These Are the Micellaneous Musings, Misadventures And Observations Of A Slightly Off Center Homeschooling Mother of Two. I Claim to Know Nothing, See Nothing and Be Expert At Nothing. You Are Just Entitled to My Opinion.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
She
Her name is Elizabeth. I don't know her, but I see her, every Sunday. 11:00 service, second pew. Her hair is combed, make-up donned, skirt, shirt and boots. She is, Elizabeth.
If you saw Elizabeth you, would be sorry, reluctant, hesitant. You, would be tentative. You, would not want to sit next to her. Because society, culture and religion tell you to be repulsed. They tell you to be disgusted. Elizabeth is, according to social dictates, a man. But in her heart, in her heart, she is, a woman. (And, I might add, she looks a might better than I EVER will, in a skirt! Humph, Bitch!)
If this is what Elizabeth feels, then this is what I accept. I don't see him or her. I see, Elizabeth. I see a beautiful, kind, shy, reserved, HUMAN. A human, who deserves to be loved. A human, who deserves dignity. A human, period.
The growing debate in America seems, increasingly, to be "what, are we entitled to?" Your immediate reaction to that was to read that question and say, in the typical American fashion, "We are not entitled to anything! We must work for what we want."
MMmm, perhaps. I'm inclined to think that our actions speak louder than our words. Increasingly we show a desire for our government, regardless of the dismal track record, to step in and "fix" that which we blunder. Health care, welfare, entitlements, education, safety, defense, retirement. At what point do we say, "Hold it! No more." Where do we strike a balance between "equal opportunity not equal results?" What is our government REALLY responsible for? What are WE responsible for? And when one or the other fails, who is responsible to step in as the "safe guard?" Are we just hoping for the easy way out? "I'll write the check, you take care of it and assuage my fear/guilt of "getting involved". It really is easier to just send money, don't you think? Even better, take it out of our paychecks and we never have to get our hands dirty.
I was, just now, privileged (Thank you Blondie) to be included in and asked to contribute my thoughts on a small collection of topics. Politics, economics and law. Specifically, in this case, the homeless. I will not bore you with the length and breath of my thoughts on the issue or this particular conversation, I will only say that it brought to mind the lyrics of two very important songs...Maybe they will make you think. Both are sung by Nanci Griffith.
Down 'N' Outer
I once was a lot like you We share a dream I couldn't make come true I was a child who wrote my name Across a frosted window pane
And there are jobs that I might hold If they'd just let me through the door Without a shower and new clothes That I can ill afford
Chorus Can you spare the time? Can you spare a dime? Can you look me in the eye? I'm down'n'out And I am lonely Do you ever think of me on Sunday? No, I don't live across the water Hey, I live right here on this corner Just a bank account away from America
I won't hurt your family I don't want a house there on your street And I know that you think that I'm As lazy as a hobo's sigh Now, you call me down'n'outer If there's a way out I've not found 'er I only want to earn my piece of America
Chorus
I'm just a bank account away from America
Music and Lyrics included with this one.
I am a backseat driver from America They drive to the left on Falls Road The man at the wheel's name is Seamus We pass a child on the corner he knows And Seamus says,"Now, what chance has that kid got?" And I say from the back,"I don't know." He says,"There's barbed wire at all of these exits And there ain't no place in Belfast for that kid to go."
Chorus It's a hard life It's a hard life It's a very hard life It's a hard life wherever you go If we poison our children with hatred Then, the hard life is all they'll ever know And there ain't no place in (Belfast) for these kids to go (Chicago) (this world)
A cafeteria line in Chicago The fat man in front of me Is calling black people trash to his children He's the only trash here I see And I'm thinking this man wears a white hood In the night when his children should sleep But, they slip to their window and they see him And they think that white hood's all they need
Chorus
I was a child in the sixties Dreams could be held through TV With Disney and Cronkite and Martin Luther Oh, I believed, I believed, I believed Now, I am a backstreet driver from America I am not at the wheel of control I am guilty, I am war I am the root of all evil Lord, and I can't drive on the left side of the road
There is a small collection of loyalists who wander here to read this blither, but, overall, what's the point? The SL Swede asks me this on occasion and frankly, I've no real good answer.
When I re-read what has been posted in the past, it seems that I travel through stages of happy, sad, bitchy, anxious and just plain repugnant. My life is not a collection of the entertaining or fascinating, it's just a life.
I realize as I type that, that one time in my life I had what was a rather surreal experience, but, I still don't know if it's a story that I can tell...well I've yet to deduce whether I could tell it with any integrity. It would seem that it may, would be, rather one-sided. But, in my on-going effort to seduce the world into my realm of "popular", I will succeed in securing the final affections and then....I tell the WHOLE story! You'd better butter me up now if you don't want to end up the Wizard. Oh the cast of characters! Are you curious if you're included? Of course you are...hmph, so am I.
I think, no, I know, that this was not easy, but it was so very well articulated. And I I know precious little, I am certain of even less. Good Form, I say, Good Form!
Shameless plagiarism in the title aside, I am convinced that it really is Love, actually. In some form or another. You don't have to agree with me. In some cases it is unrequited love. No, no...not romantic.(hardily noted whine with a jog of my head and roll of my eyes.) Although the notions for loving may be romantic, they are not romantic in feeling.
I watched the movie, "Love, Actually", and the relationship that tugs most at my heart is that of the "father" and child. The kid isn't really his Offspring, he is the stepson. But upon the death of the child's mother, it falls to this flailing, insecure, individual to raise this lost little boy. I can't watch the airport scene without being reduced to a ridiculous watershed of tears. It is a metaphorical moment about life, for me - Dad standing at the turnstile, cheering his boy on. Auspicously encouraging him to jump the turnstile and chase his romantic love interest, tell the girl he loves her, before she is gone and the opportunity lost. Dad's heart screaming "Go, Go, Go!....YES!" Fist pumping at his side.
I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can meet and befriend most individuals without this aspect of my personality getting in the way. But, on rare occasion, I've taken to "loving" someone regardless of the consequences. You know who you are. 1,2,3,4,5.....The very few included in this club will see these inconsequential hen tracks, one, defiantly, will not. There are days when the defiant one makes me think, no, reluctantly makes me realize and admit, that I will not be adding to my club. It does not behove me to Love, Actually. It might break my heart again.
...in real life? Do you know, when I type this ridiculous prolixity, who I am? Can you picture the gesture, tone and attitude with which I would deliver such verbiage. They are, essentially, just words on a page. Quite harmless and ineffective, really.
I have taken note that we are becoming a textual world. One that delivers much of it's apparent inconsequential conversation in small bytes of text contained within a cellular phone or an "i'm-ing conversation box". And I have learned, that context, it is difficult to translate.
I was under the distinct, and misguided, impression that if you "knew" me in real life, you understood the translation, the delivery, if you will. Perhaps that takes some collection of maturity, as I have been inclined to conclude as of late.
So, if you are so self absorbed to lose my sense of intention because you are not fortunate enough to know me in real life, or perhaps you have made my acquaintance and you are to immature to confront me when you choose to take offense at my words, well, I do apologize. Or, at least, I did. Until I was made aware that I am some kind of yellow bellied puff ball for my supposed "allusion" at sincerity. (Mmm, that confrontation thing works both ways, just as the humility and contrition do.) I'm prone to be immature in my retort, "Bite Me!" is what comes to mind. But, we shall refrain from reducing ourselves to juvenile mediocrity. If one is not inclined to effective COMMUNICATION, I feel no less inclined to redact apologies ad nausea.
We so lack mature and effective communication in this society. A world full of "sound-bytes" and 30 second bits. (Can you sense my disdain grow exponentially as I type this?) Let me put this into plain English for you, I'm tired of acquiescing and taking blame for what another perceives as indiscretion against them. If you can't look me in the eye and tell me you are offended, get over it. I think it's high time I stop being the whipping boy. Grow-up and be an adult!!
Whoo, I feel soo much better. Don't you? Yes, yes, and if you are predisposed to think that this is directed at you, puhlease, get over your self absorbed insecurities. Like I said, confront me, or shut up and get over it. Because, quite frankly, the group or individuals that I may or may not be directing this, like they read this crap! I'm not under THAT MUCH of a delusion!
When you read the word in the title, what image is conjured up in your mind? I love words. I love language. I have a particular affinity for certain words, whether negative or positive. "But", "anti", "can't". Words I'm not particularly fond of, or, thought that I was not fond of. A far more articulate individual than myself eloquently argued the value of nigger. And, unintentionally, the value of, "but". "But", that little conjunction that we casually insert prior before delivering some nugget of information that will ultimately offend the recipient. An attempt to assuage our guilt at intentional impropriety.
Forgive me, though, I am being tangential. I was pontificating on the word "Queer". A word that has recently reentered my vernacular. A word that I was always inclined to believe was a negative epithet. One that I have been disposed to redefine. Such as we may need to do with the word nigger.
Queer. I can't say that I remember the first time that I heard the word uttered. And it was not originally derogatory, not in the context that was used in my up-bringing. Not until I was a teenager. Then, it was used by uneducated, ignorant, fearful, homophobic individuals to express distaste and loathing for those that they found to be other than what they condoned.
I've alluded, without subtlety, that I've an ongoing obsession. Anything and everything GLBT. I'm on a mission. I am going to collect these beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful, fabulous, accents to the world. As if I can do this like you collect shot glasses or salt shakers. But, I am innocuously enthusiastic. With my unfettered exuberance, I'm off to gather one night a week. (Can you see my giddy GaLinda dance? I'm off with my wand!! ...."Elphie, now that we're friends", yes, yes, I'm going to make them all popular! Haha, as if they need it.)
So far, it has been a tremendously fascinating expedition. Oh my Gahwd! My first lesson? Queer.
Me: "Queer? Ummm, no." (This is what I breathed to my newly acquired little salt shaker, lips pressed sideways vigorously shaking my bouncy hair.) "I can't use the word, queer"...I whispered, looking tentatively around the room, lest anyone hear the word escape my lips.
Salt Shaker: (We need to give her a name, don't we....)"No." she smirks, "The older generation hears it as negative, but the younger generation is taking it back and redefining it in a positive way."
Rrrreeeally! Well I'll be snookered. Queer is just a term used to define one a little left of center. In this case, specifically, gender queer. Oh, oh, oh oh oh! I fit right in!!
I don't have enough time nor compunction to compile a lengthy explanation. It just is. Ok. Now, I'm off to glean more fun and fascinating facts about the queer youth that God saw fit to bless this earth with. I'm going to the prom and I neeeeed to find a dress!! Uh, uh, uh, uh, oh and I need shoes! And a tiara, and a wand, and an over-excited, effeminate, fashion aficionado to assist me......Huaaah! Whaaa, I've lost my Jack! My Sparky! Where am I going to find me another? Oh poop.
....it's about trust. John Boy jokes with me about this saying. It's a well placed line in "Team America". But, Mis- Adventure got that little mass of grey matter going today and I wondered, is it? All about one vs. the other?
The line, in context, is funny. But, taken on it's own, I wonder. When placed in the realm of relationships, be they friends, lovers or just acquaintances, what is it?
In youth, we lay our unfettered trust in those around us. We assume, in our innocence that our parents are trustworthy and we have faith in certain consistencies. Until those harmonies are violated. Depending on the act, simple slip of the tongue to the most egregious of violations, abuse, infidelity, lying, and our age at the time of perpetration, we create boundaries in our psyche as to the realm and capacity of human relationships. We form the ways in which we will relate to others. Some violations deserve more weight than others. And sometimes, we are unable to mend those violations in our hearts. We loose faith and trust in our fellow man. We apply the misgivings of one to everyone. "If he can do it, well, everyone will/can."
When trust is violated, infringed, traduced, we lose faith in the defiant. And so we should. Yet, when we arbitrarily and capriciously apply the same standard to those amongst us, then, do we not find ourselves in just the faithless mire that our adversary would desire? One perpetrates the violation, we become the perpetrator, not the perpetrated. We are the proverbial pot. We apply uniform distrust. Sometimes even becoming untrustworthy ourselves in journey. A projection of what we expect in return. Our world falls into step, filling our expectations. "If you think the way you always thought, you always get, what you always got." (Read it again, it took me 15 years to truly understand it.)
From such positions, should we not allow a level playing field? Level the playing field to allow equal ground. Or should we? Once bitten, twice shy. We are apprehensive, that the faith extinguisher is the chameleon we cannot see. The quick change con artist that has smoothly stroked our misguided trust in the past. And we justly have qualms, suspicions. Our predication set forth by past indiscretion.
Forgive, you say! Forgive and forget....well, perhaps. But, remember those presentiments. The silver tongue has soothed and caressed our expectations before and the sharp blade of their duplicitous actions has cut us. In some cases, mortally wounded our faith. Progressivism and, yes, hope, faith, and trust itself, depend on a belief that personal conversion and social change are possible, that flawed human beings are capable of transcending their pasts and their failings. So it is that we struggle just to forgive, lest we forget. In which case, MisAdventure concedes, it is the only coping and defense that you have. To forgive but not forget. You are correct. You are, right.
A short time ago, in the realm of being human and therefore imperfect, I placed a little to much faith in a relationship and the result was a loss of trust. Justly earned, a compilation of acts, over time, culminating in justly earned anger and a loss of trust. I tripped and made the faux pas, multiple faux pas, and thinking that I was blanketed with anonymity in the final blow, I went on my merry little way. Except that, perceptive people are not so stupid. As I oft repeat to the Offspring,"I'm not as think as you dumb I am." I was discovered, with my back turned, hand thrust eagerly into the cookie jar as the keeper stood in the door behind me and watched me giggle with glee thinking that I was "getting away with it".
Well, not so much. I have feverishly tried to rectify the situation, to no avail. And in the interim have discovered that the cookies, the perceived satisfaction, was not worth the moment. I was duly under the impression that a contrite and sincere apology was sufficient. Perhaps not. I find myself working to gain the trust of one back. I wonder, how does one do that? How does one appeal to the violated? I was, am, is, were.... wrong. I repeatedly screw up windows of opportunity. My dear friend, can you, are you willing, to help me build a bridge? Would you consider setting aside those hard feelings, even momentarily and allowing me a second chance? Can we....play ball?
As I type furiously, it is noted, that in all likelihood, I have painted myself into a corner. I am being somewhat of "pansy" about this. Lacking a backbone (I admit it, I'm yellow). Standing hidden in the wings, poking at the feral feline and then running to escape the inevitable result. Surprised when I don't get the desired result. But, I should try, shouldn't I? Put forth the effort? I just don't know how. Perhaps, not only have I donned the inappropriate gear, the gauntlet will remain as it were and the violated one will be totally unaware that I have even ask for the opportunity. Perhaps, my own faith and trust are misguided. Yes, MisAdventure fucked up, I should bow and leave the Colosseum or risk.... "thumbs down".
But, undaunted, I remain at the ready. Lesson learned, as it were. Hoping that, as Captain Hook so distinguishably points out to Peter in Neverland, I to, will have, "Good Form, Peter. Good Form." I will not give up.
I've never seen that which is the Northern Lights. But, a tremendous, genuine, loving Glitter Girl enlightened me recently of Northern Lights, Utah style.
I am so moved by the collection of souls. I have shamelessly listed some of my favorites to the right. If you've the compunction, you should take a walk....I find it amazing where we are lead when we finally give up the wheel. I told you, I'm not driving this car. Today I am more inclined to wonder, what took me so long to get out of the driver seat?
In discussing this post with one whose opinion I HIGHLY value, I felt the following edit was necessary. It should be noted, those that are listed have many diverse views. My acknowledgement of their being does not denote agreement with their opines. Just a nod of the human existence and the perspectives we all have.
Worse than her horrible rhetoric, I know a beautiful human, beautiful, beautiful human who had this sick comparison made of him, by his own mother. Sick. Sick and WRONG.
That proverbial can of worms? I think I opened it, again. (Oh please, as if this astounds you?) Correction, I OPENED it. This was not my animus or intention. But, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions." (My basket just gets prettier...insert sultry, southern accent)
If you would indulge me and read the post below, I did a little "surfing", as it were, yesterday. I commented on blogs out there in the blogsphere that I was not only unaware of, but touched me like no others. Then, they commented back. I say that like it shocks me to poke a rabid squirrel and be surprised that it bit me. And you, dear reader, should be saying to me, Duummbaass. (Can you here Paulette from "Legally Blond" stretch that word out of her slightly caulked mouth?)
Oh my Ghawd, build it and they will come. And they came! I'm tentative but tingly. There is something strange and right about all this. I'm anticipatory with excitement at the prospect of finding a whole new community of people. I'm rowing, I'm rowing, I'm rowing. (Dori told me to just keep swimming) I don't seem to be making any headway across this chasm. An engineer people, I NEED an engineer!! Are you out there engineer? I need a bridge, can't navigate these waters, this chasm without you.....yeah, you!
I am a woman obsessed. It's getting ridiculous really. My nightstand is littered with every book possibly ever published on the subject of homosexuality. Alternately dispersed with LDS literature on theology, history, and homosexuality. Oh, woops, sorry, that's same sex attraction. (We won't delve into my hostility for that label) Now, plant me squarely in the heart of Moromondom, and you have a bizarre amalgamation.
I recently caught up with a wonderful LDS friend. She has the most wonderful heart and I love her. I love my LDS friends that I can have true theological discussions with. I may not be, nor have the desire to be, a card carrying member, but it permeates my past and I am proud of it.
After bringing one another abreast of the mundane collective events that make up our lives, she offered to send me links to other blogs that I might find interesting. (The offer correlated with our topic of conversation) Great idea, eh? Good grief, I am a weepy boob. What an amazing array of beautiful humans! Two of them brought me to tears. Where have these men (and women) been hiding all my life? Oh, yeah. That brick that God thumped me over the head with, I need to stop ignoring it. I need to get out more.
Needless to say, I couldn't help but tap out a note to Blondie to tell him how much I love and adore him. (Please, he's only the MOST amazing Blondie I know!) Especially after I read all the thoughts and inner struggles of men just like him in the world. Thank God, Thank GOD, for Gay!!
I'm sufficiently creeped out. Someone has left really scathing comments here at my little blither of nothing in cyber nowhere. Mean, nasty, creepy. For the most part, I can handle it. But today, I got an email. From myself. That I didn't send. I wasn't at my computer!
Comments are one thing. But now I've mysterious messages appearing in my inbox? Maybe I should have the locks changed on the house.....I've rrrreeeeeaaaally pissed someone off.
Ivory Tower Envy or The MisAdventures of a Student to Old
I've put myself under some delusion that I desire to further my pittance of an education. Make myself smarter! Yeah, that's it!! I made some vane attempt before I got pregnant with the first Offspring, but, you know what happens when you mix birth control and sex? Some poor sap has to be that 2% statistic. Needless to say, lying prostrate to the powers that be in order to stamp oneself worthy of a higher degree suddenly took a major backseat. I seem to recall that I had a passing thought that I would start up again shortly after it was born, except that someone failed to impress upon me that the little bundle of 9 pound joy I brought home, can and will, KICK YOUR ASS!!
Alas, I did not return to elevate my education status, I stayed home to try and trick the world into thinking that being a stay at home-whatever, is the noble calling that my hyper-religious community tells me that it is. Pretty tough sell for a firmly planted feminist. 6 weeks into that noble practice, dear John Boy wanted to know how I had lost my vocabulary and been reduced to "Sure, sure pootus".
Somewhere in the interim, a decade has passed me by. WTF? Where did that go? So, my Blondie took it upon himself to inspire me when he started school this fall and MisAdventure entertained delusions of grandeur about acquiring that higher degree. He has some fetish with the "double dog dare". Although he never has to SAY, "double dog dare, ya", he just tells me I lack a pair....Uhhhh, excuse me? I don't think so!! And magically I find myself doing things that I really thought I would never do again. Quite the infectious young motivator.
So, I filled out all the necessary paper work and started my walk through the quagmire of red tape to try and commit myself to the laws of higher educational authority in hopes that they might deem me worthy and bestow me with that coveted piece of parchment we call a degree. I've ask myself in the process, more than once, 'Who am I kidding?'.
Let's review this process. MisAdventure fills out application number one, pays her fees and submits. Then, she calls said University to inquire what "the rest" of the process is. "Oh, nothing. Just wait." So I do. Nothing happens. So I try again. "Oh, yes. My bad, it didn't get transferred to the Graduate department." And, so I ask, who else do I need to speak with? "No one, this has been sitting on my desk for awhile, I'll take care of it." You'll - take - care - of - it.
September, October, November, December.....By January I was getting frustrated. No one could tell me anything. So, I made another attempt to glean information by calling the University yet again. After 3 transfers and four people who could tell me precisely NOTHING....one your naive sounding voice said to me, "You probably should talk to the MSW department."
Me: Ok. Can you transfer me there? Naive: No. Me: Do you have that number? Naive: Oh, yes. Would you like me to give it you?
I entertained the thought that this individual might actually be attending the University, and I shuddered. I acquired and number and made a phone call. In short, explained my situation and was told that I hadn't filled out all the paperwork. And it was due last November. Stellar.
I was granted leniency and raced to fill out the appropriate boxes in a matter of days. Rushed to hand it in aaaannnnnd, wait. I called to inquire about a week later if all the right letters of recommendation had been married to my paperwork.
Me: Just wanted to follow up and make sure my application was complete.
Wanda: What was your name?
Me: MisAdventure.
Wanda: Hmmm, I can't seem to locate that. Let me check....No. I don't have an application with that name. I'm sure that I just saw it. Let me call you back.
Me: Oookay.
Upon returning my phone call I was informed that my paper work had been misplaced. Convenient. So I raced through the process again!! Seriously, I am willing to part, nay throw, large sums of money for the privilege of participating worship of the Ivory Tower God and this bureaucratic beast can't even keep track of my request to be fucked up the goad ass with the rest of the sheep! Oh my Ghawd.
And so, here we are. We wait, and we sweat. I was supposed to have word by March. It's March. No word. Is this a sign?
One year ago today she left this world and I seized on my insanity to run in her honor. With love, honor, prayers and respect to her and her beautiful family...Lindsey, thank you. I carried a quote that her sweet Dad loved on the shirt that I wore, "Believe in Angels, They Return the Favor"
Hold onto your hat, I'm feeling rather verbose. I've mulled this concept over for quite some time. This long diatribe is not the definitive conclusion, by any stretch of the imagination, just a stop along the way in my evolution. A moment of thinking out loud. And it is, only one opinion.
Obsessive compulsive disorder. I joke about my children being afflicted with this condition. Actually, one of the Offspring does have leaning tendencies, but only under extreme duress. He washes his hands when he's extremely stressed. It can be a strange sensation as a parent to watch such things take control of your child.
Normally, though, our "OCD" is limited to topics of interest. At least, interesting to us. Them. Me. The Offspring will obsess about certain subjects as nauuuusssseeeeumm. Currently, video games (one in particular) and history, circa 3 AD - 40AD. For those of you who may be lost in the date margin, that's the era of Jesus' birth, reign and death. We have the fall of Rome in there...stupid Nero, and the rise of the British Empire looming on the horizon. Throw in a little law, logic and economics and you've summed up what we are currently discussing sometimes without coming up for air.
Can't say that I don't appreciate the enthusiasm. Especially for the very astute observations in moments of perceived injustice. I queried buck-buck #1 about being a lawyer. He told me that he wanted to argue, debate, not bury himself in legal precedence. In his words, BORING. Hear, hear child. Besides, he tells me that lawyers are *bleep*. I need to work on how I sway that argument, perhaps my influence is a little one sided.
For the past several years my "OCD" has lodged firmly in orientation. Specifically orientation and conservative ecclesiastical interpretation of ones orientation. But, because how you construe or delineate the aspects of orientation with the beliefs that you hold, I would say that those beliefs are most assuredly subject for debate. I am told, in varying ways, that the beliefs one holds, are not up for debate. I always get something caught in my throat when I hear those words. Not-up-for-debate. Really.(Can you see me raise one eyebrow and caulk my head?) I'll say it again, Rrreally. It's not a question, it's a statement. Rrreally! You must not have recently planted yourself at MY church. Because, it most certainly IS, up for DEBATE.
Let's get our ducks in row, shall we. It isn't up for a fight. It is open for debate, argument or fervent discussion. Now, I don't know that I want to engage in an argument with you about the existence of God, with a capital 'G'. Unnnnlesssss, you reeeeally want to go there. But, in terms of how you appertain that 'God' and his role in our social system. Oh, oh, oh oh oh! It most certainly is debatable.
Now hold on there, you say. Beliefs are a choice, and choice isn't a debate. Well, beliefs are, to a degree, a choice. But, a society cannot engage someone who basis his views of anything, orientation specifically, on ecclesiastical authority alone. Like unreasoned emotion, unanswerable religious authority is, well, unanswerable. The ONLY legitimate response is belief and unbelief. If one insists that God tells him the grass is blue, and makes no other statement to support the claim, it is difficult to have a fruitful dialogue with him. In fact, it is, impossible. The prejudices that shape our interpretation and practice of our beliefs is a most important debate. Prejudice molds our interpretation of what we believe. It just does.
If you choose to believe that there is a higher power, a higher authority, or a God, that manipulates this system, or Universe if you will, even determines the human experience, then, regardless of how that is molded by your prejudice, that choice is not up for debate. (take a deep breath and read it again. I checked to see that it made sense.) But, and there is always a but, no matter how I loathe the term, when your interpretation of your choice in belief encroaches on my person, being or ability to function in society, then my friend, we have a debate. And that belief, is up for the challenging. In other words, if the God tells you the grass is blue and it has no impact on me, fine. But if it begins to dictate how I am TOLD to see the grass, we have a problem.
The beliefs of thousands throughout the ages have determined the functional existence of smaller, weaker minorities. If the minority poses no real threat, then it is of great significance how we impose our beliefs on that minority. Look how early Christians were treated by Rome. How slaves were treated in society. How serfs were treated by Lords. How subjects were treated by Kings. How the African American population was oppressed. How women were subjugated. And now, how the GLTBQ community is treated by religious conservatives. And everyone on that list, according to the oppressor, deserved the bad position, just look at the Bible. Scripture has been our justification for some of the most deeply internalized cultural beliefs. Beliefs, that according to some, are not up for debate? So do our prejudices mold our interpretation of the Bible or does the Bible mold us? And if it is a 'choice' to believe, then you say that I cannot challenge your beliefs? Because you believe in God and the Bible is the word of God and your belief is a choice and not up for debate......Rrrrreally.
Are beliefs up for debate? Yes, they most certainly are. With very few exceptions. You can be atheist and question my belief in God. I can question your lack of a belief in a higher power. Simplistically, it has no bearing on our private conduct. You are atheist? In the confines of your private place, I can't question that. You believe in God? Christ? Joseph Smith as a prophet? In the confines of your private world, there is no room for correction. But we can't function in this place we call a Republic, we cannot run a democracy without the debate of our beliefs. Our beliefs dictate what we deem necessary to legislate. What we deem moral and immoral. How we interpret the most fundamental of laws, is always a matter of our internal prejudice and belief. "Do all you have agreed to do", "Do not encroach on other persons or their property."
We need to debate it. We need to understand one another and we need to be able to separate where necessary and mesh where appropriate. If you don't question my beliefs, nor I yours, because they are ultimately "a choice", then we can only move in one direction, or not at all. And that movement is not forward. It IS debatable. Oh, it most certainly is. By the way, who open this can of worms and rocked the boat!?!? And where did I set those damn oars. That damn bridge engineer quit so I gotta' row a boat across this chasm......could you throw me a frickin' rope? Puhleeeaase.....
A Mormon was seated next to an Irishman on a flight from London .
After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken.
The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him. The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he would like a drink.
He replied in disgust, "I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips."
The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said,
Our little wave is opening early this year. I am more than a little apprehensive. Had a hard time delivering newly purchased goods through the door the other night. Made me queasy, and grateful that I'm no longer in charge. That is firmly in the hands of the Lovely Lady.
We made a trip to Costco to replenish some much needed table umbrellas. We figured six was a good number. A well dressed gentleman in a suit observed us pick one after another umbrella and lay it on our cart...
Gentleman: So, what are you doing with all those umbrellas?
Me: Hmm? Oh, she's my sister wife and we're picking them up for the compound swimming pool.
Lovely Lady: Oh, these are just for a neighborhood pool
Gentleman: Where is this com....pool?
The poor guy walked away shaking his head. The Lovely Lady and I giggled all the way to the register. All I can say is, Thank You Sparky!!! You help me find my spontaneous groooove! Now, where were those "STD tests?".......(I'll get to THAT story another day)
I've ask the question before. Almost two years ago, to the day. Two years ago in March I went on a great adventure, to the hospital. Two years ago this week, I sat in an oddly large waiting room with a half dozen other people at the Regional Medical Center. I sat apprehensively next to John Boy, clutching my purse and nervously picking at my nails, feeling cold and hot, sick and nauseous, with as much stillness as I could muster, which, at the time wasn't much. I shook, and one side of my head hurt. My face, my cheek, my ear, my eye. Like a dull, throbbing headache.
I watched the activity in the adjacent hall. Doctors, nurses, orderlies, all moved up and down the corridor much like an ordinary day. For them, it was, an ordinary day. I watch the hall and then looked at each face around the room. Quiet and unassuming. Some conversing in whispers with their companions. Whose life would change today? Does anyone ever think about that when they sit in silence? In a waiting room, in the car, in a quiet moment at work or home. Do they stop and wonder if the news that is gleaned from the appointment at the hospital, did it change someones life? Does anyone care?
I wondered that as I sat waiting for an MRI. An magnetic resonance image of the upper half of my body. Would my life change that day? What was in my head? Would a moment in time change everything I was by the time I left the hospital?
Life changes in milliseconds. And it's short. In my little bubble of a world it has shifted monumentally a number of times in 37 years. Brick bats, 2X4 moments. That day, in that waiting room, I wondered, would my life change again? Sometimes we are left with what if? Should I have? Could I have? How do I? Sometimes we just have to decide. Other times we have time to "think". Hindsight is always 20/20. Would I do something different? Would I say something different? In some cases, I don't know if I could do anything different. In others, I wish everyday I could go back and do it different.
I was tremendously lucky that day. I left the hospital and nothing changed. I still don't feel "normal". Maybe I never will. Maybe I will always hear a ringing in my ears. Maybe I will always have moments of unpredictable, unexplainable panic. Maybe my head behind my ears will always hurt and have lumps. Maybe I will always have a racing heart beat. But, my life, thankfully, did not change. And I did not wish then, or now, for undue sympathy or pity. I'm not different, I'm just not normal.
Bubbles goes in for surgery on Friday. Let's hope she's stays just the way she is, too. We hope for the same things. And I, like having her around. We're too little for big changes. We're not done on the playground. Glad you join us here in no where....
Ok, I couldn't resist. I've held off for a few days but I just can't keep from sharing my moment of "OH MY GHAWD!" I was driving into work this morning, and this dick in a truck pulls out in front of me!
I know, I know, juvenile "dick" joke. But, oh well. There aren't any "juveniles" who frequent my little corner of nowhere! Bawahahahahaha! I WISH I had taken this picture. I can just see this in Driggs.
AMEN!!! Andrew, Amen! (Read the WHOLE thing. I couldn't have said it better myself. I am so glad there are people in this world who can articulate what I am thinking.)
Hmmm, Acute Anxiety Disorder. This is what it is. On paper it looks rather benign. Physically, emotionally, psychologically, I lack the adjectives. Imagine the feeling you have when you are in a car accident, or narrowly miss an accident. Remember the heart palpitations, the rush of blood, the cold sweat? Now, picture that feeling 24/7. Worse, imagine that you have no particular "trigger".
People ask me all the time, "Well, what makes you anxious?"
If I could answer that, I would make all these feelings GO AWAY. Sometimes it's people, situations, possibilities. Even good events can trigger the anxious response. In some cases, if you are a trigger, I have to "divorce" you. (If you're reading this, you're obviously not on the "divorce" list. That's why this "open book" to my brain is set on "invite only".)
I don't KNOW what, when, where, why or how. But today......it sucks!!!!!!
If I meet you on the street and you smile, you laugh, you greet me and you TELL me all is well, are you happy? Your body language, your demeanor all tell me that, yes, of course you are. Happy and blissful, right?
If, on the other hand, you seem cold and without a deemed appropriate response, well then you MUST be angry. Yes, yes, of course.
I'm accused on a regular basis of being grouchy. I'm angry, I'm bitchy, I'm unhappy, cantankerous, pessimistic. Well, thank you, I'll do my best from now on to appear to be down right giddy. I think that I must be missing the point. I am surrounded by giddy, sugary people. They all look me in the eye and tell me not only how they are, but how I am. Damn, what would I do without so many people to let me know how I feel. It bares no weight that I actually may be in a terrific mood even though I LOOK furrowed. That I may have a great, on going comic reel in my head, at your expense I might add. But, because I don't act like the idiot step ford wives I'm surrounded by, well I must be fuckin miserable.
Mmmmm, fake it 'till you make it. (I said that with all the facetious sugar that I could muster.)
Location: Living this side of Insanity, In Happy Valley-Phase II, United States
I am an overexcited, overcaffinated, Universalist Unitarian, Gay loving, Liberal hugging, Humor seeking, Libertarian Mother of two and some. Like what you read? Comment!!! Please...
