything about either piece to make them fit. They just go together perfectly, without adjustments, effortlessly.

In being complemented you don't change; nobody should make you do that. When you find that right person, they accept you just the way you are - love works that way.  They should fall in love with the you that YOU love. But in finding that special someone, and in being that perfect complement for you, they compensate for those things on which you're weak; they have what you lack. You don't have to change to have those things. They do. And they don't have to change to have what you bring; you already have it. This compensation comes naturally, from the fact that they fit so well with you. If it feels like a chore, it may be that you're forcing the issue. If it feels like a task, maybe it's because it is. If it feels like you're having to work so hard at it, maybe it's because you're trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. When it's a perfect fit, it should all fall into place naturally. Like the very beautiful song by the very talented k.d. lang, love is "Simple".

Does that mean you need to have them in your life? Maybe, maybe not. That depends on whether or not you think you need love in your life, or whether or not you feel you're perfectly fine going through life alone. We all go through life taking our virtues as well as our flaws everywhere we go. That wouldn't change. But if you find this special someone, one day you realize that together you make such a bigger, stronger whole than you did while you were apart. That as much as you were two perfectly fine, full individuals with strengths and weaknesses when you were apart, having found each other makes weaknesses be complemented, flaws be compensated for, strengths elevated and supported, while still remaining true to who you are because you can, because no one is demanding that you change. You two become a new one and you're much stronger for it. And importantly, you love and are loved in the process. 

Perhaps you've never had someone look you in the eyes like that famous scene in Jerry Maguire and tell you "You... complete me". Perhaps you lack the courage and confidence to look someone in the eyes and tell them that. Perhaps you haven't loved that deeply yet. Perhaps you use a lack of need for completeness as an excuse to nestle yourself in the haven that is solitude because there you may be alone but you're also sheltered from pain (albeit sadly, also devoid of love). Or perhaps you feel you have no need for any of this because you are so self-absorbed, living a life so centered on self. If the latter, I believe it's your loss. As an individual you may be whole, but you're not.... complete.

Revisiting the Classics

My number one, most revered author is Anna Quindlen. I absolutely adore her and everything she stands for. She writes with such conviction, and with an eloquence that I could only dream of ever having and know I could never, ever achieve. She's that wonderful. Her Pulitzer should be a surprise to no one.

Recently I watched an interview of her by Charlie Rose which was posted online. It was about the time in 2010 when her then latest novel, Every Last One, had just come out. The interview was about this new novel, her inspirations, motherhood and loss as topics that define her, and a variety of other subjects. But at one point she touched upon a well known novel, Moby Dick, and on revisiting the classics.

Charlie Rose made a reference about how some people say that maybe you shouldn't read War and Peace until you're at least in your thirties because you just won't get it. She agreed, saying how there's a beauty in not getting things and then getting them. She went on to mention how she first read Moby Dick back when she was in college and didn't care for it much, but how her oldest son insisted she revisit it that year because, as he told her: "Mom, you're just wrong about Moby Dick". And she conceded that he was right. But furthermore, she enjoyed the realization that she was now developed enough to appreciate something that she didn't some thirty-plus years ago - 'an incredible maturation process', she called it. And it occurred to me that this makes perfect sense.

When we're young - high school, junior high, perhaps - we're made to read some of the most impacting works by some of the most important literary minds of our time. Shakespeare, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Hemingway, Austen, Poe, Fitzgerald, Whitman, Tolstoy, Salinger, Melville..... This list could quickly turn endless. We read them because the teacher said so. We read them because we had to write a book report, because we were going to be tested on them, because our grade depended on it. We read them because we had to. Introducing students to literature was part of the curriculum, part of our education. I mean, most 15-year olds probably don't read Shakespeare for kicks.... right?

By high school graduation I was impacted by four books in particular. In sixth grade I read Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird.  More than anything else about the book what I remember most is my reaction when I turned the last page. Because I connected to it so deeply, becoming so emotionally attached to characters and story alike, when I reached the very end and turned that last page only to find it blank, devoid of any more story, I burst into tears. Oh how I sobbed and sobbed. The tale finished, the characters were suddenly no longer alive. I was distraught. I will forever list To Kill A Mockingbird as my favorite book. What a beautiful story of sympathy and understanding in the face of bigotry and hatred. There I was, a little 11-yr old girl, sobbing at the end of a book. That reaction will remain etched in my mind forever. 

Later on in high school when it came time to read the works of none other than William Shakespeare, two in particular became clear favorites: A Midsummer Night's Dream - so magical, with such a whimsical air of fantasy, just pure fun; and my number one Shakespeare favorite: Julius Caesar. In fact, I remember I liked Julius Caesar so much that I read it twice. 

But when it comes to world-renowned works read in high school, none was as meaningful, as beautiful, as one of the pillars of literature, Don Quijote de la Mancha. What a story, so full of irony, puns, comedy, but yet with such a deep philosophical message. The beautiful story about the most famous dreamer that ever was. What a special book that was for me to read. And what a privilege to have been able to read it in its original language, Spanish.

But inasmuch as I enjoyed these works of literary art at such a young age, did I really get them? Did I really absorb the profound significance of their message? Could I? Were the authors' intentions for them to be read by such an inexperienced, budding audience in the first place?

Time goes by, we age, we experience love, heartbreak, career success, failure, parenthood for some, divorce for others, and with all of this new-found experience life has bestowed upon us comes the need to re-experience these classics. It's imperative that we go back and revisit these literary works. Imagine the richness twenty-plus years later, with all this acquired wisdom casting a light down on the rereading experience. Indeed, the classics need to be re-experienced in that bright renewed light, the light of knowledge, maturity, worldliness, understanding, awareness. The pages will become brighter, the print sharper, the message deeper and clearer and we will come to really get them when we shine upon them that warm, steady glow acquired by us all courtesy of the passing of time.

Just like Anna Quindlen re-experienced Moby Dick as a mature woman and realized how perhaps she didn't really get it when she was in college, perhaps I'll start with To Kill A Mockingbird, just to see if I'll have the same reaction as that little girl had when she turned that very last page. Although somehow I think that that little girl did get it after all.

Holstee Manifesto

A manifesto on how to live life, on how to prioritize what is really important. 

Read it slowly. And really think about it.

This is your life.
Do what you love, and do it often.
If you don't like something, change it.
If you don't like your job, quit.
If you don't have enough time, stop watching tv.
If you are looking for the love of your life, stop; they will be waiting for you when you start doing things you love.
Stop over analyzing, life is simple.
All emotions are beautiful.
When you eat, appreciate every last bite.
Open your mind, arms, and heart to new things and people.
We are united in our differences.
Ask the next person you see what their passion is, and share your inspiring dream with them.
Travel often; getting lost will help you find yourself.
Some opportunities come only once; seize them.
Life is about the people you meet and the things you create with them so go out and start creating.
Life is short.
Live your dream and share your passion. 

Music from Utopia - Part I

If you know me really well, you know that I worship George Winston. That I believe he is the greatest pianist on the planet. I was introduced to his music through a boyfriend back in college. Now that I'm middle aged I've listened to various other pianists over the years, but my loyalty remains true to G.W., who I was blessed to hear in concert back in the 80s during my college years, a blessing that I'm hoping to be privileged enough to have again in the future. 

I believe his gift is in making such beautiful art in such a simple way, as often some of his simplest, most uncomplicated pieces are his most breathtaking. 


Take "Thanksgiving" (album: DECEMBER), among his oldest, and categorically my #1 favorite. So very moving, perhaps a touch on the sad side for parts of it, yet haunting, spiritual, inspirational, sublime... I can't say enough about this piece. Definitely tops my G.W. list of favorites.

Enjoy...

I love the fact that all the images on this video are shots of nature. But of course, I'd say that.


Then take "Colors/Dance" (album: AUTUMN), so aptly titled in my opinion because of the way in which, as the piece progresses it's all about his fingers doing this exquisite dance on the ivories. This one takes you through an up and down of emotions, and as such I think it invokes more of the senses. That's one of the reasons I love it so much.  See what you think... 

I thought the image choices that went into this video were great. I particularly enjoyed the human figures exploding out of paint bottles in a joyous dance. I'd love to grace one of my walls with that piece, I like it so much.

And what about his rendition of the traditional English Christmas carol "The Holly and the Ivy" (album: DECEMBER).  A myriad of versions exist of this, of course, so many of them taking a particularly serene and solemn tone. What I enjoy so much about G.W.'s version is how merry and joyous it is. I particularly love the change around 2:04 - 2:05 in this video. The melody of this whole piece is just beautiful and uplifting enough as it is, but this little movement change just takes my breath away. Absolutely exquisite.

Lastly, there's "Some Children See Him", also from his album DECEMBER. Two things I adore about this piece. One is that it is a perfect example of my point that sometimes his most simplest music is his most divine. This arrangement isn't a complicated one, when you really listen closely to what both hands are doing and dissect it in your mind, but put both of them together and that simplicity is precisely what makes it so ethereal when they harmoniously become one. Another thing I love about this piece, nerdy as it may be, is his use of the sustain pedal, the most commonly used one when playing piano (the one on the right). The pedal and the wonderful way in which he makes notes cleanly and purely linger is essential to the air of this piece in many places of it. When you use the pedal wrong it can result in notes getting mushed together and sound like noise instead of music. But G.W. wouldn't do that. I love his use of it here. 

I cannot get enough of George Winston's work. What a gift to music.

"Just Friends"

We have this code phrase at work that we use on anyone's newly-acquired significant other: his or her "just friend". This phrase was unknowingly used by our summer student today, so she was set straight as to what that means within our group. Later on, one of my coworkers called me to let me know that on yahoo.com an article popped up on how to go from "just friends" to something more. He found it such a funny coincidence that such an article showed up today, when we were precisely talking about the concept of "just friends" with our summer student. All wrapped up into the magical coincidence making today "just friends" day. 

Almost four years ago one of my coworkers came to this country from abroad to join our group. She knew no one in our city. She was single, unattached. At a party with people from her home country she was introduced to this young man, also single and unattached. At the time she was looking for someone to teach her how to drive as she was new to the U.S. and was working on getting her driver's license. What started as parking lot lessons turned into longer trips and, before she knew it, a relationship blossomed. However, anytime we asked, she replied with a coy, shy smile: "We're just friends".

"Just friends, huh?" we all quipped. 

They're now happily married with a 2-year old son, and planning for a second child perhaps next year. So much for "just friends".

In two occasions, the last of which was last year, I used this infamous phrase to refer to new love interests in my life. At the mere mention that I had a "just friend", they all fluttered with excitement wanting to know more, "just friend" being code for the juicier "more than just friends". 

So naturally I had to read this yahoo.com article by Kimberly Dawn Neumann that my coworker pointed me to on how to go from "just friends" to something more.  The article goes over 5 steps in order to achieve such a transition: looking before you leap, testing the waters, making your move, steaming things up, and announcing your new status. If ever there is one resounding theme throughout that article, it is the one thing that we have known since the beginning of time. And that is that the deal-breaker, the make-it or break-it, the absolute must-have in order for a relationship to even get off the starting block is communication. 

You can't have a successful (loving, harmonious, happy, joyous, blissful, fair, comfortable, insert your own adjective denoting success) relationship without communication. 

Talk. Discuss. Everything. Anything. A lot. Question. Answer. Ponder. Laugh. Cry. Argue. Ponder some more. Ask. Communicate. A lot. 

The thing is, you can't even have the start of a relationship without communication. I mean, how will the other person even know you want to start something if you don't communicate that? I know better than anyone on the planet what I feel, but how will the other person know what I feel unless I communicate that? Likewise, the other person may have the most awesome, wonderful intentions, but really, without a crystal ball I will never be able to read them. The one problem I still need to overcome on this is that I'm not one of these modern women totally unafraid to be the forward one making all the first moves... and I suppose I couldn't be the one to drop on one knee and propose, either. I guess I'm shaped in too old-school of a mold when it comes to "first moves early on in relationships". Couple this with men being so anti relationship talk, and therein lies the root of my quandary. But I understand that nothing sends a relationship quicker into the gutter of failure than forcing the other person to have to read between the lines because you're too afraid to communicate what you truly feel. I particularly could relate to the point the author made about stating your expectations early on, which again drives the point home of the importance of communication. More often than not the two people involved have completely different expectations and it is not until this is talked out that they come to this realization. Worse yet, sometimes one side is operating under the assumption that they know what the other person's expectations are. Nothing could be further from correct than assuming.... anything. Let's face it: you just don't know what the other person is thinking or feeling. You're digging your own grave by thinking that you do and worse yet, by operating under mere assumptions or stereotypes. You're really not affording the other any kind of fair treatment by lumping them into categories or societal statistics rather than simply getting to know them as the individual that he or she is via communication.

Relationships can be challenging, especially in the beginning, even when there is communication. Imagine the insurmountable wall you're creating for yourself when you deprive a budding relationship of that. Especially, of all people,  your "just friend". I'm a firm believer in treating a relationship as a living, breathing being. Nurture it properly and it will blossom into the most beautiful creature you could ever dream of. But deprive it of the most essential nutrients it needs for survival and, sadly, like a forgotten plant or neglected pet, it will quickly perish. Communication is as essential a nutrient for a relationship's survival as water is for every living thing on this planet. A relationship can't be subject to neglect any more than any other living thing can, unless you want it to die.

And so, my coworker approached me later on today, asking what I thought of that article. I reviewed what the jist of it was, thinking about how every reader probably gleaned something different than I did. We each read with our own pair of eyes after all, and through my brown pair of "windows to life" I gaze at things differently than others do through theirs. He commented what a funny coincidence it was that on the same day that the topic of "just friends" came up among us, that article popped up on yahoo.com. Funny coincidence indeed. But the best part was that we were able to talk about it. To communicate. What a gift.

Love of... Country?

If there's one thing the political right prides itself on is love of country. Come the Fourth of July, no group sings Lee Greenwood's "Proud To Be An American" louder than conservatives. It is the right that thanks a little louder, bows a little deeper every Memorial Day or Veteran's Day, somehow having taken ownership of all things patriotic. But as is so often the case with conservatives, their speech is rooted in a moral void, their words lacking the very same actions which should be carried out to back them up. 

At a time when our country is technically inching its way out of a recession and dangling on an economic high wire perhaps about to fall right back into another one, with unemployment hovering just above 9%, the extent to which conservatives protect the corporate giants - the so-called "job providers" - from contributing their fair share to this country's economy (the country they claim to "love") is astonishing. Revolting, and astonishing. 

And why? Because dare we not hurt the "job providers"? As the masses of average, working Americans await to figure out how to put food on the table, wade through stacks of unemployment paperwork - if they can even get unemployment - and try to find jobs that aren't there, we dare not hurt the "job providers" who are providing jobs that are as tangible as Mr. Snuffleupagus was to everyone on Sesame Street whose name wasn't Big Bird. At least in this country. For yes, they're job providers, alright - to the citizens of India, or Instanbul, or Costa Rica, or China, or wherever else they're choosing to outsource the very jobs they should be providing to their own people right here in America. Labor is cheaper there, and requirements such as health care provisions and such are nonexistent - what a sweet deal it is. And this is how these so-called "job providers" are showing us that they... care about American jobs? By outsourcing them? While our people continue to hope for these elusive jobs from the so-called "job providers", the political right continues to ferociously build them a contribution-proof, impenetrable protective bunker, the mother of all tax nuclear fallout shelters. Ah yes, the so-called patriotic, conservative, do-all-that-is-right... "Americans". 

Hurt? Would it really hurt these corporate giants if they contributed an amount commensurate with their profits for the benefit of their country? Would that not be the real trickle down? How many more decades are average Americans supposed to continue to wait for the rich and for corporate to turn on their faucets? Could this not be the panacea for our economic ills? Alas, corporate plumbing was never supposed to work that way in the first place. It's all been a conservative fallacy from as far back as the late 19th century. There's been trickling, alright: profits have trickled from the big corporate giants' hose bibs right back into their own pockets. All we have seen is the richer become richer, the poorer become poorer, and the middle class struggle in between. Ever-enlarged, deeply-soaked pockets - the pockets of these so-called patriotic, conservative, do-all-that-is-right.... "Americans". 

It's interesting how everyone has their own idea of what love is or is supposed to be. Here I was thinking that love of country might perhaps have to do with a legitimate concern for your fellow citizens, an earnest interest in the needs of others, an honest desire to help your fellow man, a sincere want to make the country a better place in which to live, and that people that elected to work in public office made it a point to live up to these values. I thought that people that felt a calling to work for their country did so because they felt in their heart a true-blue love of... country.

Instead, all I see are these so-called "job providers" not only not providing nearly enough jobs right here in America as they should and not being held accountable in the least, but them being fiercely sheltered and protected from contributing their fair share to their country's economy under the umbrella of a failed, flawed economic theory by the very same group who proclaims to be the poster children of all that is patriotic, of all that is love of... country?

I'm sorry, but no. This is hypocritical love of country. Love of self, but not love of country. This is an insulting farce lacking in moral fiber. Next Fourth of July they'll sing Lee Greenwood's "Proud to be an American" off the top of their lungs, a charade that once again will be about anything but love of country.

Paperweight

It's not a new song, but it's new to me. I'm so happy to have recently discovered it.  So angelic, with lyrics so beautifully sweet, that I decided to put it up here. 

Makes me think of the days of young love; love so sweet, real, exciting, pure, innocent, honest, trusting, passionate. Invoking all 5 senses, loving like you've never been hurt. Taking risks without thinking twice about it. 

No, we're never too old to feel young love again. God, if only....  May it hit us like a ton of bricks, make us queasy with jittery nervousness, butterflies of excitement, and restless, sleepless nights.

To young love...

by Joshua Radin & Schuyler Fisk

Lyrics:

Been up all night staring at you
Wondering what's on your mind
I've been this way with so many before but this feels like the first time

You want the sunrise to go back to bed
I want to make you laugh

Mess up my bed with me
Kick off the covers
I'm waiting
Every word you say I think I should write down
Don't want to forget come daylight

Happy to lay here
Just happy to be here
I'm happy to know you
Play me a song
Your newest one
Please leave your taste on my tongue

Paperweight on my back
Cover me like a blanket

Mess up my bed with me
Kick off the covers
I'm waiting
Every word you say I think I should write down
Don't want to forget come daylight

And no need to worry
That's wasting time
And no need to wonder what's been on my mind
It's you
It's you
It's you

Every word you say I think I should write down
Don't want to forget come daylight

And I give up
I let you win
You win 'cause I'm not counting

You made it back to sleep again
Wonder what you're dreamin

The Rabid Right

Apparently, Tea Party Terrorists, you still want to kill the hostages. After all, what do you know about thinking of the needs of your fellow man. Compassion is as foreign a word to you people as the word compromise (among many others).

What should have been a clean deal on whether or not to raise the debt ceiling was hijacked the way of the 9/11 airplanes by the ruthless, illogical, egotistical and downright vicious extreme right in Congress and aimed nose first into the towers that are the poor and oppressed lower and middle classes in this country, loading these planes with unnecessary heavy-set cargo in the form of additional demands to further their wicked agenda in favor of the filthy rich. Even Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell admited the debt ceiling was a hostage "worth ransoming".  The extreme right simply said "we'll address the debt ceiling issue but not unless we get this and this and this and this while we're at it, too" and the mainstream right failed at bringing them in line otherwise. And because the debt ceiling deadline was looming, without compliance of which the government would have gone into default leading to a very plausible economic debacle with potentially global repercussions, President Obama, in a case of being caught between a rock and a hard place, simply went along with it. And Speaker Boehner now brags that they he got 98% of what he wanted.

Frankly? I would have much rather seen Obama resort to the 14th amendment, if for no other reason than a) to see him be more of a democrat, in hopes of seeing him stand up for democrat principles, and b) because the worsening of the current economic situation (for the average American, of course) which will unravel from this deal will be tagged on nobody's head but his own. This, despite the fact that this deal was born out of Republican minds by Republican congressmen in the House. The right will categorically stop at nothing to shatter the Obama administration in every way, from every angle. To the rest of America and the world Obama may appear as the most compromising president in recent history, perhaps too compromising, but the rabid right will not cease until they've buried his name in the history books as a 1-term president (in the likes of George H.W. Bush et al).  Obama truly is damned if he does and damned if he doesn't. All part of the modern-day lynching that the right have been dead set on carrying out since January 20, 2009.

Meanwhile, you have representative Doug Lamborn (R-CO) referring to President Obama as a "tar baby", you have Pat Buchanan referring to him as "boy", you have representative Joe Walsh (R-IL) recently saying he doesn't want to impose a financial burden on his children while exposed as a revolting dead-beat dad, and in a most shameless, filthy act of profiteering, presidential hopeful Mike Huckabee has decided that it's OK to cash in on the cruelest assault on American lives in American soil by selling cartoon videos indoctrinating our children on his skewed version of history.  Interestingly, this video stamps the word "DECEASED" over a caricature of Osama Bin Laden then follows this with a George W. Bush cartoon giving a speech through a megaphone over the rubble of the twin towers, easily confusing any easily-confusable child viewer into thinking that Bin Laden was killed before the cleanup of the towers was even finished, when in fact Bin Laden was killed "just the other day" by the Obama administration, not Bush's. I imagine that the families of the 9/11 victims will not see a penny from all of the profits Huckabee will garner out of this. After all, there's no claim to the contrary on his "Learn Our History" website.

That this type of right-winged indoctrination parallels that carried out during Nazi Germany or Zedong China is a most fitting comparison, to say the least. It's as if the right is on a relentless quest to reinvent and rewrite all of history. Hollywood would be hardpressed to come up with story lines like these.

Really.... I mean, how do these people sleep at night. The Bible-beating, ignorant, amoral right. Nauseating. Despicable. Rabid.

The Passing of an Angel

When we lose loved ones, we feel deep pain. When we lose family members, our hearts ache beyond description. They leave an immense hole that can't ever be filled by anyone else. We suffer, we hurt, we mourn. 

When we lose an innocent little creature who was both family and a loved one, it's a uniquely sad moment in time.

Today I lost a loved one; I lost a family member. Today I lost my Angel of Hope. "Hope" to the rest of the world; playmate and "big sister" to little Grace; and little special angel to me.

Oct./Nov. 1997 - 8/2/2011 - "Hope" (registered as "Angel of Hope")

Words fail me in describing how special you were, Hope. My little rescue baby, having been turned in at a shelter then at Dachshund Rescue where they held out very little hope for you. Demodex mange, bronchitis, emaciated, dehydrated, a host of worms, ear infections, ticks, fleas.... that's what you were like when you were found, a cute little puppy back then. But you never, ever stopped fighting. You were a fighter from the start. "Angel" they called you, and with me wanting to name my next one "Hope", the formal, registered name "Angel of Hope" couldn't have been more fitting for a perfect little angel like you.  

You came to us and Winnie wanted nothing to do with you. But you somehow managed to show her you were worth tolerating. You were so full of energy my family called you "La Loca" - The Crazy One.  And when Winnie died you truly mourned. You were changed, you temporarily stopped caring for squeaky toys, you did wrong things that you'd never done before. Mommy forgave you - she knew you were confused by the disappearance of your beloved "big sister". You were always such an emotional little girl.

You fought your way through disc surgery. You fought your way through multiple skin issues. You fought your way through a world that always seemed so scary to you. Mommy was always there... protecting you.

You tolerated the big crazy boy Peavey for as long as you could. And when it became evident that he was more than you could handle, mommy put you first. Another home had to be found for Peavey - your last few years being safe and peaceful were the only priority for mommy.

But alas, aging took the best of you so very quickly. Blind, small and weak. It happened so, so fast. What wonderful 13 1/2 years you gave me. The same exact number that Winnie gave me; I guess you didn't want to outdo your "big sister".

And now you're at that special place with your beloved "big sister" Winnie. You've arrived at that coveted place where all innocent, loving creatures such as yourself go when they leave this Earth:

The Rainbow Bridge.

My little family is now smaller. I mourn, I ache, I'm not the same without you. You were so unique... words truly fail me. Mommy's heart is shattered, but you are where you need to be now. You went peacefully, naturally.  I'd like to think that your pain, if any, was minimal.

R.I.P. my little Angel of Hope.  This house just isn't the same without you. Gracie and I miss you so much. See you at The Bridge someday. 

Brioche

It's a Saturday morning and, as is often the case, I decided to treat myself to a little piece of heaven and learn something while I'm at it.

Today's learning experience: Brioche.  The recipe I decided on is this one for Bubble Top Brioches from Bon Appetit. I love the single-serving aspect of the Parkerhouse rolls configuration. It's not the traditional shape but for my learning experience, this will do. Next time will include the fluted brioche tins and the little "head" on top.

Pulling out the cell phone out of my pocket, here's some evidence: 

Mine don't look as pretty as theirs, but holy mother of God are they heavenly. 

I have made yeast breads, biscuits, bagels, pretzels and the like before, so I was deceived by the texture of this dough. It was really difficult to overcome the temptation to add more flour, as it was so soft and sticky it just didn't look "right" or finished. But the OCD voice inside of me took hold, reminding me that the very first time you try a recipe you should follow it to the letter, so as to achieve the outcome as was meant by those who created it, only adding your own ingenuity and creativity once you've experienced the "supposed to be" version. The same voice pointed out the fact that they have you chill this dough overnight, perhaps this being the way to compensate for the gooey, pasty nature of this dough.

I'm so glad I listened to that voice, as the result would have been tougher and lacking in tenderness had I ruined it by adding more flour. Phew.

It's so worth it to bake from scratch when the outcome is this ethereal, fluffy, delicate, decadent and sinful (they tell you how many grams of fat are in one of these, which I'm still trying to figure out why I had to look at in the first place). 

 

Cake and bread came together in a tender, loving marriage with brioche as their offspring.

"Still Life with Brioche" by Edouard Manet, 1880

The Gift of Failure

Failure is an ironic phenomenon.  For something deemed so negative in the short term, it sure bestows us with some of the most positive gifts long-term. It affords us humility. It makes us stronger. It permeabilizes us to our own weaknesses. It’s a necessary part of life; without it, we grow to a state of incompleteness. In order to be truly successful in life, I believe that we need to fail.

We start young adulthood and embark on a journey to maturity filled with so many plans, so many dreams we’re so sure that we’re going to accomplish.   

With plans of college and graduate school, I carefully orchestrated a career in science, planning to go as far as necessary in my education to achieve the position of university faculty with my own research laboratory. I truly love teaching - such a position would have given me the perfect outlet, plus given me the scientific freedom to answer my own questions, satisfy my scientific curiosity, feed my intellect. Priceless.

I dreamed I would find the Romeo that every little girl dreams of finding. He would give me that wild, intoxicating feeling of butterflies in the stomach, mixed with frenzied heartbeats, trembling skin and weak, watery knees with so much as the mere thought of his name. I wanted “to have and to hold”. I envisioned “till death do us part”. I dreamed of “happily ever after”. I would give every ounce of my heart and soul to him and together we would start a family, the ultimate proof of our love for each other. Being a hopeless romantic is perhaps one of my greatest weaknesses. I always said I wanted more than one child so that they had each other once we were no longer on this earth. I couldn’t wait to be the best wife and the best mother I could possibly be. A dream.

We’re so gung-ho when we’re young. We set out to conquer the world. We’re bold, confident, so sure that we’re going to accomplish every single one of the things we set out to accomplish. And indeed, many people are lucky enough to be able to do it. But many aren’t.

My degree plans materialized only part way and therefore so did my career.  It’s not what I originally set out to do. It's just feels like a job.

My ‘to have and to hold’ plans have yet to materialize. After 7 1/2 years I have one failed marriage under my belt. I'm alone once again, still looking for “the one” with whom to go through the second part of my life. I guess I've always believed that we're not put on this earth to go through life with that kind of loneliness. Each and every single gift life gives you is so much sweeter and wonderful when it's shared with a soulmate. Every difficulty is made more bearable, every hurdle more easily overcome with that special someone, that rock.

My motherhood plans will never be, now unable to bear children. Adoption or step motherhood is my best bet, but neither would mirror my own flesh and blood.

Middle age is a crossroads. It allows you to see the obvious: one half of your life has passed, with no chance of ever recapturing any of it. But it also allows you to recapitulate, to look back, to reflect, to start fresh on the second half. How many of my plans did I actually accomplish? At how many of those plans did I fail? What am I going to do with the second half of my life?

It was a pretty hard blow to reach middle age and realize that I failed at pretty much every one of the major plans I had made in my early adulthood. The word "failure" never hit harder than at this point in my life.

But from this failure came humility. Enormous strength. From failing came wisdom. From failure came a state of completely realizing who I am as an individual. What I want, what I need, what I will and won’t put up with. I came out knowing myself better than I ever thought possible.

I don’t know that I should plan anymore. For the second half of my journey, maybe I’ll just let the chips fall where they may.  It would be nice to travel on this road with someone other than myself, but I’ll just leave it up to destiny to set that up for me. I’m tired of trying so hard to make that happen. I’ll take the journey one day at a time, for plans are just that: plans. Nothing in life is guaranteed. We only have today. We don't know a thing about tomorrow.

We’re a reflection of the road on which we’ve traveled. It has shaped us into who we are today. The past is a mirror; through it we can see what we’ve become. Failure has played a major role in making me the woman I am today.  I feel the strength, the confidence, the wisdom that were born from it.  What an irony that these gifts came from failure.  

"It is fine to celebrate success, but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure." - Bill Gates

Irreplaceable Love

Yesterday I made my annual trek to one of our local event arenas for the big dog show. For more than 15 years I have been attending this dog show cluster. Aside from having had to miss a couple of years because of way too much going on at work, I wouldn’t miss this show for the world. I always take a vacation day off and attend on Friday.

As in any other large all-breed dog show, you have your typical competitions happening simultaneously. You have the grand daddy of them all, conformation, where dogs are being judged against a breed standard devised by each breed’s national parent club and which takes into account the breed history and the old adage ‘form follows function’. Then there’s obedience, where dogs are being judged to perform a series of exercises alongside their handler (usually the owner) under a strict set of rules, without corrections or any guidance or communication from the handler other than the commands themselves. The crowd-pleaser, agility, brings together control, speed, and athletics as handler and dog are put to the test to navigate a challenging obstacle course in a specified order, following specific rules, as quickly as possible. Flyball is another fun crowd-pleaser where dogs and handlers compete as teams in a relay race to beat the clock, sending their dogs to make a mad dash over hurdles, retrieve a tennis ball and bring it back at lightning speed. Then there’s demonstrations such as frisbee, where owners show off the athletic prowess of their Frisbee-catching canine partners, and Musical Freestyle, where carefully choreographed routines between handler and dog are put to music, driving home the essence of ‘teamwork’ that so strongly resonates throughout the whole show, no matter which event you choose to watch.

Perhaps one of the biggest feasts to the eyes is the vendor area. Booths on anything and everything related to dogs and dog ownership can be found at this show! Importantly so, all incarnations of rescue organizations also set up informational booths there, and their work cannot be exulted or commended enough. But if you want to bring a few extra goodies home for your dog, or get a quirky t-shirt with which to display your pride in dog ownership, or get a great cleaner for your carpet to battle those pesky accidents, you are sure to find it here. Sometimes we find more than just the practical. There’s doggie décor, jewelry, and specialty things, like doggie art.

Many years ago one artist’s booth caught my attention, and from then on I've always made a point to stop by to see her work. I met her several times and have had the great pleasure of chatting with her. I would always come by asking “What do you have new on Dachshunds?” Depending on the answer I would walk out either disappointed or excited and with a bag in hand. However, her work is so beautiful that you can’t help but become a fan regardless of what your breed attachment is. She so beautifully captures the essence and character of the breeds. So it was with much excitement that I spotted her booth this year and picked up my step, quickly wanting to make my way over there once again.

This year it was only her husband at the booth. I made nothing of it and just started perusing the displays while he chatted with a customer. Finally that customer left and he and I were able to strike a conversation. I told him how much I enjoy coming to their booth and seeing what new work she has on Dachshunds. A sweet elderly man with a calm demeanor, he sweetly thanked me and pointed at a Dachshund piece that I already own. I told him I already have it and was wondering if she had done anything new. That’s when he shared the very sad news.

The artist passed away 2 years ago to stage-four ovarian cancer. At first I went into that initial state of shock that you go into when you hear that someone that you have known in one way or another and who you expect to see once again, has died. He went on to describe how she found out, the treatments used on her and what it was like for her. I was pleasantly surprised with his willingness to share this deeply personal information with a total stranger. Then again when you’re in dogs, no matter in what the capacity, one of the first things you learn is how much of a family the dog world is. I mentioned that I work in cancer research at a local cancer center and I think this made him want to open up further. He shared the story of a nurse that worked with them at the cancer center and that he ran into at the V.A. hospital some time later when he had to go there for medical care. As it turns out the nurse couldn’t bear the depressing nature of working in a cancer center anymore and transferred to the V.A. hospital. Getting to know the patients, developing friendships with them knowing you’re going to lose them to cancer was much more than she could bear. Indeed, it takes a very unique type of emotional strength to work in patient care at a cancer center.

At one point he became very emotional and, having difficulty fighting back the tears, he put his hand on my shoulder, stopped in mid-sentence, and said “excuse me…” while he tried to gather himself emotionally. I cannot describe how difficult it was for me to inject what strength I could into the moment, seeing how if I, too, broke down, it wasn’t going to help matters any. He was talking about the subject of Medicare, and the issues they had with them not wanting to cover an experimental treatment the doctors at the cancer center wanted to provide. The treatment was one successfully used on breast cancer and which, while tested and shown to work on ovarian cancer, was not yet accepted as standard treatment for it. The doctors felt very confident that this treatment could impact her positively. But it took a very persistent, obstinate team at the cancer center to unyieldingly fight it out with Medicare until finally the latter agreed to cover that treatment. The treatment’s impact was positive indeed – it extended her life by 1½ years. This determination to help is what made him emotional. His outpouring of gratitude couldn’t be more evident; he was overwhelmed.

As we kept on chatting I told him that I was definitely going to pick up a copy of her book, which had come out last year. It's a beautiful collection of portraits of puppies at play to which she added whimsical captions as if knowing what the puppies are thinking. It has a bit of a storybook air to it, making it so charming. You can truly see the magic of her character in this book, and what a special lady she was.

As I was paying him for the book, I asked if they had any children. They had two sons, neither one an artist. He commented on how he is asked about dating and whether he would ever consider it, and in a very strong, emotionally resounding manner, with all the conviction in the world, he shook his head and stated: “NEVER”, his head still shaking long after the word was uttered. “I mean, we were together 49 years... How can you replace that?” he explained, shrugging his shoulders, hands out as if silently begging for an answer.

I made some comment about how replacement couldn’t possibly be the goal, that if anything, it would be more about companionship. I said that, like most things in life, it would happen if and when it’s meant to happen. We have no control over that. He agreed. We chatted a little more, he bagged my book, we hugged, we said our goodbyes and I left. There weren’t enough colors of dog toys or styles of dog collars that could keep me from welling up multiple times after that as I perused the rest of the vendor booths.

I can’t get over how much beauty was left unstated in his fierce denial, in his rhetorical question. How much love, devotion, loyalty, and the sincerity with which he spoke. They made a family for each other, traveled all over the country exhibiting her artwork at the big dog shows, and he was right by her side through thick and thin right through the toughest time of her life. They stayed true to the vow, together literally until death did them part. Now he contemplates moving on, facing life's continuum. 

I can't stop thinking about that story of love, irreplaceable love. The love of loves, my dream of dreams. Meanwhile, another day goes by, another day alone, and I become more convinced that, like so many other things in life, apparently that dream, too, isn’t in the cards for me. Perhaps it has already come and gone, maybe remaining irreplaceable indeed. Who knows. After all, there's so much we cannot control.

Bon Appétit!

"Cooking is like love; it should be entered into with abandon or not at all." - Julia Child

There aren’t enough words for me to express my deep and sincere love and admiration for this woman. I feel there isn’t any more room in my heart to love her any more than I already do. Julia Child was about so much more than fine French cuisine and cooking. To me she was about an attitude. She was the embodiment of a way of life.

When I was a teenager I watched Julia Child cooking shows on PBS. Four things in particular struck me about her. Right away was the peculiar and colorful tone to her voice. Along with that I remember thinking “wow, that lady looks to be really tall!” as she often appeared to be hunching down over those counters in her quest to cut and mix things – and at 6 feet 2 inches tall, understandably so. Thirdly I absolutely loved the fact that she made mistakes - this made her normal! While everyone else on TV these days always tries so hard to make everything look so flawless, here was this cooking show pioneer who might grab incorrect utensils, have something fall off of a dish when plating, or not land back on the pan after a flip. She would seem a little startled, but nevertheless she would simply recover, act like it was no big deal, and move right along with her recipe. But most importantly, this woman emanated an enjoyment and a passion for what she was doing so electric, so genuine, so sincere, that you couldn’t help but feel that it was part of the lesson as well.  Her teachings went way beyond “Add 2 tablespoons of butter and 3 sprigs of chopped parsley.”  She was teaching you to embrace cooking as one of life’s greatest pleasures.

Julia brilliantly said that: “Noncooks think it's silly to invest two hours' work in two minutes' enjoyment; but if cooking is evanescent, so is the ballet.” Should the worthiness of pleasure be measured strictly as a ratio of time invested to enjoyment derived, where if this ratio is deemed too high to put in the effort, then engaging in that activity is automatically silliness, a waste of time? Is there no importance, no value at all to be placed in the enjoyment of the activity itself? Does that not carry any weight at all? At Le Cordon Bleu, Chef Bugnard taught Julia that "You never forget a beautiful thing that you have made” and that “Even after you eat it, it stays with you – always.”  

I propose that someone who thinks it’s too much trouble to make mousse au chocolat is someone who has yet to experience the true meaning of ecstasy.

Sometimes people travel great lengths or stand in line for multiple hours to buy tickets for a concert, sometimes camp outside overnight among strangers waiting in line for the store to open to buy something they really desire, be it the latest and greatest in electronics or the newest fad in toys for their kids. This shows that all that is necessary is the strength in will and desire and people will stop at nothing to get what they want. But somewhere along the way something happened to food preparation in our culture and cuisine has become just food, just fuel, just something to take in on the go.  Cooking as an experience worthy of respect with endless possibilities for enjoyment and pleasure has evolved into a ‘means to an end’ activity that at best is deemed as something that should be “quick and easy”. At worse, cooking has evolved into an activity considered not worth the time by some, or just too complicated by others. I cannot understand this phenomenon.

Having decided when I was in my early 20s that I was going to teach myself how to cook, I then picked up the 1975 edition of that infamous bible of American cooking, Joy of Cooking, which at the time became my encyclopedia of all things culinary. Twenty-some years later, it has followed me everywhere, its binding cracked, with multiple pages wrinkled from moisture, and its 2 red ribbon bookmarks still carefully in place. I guess I selected it over anything Julia wrote seeing how I was in America starting my life as a young adult, and after all, “When in Rome…” 

My early 20s and 30s found me pouring myself over this book. Whether it was casseroles, breads, pastries, sauces, I cooked many, many things out of “Joy”. I especially enjoyed reading the introductory portions on each section, be it on the different types of flours, or cuts of meat, or the different types of cakes.  I could not get enough of the technical know-how, and found myself steering more and more in the direction of baking as my favorite specialty. I noticed that baking would often be regarded as the “make you or break you” in cooking, considered too much of an “exact science” and enough to turn off some of today’s renowned food celebrities. Maybe from being a science geek, it is this exactness necessary in baking that was precisely what attracted me to it so much in the first place. Rolls, breads, biscuits, cakes, bagels, pretzels… I had to try it all. Every weekend was an experiment in “the home lab” which, to this day is how I refer to my kitchen.  It was with much excitement that I discovered when reading Julia Child’s “My Life In France” that she shared in the love of this scientific approach to cooking, taking care to measure, care to know about the ingredients, care to test and optimize recipes. One of the many things I adore about her.

I owe my technical start to Joy of Cooking. But I owe my respect for food to Julia Child. I owe my understanding that it’s not “just about eating” to Julia.

A dear French friend once explained how in France people dine so differently than they do in America. In America dining is all too often hurried and fast-paced, as so many other things are. You sit, are served, you eat, finish, and off you go. “In France,”, he quipped, “dining is an experience!”.  An outing to a French restaurant could easily take upwards of 3 to 4 hours, he explained.  He said people aren’t in a rush, staring at their watches, making “speed of service” one of the key criteria on which to base their opinion of the establishment. Food has the power to bring people together and take them into that magical world of pleasure and enjoyment. The French understand that. They take nothing for granted when it comes to food.

But we just can’t seem to make the time anymore. Somehow food doesn’t matter. Life has gotten so busy that priorities have shifted, and somehow extra curricular activities 1 through 14 have taken the place of preparing and enjoying food – and I’m not saying every meal should be at least a 5-course feast with lists of at least 20 ingredients. But book after book, cooking show after cooking show, it's all about how “everyone’s lives are busy”, and we need something "quick and easy" in accordance with “today’s busy schedules”.  But who created these busy schedules? I say that no one is holding anyone at gunpoint and forcing them to make this their way of life. Nobody said: “Either you involve yourself and your children in 14 different extra curricular activities or your days are numbered.” I believe that this over-involvement epidemic is completely self-imposed. I believe that every ounce of time that people claim to not have is an ounce of time that they took away from themselves. I believe that this “spreading yourself too thin” is by choice. And to each its own, I understand that. It's just a shame. After all, it was Julia herself that said: "You don't have to cook fancy or complicated masterpieces - just good food from fresh ingredients."

The thing about Julia Child is that she was about so much more than just cooking. Julia was about appreciating even the simplest things in life. She was about living life to the fullest. She was opinionated and unabashed; a real, down to earth person.  She took the time to stop and admire the world around her. She respected and appreciated people for who they were, doing so with stereotype-free eyes, with an open mind, and with such a carefree, “stop to smell the roses” attitude about her surroundings, taking nothing or no one for granted. She had such a passion for cooking perhaps so much so because she had such a passion for life itself, understanding that food is such an integral part of it.  She was so much into having fun and enjoying whatever it is that you do in life. I can relate to her personality at so many levels it’s eerily like looking into a mirror as I read about her or watch her in old videos of her shows or interviews. She had precisely that passion and that ‘joie de vivre’ which fuel every step I take every day of my life. She embodied such a wonderfully positive attitude not only about cooking, but about life.  I can't love her enough.

For The Children

It's a phrase uttered by many parents who may have contemplated divorce but have decided to stay together. A common reason to choose to work through the problems instead and stay married is "for the children". If only these parents really knew what they are doing to the children if they perpetuate a rocky, loveless marriage. 

My parents were big on sit down dinners. However, oftentimes my dad had to work late, in which case my mom would give us dinner first so that we wouldn't have to wait so long to eat. She would sometimes wait for him and they'd eat together so he wouldn't eat alone, or she would eat with us, depending on how late he'd be coming home. One evening he came home particularly late. We had already eaten and I was helping mom with kitchen cleanup while dad was in the dining room eating. I couldn't have been more than 10 years old.  While mom and I were in the kitchen cleaning, dad came in, complained about the food being too cold, and next thing I knew food was flying left and right. He threw the plate with food at my mom. There was rice all over the stove, and the plate landed on the floor. There was screaming, yelling, crying and insults flying. I had to get out of there. When the waters calmed I came back and helped clean up, all the while mom uttering a mixture of sobs and insults under her breath.

I must have been around 8 or 9 years old at the time of this one. The reason for the argument is not what I recollect. What I remember is my dad lifting the dining table, then throwing a dining chair at my mother. One of the legs of the chair happened to catch on my mother's big toe, which started bleeding profusely. I can still see my mom's screaming face in my mind, curtains of tears coming down her face, which turned red like a tomato. I remember she yelled at him every insult in the book amidst tears of pain. I must have been maybe 4 or 5 feet away from the scene when the chair flew, and was still standing by as the chaos continued to unfold. Desperate to try to make my mom feel better I suddenly thought of something:  Duchess. Duchess could make mom feel better. Duchess was one of our 2 little dogs - a little Pekingese furball, and mom's favorite. I figured that if I got her Duchess, maybe mom would stop crying and start feeling better. I spotted Duchess on the furniture, went and got her, and handed her to mom. Mom took her in her arms, hugged me and thanked me.  At that instant dad turned pale and numb. It was as if dad had totally snapped out of the trance. As if whatever demons had taken a hold of him loosened their grip entirely and the dad I knew had returned. Dad said to go get mom some bandages, and the focus turned to mom's toe.

Fighting was constant. Verbal abuse was daily. My room was right next to theirs, and I could hear the fighting through the wall. In the morning, at night.... Sometimes we'd be sitting at dinner and a fight would erupt out of nothing, or there would be no talking at all.  It was living in a constant state of tension. You never knew when the next fight would happen. Unbearable. Mom packed us to spend nights at grandma's because of a fight more times than I care to enumerate. Many times I would have to serve as the intermediary when mom and dad weren't speaking to each other - mom would need to tell dad that dinner was ready, or dad needed to ask mom something, and I was used as the "messenger". 

If someone asks me to recount my happiest childhood memory, I honestly have a very difficult time with this question. I'm sure I could come up with something, as there were some happy times, but it's not a question I can answer immediately. I really have to stop and think about it. Even when we went to Disney World there was fighting. Even when we went to the beach there was fighting. No matter what. No matter where. Fighting.

I don't know how many times they threatened each other with divorce, but it always seemed easier just to stay together. Neither one ever did anything about it and the threats never progressed from just that: empty threats. 

I remember my happiest times were my sleepovers at my friends' homes on the weekends. (Could this be the answer to the happiest childhood memories question?) I got to get away from that and enjoy fun, happy times. Better yet, I was completely relaxed and in no tension at all. I wasn't worried that there was going to be any fighting. Then Sunday afternoon would roll around and in my heart I dreaded having to call to be picked up. I had to return to the hellhole that was the endless fighting. I remember thinking "I wonder if they're talking to each other or not". 

But no day was happier than August 13, 1983. I'm forgetful about a lot of things but tend to be pretty good with important dates, and that date was huge: my flight off to college. It was important for many reasons, one of which was that finally, after all those years being raised watching the two people to whom I owed my life display so much hate and disrespect towards one another, I got to leave all of that. I swore I was never coming back. Except to visit, that is. I could not bear living like that again.

One of the reasons I felt that my first serious significant other was "the one" was just that: we never, ever fought. I remember distinctly telling him in the beginning that I wasn't going to be able to handle being yelled at, and I proceeded to explain my upbringing. Years later when I married - to a different man - one of the key reasons I was the one to file for divorce was that my ex-husband and I fought. I couldn't let history repeat itself.  

Years later I asked my mom why didn't she just leave. She had already had one divorce; she didn't want a second one. And then she uttered that infamous phrase, the phrase that I have come to resent more than any other phrase I have ever heard in my life: "I did it for you, for my children."

For us?

Thanks. Thanks for the gift of witnessing hate. Thanks for the gift of learning how couples insult one another. Thanks for the gift of the mother of all emotional scars. 

Stay married because you truly love and are in love with one another. Respect the institution and what it represents. If you're not in it for the right reasons, if things changed, if people changed, whatever the problem may be, then by all means... don't stay married. Is a loveless marriage really the example you want to give your children about what marriage is all about?

Children are so aware of what's going on. So aware. They can hear through the walls. They can read body language. They know. And they...we... do NOT forget.

I wish couples really knew what they're doing to the children when they say that they're staying together for the children.

They Don't Make Them Like Him Anymore

Sunday Morning Hypocrites

Another Sunday morning has come and gone, and the so-called good Christians of this country have concluded their weekly ritual with their families, content in knowing that in the eyes of society they are seen as "the good people of the world". They have done what's right: they have gone to church. They can go on with their day knowing that come Judgment Day, they will be seen with the most favorable of eyes by their Lord on high. They are church-going, Bible-reading, Lord-fearing, good Christians.  Exemplary members of our society, they are. They went to church.

Sadly, far too many of these so-called "good people of the world" practice such a deviant, hypocritical form of Christianity once they exit those church doors that I question what kind of God they pray to, because it sure cannot be the same God I was brought up to believe in.

I refuse to believe that my God thinks that some of us are better than others and doesn't love ALL of His children equally. I refuse to believe that my God thinks that the color of our skin makes any difference and that how we should treat each other, what jobs we should get, and what, if any, 'breaks' in life we might get should be based on that skin color, or for that matter in what country we were born. I refuse to believe that my God would send to hell some of His children because they go to bed with someone of equal gender to theirs when God Himself made them this way. I refuse to believe that my God would approve of this never-ending infatuation with guns by the political right when one of the 10 commandments is 'Thou Shall Not Kill' and we all know that there is one and only one purpose to a gun.

I believe in a fair God. A color blind God. A God that is ashamed of the way in which His children justify this out of control love affair with guns.  A God that punishes bigotry and prejudice. A God that expects His children to be honest and truthful and looks down on hypocrisy.

But no sooner do so many of these so-called Sunday morning, Bible-abiding "Christians" conclude their weekend march that they turn around and walk a path headed in such a different direction to where they claim to be coming from. How can so many members of the Christian right call themselves "Christians" and house so much hatred in their hearts towards anyone that does not think or look like they do? How can so many members of the Christian right be so self-righteous about Christianity and blatantly practice infidelity on their spouses - did they think their Sunday morning hypocritical march would make them exempt from the vow of fidelity? How can so many members of the Christian right stand on their Bible-beating soapboxes and turn a deaf ear of indifference towards anything other than their own needs and just not CARE? How can so many members of the Christian right call themselves "Christian" and then discriminate towards others on the basis of skin color or who they sleep with, as if that's any of their business, as if we aren't ALL children of God?

I guess those so-called "good" Christians can go on with their day thinking that come Judgment Day, they will be seen with the most favorable of eyes by their Lord on high. Maybe their Lord.

This is not to imply that the Christian left is in any way shape or form perfect, or that there is any level of impunity that shall be granted to it for their imperfect actions. However, a more boisterous, holier-than-thou, self-righteous group will never be found than the right. If they so exuberantly claim to be the examples of all that is correct, then it behooves them to practice what they preach instead of gathering every Sunday, distilling hypocrisy, coming out ever more inebriated than the weekend before, and being the poster children of bigotry, prejudice, hate, and all things non-Christian.

That's a totally different flavor of Christianity and a totally different God than that with which I would ever want to be associated. And boy am I ever proud of that.  The last thing I would want is to be amidst the Sunday Morning Hypocrites.

The God that I believe in is far more merciful. The God I believe in loves ALL His children equally. The God I believe in doesn't stand for bigotry, hate, social indifference, discrimination or prejudice. He's patiently witnessing all of those that make that hypocritical Sunday morning march. He's watching.