Solitude

"You are militant", my father would say with a smile that showed mostly irritation with what I hoped was a bit of pride. He enjoyed ogling the television cheerleaders during football games. My response to this was that he either allow me to dress like that or stop looking. Militant was the response, a smile was the expression, but the television stayed on, and the way I clothed my body remained out of the jurisdiction of my own decision.

And they sent me to church. I was at church when the doors opened until the doors closed. I was a part of every club and activity the church had to offer. I felt quite alone in my struggle with religion. I didn't understand. Apparently you didn't have to believe all of it, just some of it, and just the some of it that was a special pet to the particular denomination. But, you could let that slide on an individual basis at times, depending on your age or particular circumstance. It was understood that teens would be teens, but should have their hormonally skewed emotions exploited from time to time to bring them back on track for brief periods. I tried to share my frustrations with my fellow teens and found no corroboration. I counted the key changes added to the music to raise my emotional reaction to a pet belief. I visited other churches in a quest for the pure belief. Finding none, finally decided that I should either leave the flock and become a Quaker or ditch the system all together. I ditched. My only response to my queries was that people do the best they can, and why did I have to be so black and white... and militant.

Over the years, I have reined in my tongue. Some on the receiving end of my beliefs would disagree. When I hear a half truth or an excuse to temporarily bury a conviction based on convenience, my brain can conjure an injuring response at a speed that frightens me. So my mouth stays closed, most of the time. I have softened my edges through amputation as I have not the skill to express myself otherwise. One of my favorite people, Tommy Smothers, said that he always played the dupe because he could not state the truth without being mean. We share a birthday.

Mayou Angelou quote: "I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better."

As I learn new things about the natural world around me and the people who struggle to co-habitate on it, I cannot understand a lack of change.

How can you drink coffee because it's cheap, knowing that it is at the expense of the grower, his/her family, his/her health? How can you know that the majority of what you eat harms your world and know that the person hired to grow and slaughter your food was hired specifically based on his inability to blow a public whistle? How can I continue to own things that were manufactured where the right of the maker does not exist and her voice is snuffed? How can I be less militant?

I felt a gratitude wash over me at a co-worker and previous supervisor one day during a meeting regarding the care of children in foster care. I had a point to make. I needed to persuade. I wanted the bureaucracy to cease long enough to hear the child's voice I thought I heard. I stuttered and stammered and spoke each word with painful care. My friend and co-worker spoke up to my aid. She will get to the point, she explained. She needs to find the words that will help you listen and not offend nor anger you.

Last night I found Elizabeth Cady Stanton, a feminist and mother and wife. I had heard her name, but always in the shadow of Susan B. Anthony along with the rumors that always tend to ensue when two strong and intelligent women become friends without the necessary aid of a male to guide and protect their joint journey. A kindred spirit. A person so consumed in her convictions as to speak with sharp wit and acid tongue what she knew to be correct. A person who could also burn her bridges through quick cruelty based in hot anger and then suffer the unintended results. Susan B. Anthony, in the end, understood her own politics. She was willing to segregate her movement, dilute her tongue, and hold hands with the hind face of her previous enemies. She did this to focus her aim to a laser point and win the day, long after her own death and with consequences to an entire race of people. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, on the other hand, grew more vociferous and progressive throughout her years. She alienated and befriended, withdrew from public and then exploded on stage, and never softened her piercing stare into the camera for her numerous public photographs.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton's first hero was Lucretia Mott, a feminist and abolitionist. Lucretia Mott refused to wear cotton or serve sugar as these items were provided on the bloodied backs of an entire race. I know why Mrs. Stanton liked her.

I am a humanist who struggles to connect to humans. I hold my tongue as best I can and watch. But, I will be forever grateful to the fates that I can see and hear the words of others who succeeded, others like me.

Because we have to do it on our own, in our solitude of self.

http://www.hermitary.com/solitude/stanton.html

While Cleaning the Bathroom

The following is the internal dialogue occurring while I was cleaning the bathroom this morning.

Man. I can't bend over and clean this floor on my hands and knees. I'm pregnant. Pregnant people shouldn't be on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

Yeah... but that chick from The Good Earth plowed a field, gave birth during a potty break, strapped the baby on her back, and milked the cows. Or something like that. That was Pearl Buck, right? Yeah. Her other books were kind of preachy I think. Makes sense though. But I think that woman died or her baby did. I don't want that.

Listen! You can't compare yourself to some Pearl Buck character! You come from tough stock, woman! The women in your family formed the only female sports teams at their pioneer schools. One became the school's principal. They wore PANTS, man... PANTS! You can surely wipe down one bathroom floor.

Sure, but they had to ask their husbands' permission to get hysterectomies when they had those female problems or whatever. I don't have to do that. And no, I don't think that means they wouldn't scrub the floor, but they were pioneer types and and had a trillion children so 5 could live and work the farm. I don't have a farm.

Remember your grandmother?? The one who went out for her morning walk and fell and broke her hip? She figured she could wait until someone found her or get up and walk the half mile back to the retirement home to get help. SHE would have scrubbed the bathroom floor with a toothbrush... well... she did scrub the bathroom floor with a toothbrush.

Let's also remember dear self that she only had one baby and found that too much at times.

You named your first born after a true tough gal. She birthed your grandmother at home along with her 5-6 or whatever surviving children. She did that on her own, and I bet she would have scrubbed the bathroom floor.

Okay but she died in the 1918 flu epidemic. I bet she would have survived too if she rested more. She probably scrubbed her floor and the keeled over right there. Besides, who are you to judge me?

I wonder if my sister-in-law has passed my score in Zuma.

I think I'll just mop the floor with my foot and a wet rag. I'll spray some stuff to make it clean and all.

Man Up

I have been watching the process of and arguments for and against the repeal of the U.S. Military's Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. I have been especially intrigued by the Marine's General Amos' concern that openly gay people in the marines will serve to distract and potentially harm their units within the Marines. The few and the proud are not disciplined enough to complete the jobs they are trained to do only IF the man next to them is gay? I find this more than mildly concerning. What are we paying you to do, Marine?

But, I, as a woman... a straight woman, bring a lot of baggage to this argument. Nope, I've never served in the military, nor have I ever had a desire to. My baggage comes in the form of years of hearing horrible pick up lines, having men refuse to take no for an answer until being threatened. Men, in the form of my father, telling me that I have to dress a certain way so that I don't strain a boy beyond his capacity to reason. And no! I do not agree with girls or boys dressing less than their intelligence and own self respect demand. But I wondered even then, when was it the boy's responsibility to behave himself. And gee, I didn't even have it bad. Many cultures and religions demand their women to be covered from head to toe while the men wear fashionable clothes agreeable with the weather. We didn't have to wear caps and plain cotton dresses while our menfolk wore shorts in the heat of summer and jeans in the fall and winter. Why does our culture and other cultures call for this? I guess it's because boys will be boys, and since they can't control their crotches, women are to control it for them... while remaining pleasing to them.

A recent news story in our area was about an 18 year old star high school baseball player having sex with a 12 year old girl... let's call it what it was... rape. The public outcry against prosecuting this poor young man was heard far and wide. Boys WILL be boys, and she probably provoked him with her dress and easy ways. Besides, the state finals were coming up.

With this culture, it is no wonder, our men in uniform are so terrified of having gays serve openly in the military. Men can't help themselves! They'll be dropping your soap in the shower, and sneaking peeks at your naughty bits! Besides, doesn't gay mean "kind of girly"? This is in quotes because it was spoken by a young Marine. They will probably now request drag shows and "flaunt" their sexuality just all over the place. Sexuality has never been flaunted in the military before, has it? Pin up girls? Paintings of scantily clad women on fighter planes? USO show girls? The untoward and sometimes illegal sexual exploits of those in the military have never caused a problem before... Tailhook?

Think about this...

Gay men and women have not only been serving in militaries since the inception of war, YOU have also shared a shower with them, played on the playing fields with them, gone to church with them, revered their athletic prowess in professional sports, and they are also in your family. And for the most part, you never knew it. I guess gay "girly" men have managed something the stereotypical straight counter part has struggle conceptualizing: self control. Since we became bipedal and started using greater sophistication (for the most part) than clubs over heads to prove a point, gay people have learned to control their urges, focus on the task at hand, and get the job done.

Perhaps the military and General Amos in particular should find a now openly serving gay man to assist him with instructing the men whose bar was set so low, they believe themselves that they "can't help it" on how to not let anything distract him from getting the job done.

In other words, General Amos, you need a gay man to teach you how to man up.

Simonic Law

So shall it be known

Any who enter into the house of Simon
Must knowest in his heart he may be shorn
From atop his head unto his toes
His hair shall not enter into a pact with dust

The evil demon dust of bunny
Shall not enter unto the house of Simon
He shall be sent unto the dark tank of Dyson
His soul shall be wrent through the filter of HEPA

And yay any man, woman or child must surely know
If he holds within his hands an object
And he says I do not know the place for this object
He shall not place this object in this place or that
Thinking that at some time his intellect will
Shine a light as to where this object may find safe and permanent harbor.

Be it known that if he does place this object here or there
And should he not find for it safe and permanent harbor
But instead places it with his hands in any spot
And says this, this I shall think upon at another time,
Surely that person shall receive such a smite upon his head
With the precise sole of shoe as to make his ears hear a ring.

And verily unto the associates and brothers and sisters of Simon
Should an occasion of the anniversary of the birth of a Simon or
Should a time come when a Simon weighs upon your head and your heart,
Think not to yourself I should make purchase of this or that item of kitsch.
Think not to yourself this nick of knack nor this humorous bric-a-brac
Will surely place a smile upon the lips of a Simon and a song in the Simon heart.

This item, this hecho in Mexico, this made in China, this item of petroleum,
Should it enter into the house of Simon, it shall surely be cast into the pit of refuse,
It shall be placed as far from the house of Simon as the east is from another direction.
And you shall have in your heart the knowledge of a poisonous seep in the earth.

Give instead your talent and wit.
Your intelligence and banter.
The House of Simon is your hairless home
Your refuge

Ladies! You Know How We Are!

My friend and I are constantly triple dog daring each other to start some sort of stereotypical inspirational program. I think you know the type. The wife usually has little to say and knows to direct her comments to the other wives, "Ladies. You know how we are...". Then she trots off to the back and sells the dvd's and books and workbooks while her husband employs some horrible gimmick to speak to the whole audience. He's qualified to speak both to men and women because well... he's a man. DUH!

I've been watching my gender mates lately, and I've gotten plenty put out. I'm up to my plucked eyebrows in it. Slap a "real cute" bag with it and top it off with some scented allure, and you're still dealing in straight bullshit. It's time we stopped. The glass ceiling isn't going to go away on its own, and up until now, a handful of women having been the ones bearing the brunt while the rest stand by and criticize her shoes. The glass ceiling doesn't just exist in corporate world. It's in social networking sites, the store, and in your neighborhood. It's what people think of you when your gender is shown... usually the first thing noticed.

I'm not talking about the Summer's Eve ad of fame lately that tells you to freshen your naughty bits before you ask for a raise. I'm also not talking about Jan Brewer's recently school girl giggle fest on TV that made her look like a dumb fake blonde stereotype (of course that probably improved her image). I'm talking about you and me.

I know someone who was explaining the gender differences. She (yes, she) said that a woman needs to be made to feel like she is worth being rescued. WHAT??? There is so much wrong in that sentence that it's hard to dissect. I'll give it a go. First, she needs to be MADE to feel something. Then she needs to be RESCUED. And finally, she needs this to come from someone besides herself... a man.

I've been watching a handful of threads on Facebook that have blown my nearly 40 year old mind. These are the equivalent of high school girls loud talking in a cafeteria with the hopes of being overheard. Excellent work, ladies.

I have some thoughts on how we can manage this glass ceiling problem:

1. If you're with someone you can't respect, there's one person to look to... that's you. But it's just so hard. Yep, it is. I know from experience how hard. I also know that it can happen to anyone. Look back for that tiny spark containing the will to survive and push on.
2. You don't deserve it. That's right, you DON'T deserve it. Next time you blow a bunch of money on a mani/pedi, some cute shoes, or a new hair do, don't lie to yourself. Get it because you want it and because you're going to anyway. People deserve to eat. People deserve to be treated humanely. People don't deserve luxuries. Be honest.
3. You don't have to put yourself first. Think of the last 10 places you've heard this. You're going to realize it's the television or someone quoting the television. The greatest humans to ever walk the planet knew this.
4. There's nothing more powerful than a healthy you. The healthy you doesn't come easy. It's hard. Oh gawd, it's hard. You have to look down the darkest tunnel in the deepest secret filthy place in your soul and call that shit out to the top. You have to name what is ugly and mean and spiteful in you, and you have to put it out there and stare at it. And after you clean your house, you have to realize you're going to have to do it over and over again. When you're wrong. Stand up. Say you're wrong.
5. When you are in competition with a man for a job or even respect of opinion, you need to be better informed, more articulate, and as knowledgeable about his opinion than he is. That's right; it isn't fair.
6. Stand by each other. If you someone floundering, offer help. Don't think you can't end up in the exact same position. Have the decency to speak directly to each other if something is amiss. Grow up.


Or... you can... as the Disney song says wait because someday your prince will come.
You'll get exactly what you deserve.

What's the saying?
Don't be a pussy.



Since I'm surrounding be women with big brains, I'm kind of hoping to see more rules added as comments.

If Mothers Ran the World

Motherhood, I've found, is treated like a sisterhood, a club, if you will. I just wanted a baby and tried for a few years. I didn't really want to belong to some sort of club. But, I'm in it now. I've heard from a few mothers that this world would be a different place if mothers were in charge. I'll buy it.

If Mothers Ran the Word:
1. Wars would probably cease. I don't know of any mother in her right frame of mind (i.e. allowed to speak in a culture that doesn't put women at the bottom of the human chain) that would willingly send her child off to war. I know a lot of mothers that are proud of their children who serve in the armed forces, but if the truth were totally aired about why war is occurring and what led up to the war... it would be pretty much... that's enough. And "well he started it" would not suffice as a reason to fight... no matter what "he did".
2. Violence would likely curtail. I have a friend whose child was severely injured in an accident. When I found out about it, I became physically ill. I thought I would vomit. Prior to having my child, I would have been sad and worried. After having a child? Sick. Of course there are drug addicted mothers and mentally ill mothers who are not in their right minds to properly appreciate violence. But, for the most part, violence would slow. Police officers wouldn't be allowed to pop out their tasers for any reason. And police officers would be paid more, get more time off, and would get plenty of sleep. We can't have someone jaunting about one of the most stressful jobs around on an empty stomach.
3. A grand sharing of ideas would ensue. Take some stereotypically motherly/womanly activities and insert into international policy: recipe sharing, babysitting, neighborhood welcoming committees, play dates, mothers' nights out

But I've learned something else about my new club sisters. DAMN, they can be BOSSY! I go on-line a lot and look for what other mothers are doing and see some nice stuff as well as some downright nasty stuff. I was checking to see what my girl should be eating by now, and I saw posts judging other mothers' schedules, feeding habits, napping habits, diapering habits, and on and on. I sometimes ask fellow mothers I know about what worked for their children, and BAM, I get a list of what I NEED to be doing. Hold the phone, sister... just asking what you did. When a group of mothers get together, what are you going to hear? You're going to hear about the mother that isn't there. Of course you'll also hear about the mothers that ARE there. "You really should be letting him cry it out", "Your daughter needs to be eating different foods". "You're going to pay later for letting your baby have a bottle past 12 months". And not a SINGLE one of these judgements is based on any researched best practice.
Maybe the bad parts of the motherhood sister club are due to guilt and insecurity. I think that's probably it. I mean, I'm terrified every day that I'm going to break this little beast that has my total heart in her unstable clutches. I'm an easy target. I'm pretty sure I'm screwing this up anyway, so I'm primed for a beat down. It's just interesting that the bossy beat downs come from fellow mothers.

I envision The World Mother Council

First Order of Business: Spain needs a break. They didn't win that soccer thing, and they just feel tired. Who's going to bake for Spain this week? I see. Lots of volunteers. WONDERFULl!

Second Order of Business: Korea has big bombs. Well then Korea won't get our help for a little while, will it? (Notice... no need to go out and make bigger bombs because if your friend jumped off a bridge, would you?).

Third Order of Business: The Mexicans are exhausted with all of the drug related violence. Who can put up some of the families for awhile until we figure this out? WOW! What wonderful response! Mexico? You'll cook if we help? OUTSTANDING!

Fourth Order of Business: Have you seen how Iraq dresses? I wouldn't be caught dead in that. I also think that if they want their children to not have ugly teeth, they'd do better with their dentistry (knowing nod at England).


You get the idea.

I think if we do some clubhouse cleanup (you know the cleanup song, don't you?), we'd be primed for a world take over... IF we stopped telling each other what to do and how to do it and in what order to do it in.

*wandering off whistling the clean up song*

A River of Words

One Saturday morning, I stumbled on Melvyn Bragg on the television. He was talking about the origins of words in the English language. He is English English and not American English so it was even more fun. Of course the naughty words were the most fun. Did you know that calling a penis a "Johnson" stems (giggle) from a man who wanted to purify the English language? Oh, how Johnson (stifled giggle) would hate that. So it's even more fun. He also talked about American English.
Riff Raff: Rift Raft. People too poor to ride in a ship on the Mississippi River, the highfalutin (reference tops of large river boats) could afford. It seems our language is as fluid and fast flowing as the Mississippi itself.

Melvyn(if I may call him by his first name) said that language changes the most rapidly during technological growth spurts. Have you 'friended' anyone recently? What about texting?


Let's try some more words.

Filthy wetback. There are two words. They conveyed a thought. But it also forever sealed the fact I will never work for the government as more than a peon in sensitivity training. It makes no difference the point of this little essay. My words can be found by someone with an agenda and used to destroy my credibility with those I serve and who are unwilling to go beyond bias and seek the truth.

I read a comment regarding word censorship that said rational adults should not be offended by any words.

Let's try some more:

Nigger
Nazi
Moron
Idiot
Retard

I culturally identify with Germans. The majority of my family tree is rooted in Germany. When people hear that, they use words like kraut and jokingly, nazi. It sort of offends me, but not really. There is no longer an action associated with calling me a nazi. I know there is a neo-nazi movement, but they are little threat due to ...um... intelligence issues. They are not main streamed. Their existence does not mean I may get a worse or better job. I will not get pulled over because I'm blonde with blue eyes, although that fact has helped me in the past. No one follows me around the store because I'm white. No one wants to check my papers to ensure I'm in this country legally. No one assumes I'm not educated. Blonde jokes started to die when Chrissy left Three's Company.

Here's another one:
Queer

I love that gay (also co-opted) people have stolen "queer" from those that hate them. The power of that word is so greatly diminished now.

But, let's go back to moron, idiot, and retard. Those words started off as medical/educational terms and have evolved into words of hate, judgement, and disdain. Those words have grown horns.

Another commenter stated that we should raise our children to be color blind but that people over 40 just need to suck it up. What a wonderful thought. A new history starts right now, no.... right NOW.... no wait... right now... okay... in 10 seconds, the new history starts... tomorrow... Monday is always the best day to start things. Forget about it, MY history is a part of me. It is a part of my child, my neighborhood, my town, and my world.

Words. If only they existed in a vacuum away from attitude, intention, and action. If only.


Call me a kraut. It's kind of fun. It means nothing to me. The attitude and intention and actions surrounding that? Harmless.

But let's pretend someone wants to build a wall to keep you out. Wants to hate you for risking your life to cross an arbitrary line. Wants to bemoan and hate your culture but wants you to serve a lighter version of your culture to him or her for $5.99 and then have you clean up the mess when he or she leaves. How fun is wetback now?

Let's say you get pulled over constantly by a legally armed individual who assumes you are not only breaking the law but are likely dangerous. Let's say that happens when you have broken no laws. What about recent history? The Tuskegee Syphilis Studies? The word 'nigger' just got offensive.

My first offensive words were "filthy wetback". My friend, a rational adult, was called that as a child when a girl in his class wanted to invite him to a birthday party. Her father said, in my friend's presence, "I won't have a filthy wetback in my backyard". That rational adult was once a child. He's still the same person, and while the wound healed, the scar remains.

If words were not powerful, there would be no speeches, radio commercials, newspapers, or even blogs. Censorship dams the flow of vital words that can heal, progress, and free people. Words must be pretty powerful.

So, no censorship. Agreed. How about some sensitivity (another word co-opted and made anemic)?

Maybe our language river will flow to a nice shady place where words like 'nigger', 'wetback', and 'spic' aren't so bad and maybe even kind of fun, like 'kraut'. It will only happen when they aren't tied to demeaning and harmful intention, perception, and action. Ahhh, but for some reason I suspect we'll have some offensive replacements.