I was trying to unsubscribe to Poets.org because I usually hate their featured poetry and dislike their daily emails even more, but I stumbled upon this and got sucked in. I'd love to hear thoughts on this poem...
Anyway, it got me thinking about so many things, which good writing always does for me. There were so many layers to it that I could relate to. My mother, motherhood/feminism, the eternity of time, the unknowable unkowns, etc. On the other hand, I'm not clear on what the poet was saying? Was all this just his trouble with religion, or merely a political statement? I got the feeling there was something personal going on, but the way it ended, I couldn't tell. I am thinking he was male, possibly gay, and from a Muslim culture.
I found it interesting anyway.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Three Times'a Bitch
I walk in to the 7-Eleven on my lunch hour one day and notice they're selling a type of lottery ticket that's called "Three Times'a Charm". It looks like your basic slot-machine style lottery ticket where you have three chances to "pull the lever". I never buy lottery tickets.
After lunch my friend emails me. She asks how I'm feeling.
I tell her, “Alright, a little crampy, but I think it's because I ate a very spicy curry for lunch.”
She tells me, “Oh, I was just going to tell you not to eat anything spicy.”
I say, “Why? Is that supposed to be bad for pg?”
She's writes, “Yeah, I thought you knew that. It induces labor. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya.”
Later, feeling annoyed, I google the shit out of "spicy food bad for pregnancy". Everything I read says spicy is fine. It's an old wives' tale that it will induce labor, but only if you are full-term. All the experts say it's been studied and there's no evidence that it has any effect on pregnancy or labor at all.
I feel vindicated. But I am still bitter. I want to talk to people who have experienced miscarriage, and know how sensitive you get about these things, especially with hormones raging in early pregnancy. I post a new thread in my "Cautiously Expecting After Miscarriage" group:
On my way home from work, I pick up James at his friend's house. The mom and I get into this conversation about babies and pregnancy and miscarriage, and we talk about our experiences and I end up telling her I'm pregnant. She is so excited. She hugs me and tells me she will pray for me.
She asks how I'm feeling and I tell her, "Alright, a little crampy, but I think it's because I ate a very spicy curry for lunch."
As I am talking to her I feel this slight wetness. I immediately begin to feel embarrassed, because I know if I were to go into the bathroom right now I’d see blood. And I just told this woman who I don’t even know very well that I am pregnant.
After I get home I tell Jim everything as I am making James a quick dinner.
Suddenly I feel the familiar gush and I say, "Uh-oh I have to go to the bathroom."
I squat over the toilet just as I had done three weeks before, to look at the evidence.
James opens the door and asks me something. I'm not listening. I don't know if he wants me to make some decision, or give him something.
I tell him, "Give me privacy and go get daddy."
I try to comprehend. I tell myself, "Oh yes, you were right, just like you thought." But then, I remember that all day I told myself everything was fine.
The door opens again, I think it is Jim, but it is James and I raise my voice, impatiently saying, "I already told you to go get daddy, now, go get daddy!"
He is offended, and just wants to know if he can play Electric Company on the computer.
I hear Jim on the other side of the door, saying, "I am right here, what is it?"
I say, "Come here." He squeezes James out of the way and comes into the hot stuffy bathroom with me, closing the door behind him.
Later I am talking on the phone to the doctor. I have never met her, she is someone new, because I hated the last one. This one seems nice. I tell her I had just made my first appointment to come see her this Friday. She says that is good, to keep that appointment. Just take it easy, and call her if anything changes. She tells me, "You can try again."
She tells me something about women who have three miscarriages. Apparently, there is some medical rule of thumb that says I am eligible for a certain amount of fertility testing.
I feel like she is trying to tell me I am lucky, like I have won some sort of perverse lottery. "With luck we can figure out what is wrong and fix it."
After lunch my friend emails me. She asks how I'm feeling.
I tell her, “Alright, a little crampy, but I think it's because I ate a very spicy curry for lunch.”
She tells me, “Oh, I was just going to tell you not to eat anything spicy.”
I say, “Why? Is that supposed to be bad for pg?”
She's writes, “Yeah, I thought you knew that. It induces labor. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya.”
Later, feeling annoyed, I google the shit out of "spicy food bad for pregnancy". Everything I read says spicy is fine. It's an old wives' tale that it will induce labor, but only if you are full-term. All the experts say it's been studied and there's no evidence that it has any effect on pregnancy or labor at all.
I feel vindicated. But I am still bitter. I want to talk to people who have experienced miscarriage, and know how sensitive you get about these things, especially with hormones raging in early pregnancy. I post a new thread in my "Cautiously Expecting After Miscarriage" group:
Subject: Cramping
Okay, I am trying not to freak out. This is my 4th pg, the last two ended in m/c at @ 7 & 9 wks, and I'm about 6 weeks along this time. I have been craving super spicy food and I had a very spicy curry for lunch. Now I am cramping.
My friend tells me it is bad to eat spicy food when pregnant, that it is known to induce labor. Please tell me she is full of it! I am so nervous because of the prior m/c. If this is just an old wives’ tale, I am going to kill her for freaking me out!
On my way home from work, I pick up James at his friend's house. The mom and I get into this conversation about babies and pregnancy and miscarriage, and we talk about our experiences and I end up telling her I'm pregnant. She is so excited. She hugs me and tells me she will pray for me.
She asks how I'm feeling and I tell her, "Alright, a little crampy, but I think it's because I ate a very spicy curry for lunch."
As I am talking to her I feel this slight wetness. I immediately begin to feel embarrassed, because I know if I were to go into the bathroom right now I’d see blood. And I just told this woman who I don’t even know very well that I am pregnant.
After I get home I tell Jim everything as I am making James a quick dinner.
Suddenly I feel the familiar gush and I say, "Uh-oh I have to go to the bathroom."
I squat over the toilet just as I had done three weeks before, to look at the evidence.
James opens the door and asks me something. I'm not listening. I don't know if he wants me to make some decision, or give him something.
I tell him, "Give me privacy and go get daddy."
I try to comprehend. I tell myself, "Oh yes, you were right, just like you thought." But then, I remember that all day I told myself everything was fine.
The door opens again, I think it is Jim, but it is James and I raise my voice, impatiently saying, "I already told you to go get daddy, now, go get daddy!"
He is offended, and just wants to know if he can play Electric Company on the computer.
I hear Jim on the other side of the door, saying, "I am right here, what is it?"
I say, "Come here." He squeezes James out of the way and comes into the hot stuffy bathroom with me, closing the door behind him.
Later I am talking on the phone to the doctor. I have never met her, she is someone new, because I hated the last one. This one seems nice. I tell her I had just made my first appointment to come see her this Friday. She says that is good, to keep that appointment. Just take it easy, and call her if anything changes. She tells me, "You can try again."
She tells me something about women who have three miscarriages. Apparently, there is some medical rule of thumb that says I am eligible for a certain amount of fertility testing.
I feel like she is trying to tell me I am lucky, like I have won some sort of perverse lottery. "With luck we can figure out what is wrong and fix it."
The Spark Has Come Undone
There is a bright bright sun
leaves unfold in a wide yawn
I want to float with the breeze
fan through sweet blossoms
scatter love like a bee
take to the trees
but the dark evening has come
and reacquainted with unfermented blood
this musty dread anchors me down
I can tell
the spark has come undone again
these three ripe moments came and passed
squeezed through my life too tightly to grasp
potential doesn't know deadlines
infinite moments float outside of time
and I am anchored down again
while this unfermented brooding washes over me
leaves unfold in a wide yawn
I want to float with the breeze
fan through sweet blossoms
scatter love like a bee
take to the trees
but the dark evening has come
and reacquainted with unfermented blood
this musty dread anchors me down
I can tell
the spark has come undone again
these three ripe moments came and passed
squeezed through my life too tightly to grasp
potential doesn't know deadlines
infinite moments float outside of time
and I am anchored down again
while this unfermented brooding washes over me
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Thoughts on Seven
count backwards from 100 by sevens
grant me the awareness
of the suffering
try cutting food in to seven pieces
with only one hand and no thumbs
that prevents people
two thousand seven
from seeing
seventy things to think about
the suffering around them
grant me the awareness
of the suffering
try cutting food in to seven pieces
with only one hand and no thumbs
that prevents people
two thousand seven
from seeing
seventy things to think about
the suffering around them
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
A Selfish Fool
I will say this:
love is an action word.
music muscle flexing
cyberconnecting
I know
your heart
is rythym
broken beat
still
it's not yet
I'm always out there and sticky
bumpy
lumpy
learning
yearning
carrying my grooves
with me
everywhere I go
that's so I hear the music when it comes
you're always
silent waves
softened soul
polished smooth
too slippery
to stick
staying so still
even the music
misses you
love is an action word.
music muscle flexing
cyberconnecting
I know
your heart
is rythym
broken beat
still
it's not yet
I'm always out there and sticky
bumpy
lumpy
learning
yearning
carrying my grooves
with me
everywhere I go
that's so I hear the music when it comes
you're always
silent waves
softened soul
polished smooth
too slippery
to stick
staying so still
even the music
misses you
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
I am four years old and I am having that same dream again. The one where I am running through a dense dark forest, running for my life from a large, hungry, brown bear, “California”. I am running through the thick branches and then I am in a tree and I am climbing as fast as I can. The tree is so tall it goes on and on and I am being chased. Now I am six. I go faster and now I see a boy above me, urging me on, saying, “Come on, you’re almost there, you can do it!” and I am almost reaching him and each time he urges me on, saying, “Just one more step, I know you can do it!” and I climb up to that branch and he is still one branch higher. I am climbing faster and faster but he is always out of reach and then, finally, I can see it, I am going to reach him this time, and I climb up to that branch and it breaks under me. I am twenty three now. The boy reaches out to me and grabs the tips of my fingers and I slip away and fall and fall and fall. I fall so far that eventually I look around and realize that I must not be falling at all. I am a baby. I am flying. I have total control of where I go and I can swoop down over houses and hills and by people and they don’t seem to see me. I fly over my hospital and then I circle around and look in the windows to see the children in my ward sleeping and the nurses walking around and it feels so nice. I keep flying, past familiar streets and houses. I come to my own house, and my family is there and none of them see me and I realize the will never see me in this state. I realize I must return to my body and I feel the jolt and wake up crying. I am confused. Even though I must be awake I don't know how old I am or where I live. I want to get back to the dream. I close my eyes and float, but the phone rings. It sounds distant. I go for the phone but find I can't move. I struggle and manage to reach it on the fourth ring. I hear my Mom and sister crying. I am awake.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
A Bit of a Rant
Okay, let me start by saying that I probably should not be posting at this exact moment bec aue I am so stinkin mad I feel like my ass is on fire, but it must be done, I can no longer be silent.
I am innocently whiling away my hours listening to a little "Morning Edition" on NPR when I happen to glance at a link for this article: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104107045. I start getting a little tight in the throat as I am reading it, so trying to distract myself, I glance over at my Facebook page and I read this post from my friend, Kathy: "Health care reform is not optional. As a former social worker, I can tell you there are numerous individuals in need of medical assistance and only able to get limited help if any. I had to deny or terminate benefits for folks that would probably die without it. In fact, I had a client who died a month after having to cut of his medical benefits. For him, I send this out. Get involved & make it happen." along with a link to this: http://www.healthreform.gov/. Needless to say I about blew my stack COMPLETELY when I started reading some of the pedantic, high brow, philosophical discussion of poverty I have seen in some time in the commentary after the "richless" article (I might add, I listen to NPR regularly).
My comments started out trying to be illuminating, but finally descended in to my typical hysterical defensiveness like I get when I am really deeply RIGHT about something that means a lot to me that others don't ever seem to get. So, if you're interested, you can read my comment thread (Obviously, I am Fndr Bndr). But in case you don't have hours to waste on the internet skimming over another's petty rant, I will sum it up thusly: While I didn't want to get in to a pissing match over who has it bad and who has it worse, on some level, when does it occur to you that your perspective on life is so skewed that you can't even conceive that REAL SUFFERING exists around you? Why does it never occur to some people that their highly educated, WASPy snobbery is not enough? When is buying lattes that protect the rainforrest or sending a hundred bucks once a year off to the World Wildlife Fund not enough to make up for the enormous, unfair disparity between people who have their basic needs met and those who don't? Is anyone even listening to what they are saying when they post about this stuff??
I must say, I thought that the mainstream media was coming a long way, when on Mother's Day on John King's broadcast, he highlighted a homeless single Mom and talked about Moms who do what they have to do to get by. (Sorry, I don't have the link to the story, but if I find it I'll put it in here later.) We don't use the term poverty enough in our media in my opinion.
Anyway, end of rant.
Here are a select few pictures from MY Mother's Day.
I am innocently whiling away my hours listening to a little "Morning Edition" on NPR when I happen to glance at a link for this article: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104107045. I start getting a little tight in the throat as I am reading it, so trying to distract myself, I glance over at my Facebook page and I read this post from my friend, Kathy: "Health care reform is not optional. As a former social worker, I can tell you there are numerous individuals in need of medical assistance and only able to get limited help if any. I had to deny or terminate benefits for folks that would probably die without it. In fact, I had a client who died a month after having to cut of his medical benefits. For him, I send this out. Get involved & make it happen." along with a link to this: http://www.healthreform.gov/. Needless to say I about blew my stack COMPLETELY when I started reading some of the pedantic, high brow, philosophical discussion of poverty I have seen in some time in the commentary after the "richless" article (I might add, I listen to NPR regularly).
My comments started out trying to be illuminating, but finally descended in to my typical hysterical defensiveness like I get when I am really deeply RIGHT about something that means a lot to me that others don't ever seem to get. So, if you're interested, you can read my comment thread (Obviously, I am Fndr Bndr). But in case you don't have hours to waste on the internet skimming over another's petty rant, I will sum it up thusly: While I didn't want to get in to a pissing match over who has it bad and who has it worse, on some level, when does it occur to you that your perspective on life is so skewed that you can't even conceive that REAL SUFFERING exists around you? Why does it never occur to some people that their highly educated, WASPy snobbery is not enough? When is buying lattes that protect the rainforrest or sending a hundred bucks once a year off to the World Wildlife Fund not enough to make up for the enormous, unfair disparity between people who have their basic needs met and those who don't? Is anyone even listening to what they are saying when they post about this stuff??
I must say, I thought that the mainstream media was coming a long way, when on Mother's Day on John King's broadcast, he highlighted a homeless single Mom and talked about Moms who do what they have to do to get by. (Sorry, I don't have the link to the story, but if I find it I'll put it in here later.) We don't use the term poverty enough in our media in my opinion.
Anyway, end of rant.
Here are a select few pictures from MY Mother's Day.
Monday, April 27, 2009
A Lesson in Smiling
Yesterday the junior choir sang in church. The kids range in age from about six to about 13. I love watching the children sing. Not because they make beautiful music or because they are cute, (in fact, some look painfully uncomfortable and self-conscious) but because a few of them display true pride and joy in what they are doing. These kids seem to intuitively understand that they are generously giving, channelling a gift to the congregation. I try to listen with all attentiveness in order to humbly receive their gift. I love to look for the children that are in Little J's Sunday school class and smile broadly if I can catch their eye. Since we are usually running late, we sit towards the back, and most times it is a one way exchange. But yesterday, I received the most beautiful smile and enthusiastic waive of recognition from one little girl from Little J's class. She made me feel so special I almost blushed. I made sure to thank her afterwards and I told her she made me feel special. She seemed to understand what she had given me. But more than that, she set a powerful example. It was a big risk she took: a little girl standing up there in front of dozens if not hundreds of people, waiving enthusiastically at one specific (adult) person.
If even one out of a hundred smiles I give makes someone feel the way she made me feel, then why should I ever fear giving an unanswered smile? Spread the joy, and smile!
If even one out of a hundred smiles I give makes someone feel the way she made me feel, then why should I ever fear giving an unanswered smile? Spread the joy, and smile!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Adult Confirmation
I just completed a class offered at my new church and run by our Pastor, Pete. Five of us met once or twice a month over the last six months or so and discussed God, Jesus, the bible, the history of the Christian religion, the structure of our services, discipleship and community to name a few. Last night we had our final discussion at a cozy little Italian restaurant. We drank delicious red wine, ate an amazing meal, chatted and finally, we each read a one pager we had written on what we got out of the class. I went last and here is what I read:
When I started this class I thought I might try to figure out whether or not I believed in God. My thinking was that belief and understanding went hand in hand and were a prerequisite for truly belonging in a religion. I have always liked the idea of having a religion. I think it felt to me like it would be a structure or a framework that would always be there, unyielding and strong to hold me up against whatever tragedy might blow me over in the future. But as the class went on I realized that this might not be the best path for me to follow. Do I believe in an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being? Is there a God? The more I contemplated it the more confused I became until I finally heard the one thing I realized I had been waiting to hear: it is okay not to understand God because we are only human and God is that profound. This was new to me. The idea that God isn’t something pre-existing that I just never learned about, but that God is actually something I would have to define for myself. Of course, when you think about it it makes sense. As I began pondering that, it became obvious I could never understand it. I think the most profound moment for me came when Pastor Pete said that all our ideas of God are always wrong. Duh. How could we possibly understand God? By my own definition of God, he is not able to be understood. And, for some reason, this class made me okay with that. I began to realize that religion is simply a way of putting God in to tangible terms that a human being might be able to comprehend, work with and learn from. I also became aware that I had an understanding of religion based on prejudice, a cursory knowledge of history, but mostly ignorance. I thought of Christians as haughty, self-important, “righteous” people who were mostly imperialist conquerors who felt they had a mandate from God to rule the world. Perhaps this is even true, but there is a deeper understanding of being Christian that I had missed. Being Christian means being brave. It means standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. It means following a path that leads to harmony and peace, not war. As we began to learn about and discuss the evolution of Christianity and the bible through the ages I learned something more important than understanding God, understanding what God is for: the power to transform. Yes there is much suffering in life. I do not know why God allows it, but the question is, what can I do about it? What can God help me do about it? This class has inspired me to be a better person because it is possible and because it is important. This class has allowed me to believe in God with out understanding what that is. I can not think of a greater gift or a greater reason to contribute to the fulfillment of God’s kingdom.
Thank you,
Wendy
When I started this class I thought I might try to figure out whether or not I believed in God. My thinking was that belief and understanding went hand in hand and were a prerequisite for truly belonging in a religion. I have always liked the idea of having a religion. I think it felt to me like it would be a structure or a framework that would always be there, unyielding and strong to hold me up against whatever tragedy might blow me over in the future. But as the class went on I realized that this might not be the best path for me to follow. Do I believe in an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being? Is there a God? The more I contemplated it the more confused I became until I finally heard the one thing I realized I had been waiting to hear: it is okay not to understand God because we are only human and God is that profound. This was new to me. The idea that God isn’t something pre-existing that I just never learned about, but that God is actually something I would have to define for myself. Of course, when you think about it it makes sense. As I began pondering that, it became obvious I could never understand it. I think the most profound moment for me came when Pastor Pete said that all our ideas of God are always wrong. Duh. How could we possibly understand God? By my own definition of God, he is not able to be understood. And, for some reason, this class made me okay with that. I began to realize that religion is simply a way of putting God in to tangible terms that a human being might be able to comprehend, work with and learn from. I also became aware that I had an understanding of religion based on prejudice, a cursory knowledge of history, but mostly ignorance. I thought of Christians as haughty, self-important, “righteous” people who were mostly imperialist conquerors who felt they had a mandate from God to rule the world. Perhaps this is even true, but there is a deeper understanding of being Christian that I had missed. Being Christian means being brave. It means standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. It means following a path that leads to harmony and peace, not war. As we began to learn about and discuss the evolution of Christianity and the bible through the ages I learned something more important than understanding God, understanding what God is for: the power to transform. Yes there is much suffering in life. I do not know why God allows it, but the question is, what can I do about it? What can God help me do about it? This class has inspired me to be a better person because it is possible and because it is important. This class has allowed me to believe in God with out understanding what that is. I can not think of a greater gift or a greater reason to contribute to the fulfillment of God’s kingdom.
Thank you,
Wendy
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Life is Hard
My child is six years old now. I don't know how this happened. He is an independent being with his own thoughts, likes, moods, colors and imprint on this world. It amazes me to watch and humbles me that I have so much influence over who he becomes. We got him a bike for his birthday. His favorite color: green. It is a beauty with sturdy training wheels, and we proudly purchased it from our local bicycle shop instead of Walmart. We spent twice as much as we should have but walked out feeling we had done our part for the economy, the local guy!
And he hates it. First time on, he immediately fell, terrified, looking at me like I am some sort of maniac for making him get on this dangerous contraption. Tears, meltdown. Second time on, trembling, wobbly, total frustration because the pedals are too hard to push, and especially because the lack of coordination means pushing backwards on them at least half the time, engaging the breaks. More tears. Third time on was pulling teeth. Only accomplished through bribery involving both chocolate and extra TV time. Same results, meltdown, tears, and a feeling of betrayal: Why am I doing this to him? It is so HARD! Um... Because it is fun! No it's not. Because it will be fun when you learn and it becomes easy and you gain independence! But I don't want to!
I don't want to say this was never a problem for me. I am sure somewhere along the way I encountered some seemingly impossible task that others wanted me to undertake for which I saw no virtue. These things happen, occasionally. But it gets to me. I can't help but boil under the surface with frustration, which leads to anger, which is definitely NOT the space to be in when trying to teach your kid to ride a bike. I stopped myself from saying no pain, no gain, but COME ON!!! Dude, life is HARD! Don't you know that yet? I learned to ride my bike with ONE LEG! Falling down never deterred me from anything! I was never just automatically good at anything! I remember wanting to learn how to shoot a basketball. It took me YEARS to get even close! But I never stopped trying. I have no idea why. I don't even like basketball. I just saw that other people could do it and I knew it was possible and I just wanted to be able to make it in... SOMETIMES!
I should not be surprised. This is nothing new with Little J. There are other recreational activities his fear has won over his desire to learn: swimming, ladders, fireman's poles, rope swings, sledding. He has a good healthy sense of danger. I should be happy. But I can't make myself come around, on principle. I think he thinks it should be easy. He doesn't want to try. Why should he? TV is easy. Video games are easy. No matter how many times Scooby-Doo narowly escapes the zombies, at the end of the show, there is a bad guy in cuffs and a torn zombie disguise on the ground. This infuriates me, mostly because I am not really interested in instilling a first hand sense of the hardness of life, so I am at a loss.
The children's sermon at church yesterday was timely. It was the story of Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard. He was at the top of his game when he lost his left arm in an accident. He worked with a manufacturer to develop a drum kit for a one armed, two legged drummer, learned how to play it and continued his career as if nothing happened. Of course, the story is irrelevant to this situation for two reasons. First, as the passive listener, you come away feeling that sure, it might have been kind of hard for him, but not THAT hard. Afterall, he did do it. There just isn't any way to transfer that kind of experience using only language. Second, Little J is six years old. Let me illustrate:
After church I casually asked Little J what he thought of the story. He said the drummer must have turned in to some sort of zombie because he lost his arm and you can't live if you lose a body part, so he must be a zombie now. Too bad for him. Um... what about me then, am I a zombie? No, you're a Mommy! Um, yeah... Like I said, doesn't translate. But apparently Scooby-Doo does!
I've got my work cut out for me...
And he hates it. First time on, he immediately fell, terrified, looking at me like I am some sort of maniac for making him get on this dangerous contraption. Tears, meltdown. Second time on, trembling, wobbly, total frustration because the pedals are too hard to push, and especially because the lack of coordination means pushing backwards on them at least half the time, engaging the breaks. More tears. Third time on was pulling teeth. Only accomplished through bribery involving both chocolate and extra TV time. Same results, meltdown, tears, and a feeling of betrayal: Why am I doing this to him? It is so HARD! Um... Because it is fun! No it's not. Because it will be fun when you learn and it becomes easy and you gain independence! But I don't want to!
I don't want to say this was never a problem for me. I am sure somewhere along the way I encountered some seemingly impossible task that others wanted me to undertake for which I saw no virtue. These things happen, occasionally. But it gets to me. I can't help but boil under the surface with frustration, which leads to anger, which is definitely NOT the space to be in when trying to teach your kid to ride a bike. I stopped myself from saying no pain, no gain, but COME ON!!! Dude, life is HARD! Don't you know that yet? I learned to ride my bike with ONE LEG! Falling down never deterred me from anything! I was never just automatically good at anything! I remember wanting to learn how to shoot a basketball. It took me YEARS to get even close! But I never stopped trying. I have no idea why. I don't even like basketball. I just saw that other people could do it and I knew it was possible and I just wanted to be able to make it in... SOMETIMES!
I should not be surprised. This is nothing new with Little J. There are other recreational activities his fear has won over his desire to learn: swimming, ladders, fireman's poles, rope swings, sledding. He has a good healthy sense of danger. I should be happy. But I can't make myself come around, on principle. I think he thinks it should be easy. He doesn't want to try. Why should he? TV is easy. Video games are easy. No matter how many times Scooby-Doo narowly escapes the zombies, at the end of the show, there is a bad guy in cuffs and a torn zombie disguise on the ground. This infuriates me, mostly because I am not really interested in instilling a first hand sense of the hardness of life, so I am at a loss.
The children's sermon at church yesterday was timely. It was the story of Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard. He was at the top of his game when he lost his left arm in an accident. He worked with a manufacturer to develop a drum kit for a one armed, two legged drummer, learned how to play it and continued his career as if nothing happened. Of course, the story is irrelevant to this situation for two reasons. First, as the passive listener, you come away feeling that sure, it might have been kind of hard for him, but not THAT hard. Afterall, he did do it. There just isn't any way to transfer that kind of experience using only language. Second, Little J is six years old. Let me illustrate:
After church I casually asked Little J what he thought of the story. He said the drummer must have turned in to some sort of zombie because he lost his arm and you can't live if you lose a body part, so he must be a zombie now. Too bad for him. Um... what about me then, am I a zombie? No, you're a Mommy! Um, yeah... Like I said, doesn't translate. But apparently Scooby-Doo does!
I've got my work cut out for me...
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Little J Makes Sense of Genetics
My sister and I are trying to get my car out of her driveway. It is stuck at the bottom, as the driveway is paved in ice. Multiple attemps have been made, resulting primarily in an oder of burning rubber and a net movement of 2 feet. Backward.
Little J to his cousin M:
I think your Mommy and my Mommy are sisters because they keep laughing.
Brilliant.
If only the two of us could remember that more often.
Little J to his cousin M:
I think your Mommy and my Mommy are sisters because they keep laughing.
Brilliant.
If only the two of us could remember that more often.
A Typical Conversation with My Car
me:
PRND321
car:
beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP!
me:
40 MPH, 44 MPH, 50 MPH
car:
beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE
me:
NO RIGHT TURN
car:
ABS [!]
me:
EXIT 8
car:
ASR [!]
beep BRAKE FAULT
me:
65 MPH
car:
STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP!
me:
Cruise control
car:
33 F 13 Min
me:
[sigh]
car:
beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP beep CHECK ENGINE
STOP!
me:
Fuck you! [turns radio on full blast]
PRND321
car:
beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP!
me:
40 MPH, 44 MPH, 50 MPH
car:
beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE
me:
NO RIGHT TURN
car:
ABS [!]
me:
EXIT 8
car:
ASR [!]
beep BRAKE FAULT
me:
65 MPH
car:
STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP!
me:
Cruise control
car:
33 F 13 Min
me:
[sigh]
car:
beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP beep CHECK ENGINE
STOP!
me:
Fuck you! [turns radio on full blast]
Monday, January 12, 2009
Voluntary or Involuntary Suicide, it’s your choice! (a memo from my boss)
Over the past months I know many of you have been aware of the weakening and inevitable failure of the life-breath of the universe.
Of course I hate to be the bearer of such terrible news but I know you will understand that I must save myself.
Already there have been several parts of my conscience that have left me entirely due to the necessary severances from which I recoil.
However, in order to ensure that my personal satisfaction is in line with the needs of my appetites,
and because it has been brought to my attention that our models are no longer in line with the storage capacity of the requisite thousands of basements, boneyards, freezers and underground lairs required (and so unfortunately necessary) in order to keep my very own cavernous house of emptiness from overflowing with severed heads, you understand,
I am pleased to have seized the opportunity to both implement and announce to you an acronym I made up myself, which is sure to become famous, called the VRMMIP (Voluntary Relief for Me and Mine Insurance Program).
There will be two rounds of this program, which you may hear being referred to as the Voluntary Suicide or Voluntary Self-Decapitation Program by some of my kiss-ass minions, who also may be eligible for this program depending on the quality of their self-deprecating performance.
The second round, to be announced at an undisclosed time, will be the i-VRMMIP or Involuntary Suicide Program, the details of which, obviously can not and will not be divulged until the time has come, by which time you will no longer need to strain your inadequate intellect to comprehend its’ very complex details.
If you choose to take advantage of my generous offer, the VRMMIP, understand that you will be eligible for ENHANCED suicide in addition to the benefit of escaping the shame of having someone else sever your less than optimally productive head unexpectedly.
Of course you know, reducing head count is a step I don’t take lightly.
I appreciate your loyalty in the coming days, months, who knows? maybe years between now and when the final axe will fall.
As anyone in our business knows, loyalty is the main difference between you and me.
Please, feel free to scream in to the night waiting for an answer which will not come.
Sincerely,
Your Chief Severance Officer
Of course I hate to be the bearer of such terrible news but I know you will understand that I must save myself.
Already there have been several parts of my conscience that have left me entirely due to the necessary severances from which I recoil.
However, in order to ensure that my personal satisfaction is in line with the needs of my appetites,
and because it has been brought to my attention that our models are no longer in line with the storage capacity of the requisite thousands of basements, boneyards, freezers and underground lairs required (and so unfortunately necessary) in order to keep my very own cavernous house of emptiness from overflowing with severed heads, you understand,
I am pleased to have seized the opportunity to both implement and announce to you an acronym I made up myself, which is sure to become famous, called the VRMMIP (Voluntary Relief for Me and Mine Insurance Program).
There will be two rounds of this program, which you may hear being referred to as the Voluntary Suicide or Voluntary Self-Decapitation Program by some of my kiss-ass minions, who also may be eligible for this program depending on the quality of their self-deprecating performance.
The second round, to be announced at an undisclosed time, will be the i-VRMMIP or Involuntary Suicide Program, the details of which, obviously can not and will not be divulged until the time has come, by which time you will no longer need to strain your inadequate intellect to comprehend its’ very complex details.
If you choose to take advantage of my generous offer, the VRMMIP, understand that you will be eligible for ENHANCED suicide in addition to the benefit of escaping the shame of having someone else sever your less than optimally productive head unexpectedly.
Of course you know, reducing head count is a step I don’t take lightly.
I appreciate your loyalty in the coming days, months, who knows? maybe years between now and when the final axe will fall.
As anyone in our business knows, loyalty is the main difference between you and me.
Please, feel free to scream in to the night waiting for an answer which will not come.
Sincerely,
Your Chief Severance Officer
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
New Jamesisms
"Sacrefice!" - pronounced sacker-fice, as a one word exclamation. To demolish or destroy something that is neither animated or of any personal value for the mere pleasue of it, as in popping and disbursing bubbles in the bath.
"On one condition" - said with barely repressed grin after agreeing to something he wanted already, and not followed by any condition whatsoever, instead followed by a burst of laughter at having kept the adult on the hook for the moment.
"On one condition" - said with barely repressed grin after agreeing to something he wanted already, and not followed by any condition whatsoever, instead followed by a burst of laughter at having kept the adult on the hook for the moment.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Obama08
I heard this is a text message that is going around and I really liked it...
Rosa sat so that Martin could walk.
Martin walked so that Obama could run.
Obama is running so our children can fly.
Rosa sat so that Martin could walk.
Martin walked so that Obama could run.
Obama is running so our children can fly.
Monday, October 27, 2008
A Question of Faith (cont'd)
Following up on my previous post, I wanted to put a response to my question about God and suffering from Pete (the pastor). Also, the comment from Papasan to my previous post triggered an expansion of the discussion of faith which I paraphrase below:
Understandably, Pete answered by first of all saying, that it is not something that he can really answer in the context of one sermon, but that in his view, when we suffer, God suffers along with us.
I know for some people, that answer would be totally inadequate. Even for me, at another moment in time it might have been. Actually, I am not sure that it was an answer to the question I had even asked (which was more of a why), but it may have been the one I meant to ask (which was more of a what). And at that moment, it rang so completely honest and true that I had a very emotional, almost visceral reaction. I have spent the last several days trying to analyze why I had that reaction. So far, the best I can come up with is that it is something I have always known somewhere deep inside. Also, he did not try to manufacture some sort of justification of God being somehow outside of us, separate and paternal and omnipotent, either not caring for us, not aware, or unable to intervene. The resulting feeling was of being re-introduced to my true self and of God's presense. Regardless of what caused my reaction, I know that there is truth in what he said, what I felt, and where that is leading me, so I am continuing down this path.
Defining Faith
I am quite sure that I do not believe in a God living up in the clouds with a white flowing beard. However, I am also quite sure that questioning faith itself is completely valid. As Papasan said, faith is a belief in something for which there is no proof, but that does not mean that one can not examine one’s own faith, or examine the difficulty in reaching it without collapsing the entire notion of faith. Faith for me is not static. It can expand and collapse, become more important and less important, and otherwise cycle just as any other idea can. Faith is dynamic. One minute I can have faith that my next breath will fill my lungs with oxygen and my heart will pump that newly oxygenated blood through my system, allowing my life to continue for a moment more, and another minute I can be reminded of the randomness of life and death and question my faith in life altogether. Being a mother has brought these questions to the fore for me. I have a theory of relativity when it comes to faith: That the closer one is to the heart of the soul, the stronger the power of faith. My son lives in my very heart, so my faith relative to him is enormously important and the two are inextricably linked. But relative to say, my job, my faith is relatively unimportant. If I were to lose my job, that would be a blow to my faith for sure, but since my job is relatively far away from my emotional and spiritual core, it might only bruise my faith, it certainly wouldn't obliterate it. If I were a person with no real connections to other human beings, such as a character in some existentialist novel, faith would be relatively unimportant, or nonexistent. The more abstract the connection to life and love, the less faith exists. Does this mean that faith for me is an invalid concept? I don’t think so. I feel very comfortable with asking myself, do I have faith? and answering, sometimes.
Expressing Faith
Love of self is a natural pairing with faith. Love in general is the result. In this week’s sermon, they talked about the one law of Christian doctrine being Love of God, Love of neighbor, and Love of self. According to the pastor, these three loves are actually one, and fear does not exist within this Higher Love. People use the term self respect to mean an inner goodness. If someone acts in a way that is hurtful we ask, don’t they have any self respect? This meaning is very telling. It means that inherent within self respect is the notion that we behave lovingly in the world. There is no room for judgment in this in my opinion. The one thing that gets reinforced over and over in the bible is the fact that Jesus teaches us to not judge others. In story after story, Jesus broke with Jewish tradition and went out of his way to include those least desirable in society, the outsiders whom others judged not to be worthy of God’s love.
Defining God
On the back of our weekly programs for the church services, there is always a quote that is somehow related to the teaching of that week. Last week it was a quote from Swiss psychologist, Carl Jung, “Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.” Perhaps there is a nuanced difference between the traditional definition of God being omnipotent and a definition of God being omnipotent and yet lacking all will to power.
Understandably, Pete answered by first of all saying, that it is not something that he can really answer in the context of one sermon, but that in his view, when we suffer, God suffers along with us.
I know for some people, that answer would be totally inadequate. Even for me, at another moment in time it might have been. Actually, I am not sure that it was an answer to the question I had even asked (which was more of a why), but it may have been the one I meant to ask (which was more of a what). And at that moment, it rang so completely honest and true that I had a very emotional, almost visceral reaction. I have spent the last several days trying to analyze why I had that reaction. So far, the best I can come up with is that it is something I have always known somewhere deep inside. Also, he did not try to manufacture some sort of justification of God being somehow outside of us, separate and paternal and omnipotent, either not caring for us, not aware, or unable to intervene. The resulting feeling was of being re-introduced to my true self and of God's presense. Regardless of what caused my reaction, I know that there is truth in what he said, what I felt, and where that is leading me, so I am continuing down this path.
Defining Faith
I am quite sure that I do not believe in a God living up in the clouds with a white flowing beard. However, I am also quite sure that questioning faith itself is completely valid. As Papasan said, faith is a belief in something for which there is no proof, but that does not mean that one can not examine one’s own faith, or examine the difficulty in reaching it without collapsing the entire notion of faith. Faith for me is not static. It can expand and collapse, become more important and less important, and otherwise cycle just as any other idea can. Faith is dynamic. One minute I can have faith that my next breath will fill my lungs with oxygen and my heart will pump that newly oxygenated blood through my system, allowing my life to continue for a moment more, and another minute I can be reminded of the randomness of life and death and question my faith in life altogether. Being a mother has brought these questions to the fore for me. I have a theory of relativity when it comes to faith: That the closer one is to the heart of the soul, the stronger the power of faith. My son lives in my very heart, so my faith relative to him is enormously important and the two are inextricably linked. But relative to say, my job, my faith is relatively unimportant. If I were to lose my job, that would be a blow to my faith for sure, but since my job is relatively far away from my emotional and spiritual core, it might only bruise my faith, it certainly wouldn't obliterate it. If I were a person with no real connections to other human beings, such as a character in some existentialist novel, faith would be relatively unimportant, or nonexistent. The more abstract the connection to life and love, the less faith exists. Does this mean that faith for me is an invalid concept? I don’t think so. I feel very comfortable with asking myself, do I have faith? and answering, sometimes.
Expressing Faith
Love of self is a natural pairing with faith. Love in general is the result. In this week’s sermon, they talked about the one law of Christian doctrine being Love of God, Love of neighbor, and Love of self. According to the pastor, these three loves are actually one, and fear does not exist within this Higher Love. People use the term self respect to mean an inner goodness. If someone acts in a way that is hurtful we ask, don’t they have any self respect? This meaning is very telling. It means that inherent within self respect is the notion that we behave lovingly in the world. There is no room for judgment in this in my opinion. The one thing that gets reinforced over and over in the bible is the fact that Jesus teaches us to not judge others. In story after story, Jesus broke with Jewish tradition and went out of his way to include those least desirable in society, the outsiders whom others judged not to be worthy of God’s love.
Defining God
On the back of our weekly programs for the church services, there is always a quote that is somehow related to the teaching of that week. Last week it was a quote from Swiss psychologist, Carl Jung, “Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.” Perhaps there is a nuanced difference between the traditional definition of God being omnipotent and a definition of God being omnipotent and yet lacking all will to power.
Friday, October 17, 2008
A Question of Faith
The pastors of the church we attend semi-regularly sent out an email requesting questions from the community to be answered during the sermon this coming Sunday. Below is the question I sent in, and I would love to hear everyone else's thoughts, cohesive or not on the below:
Hi Pete and Jenn,
Thank you so much for offering the opportunity for us to ask you questions! I learn so much from listening to your sermons, but I have often felt there were some things that I just don’t get, not having had the benefit of growing up with any religion as part of my life. I have always tried very hard to believe and have faith, not because I feel it is the “right” thing to do, but because I want so desperately to have that as a source of comfort, and because there have been periods where I didn’t question quite as much, and found it helped me find peace in many ways.
But, I always come back to logic and reason, and find there are so many doubts that it is hard for me to sustain my faith. So, it is difficult for me to choose just one question! However, I think the most important question is the very one that you may not be able to answer, as many generations of people have asked it through the ages: if God is benevolent and well, ‘God’, why is there so much suffering in the world? No offense, but please don’t say that God gave us free will. For one thing, there is plenty of suffering that is not caused by people: famine, drought, disasters, and other so called “Acts of God”. For another thing, what about the whole omnipotence thing? If we say free will is the cause, isn’t that saying that God either: doesn’t care (benevolence?), can’t intervene (omnipotence?), or isn’t aware? Then why do we pray?
In discussing this question with my husband last night, he suggested that God exists because, as human beings we are self aware, and therefore need the concept of God to explain things that are beyond our understanding. For him, God is real because he believes in Him. But this does not resolve my problem. As much as I am a news junkie, each day I hesitate when I go to look at CNN.com or turn on the TV or radio. Will there be a story of an innocent child suffering at the hands of his or her own parent? Will there be a PSA spot showing orphaned children, slowly starving due to widespread drought? Where was God during the Holocaust or in Darfur, or even in the Gulf Coast during the hurricanes and their aftermath? And why, for God’s sake, did we have to have George W. Bush as president for eight excruciatingly long years? KIDDING! (Sort of.)
Just a few weeks ago, our cat was run over and killed right in front of our house. My son was there. We were all there, though we did not see the actual incident, it occurred only moments before our neighbor came to tell us he was lying in the road, not moving. My son is five years old now, and at an age where he still thinks his parents have all the answers, just as questions about death, God, and the ways of the Universe are coming in to his awareness. I assume I am not the only parent who feels totally inadequate to explain such things to my child, which is one of the reasons we come to church. I hope he can pick up what I so desperately wish I had: A foundation of faith and a sense of peace with questions such as these.
If you can’t answer the question of why bad things happen to good people (and animals), at least can you help me with a narrative to start my son on the path of faith in the face of such questions? After all, it’s an age old question, and I know there is a certain time constraint here (just a bit daunting!), but maybe the process of helping him come to an understanding will help me find a source of comfort and peace with these questions as well.
Thank you for your consideration, and as always, thank you for your service.
Hi Pete and Jenn,
Thank you so much for offering the opportunity for us to ask you questions! I learn so much from listening to your sermons, but I have often felt there were some things that I just don’t get, not having had the benefit of growing up with any religion as part of my life. I have always tried very hard to believe and have faith, not because I feel it is the “right” thing to do, but because I want so desperately to have that as a source of comfort, and because there have been periods where I didn’t question quite as much, and found it helped me find peace in many ways.
But, I always come back to logic and reason, and find there are so many doubts that it is hard for me to sustain my faith. So, it is difficult for me to choose just one question! However, I think the most important question is the very one that you may not be able to answer, as many generations of people have asked it through the ages: if God is benevolent and well, ‘God’, why is there so much suffering in the world? No offense, but please don’t say that God gave us free will. For one thing, there is plenty of suffering that is not caused by people: famine, drought, disasters, and other so called “Acts of God”. For another thing, what about the whole omnipotence thing? If we say free will is the cause, isn’t that saying that God either: doesn’t care (benevolence?), can’t intervene (omnipotence?), or isn’t aware? Then why do we pray?
In discussing this question with my husband last night, he suggested that God exists because, as human beings we are self aware, and therefore need the concept of God to explain things that are beyond our understanding. For him, God is real because he believes in Him. But this does not resolve my problem. As much as I am a news junkie, each day I hesitate when I go to look at CNN.com or turn on the TV or radio. Will there be a story of an innocent child suffering at the hands of his or her own parent? Will there be a PSA spot showing orphaned children, slowly starving due to widespread drought? Where was God during the Holocaust or in Darfur, or even in the Gulf Coast during the hurricanes and their aftermath? And why, for God’s sake, did we have to have George W. Bush as president for eight excruciatingly long years? KIDDING! (Sort of.)
Just a few weeks ago, our cat was run over and killed right in front of our house. My son was there. We were all there, though we did not see the actual incident, it occurred only moments before our neighbor came to tell us he was lying in the road, not moving. My son is five years old now, and at an age where he still thinks his parents have all the answers, just as questions about death, God, and the ways of the Universe are coming in to his awareness. I assume I am not the only parent who feels totally inadequate to explain such things to my child, which is one of the reasons we come to church. I hope he can pick up what I so desperately wish I had: A foundation of faith and a sense of peace with questions such as these.
If you can’t answer the question of why bad things happen to good people (and animals), at least can you help me with a narrative to start my son on the path of faith in the face of such questions? After all, it’s an age old question, and I know there is a certain time constraint here (just a bit daunting!), but maybe the process of helping him come to an understanding will help me find a source of comfort and peace with these questions as well.
Thank you for your consideration, and as always, thank you for your service.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
I, Indian
Mo's family has a summer house in Cooperstown, NY called "The Wigwam"where the whole family gathers for Labor Day weekend each summer. (It's worth mentioning that the area is famous for being the setting for the historical fiction of James Fennimore Cooper, such as "The Last of the Mohicans". And the area is rich in archeological remnants of the First Americans that actually DID inhabit the land before Europeans destroyed thier way of life.) Thus, the name, "The Wigwam" has always struck me as a bit ironic, however, recently, the relative inappropriateness of that name became comedically apparent.
I bought a "Play & Discover First Words" game at TJ Maxx for $2. It has a word for every letter in the alphabet, and for the letter “I”, the word is “Indian”. Oh yes, I do mean THAT Indian. The picture of a cartoonish little man with a huge round red nose, huge red lips, a feather, who appears to be in some sort of dancing position with one hand up and one leg up, pow-wow style could not possibly be more politically incorrect.
I bought a "Play & Discover First Words" game at TJ Maxx for $2. It has a word for every letter in the alphabet, and for the letter “I”, the word is “Indian”. Oh yes, I do mean THAT Indian. The picture of a cartoonish little man with a huge round red nose, huge red lips, a feather, who appears to be in some sort of dancing position with one hand up and one leg up, pow-wow style could not possibly be more politically incorrect.Unfortunately, it was too late to take the “I” away when we were playing the game and of course, Little J was very puzzled by the picture. I wasn’t sure what to do because I do want him to learn the letter “I”, so I tried my “less is more” question answering technique and simply said “Indian” when he asked me what it was. But NOOOOOO this is the one time when Little J decides that’s not quite a satisfactory answer. “What is an Indian?” he asks. Seeing the picture for the letter “W” I quickly said, “It’s someone who lives in that.” 
"A TENT?”
“No”, I said, “a wigwam”… Needless to say, Little J is was still confused. However, enjoying the reversal in the irony of that name, I chose not to try to correct the only logical conclusion: that somehow Mo’s side of the family is related to cartoon "Indians".
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