A Little Patience

I have always contended that I have little or no patience. I have said time and time again that it is a virtue I do not possess. Now, I am re-thinking those statements. I am starting to believe that I have tons of patience, I just have never given myself credit for it. I was thinking how many hours I have waited for other people, waited in line at banks, stores, and for Santa. The latter seemingly taking up to what must equal to about a third of my lifetime. For you who are parents who believe in Santa and have taken your children, do you remember how long it took to see the big guy? I am fairly certain one year, we stood in line for several days. O.K. maybe it was only for a couple hours, but in those hours I had breast fed one child, diapered another, and taught the oldest her ABC's. You see my point, it took a really long time. Time is relevant, especially if you are a parent. Babies in their most adorable state last that way the equivalent of thirty seconds. Teenagers in their most difficult periods, like when girls first have their periods, last that way for about forty years. During the warp speed seconds, and the Rip Van Winkle teen years, there I was waiting, being "the mom".
I wait for my husband...to make a decision, to get ready to go out, to pick me up when I need a ride because my mini van, the future museum piece isn't functional. I have waited for him to propose, to do dishes, to remember what I said in the kitchen that very morning. I wait. It's what I do.
I have waited for my kids, after games, concerts, to come home, to leave home, to show up, to grow up, I have waited for and on those kids for nearly 25 years. I have turned waiting into an art form. Maybe I am truly the museum piece. I could be displayed as a life size replica of time standing still, falling forward.
I have waited for a lifetime to do some things I had put on the back burner, until everyone got more settled. I waited until the time was right to write my book, start a new career and make some plans that put me first on the itinerary. I wait for the dogs to go, the cats to eat and the sugar glider to come out of hiding. I wait for Jim the rabbit to come to me so I can give him food, and a little love.
I wait for commercials to end, movies to start and traffic that seems endless no matter the time of day. I wait for walkers to cross, bikers to yield, and grocery carts to stop just short of banging into my already heavily dented car. I wait for stores to open, days to end, and the phone to ring.
I thought of all the waiting I have done in my life and let me tell you, it is sizable. Countless hours have gone into me learning patience. I have walked the walk and talked the talk, only to find myself put on hold to wait just a little longer.
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have patience. It's starts with P that rhymes with T that spends my time. I will not be saying I have no patience. Turns out I have it in excess. I have enough to start a patience library, loaning out free patience to those who lack enough of their own. It's a remarkable thing when I learn something new about myself. It doesn't happen every day. I have to wait until something bubbles to the top. Today I learned something that I find very valuable.
I have the patience of Job, and the scars to prove it.

If You Blink, You Might Miss It

Every morning, like clockwork, there are a few certainties I can count on. At 5 AM there is a guy who rides his bike and his dog follows along happily behind him. Monday through Friday, Betty gets in our old van to go to the college with me. The coffee is always ready because Mike makes it the night before and sets the timer. Bobo lies snoring in his kennel. These are the things that are bankable items for me. As if pre-destined these things happen with a regularity just as the sun rises in the east.
With our lives shifting, the people that I love so very much, changing in such great sweeping ways, the things I count on seem more important than ever. Being able to count on banal certainties allows for my security in a world that holds so few.
Everyone in my house is in the midst of shape shifting. Our oldest is studying for her GRE to get into a graduate school in the northeast. The oldest boy, well, he just got a job across town he hopes will become full time so he can move out. The youngest boy has figured out what to study in college, so he too can move on. Our youngest, Betty, is applying for a mission trip in another country for next year. And of course, I am still having to bear witness to the changes in Michael's job situation, where he could either end up here or in another state. Me, well, I am not changing at all, staying constant as my world swirls around me. I am continuing to grow, but I am not moving forward in the literal sense, as is the rest of my family. I am the anchor during this particular storm.
I could not help but think of one of my favorite movies that became a family favorite when the kids were little. One particular line had my full attention and is a constant reminder of the ticking clock in my family. Hook was the movie, based on the book Peter Pan. The movie back in the day, got panned, so to speak, but like so many other things, we liked it anyway, regardless of the critics review. I will tell you seeing Robin Williams in tights was worth the price of admission. In the movie there a single line where his movie wife looks at him and says ,"Peter, you are missing it." She was referring to their children's lives and the everyday existence of their family. The moment I heard that line, that single sentence in all the production of bright colors and chaos, I sat riveted to my seat. I had used that line on the children's father, way back when, telling him time and again he was missing it. I pushed the point home hard, hoping he would stop for a moment and see his children, the loves of his life, and be with them. I feared they would grow up and he would look back shocked at how time had left him behind. In the end he did miss so very many things, but before he died he took the time with his children, the priceless time to go to baseball games, coaching soccer, going out for ice cream, a simple but meaningful thing that they continue to hang onto. I had to leave him in order for it to happen, but it did happen. Whatever he has missed since his departure in 1997, he got to absorb a lifetime of happiness and impact on his children before he went. I have no real idea if my nagging, my repeatedly, exhaustive pushing for him not to miss it, meant anything. What I do know is he was there when it counted.
With so much going on around our house, a small modest abode with little room and lots of people, this clown car we live in has become somewhat animated, a living expression of all the electrical currents coming from the individuals who reside in it. I have recently found myself overwhelmed at all that is shifting around me. It has been difficult to stand still even for a moment when I am feeling as though I am rooted in quick sand. So much for security.
The question then has to become for me, with all the indecision, all the chaotic hum of activity of separation, all the fast forward motion, am I missing it?
I know the answer. The children were my whole world when they were little. I would not stop at the store without thinking how it would effect them, not a single decision could be made without looking for possible impact when they were small. I was the reigning queen of "what if?" I had to monitor our surroundings every minute of the day, because by then I was their whole world, too. But this is different. They are off doing what young people do, Mike is taking care of business and I am here but not really present, so yes, indeed I am missing it. So caught up in the emotional trappings of our current electrical buzz, I am so unsure, I am missing some very important moments. I am not an over scheduled child, I have the time. I am not so busy that I fall into bed exhausted as I once did, but now I find myself getting caught in the web of details, of minute particulate of their futures and my own. Don't get me wrong, I believe at times the Devil is in the details, but what of the time wasted on small matters when there are so many other things, joyful things, happy things, ridiculously funny things, the broader scope of comedic doings that happen everyday that I am not seeing?
I will be the first to admit I hate it when a big life lesson doubles back and kicks me squarely in my behind. I had learned to be more careful with my expenditure of time and resources. It has been me who recites my lecture series on being in the "now". And now, I am the one who is missing in action. I am the one so devoured by infinitesimal second hands sweeping past, that I have found myself one of the lost boys. It's not too late, of coarse, as long as I draw breath there is still time. Did my Christmas spirit make a triumphant return? Well, not with any real production value, but I think I found what I was looking for the past few days. I think I had lost my marbles for moment, running blindly looking at what was scattered instead of what is still and right in front of my nose.
My constants, the man on the bike with the dog, Betty getting into the van, the fresh made coffee, well it could all very well change,and probably will. But I have them now. I have all of them now. I am here now. So if you will excuse me, I have some Christmas trees to put up. You see all of my family is home this year, and I do not want to miss it.

Unseasonably Blah

You hear that? It's the sound of silence. It's the first time in months somebody hasn't been up, or talking on the phone or watching television, or even just wandering to the bathroom in this house. In a few minutes Mike will be getting up for work, but for now there is quiet, a deep settling silence that has fallen on the house.
It used to be when the kids were little, they had a bed time, a time when they were expected to brush their teeth, bathe and take their tiny jammied behinds to bed and be still. I miss those days, when quiet would sink into the house and all would be still. I would be bone tired from working 12 hour shifts and I would revel in the quiet. I would play music softly in the background while reading a text book, studying. I would mute the phone, the animals would be softly snoring, and for a few hours the house would be so quiet I could hear the refrigerator.
We haven't had that type of quiet for a long time now. High school cures quiet and it stays resolved until the kids move out. Now the door opens at every hour of the day and night. The kitchen is in full use whether it is 3 AM or 12 noon. TV's run nearly constantly and stereos blast the newest up and coming artist. Such is the life of parents of college age people. I have been recently informed they are no longer children, rightly so, but are adults. I have compromised and now refer to them as young people, since I am considerably older than they are.
Yesterday was the day I would usually decorate the house from stem to stern with all of my beautiful Christmas decorations. The house would get scrubbed clean from all the fall debris and rearranged to allow for my growing obsession with all things Santa. I didn't do it. Even though we are remodeling the kitchen, I still could have decorated the rest of the house, but I just didn't feel very Christmasy. I can't tell you why, because I have no idea what is holding me back this year. Maybe it's the political unrest, the ever tenuous economy, the noisy surroundings, or maybe it's just that I feel so tired all the time. I have no real idea what it is, but this year, I didn't have it in me to pull out all the boxes and start the process, let alone finish anything. I don't really have a good excuse. Years ago when it was just me and the kids, I worked 2 jobs, went to school and spent every waking minute doing or thinking about them. Even then I could manage enough energy to do my Christmas thing, with the few decorations we had. I would pull all nighters getting the house into Christmas shape. This year, I am off for a 4 day weekend, the first time in any of my illustrious careers, and I can't gather enough gumption to pull it together. Even running the vacuum seems inordinately hard right now. I did make an entire Thanksgiving dinner, so I have that going for me, but Christmas I am afraid may have to wait.
It has occurred to me since the retailers have jammed their "steals" down my throat for the past 2 weeks, that maybe that is why I am resistant, but truth be told, even that seems lame, since I never shop on this weekend anyway. Black Friday with all the pageantry of a drunken brawl is the anti-Christmas to me, so I avoid it like the plague. I am protesting the same protest every year where I purposely stay away from the stores believing to my core we cannot shop our way out of our own undoing. I know they say the economy is so dependent on this weekend, but I feel as though it is emotional blackmail for us who work so hard for so little. Since I have never participated and never believed in retail economics or Christmas being about presents surely this can not be the reason my mind and body are in avoidance about the upcoming holidays.
I have in fact, scoured my brain for reasons I may be hesitating and are at a loss. Maybe, just maybe, I am just tired. I had gone to the doctor one more time to check up on my lungs, which I had been blissfully unaware of until my incident with pneumonia. I told her I was tired. She poked and prodded and we talked about the stress of what is going on with my family. My insomnia was directly linked to stress. Yeah? No kidding. There was banter about sleeping aids, anti-anxiety meds all of which I gladly passed on. I am not a pill taker. I think it is because as a retired nurse I watched so many medical personnel take them like candy. We talked about a holistic approach and what I could do to make things easier on my body, that would not require a prescription. I'll be honest, I have not had enough energy to do that either. It takes effort to do stuff and I haven't felt that either.
I am not depressed, and right now I can honestly say even my usual neurosis is on hiatus. I am more blah than anything.
Today, I thought I might attempt cleaning a few rooms instead of the whole house, taking my time, not get wrapped up in the unreasonable annual expectations of what this weekend used to be and make it what it is this year and see where the day takes me. Maybe the trees will make their way out of boxes, maybe not. Maybe I will play Christmas music while I am cleaning or maybe I will play some funky 70's style Commodores. I have no idea what the day will bring, but for today I plan to have no plan. I confess that is big for me. My entire personality is based on having plans, making plans, following plans. Today I shall boldly go planless.
I miss the kids being small, tiny little hands and fingers intertwined with my own. I miss all the hoopla of elementary school, with band concerts, Christmas plays and my beloveds pink and shiny waiting impatiently for Santa to come, because when he showed up everything was magic. I miss the hopefulness I used to see in them. They are "realistic" now. They are working, paying bills, going to school, figuring out their own big life questions, facing daunting tasks, absorbing what the world is hurling at them. They are still a little pink, but their shine has been buffed down to a satin finish. Maybe that is the reason for my season this year. Maybe I am just home sick for a time when so much more was in front of us, when there were more questions than answers.
Whatever the reason, I forgive me. I forgive my slow to start to Christmas spirit. I forgive my noisy joints, my fading eye sight and my current inability to get it together. I am sure, certain to my bones about one thing: my enthusiasm will return, be it before the Christmas party on the calender, the weekend spent at the future farmer's of America barns or the first night we go sight seeing Christmas lights, the magic, the purity of the season will return to me, like a long lost child. When it does, I will gladly welcome it home.

I Choose Us

I watched my first Christmas movie of the season, it's the thing I do every year to remind myself there is more good in the world than bad. This year my first favorite was "The Family Man". I have loved this movie from the first time I saw it. Enamored, I would wait for it on TV and sit with my hot cocoa, and my boyfriend/husband and watch it remembering how lucky I am to have the love of my life and how easy it would have been for none of it to have happened.
That's the thing about life, one turn in another direction and things just fade away or disappear. It almost happened to us, we, my manfriend and I, almost disappeared. We had turned away from each other, more than once, to seek other things, to go in different directions. I watched my movie thinking back to the days when we had left each other, tearfully leaving the other behind not knowing how it would all work out. We almost missed everything. I say everything, because that is how it is when you meet your match, when you lose them, it feels as though you lose everything.
Back in 2007, I think, we were in Santa Fe, it was in February, we were freezing as we drove through little tiny New Mexico towns, laughing, holding onto each other, together remembering how much we love snow and cold and clear star filled skies. We had driven to a historic town to see if it was a place we could retire one day. We had to stop at a super store for something banal, when in a heap of old movies that had been thrown in a bin, I saw "The Family Man". Grinning at me, Michael looked into my eyes the way only someone who knows you to your bones can and said, "Get it."
Giggling, I picked up the half priced movie out of the bin and put it into the basket.
He knows the movie reminds me of how we almost didn't get it right, how we almost let something as remarkable as the love we have for each other slip away.
Yesterday, Michael and I fought. It happens so rarely, it's galling. There has been a disconnect, a void sitting between us that we haven't been sure of how to cross. Most of it can be easily explained away with mergers, moves, jobs, security, money, kids, time and being older, more tired than we have ever been before. As the humans we are, it's easy to see how all of the stress and pressure we are under divides us and nearly conquers us. There is no mystery to why we are having such hard time staying as close as we have been in the past. There is so much stuff going on it has started to push us away from each other.
We haven't always been as smart as we are now. There have been times, prior to our marriage when the stuff won and we let it push us in different directions. Our humanity allowed the bad stuff in and we forgot who we were together, as a couple, as friends. Separate, we do alright, but together, we are better people, kinder, more generous, more tolerant, even funnier. We have survived apart, but together, we thrive, grow, learn so much more than when we are alone. Our hearts are open when we are together. Apart, we are good, but together we are great.
This movie that I watch every year, reminds me how lucky I am that it didn't take someone moving to Europe to figure things out. I see through this film, just exactly what I have and how lucky I am to have it.
Yes, yesterday we fought, I cried, Michael looked stricken but at the end of the day, we choose us. We had to say what we felt. We had to break open and talk about the big scary decisions we were facing. We had to talk about how the stuff began to push into the void between us. We had to break open rather than break up, because we know better now. We know we are better together than we are apart, and that is what is so upsetting about what is happening to us and around us. The giant looming problem facing us is time versus money. I looked at my husband, the man I have known for nearly thirty years and I had to be brave enough to tell him I was scared. I had to be open enough to tell him I don't want more money if he isn't here to share it with me. I had to spill my guts on the floor and hope that he loved me enough not to stomp all over them. When he began to talk I saw all the things I had been feeling come back out of him. All the fear, the anger, the uncertainty, the anxiety of getting it wrong. With every ounce of us splayed out on the floor, every thought and feeling expressed, I looked at my beloved and knew that once again we chose us.
I would love to say the pressure is diffused and decisions have been made that allow us some feeling of control. Well, that is one happy ending we did not get. What we got, what we chose for ourselves was that regardless of what happens we have faith in us, faith in our God, and the knowing that together we will work this out somehow.
Once when the kids were little one them said we were together because we were married an we had to be. I remember seeing Michael look at me and smile. I said, "Nope, we are together because that is what we want. We choose to be together."
And so it is now, after all these years, we still choose to show up for each other. We still choose us.

Ain't Love Grand?

People let me tell ya 'bout my best friend...OK, I admit it I love that song. But the truth is this blog is about a bestest friend. I met her only a few months ago and she is the Gayle to my Oprah, the person I text or call when weird, funny, sad, stupid, and ridiculous things happen. She accessible, accepting and hilarious. She makes me laugh so hard I can't catch my breath, she goes on my tangents traveling along adding to my stories, infusing them with all the funny we can shake out of the giggle tree. She is without a doubt born to be my friend, my girlie, my secret keeper, my confidante, my friend who simply gets me on a gut level.
I met her at work, at first we were polite, kind to each other, sort of watching what kind of people we were to each other and the world around us. I had so much respect for her integrity, her decency, her loyalty to her work, her company and our students. I had seen her do her job to perfection, smiling when things were really tough, teaching me when I knew next to nothing about the job we were doing. Her patience is undeniable, her laughter infectious. She is a rare and special person. I saw in her something remarkable. She is truly one of her kind.
I am a blurter to those who know me well and accept that I am a dork and unable to control it. She simply accepts me exactly as who I am without hesitation or judgement. When was the last time you could say that about anyone in your life? For me it happens so rarely I had almost forgotten how it feels to find it.
My friend takes time with me, she makes me feel as though I matter. I am a better person when I am around her. That's what real friends do, they raise you up, they allow your talents to shine so you are the best version of yourself when you are with them. They are happy for you and you are for them. I am always happy for her, whatever big or small thing she accomplishes, whatever she is able to fully enjoy, I am with her, laughing hysterically feeling her happiness and sending it right back to her.
I admit I have not always been so lucky finding female friends. Most of my friends are men, young and older, I love the company of men. Women are sometimes more challenging for me. My strong personality and love of power tools makes me somewhat odd to them. I have my lifer friends, the ones I have had for decades, but I hadn't met anyone I had wanted to add to that group in a very long time. Trusting someone with personal issues is scary. Allowing yourself to feel vulnerable in front of someone for the first time can be nerve wracking, but in my gut I knew I could trust my dear, dear new friend without my usual hesitation. It brings me such joy having this new relationship in my life. I am here for her whenever she needs me to be and I know for sure I can count on her. Her husband, a dear sweet soul with a brilliant smile and mind is also someone to love. He is a real man, leading with his heart, seeing those in front of him with acceptance, so he took Mike and I in.
I don't feel like I have to hide behind a perfectly clean house or a sparkling car. My friend and I were sitting in my car laughing at really silly stuff when she opened up my ashtray. I could have had a horrified expression and slammed it shut before she could see it's contents, but instead I laughed. Inside it lies an inordinate amount of chewed gum. Great gobs of brilliant green hardened masses fill its entire expanse. She busted out laughing as she saw my hoarded mass of green goo. I was busted, but not embarrassed. Had it been anyone else but her, who had seen the contents of my bad habit, I probably would made an excuse to exit, but with her I laughed as she took a picture of it with her phone. I hide nothing from her. I am as I am in whatever form shows up that day. I freely admit I have taken a sort of possessive ownership, a doggedly loyal attachment to my new friend. I have teased her about practically peeing on her to mark my territory, she really is just that important to me. The wonderful thing is she knows and reciprocates.
Friends are hard to come by, there is no doubt. You know you have found one for real, when together you can revel in even the grossest discovery.
So my darlings, here's to friends, those wonderful, wacky souls who see us, all of us and love not in spite of the view, but because of it.

Celebrating My Way

I have to be really honest with you, with Christmas coming right around the corner, I always scout for things to do that cost very little. I am a Christmas cheapskate. I wish I had the kind of money I could spend on my family and friends that would blow them away, but I am always a day late and dollar short, so every year I start hunting for ideas that allow a holiday feeling without a huge expense. Every year I feel a little guilty that I cannot buy my way out of the holidays, but the truth is we are like so many who just don't have it.
I am also a magazine-aholic, I love them they are my thing in every way, don't judge me. I gave up most of my subscriptions to save money. I have maintained only one since we have decided to cut our expenses in half. Every one of our bills was cut to the bone in order for our security to be maintained. I bought a few for the holidays to get ideas for gifts and dinner ideas. I cannot tell you how very disappointed I am that the commercial world has not kept up with the real one. I have never spent over $100 for each of my kids for Christmas, partly because I think it sets a bad example and partly because I have never really been able to do more than that. They know the deal is $50 for birthdays and $100 for Christmas. I won't spend a penny more on any of them and haven't since the day they were born. It's been it's own tradition of sorts, this cheapness during celebrations. I will gladly spend all day making an elaborate cake of their choosing, but the gift will have an expense ceiling attached to it. I also won't buy crap. If you want to waste money, then by all means do it far from me, because I have no appreciation for it.
For years I didn't buy the extended family anything, telling them early on I was struggling as a single mother and would not be able to retail. My family understood the kids came first and let that go. Since then I have made most of their gifts, spending our time rather than our money. I have made quilts, hand painted coffee mugs, decorated sweatshirts with fabric paint and kids' hand prints, cocoa cones and other such inexpensive gifts. When all else fails I send out gift cards for reasonable amounts like $25. No one ever expects their biggest gift to come from me. Should I ever win the lottery which I rarely play, I will be happy to blow a wad a cash on everyone, but until then they know to expect my heart in lieu of monetarily high priced items. I learned early to put my financial oxygen mask on first.
I won't be buying anymore magazines this season since it seems they still don't get it. A dress that costs $350.00 is not a bargain, and a gift that is useless is not a steal at $50. It takes me a long time to earn $50 so I appreciate it so much.
This year I will be thinking in real terms of how I want to spend my precious holiday cash. I will make dinner for my friends, give my kids cash so they can pay their bills and for everyone else I will try and come up with a way to bring us closer, since we live so very far away. I will bake Christmas cookies with a few select girlie friends, sipping wine, slurping homemade soup with crusty bread right from the oven. I will give my husband my heart and soul, finding a little something for him to unwrap under the tree, but staying in the confines of our budget.
I love the holidays, I really do, but all this commerce gets to me. I am so tired of feeling guilty for being financially restricted, so my plan this year is to stay away from it, appreciating instead the beauty of simplicity versus credit.
I will miss flipping through my magazines with my coffee in hand looking for ideas, but I see clearly that for folks like us there are quite 'literately', none to be found. Michael has said more than once I should write that book, the book on holidays living on the cheap. Maybe one day I will, sharing all of my gift giving ideas and how to celebrate without going broke. For now, I will get ready to find my own way through the maze of Black Friday, which will be spent decking the halls instead of walking them, retail therapy, which instead I will use decorated cookies to soothe my savage breast, and helping those I love and cherish to remember that I do love them and think of them all the time.
For those who feel a little outside the holiday box this year, struggling with bills, and life matters, know that you are not alone and I feel your Christmas envy. Maybe join me in a thermos of hot cocoa and a trip through the neighborhoods looking at Christmas decorations, wishing everyone we meet Peace on Earth.

Dear Kellie - Monday, November 07, 2011 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com

Dear Kellie - Monday, November 07, 2011 - Copyright 2007 Ourtribune.com

If It Could Happen There, Then It Could Happen Here

"I wanted to come back to Sighet to tell you the story of my death. So that you could prepare yourselves while there was still time. To live? I don't attach any importance to my life any more. I'm alone. No, I wanted to come back, and to warn you. And see how it is, no one will listen to me."
- Elie Wiesel, Night, Ch. 1
These are words that are floating in my head these past couple of nights. I read "Night" by Elie Wiesel years ago and it has stayed with me, partially because it is so graphic in his heart break, his survival, but also because there are lessons in it. Those who warned people in his town of the tortures of the Jews during the Holocaust didn't believe that it could happen to them. That is how it is for all of us, isn't it? The level of denial we play with in our hands like clay re-shaping it into what we find pleasing instead of what may actually exist, which is more akin to a blob of the unrecognizable.
I have these words in my head as I watch states vote on the lives of women. Their very personal bodies and beliefs being bantered about as if they were unrecognizable blobs of nothing. My own state is trying to force things into the bodies of women, great probing wands without exception to whether or not they have already been laid victim to crimes unspeakable. I am not at risk of pregnancy or being forced to choose my life over another. Those days are over for me, so why should I care?
If another state forces women into unthinkable circumstances or makes them victims again, why should I be bothered if it is not my state, not my problem, not my molded clay reality?
I try to get my brain to release my worried anxiety stricken hold onto events outside my grasp. But here's the rub, the words of denial from "Night" replay their lesson in my head. The real reality is if it can happen anywhere else in this country, it can happen here. My want to ignore others' problems does little to soothe my conscience. These other women, these sisters living in states outside my own small minded borders are me and I am them. I have daughters, sisters, friends, all of whom I could not fathom being harmed and then shamed into a lifelong decision that they played no part in. So I guess that is why I care. Because if it could happen everywhere and no amount of denial will stop the momentum once it gains traction.
Who am I to say whether a woman should carry a child, should take the Pill, should use or not use an IUD, should not be given the opportunity to have IVF if they so choose for themselves. I find those who think they know better to be arrogant and without compassion or empathy. What if a child is raped and becomes pregnant? 5% of females become pregnant from rape, a one time event. Incest victims do find themselves carrying children that are their siblings as well as children. I don't trust me to make these decisions for others and I certainly don't trust a government agency to do it. Make no mistake I am not comparing the war on women to the Holocaust, but rather looking at the larger picture, the greater lesson of the similarities of denial.I have no problem with those who believe children are sacred from the moment of conception, most of which is born out of religion. But I do not want to force all to believe as I do or them force me to believe as they do. I guess what I really want is my personal freedom to believe what I want, and for others to have the same rights. It used to be in this country we believed in this to our core, but these days I wonder. Have we lost all of our trust in one another? Do we really think controlling women by governmental law is better than making personal decisions?
Hmmm. It's a quandary for some who think they know better. My fear is if this passes as law what is next for us women? I do not see legislation for men. I do not see where men have their reproductive rights at stake.
There is a line in The Vagina Monologues where Eve Ensler writes about clitoridectomies. "In the United States the last recorded clitoridectomy for curing masturbation was performed in 1948-on a five year old girl". Boys were not touched during this period. Every time I hear that line from the play I physically wince. I'm not really acting, I am reacting like any red blooded woman would to the idea of torturing a five year old little girl. Personally, it makes my gag reflex go into high gear making me want to vomit. This didn't happen centuries ago, it happened in 1948. My mother, very much alive was born in the 1930's. If it could happen to that five year old then it could happen to anyone.
I care, because if history has taught us nothing it teaches that when crazy extremists get any kind of head way we are all very much in danger. It takes mere snowflakes to drive an avalanche. If it could happen to them, then make no mistake it is headed our way. I pray in the mornings, quiet respectful prayers to be a better person, to have more empathy, to be kinder, to keep my eyes open even when the views are dark and scary, and to remember if I do not stand for something, I will fall victim to anything.