Feeling Small

I think this is important. It's my feeling that when we are far away from God (whomever, or whatever, He or She is to us), we begin to feel larger. In a fake sense. I mean, the less we have God in mind, the more self-sufficient we feel. We may feel we're up to that. But when it really comes down to it, we know we make very poor gods. So when the crisis hits (small or large) we are definitely not up to it. The result is depression or anger or anxiety. I cannot possibly hold the weight of this world on my shoulders. I can't even hold the weight of one day on my shoulders. It's true, we get by with a little help from our friends. But they make poor gods, too. So here's the admonition of today, and this is why I love living near the beach.

Lee Ann Womack sings, "I Hope You Dance"

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

Angel

To be sure. I think television is the awfulest thing in the world. But of late, I've discovered this series called, "Angel." Yeah, it's about vampires. I never watched "Buffy." But this show is brilliant! And, as I told a friend recently, (you know who you are!) I don't usually use the terms TV and BRILLIANT in the same sentence.

When I was young, I watched soap operas. I was addicted enough to them that, at the age of 23, I was finding myself saying things like, "OH~ I have to go home and watch my show!" Yeah. So I nipped that in the fuckin bud! I can't be organizing my social life with REAL people around the FAKE ones.

But a few months ago, I was in a position to watch this show, almost against my will, every fucking morning. For two hours! And I became quite addicted. So I'm here to say that the show is brilliant! :)

Babies

A world without babies.
Hard to imagine. I can't really think of anything more terrible.

I saw a movie this weekend called, "Children of Men." The storyline followed a futuristic day when the entire earth had become infertile. The last time a child had been born was eighteen years ago. It wasn't set very far into the future. Just twenty years. It wasn't a great movie but the characters were well developed and interesting. I don't think it even came close enough to approaching how it really would be if there were no children. The intensity of that idea ran strong through the story, but still it felt like it was always viewed through a hazy glass. But it made me stop to think. Use my own brain and imagination to try to feel what it would be like if new life weren't constantly imminent.

Not being able to speak for others, I think I can safely say that in just about every hard time of my life, it has been the children who brought me comfort. Not always my own children, although quite often they remain the lights of my world. But even seeing a stranger with a baby or a child running down the street. I can't be expected to survive on this dark planet without that. And as the little ones have grown older, they still encourage me in so many ways. My sons and daughter, my granddaughter, my nieces and nephews, my friends' kids, the kids I take care of... the list goes on and on. It is my pleasure to remain involved in the lives of the young. It is the most healing and magical thing I've found.

The year my granddaughter was born, my niece, Graci, was in San Francisco going to culinary school. She was terribly homesick and was finally able to come visit when the baby was two months old. She'd never seen her. I'll never forget her face when she set eyes on that little creature. It was like looking at eternity's heart. All of her sorrow and joy came pouring out in uncontrollable tears. Just at the sight of that baby girl. The first grandchild in our family. The first sign that life that was going on. Graci was an adult now. And she felt all the force of creation in that moment. She's not forgotten that day, and I doubt she ever will.

Hell is for Children

Regarding the "Girls Gone Wild" videos. I have no argument against promoting consentual videos of scantily clad, age appropriate women. In fact, I kinda think the videos are probably cute-ish. I like naked women. I think they are very pretty. Naked men, not so much. But naked men can turn me on. Perhaps I should edit that to say, "naked man." And two videos for ten bucks! Can't beat that! I mean, I spend ten bucks just having lunch at Burger King (or BK Lounge, as Dane likes to call it). Ten bucks is easy to come by.

So let me say this. The other night, while my boyfriend and I were watching a serious crime drama (something like Law & Order), every single commercial break included at least three ads for the GGW videos. Three of the exact same advertisement! Sometimes consecutively! Even my boyfriend got sick of seeing them! We eventually had to switch the channel, without ever even finding out the end of the episode we were watching! Now that's serious.

So I discovered last night that I have developed a serious anxiety about the ads. I was watching Comedy Central and during one commercial break, in came that familiar grating voice, intruding on my peace of mind. I felt my heart begin to beat faster (in the yucky way) and a sudden urge to puke rose up in my throat. I thought, "Oh please God! Make it stop! Say it isn't going to be playing over and over and over during this show now!" (This was even a different channel and I was watching Jon Stewart's Daily Show which I did NOT want to miss a minute of!!!)

Fortunately (whew) it was just a regular ad, inserted as ads regularly are.

Postscript: All puns in this post were intended. *wink*

William Cowper

This is a man who has my heart. I am so compelled to love him that it never ceases to amaze me that I've never met him! (Indeed, how could I? He lived more than two hundred years ago and I've never even set foot on the continent on which he breathed!)

Here is just a little bit of the reason why he holds me so:

( Excerpt from http://marshall.thefreelibrary.com/English-Literature-For-Boys-And-Girls/73-1 )

Cowper loved animals tenderly and understood them in a wonderful manner. He tamed some hares and made them famous in his verse. And when he felt madness coming upon him he often found relief in his interest in these pets. One of his poems tells how Cowper scolded his spaniel Beau for killing a little baby bird "not because you were hungry," says the poet, "but out of naughtiness." Here is Beau's reply--

"Sir, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.

"You cried 'Forbear!;--but in my breast
A mightier cried 'Proceed!'--
'Twas nature, sir, whose strong behest
Impelled me to the deed.

"Yet much as nature I respect,
I ventured once to break
(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

"And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,
Had fluttered all his strength away
And panting pressed the floor,

"Well knowing him a sacred thing
Not destined to my tooth,
I only kissed his ruffled wing
And licked the feathers smooth.

"Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,
Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggrieved Bow-wow;

"If killing birds be such a crime
(Which I can hardly see),
What think you, sir, of killing Time
With verse addressed to me?"

Lamentations Stolen

Couldn't resist telling this on the mountain:

http://www.atheistalliance.org/aaw/Lamfather.htm

Raising Hell or Helen?

I've often said that being a mother feels like having a steel pole driven through your body and the only way it will kill you is if it's removed. Now it's true that there are many joys associated with parenthood. But there are just as many deep sorrows. If not just those experienced when you see your child suffer to the smallest degree. If we could, we would shield them from every potential pitfall. The unfortunate thing is that, in this day and age, you really can protect them from most every type of peril. Makes us wonder, why would we do this? Think it through. The people we admire the most in the world. They have been through some serious shit! And how did they become so admirable? Getting through that serious shit! I know we have good intentions in our attempts to keep our children unharmed. Of course we should protect them. Try to give them situations in which they can grow, in a controlled environment. But the adage is true that you begin letting go of your child from the moment they are born. The fact that you have to let them go from your body is the first step in the process. And every step after that is no easier than that first one.

Many believe in holding on tightly to their children until they leave the nest. Now this sort of letting go is much more painful than the ones that naturally occur in their time (remember, I'm including labor and childbirth in this category). And I believe it to be much more damaging to the child.

Honestly, the heartache of raising children can be so deeply melancholy, I very often tell people that motherhood is overrated. And being a grandmother is even worse. Now you have a child whose life you really have absolutely no control over. Anything can happen! Talk about letting go! When I chose the tattoo to represent the birth of my first grandchild, I was sifting through some maori tribal symbols. She is a real maori princess and I decided to just be presumptuous and believe that the tribal people would allow me the privilege of wearing one of their signs. I seriously considered using the symbol which meant "sorrow." But I decided on "hope."

So, now that my children are all grown, my thoughts often turn to wondering, "what will really become of them?" You see them go through bigger struggles every day. You see them overcome them. Others looking on might think, "Oh those kids are just going nowhere," but I know those kids. I know their hearts. I don't feel the need to worry about their welfare because I know them to have strong characters. I've discovered that they possess the qualities that are necessary for any little or big thing that they might need to deal with. And their bond provides the benefit of their being able to help one another when they are weak. These are the things that are of real value. They even help me from time to time! Now that is cool, when your kids encourage and uplift you when you're down. Yeah, they did it in a sense when they were even babies. Babies always put your feet back on the ground and remind you what's important. But now they give the gift of real generosity of spirit. So those are what I call successful adults.

Mi Madre

I don't think I let my mother know enough how much she means to me. I mean I think she knows. But I doubt she knows how deeply her love has impressed me.

She had her first child when she was twenty. By the time she was 23, she was giving birth to her third (me). I don't think she had that illusion about white picket fences and a house full of children in mind for her future. But there she was. She was taken away from home by a handsome young Air Force pilot. He understood her vulnerability. She would feel the need to call her mother often, and he never said a WORD about how much that was costing him. He was gone a lot. I grew up in the style of the military officer's family. There were cocktail parties. Beautiful cocktail dresses! Officer's Wives Club events. Lots of moving around. Mom and some of the other wives started up a singing group in Japan called, The Whymsingers. I loved watching them practice and perform. It was really a very full life. And mom never made us feel like we were any trouble. To me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I know there are jokes made in movies about the horror of having your mother or father come to school, but when I saw my mother come to my school, I was overjoyed. She was there to see me! I loved seeing her beautiful self in the middle of my school day!

Dad was in the middle of the Vietnam war. I knew nothing of war. I just knew he was gone. I am sure that my mother was under a great deal of stress. I don't remember ever seeing it affect her. No doubt, she would tell you a different story. She was very much affected. Especially when she found out she was pregnant with baby number four! All I'm saying is that she didn't thrust any of that burden upon us. I feel I was so well cared for by my mother that, on the rare occasion when she needed to find a sitter for us, I used to sit by the window watching all the cars go by, hoping it would be her coming home. My dad would send us little notes from time to time. I have a little valentine from him. I've no idea how long ago it was sent. It's just one of those little individual valentines you give out to your classroom and it's signed, "To my sweetheart #3." My mother always honored my father. I learned this from her. To me, as a little girl, he was often just a shadowy figure that would come darken the doorway in his flight suit. As time went on, I got to know him better. He would be the man who would drive the station wagon and take us on trips. I began to want to spend time with him and find out the things he knew.

So as I grew older, I saw the couple. I saw how protective they were of one another. I rarely saw my mother or my father angry, but if someone was disregarding either of them, the other would surely make a strong protest! She made sure the home was a haven for him and he made sure that she was always provided for. When I was in Junior High School, she got a job outside the home. I would walk from school to her office and just spend time there with her. She'd give me money to go next door to 7-11 so I could buy a snack and maybe a word puzzle book. I loved seeing how proficient she was as a secretary. In my life, I had many opportunities to go to work with her when I wasn't quite well enough to go to school, nor ill enough to stay home. I would help her file and just do all the things she did. I loved every inch of her being. When I was a teenager, mum would take my sisters and me along with her to blood drives as volunteers (she had started working for the red cross up at the base). Yeah, we got those guys' blood flowing as we strutted about in our little mini skirts! But mom and dad still painted that lovely portrait of a real and true couple. Dad retired from the Air Force, mom began working more. But still home was a warm haven and dad would do things like make sure mom's car had gas in it and that the snow was all scraped off of it and that it was warm for her drive to work. She'd get to work and call him to let him know she made it. Every morning. They still do that shit. It's just too cute. 'Course they're both retired now, but when they are apart, they know how to assure one another that all is well.

I took my childhood for granted. I honestly thought everyone in the world had the gentle experience I had. I knew there were SOME bad stories, but I thought they must have been mostly good. I've come to find out the opposite is true. My story is unusual. As are my parents.

Who is Bernard Goldberg

From Wikipedia:

Bernard Goldberg (born 1945) is a writer and television reporter. For nearly thirty years, he was with CBS; his reporting won multiple Emmy Awards.

In 1996, Goldberg wrote an op-ed column in the Wall Street Journal, accusing network news operations of harboring liberal bias. The editorial resulted in Goldberg's ostracism from CBS. In 2001, his first book Bias was published and became a number one New York Times bestseller. Goldberg followed Bias with two more national bestsellers—Arrogance: Rescuing America from the Media Elite and 100 People Who Are Screwing Up America.

Goldberg believes that there is a liberal bias which is often not conscious.

"I have many friends at CBS News and some even agree with my take on bias—privately. Publicly, they won't say a word, fearing repercussions."

I Got Nuthin ~ So read this by Bernard Goldberg from his book, "BIAS"

It's long and I'm having to fix some of the format, but I'll post what I have for now... even this much is worth the read.
Great day everyone!

Targeting Men

Putz.
It's one of those funny-sounding, completely inelegant Yiddish words that is
totally without charm but manages
to make its point.
Like schmuck.
For the uninitiated, putz, loosely translated, means jerk -as in "I went to
this fabulously trendy East Side restaurant and ordered the pesto pasta with
sun-dried tomatoes and the waiter brought me spaghetti and meatballs. What a
putz!"
For some reason this word is used a lot in Manhattan but almost never in Jackson
Hole, Wyoming. As for the literal translation of putz -don't ask. (Hint:
rhymes with Venus.)
The "wounding power of slurs" is something the New York Times and sensitive
network news types are always on the lookout for. Except when the slur is aimed
at the one group they consider fair game.
Men.
This brings us to Harry Smith, the former coanchor of CBS This Morning, as affable a feminist as you'll ever meet -and even in a business populated by so
many liberals, Harry is out there, way off in left field. It was the summer of
1995...
There was Harry interviewing the actor Dennis Quaid about a movie he had just
done, Something to Talk About. In the movie Quaid plays a sleazeball, a married
man who can't keep his hands off half the women in town.
To Harry this is how men act in real life too. Which prompted him to say to
Quaid, "I'm under the assumption that most men are putzes."
In Harry's mind this was a perfectly reasonable observation. Because to Harry
Smith, most men are putzes. I know this because I called him a few days later
and asked just what he had in mind.
"Men are the cheaters," Harry told me. "Men are the philanderers. We're the ones
who don't take care of our families."
The word putz was creeping into my mind... but it wasn't most men I was
thinking about.
"And white guys are running around the country complaining that they're
victims," he added, just to make sure I was getting his point.
I understand all that hut what I can't figure out is how you can spell "Harry
Smith" without using the letters pc.
But what if affable Harry Smith (who in 1999 left CBS News to host A&E's
Biography) in some other context had said, "I'm under the assumption that most
black people are putzes”? Or "most Irish are putzes"? Or "most Jews are putzes"?

Let's put it this way: if he had said any of those things, good ol' Harry would
have been out on his affable liberal ass in about the time it would have taken
his bosses to say, "Pack your stuff and get out, you putz!" Even then, Harry
would have been lucky to get a job doing the overnight news at a radio station
in Kodiak, Alaska, which is one of those places where they don't use the word
putz all that much.
"What if you said on the air," I asked Harry, "you know, I think most women are
putzes. Do you think management would have tolerated that?"
He couldn't stop laughing. What Harry meant is, "You've got to be kidding,
putzhead -they would have tossed me out the freakin' window"
Nobody at CBS News thought this putz episode was any big deal. Eric Ober, the
president of the news division, said it was a joke. No harm, no foul.
I'm sure he was right. And I'm sure he would have felt the same way if I had
gone on television and said, "You know, Ms. Steinem, I don't understand what you
and all your feminist friends are always com-plaining about. You women are such
putzes"
And it was a joke, too, when Katie Couric, on NBC, asked a bride who had been
jilted at the altar about a proper remedy: "Have you considered castration as
an option?"
Warren Farrell, a California psychologist and former board member of the New
York chapter of NOW, was exercising at his home near San Diego, watching the
Today show, the morning Katie made her castration joke. In his book, Women Can't
Hear What Men Don't Say, he wondered what would happen if Katie's cohost, Matt
Lauer, asked a jilted groom, "Have you considered the option of cutting off her breasts?"
Well, Farrell didn't really wonder what would happen. Like everybody else, he
knew. "NBC would be considering the option of cutting off his contract."
The difference between the two is obvious, isn't it? Castration is funny.
Cutting off breasts is not funny.

Holding Out for a Hero

I ran into a friend's son the other day in the bar side of a restaurant where I was picking up some take-out (the most amazing and addictive hot wings). He called me over just as he was ordering a pitcher of beer for himself and some friends he was expecting. The bartender asked how many glasses he wanted and he said, "um.... five" to which I added, "he wants six." He laughed and graciously poured me a beer. We chatted about personal current events. At one point he said, "Oh hey! I saw you the other night outside the movie theater. You were with a um...... a hero!" Yep. He was right. My guy is a hero. There's hardly another word to describe him. When I told him he'd been referred to as such, he said, "A hero? Why would he call me that?" See. What a hero-ish response. I really had no way of explaining it to him. He just looks like someone who rose up out of the ashes of some ancient Nordic battleground.

I've had the pleasure of waking up with this man at least 250 times now. Every single time, as I watch him get up out of bed, it still amazes me to see him proceed to put on just regular mortal clothing.

But it's not just his appearance (and humility about it) that makes him a hero. He's genuine and true and full of integrity. It's his birthday this weekend. I'm glad he was born.

Cosmo Quizzes

Why do we take them? Are we trying to know ourselves via a women's magazine? And does it work? I'd love to hear from y'all on the subject.

Today, I received an email asking me to "click here" to find out whether or not I'm marriage material. I thought it would be fun to take the test and see how it lays that out. I quit on the third question. The first was regarding whether or not you think you are able to be monogamous. The second was asking what is most important to you in a relationship (great sex, similar life goals and um.... I don't remember the other choice). Now why was it that I couldn't choose both A and B? Anyway, question three was "Why do you want to get married?" Huh? *Teri smacks herself in the head* I don't want to get married! Why am I taking this stupid test? I already know I'm not marriage material!

How do I know I'm not marriage material? Well first of all, what's one of the main things that people say about marriage? Anyone? Anyone? Marriage is all about ________________ . (Hint: it starts with a "c" ~ I call it the C-Word) I have no interest in that word (and I'm fairly sure it has no interest in me, either!) My ex husband used it as a tool of manipulation. Many people do use it that way. I realize that the true meaning of the word is not a bad thing. It's the way people use it to get what they want that has made it the C-Word. Secondly, I think similar life goals is extremely important if you're going to become maritally institutionalized and the person does not exist who has similar goals to mine. Unfortunately, we often just feel we can persuade that other person to come around to our way of thinking (this is on both sides of the sexes) ~ thereby achieving common goals. OR, we present the person we think the other person wants, even though that is not who we are. I think that's called DECEPTION (the D-Word ~ shall we go through the whole alphabet? By the way, the F-Word is "fine!" ~ hehe).

Here's how I think the Marriage Material quiz should go:

1. Do you use the C-Word a lot?

2. Are you looking for someone to "complete" you?

If you answered YES to either of the above questions, then you are not ready. Hee hee.

Seriously, I was thinking this weekend. (Yes, AGAIN!) If people would stop looking to others to be their relief or their help ~ and by this I mean in the sense of needing someone to "call my own" or needing someone to help you accomplish your financial goals (this includes tax breaks, the general success of being a homeowner, etc) or needing someone to help you raise the babies ~ we'd have many more happy relationships. Think of how often you hear the plaintive cry, "Why aren't you THERE for me?!!"

I'm here to tell you that marriage is not a solution to any of those things. As a married person, you can be more lonely and more financially destitute and more alone in your struggles than anyone in the world. I'm hard pressed to really know any good reasons to get married, but I sure know that those aren't them.


"If you want to exchange the admiration of many for the criticism of one, then go ahead and get married." ~ Kate Hepburn

To Be or Not To Be....

Carrie Bradshaw says to look for someone who loves the you that you love.

When I was almost twenty-one, I got married. I was a beautiful and glowing bride at seven months pregnant. hehehe
It's true, I had a fantastic body. I didn't know it then, but I did. When my groom-to-be met me he was just amazed that he could reel in such a catch! We dated for two years. During that time, there were a number of red flags. He would often try to coax me to do things and be things that I didn't want to do or be. I was young. I probably thought this was normal. But inside, I knew it wasn't good. His frustrations grew and they manifested in his taking opportunities to be cruel and controlling. He would try to get me to do demeaning things. Not extreme or sexual or anything, just things that would sort of let me know that I was lesser and he was greater. Put me in my place. I had a strong upbringing and none of this set well with me. But I would do them. I suppose in hopes that by doing them I'd prove my love and he'd stop or whatever reasons people come up with to put up with abuse. Again, let me remind, this is when abuse is at its very infancy, but abuse is never to be taken lightly. Or so I know now. Let me give you an example.

One day, I think it was Thanksgiving, we were all at his parents' house (he lived there, too) and he and his sister's boyfriend decided to go skiing. So they did. They had a great time. When they got home, he said to me, "Go out and get my skis off of the car." I laughed, because I was sure he was joking. He didn't laugh. And he had a very stern look on his face. I said, "What? Why?" He said, "Because I want you to."
I looked around for help from someone. They all just stared, dumfounded. So, I just went out and did it. I am sure that this is the first time in my life that I felt real humiliation.
It's also the first time in my life I denied the adage, "To thine own self be true." Little thing, big mistake.
He continued to do little things like this from time to time. I really didn't get the deep reason why until many, many years later. And that is yet another story. But for now, I use thise to talk about some of the more normal problems this causes in a relationship.

After we had dated the two years, I broke up with him. I went on a trip to Cape Cod to spend the summer with a girlfriend of mine whose grandmother had a beach house there. Was a great trip. Many things learned. Now my figure has never been slim. I've always been curvy. And at age nineteen that summer, my weight was probably around 130. I was (and am) 5'4". Well my friend and I found a very meager host in her grandmother (or, should I say, step-grandmother) and we spent a good deal of the time very hungry. I got down to around 118. And then we started eating like starving people and drinking LOTS of beer. By the time I got back home, I weighed around 150. When I arrived, this boyfriend I had broken up with wanted me back immediately. He begged and begged. So, well my stupid young heart was far too inexperienced to know what a trap it was. I got pregnant and then he convinced me to marry him. I don't really remember how. But I know it was important to him to do the right thing. This was the rightest thing he could think of. He joined the Navy (left for bootcamp two weeks after the wedding) and the baby was born a month or so later (he was still in boot camp).
You can imagine, this didn't help my struggling weight. But in all fairness, I didn't gain a lot of weight during the pregnancy, and in just a few months, I didn't look at all like a woman who had just given birth. So I didn't look bad. However, he thought I did. Very much so. I'm afraid this is all too common for men to feel this way about their wives/girlfriends who have babies. Now, there are many movie stars and models who will make it clear to the world that there is no reason to have childbearing affect your figure at all! (Thank god, that fad is passing for the moment ~ good girl, Jen!)

So, to make this long story longer...
What happens next? Does he just suck it up and say, oh well, she's my wife and I'm stuck with her? Or does he tell her that he needs her to care more about her appearance (oh and don't forget to add health)?

*heavy sigh*

Here's what I think. I don't like either of those choices. I've learned to love the honest approach. And settle for nothing less. Aha, you say! Honesty requires him to tell her he's not attracted to a fat-ass woman! This is not the honesty of which I speak. I'm talking about honesty with his own self. I think it's just plain wrong to get involved with or marry a person you don't want. Obviously, I was no small thing. Trouble is, this man likes the starved look on a woman. He likes small hips. Small everything. If you could see my hips, you'd realize how asinine it is that he even asked me out! They are not small, they never were and they never will be!
So rather than admit to himself that he just doesn't like my kind of woman, he tortured me for it over the years. He even argued that all men want slim women and that no man would be attracted to me. Now there's a fun strategy.
Unfortunately for him, there were plenty of men (most of them his friends) who were attracted to me. Very attracted. Most of them approached me at least once and said, "Leave this bum and go out with me!" (Especially when I got into aerobics and bicycle riding and boy! did I look good! It's scary how good I looked! ~ he would just say, "Aerobics every day? Try twice a day.")
To these "friends" I would reply, "Yeah.. sure you like me now, but what about in ten years? You'll be just like him." And I wasn't kidding. I really believed that.

So what keeps us from being honest? I mean he struggled for so many years just TRYING to convince me that I needed to change my appearance so he could want me. He fluctuated between trying to be the right kind of man and just look at the good things about me and cheating on me with women he did want. All of this killing his own soul. What the hell? Didn't he know where the door was?
Of course he knew. He just felt that divorce was the wrong thing. He was all about the right thing. (See how warped we are about the right thing?)

I don't want the right thing. I want the true thing. I don't want a man who settles for me because I have some good qualities, so he'll just do his best to accept the rest. That isn't what I wanted him to be.
I want a man who can appreciate who I am, in all aspects. It's true, I don't look at all like a model. But I'm damn good lookin. And, even though I am MUCH heavier than I ever was when I was married to him, I still have a great figure. I'm fit (still work out every day) and active and healthy and sexy and I have a passel of men who will confirm this, if you don't believe me. But what if I weren't? What if I were homely and sickly? What if the only qualities I had to offer were substantial emotional support and a great and interesting mind and creativity that has no bounds and love and acceptance that is immeasurable? How then would I want to settle for a man who says,
"I know.. I love those things about you and I don't even care that you are homely." I say nay. A man who really appreciates the things that make me who I am, will certainly never see me as homely. Or fat. Or inferior in any way.

Is this an ideal that lives in no man? I say nay again. I know many men like this. If you don't have one, then girls, go get one! And I say the same is true in the reverse. I think it's time to be honest with ourselves and not drag another soul down with us into our own desperate darkness of discontentment and all the while call it righteousness.

Tiny

Her name is Elizabeth Jones. Beth for short. But we call her Tiny. (A nickname my son, Jake, gave her.) She's the mommy of my granddaughter. And she's a perfect little flower. She's beautiful and smart. She loves her baby and she loves me. (That's her finest point! hehehe) She calls me Mommy Face.

I've known Beth almost four years. When we met, she wasn't yet dating my son. I believe we were all doing shots of.. oh hell I dunno. I am not a shots person, so I was just sipping it and she would say, "Hey, finish that up, babe! I gotta use the glass!" :)

Here's the thing about Tiny. She is both strong and frail. She has a solid character that you can feel. But she is sensitive to being mistreated. I used to try to find her work where the people were civil and wouldn't yell at their employees because I couldn't stand the idea of her being exposed to that. It's true, she's come such a long way. She now works two jobs and has gotten her own apartment, where she and the baby live. Her sister and Jake live there off and on to help with the childcare. (Beth and Jake split up some time ago, but they remain close friends and share the responsibility of the baby.) Beth also has a fiery defender's spirit. She is sweet as punch, but if you hurt someone she loves, she'll knife ya!

Beth reminds me of one of those mountain flowers. The type that can grow, even from the ashes of a forest fire. I feel privileged to know and love her.

Melting Pot

A lot of things on my mind today. Posts and comments of late got me thinking. And yesterday's range of emotions made for a strangely calm and clear-thinking today. It's a bit like my post migraine sense. I never see things quite as well as at that time. Or maybe I should say quite as plainly.

As the news spreads about my youngest son's news of a child on the way, I get plenty of opinions tossed my way. (No doubt he does, too.) He's eighteen. The unanimous response is along the lines of, "Oh he has no idea what he's done to screw up his life now. Having a child will throw a wrench into his plans like none other!" (I guess I'm into hardware metaphors today.)

I consider myself a realist. But I'm a little too optimistic in some eyes to be considered a REAL realist. I think optimism is very realistic. After all, the sun does rise again every single day. I see no reason to take that for granted. It's a beautiful thing, and I count on it. In my darkest days, just knowing that has gotten me through many, many times.

Segue:
When I discovered I was pregnant with this same boy, I was devastated. Not only was my marriage in a wretched state, but I wasn't even sure if he was my husband's child! (I'm not going to bother explaining that.) I did not want this child. Every day I woke up disappointed that I had not had a miscarriage.

One day, while driving over a bridge, I thought, "I can just turn my wheel and drive over the edge and it will all be over. Easy." At that same moment, a song was playing on the radio. One I'd heard a million times. It's called "Signs." From the seventies. Just at that point, I heard, "I made up my own little sign. It said, 'Thank you Lord for thinkin 'bout me. I'm alive and doin fine!'" Hit me like a ton of bricks (hardware simile). I think I even said out loud. "What the hell am I thinking? I AM alive and doing fine!" From that moment on, I was over it. Brady was born and I was, of course, overwhelmed with love and appreciation for him. Just as I was with the others.

So back to Brady's pending fatherhood. We were talking about this negativity that's being tossed around. I swear, I think people want me to tell Brady every time I talk to him, "okay.. but don't forget... from now on.. your life sucks!" They are kinda disappointed that I'm not doing that! As my dad said on the subject, "It's gonna be whatever you make of it." Brady is made of strong stuff. He does better than roll with the punches, he fuckin hits back!

Now Brady wants to get a tattoo of that line in the song. :)