Jewish Secular Reality is American Secular Reality

Alternative Title: You are being an asshole and I am not your problem.

In a recent study by the Pew Research Center it was determined that there is an increased secularism of American Jews. It has caused a lashing out of vicious un-loving remarks from Jews across the country blaming families like mine for the loss of membership in their institutions. My own recent experience of being discriminated against by members of the Jewish community for being a non-Jewish spouse to one of their own - certainly made me angry enough that I ALMOST pulled my children out of Hebrew School. Instead, I thought I would give the congregation a chance to prove that they had the Chutzpah to make comments to my face (and not just to my Jewish spouse). What isn't being mentioned is the fact that the study reflects that secularism is on the rise in the United States across the board. Here I provide some conversational context for those who, upon seeing the results of the study, went looking for someone to blame.

Personal History (modified from oral telling and basic math): 

A few generations ago there was a black woman who was brought to the United States and sold as a slave in the American South. She had a tribal religion from Africa. She was raped by the son of the Baptist man who purchased her body and she had a daughter. That daughter, born a slave, ran away and married a Cherokee Man. She had no particular religion but, was good with herbs. They were forced to leave their home and moved to Arkansas. They had a daughter there, she made moonshine, and smoked a pipe and learned from her mother, they branded her a witch. She married a man and they had children one was born in Missouri. He moved to Kansas and wed a young woman whose family had been assimilated on a reservation in Oklahoma, they went to church. They had three daughters. One of their daughters married a man from an Irish family (who had their own history of religious conversion and assimilation). Before they had married, the man had a son with a Catholic Guatemalan woman and the marriage was annulled. The son was raised in Guatemala as a Christian. They had six children together, who they raised as United Methodists. One of their daughters married three times, having four children. Her first marriage was to a Presbyterian and produced one son (he is now a Lutheran), Her second marriage was to a Re-Organized Mormon (a religion that was less than two hundred years old) produced two daughters (one is a secular Christian, the other a Taoist) her third marriage was to a Jew and they had one daughter (she is being raised Jewish). This woman also had a cousin who also married a Jew - and that cousin had three daughters who they raised Jewish. The woman's Taoist daughter, from her second marriage, also married a Jew. This daughter had two children who are being raised as Jews. This family went from zero Jews to eight (the Taoist has not yet converted). 

Religious History (the creation of an expanded family tree):

But Naomi replied, "Turn back, my daughters! Why should you go with me? Have I any more sons in my body who might be husbands for you? Turn back, my daughters, for I am too old to be married. Even if I thought there was hope for me, even if I were married tonight and I also bore sons, should you wait for them to grow up? Should you on their account debar yourselves from marriage? Oh, no my daughters! My lot is far more bitter than yours, for the hand of the LORD has struck out against me." 

They broke into weeping again, and Orpah kissed her mother-in-law farewell. But Ruth clung to her. So she said, "See your sister-in-law has returned to her people and her gods. Go follow your sister-in-law." But Ruth replied, "Do not urge me to leave you, to turn back and not follow you. For wherever you go; I will go. Wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your G_d my G_d. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus and more may the LORD do to me if anything but death parts me from you."

and the story continues with the meeting of Boaz . . . May the LORD make the woman who is coming into your house like Rachel and Leah, both of whom built up the House of Israel!

Historical Context (incomplete, non-chronological order):

Age of Enlightenment, Literacy, The Printing Press, Colonization, Darwin, Industrialization, Modernism, Post-Modernism, Capitalism, Feminism, Fascism, Corporatism, World Wars, Radio, Human Rights, Television. Civil Rights. GLBT Rights. Isolationism. Globalization. The Internet. 

Popular Culture (a sampling - not rated by impact or importance):

Jazz, Rock and Roll, Laugh-In, Father Knows Best, Punk, EMO, Sesame Street, Age of Aquarius, Joan Baez, The Beatles, Muppet Show, Dalai lama, The Today Show, Saturday Night Live, Barbie Dolls, Bob Dylan, Stephen Spielberg, Star Wars, The Daily Show, Fox News, Bill Cosby, Oprah, Channel One, Shirley Temple, MTV, Twitter . . . the list is long in history and content . . . add your own - Here is one more:

"Imagine"

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

HOLWhy Postscript

Hummingbird is my Maternal Grandmother - far from perfect, she struggled with many of the lessons that she ended up teaching me. She was a loyal and devoted matriarch but, she could be stubborn, judgmental, and skeptical of things she was not familiar with.

She continued to challenge her own notions of what was good and right and it was through this process that she continued to grow as a person until her dying day.

Her last words to me were "I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up." and "I love you."
And that may quite possibly be the most important lessons she taught me.

Hummingbird, Owl, Lark . . . Why?

Hummingbird passed through to the other side recently. She was very busy her whole life, never  bothering to slow her pace, as that is not the nature of Hummingbird. Hummingbird was so beautiful. Although she was always working on something - doing, doing, doing - not one person failed to see how beautiful she was. 

I am part Hummingbird. Just enough, that I could fly beside her during her daily rituals and responsibilities from time to time and ask her questions about what it was like to be Hummingbird. She said once, "I am not all I appear to be. You see, I married Lark and was adopted by Owl.  They taught me much. Lark, taught me to listen to life's song and to be more light-hearted and playful. This is how I learned to laugh more and let go of things I cannot control. Owl loved me unconditionally and was confident in herself and her abilities. She showed me how strong I could be and the importance of family. She also helped me to embrace my own curiosities and strengths which has served me well."

I have asked Hummingbird "Why. . . ?" so many times. She said that we should do our best to accept the things we do not understand and have faith that although reasons are beyond our knowing, that they exist and may become clear to us later. She showed me that miracles and magic are about letting go and taking life for what it is. She said that she struggled with these things too. She shared with me that she found comfort in stories full of wonder and magic. She prayed for patience and guidance and found it in places and people she loved. She said that she was still learning, every day. She said that her children and her grandchildren were her most precious treasures - as they challenged her and taught her most about love, life, and faith. 

Hummingbird is still very busy.  If you look, perhaps you will catch a glimpse of her today.

I WILL RISE AND CALL HER BLESSED

My mother taught me about life in a way that made it okay to be flawed, to live without taking my happiness for granted, and above all to never be afraid of change.

When I was a little girl, my mother was in law school. Once, she took me on a short road trip out of town to see a client of the firm she was working for. I remember it was a small town with a hospital and she had to deliver a subpoena. When we drove up to the entrance of the building, she explained to me what the building directory was, how to read it, and then proceeded to hand me an envelope and told me to enter the building, ask for Mr. Smith, find where he is, hand him the envelope and tell him "You have been served".  I did this, not knowing the purpose of what I was doing, or why. I trusted my mother and trusted that she would never ask me to do something that wasn't in my best interest or anything that could cause me harm. I look back at memories like this one, and I have very mixed feelings. The legality of her actions aside, (in California you must be 18 to serve a subpoena) as an adult, I question the judgement of my mother in sending me, a child of 8 or 9, into a strange building to deliver paperwork that could have been met with hostility, anger, and violence.  But, as a mother of a brillant eight-year-old daughter, I don't flinch at the idea. I think "she could totally do that." in fact, I am fairly certain, if given the opportunity, my daughter could be President and the world would be a better place. I think my mother believed that too.

As I got older I became more aware of the goings-on of the adults in my life. I began to catalog the lies and betrayals of my parents. Time has proven the aptitude of my observant nature, and as a keenly perceptive child, little went unnoticed. Their malnourished relationship began to devour the safety net of my childhood.  I developed a stoic relationship with my father - keeping him at a distance - believing that in his mind and hearing out of his mouth - I was a moody, selfish, drama queen. But, I gathered my disappointments towards my mother and placed them in a gilded box and kept them there with all the missed birthdays, ill-fitting shoes, un-washed clothes, and empty dinner plates from a busy life where children are not always given priority consideration. This box, like Pandora's, was kept locked for many years. I felt her love and loyalty was inextinguishable, and the box kept record of her humanity and flaws as part of the gift of all she had to give to me. Until, a twisted character in our narrative interceded and helped my mother to fashion a key out of my broken trust.

Most know that every box of demons also harbors the spirit of hope, it is part of the universal narrative of transgressions and redemption. But, I know something about the contents of my box that is specific to my tale. Years before transgressions were made against me, my mother developed and fortified an armor that protected me from falling under the attack of those bent on the demise of my happiness or the destruction of my prosperity. If my mother missed a birthday, she found another way to celebrate. Teaching me to be flexible and that love and celebration doesn't live on a calendar. I have learned to celebrate my life when deep in the muck of it - short on answers and long on problems. As my parents focused on getting a better education so that they could have better jobs and when my shoes did not fit correctly because I grew faster than the money came in - this provided me with an example of the sacrifices it sometimes takes to make your life better. And when my clothes were not being cleaned and dinner wasn't on the table at six like at the homes of my friends and I had to step up and take care of myself - I learned to be self-reliant, responsible, and hard-working. I never saw my mother's mistakes as malicious. She was attentive and nurturing when I was young, and her absences came after she had given me the tools to travel un-aided though my life. She pulled off the veil of perfection through which so many children see their parents by allowing me to witness her flaws through her own words long before I witnessed her imperfections first-hand. She told me that no-one is perfect, change is inevitable, and you will be hurt most by the ones you love.  She also taught me that I am beautiful, creative, and intelligent. I am worthy of love, and deserve to be treated with respect. She taught me to distance people who choose to make me feel ugly, stupid, or worthless. She taught me to value myself without believing I am better than anyone else. She taught me to live my life as an example of how I want to be treated. And to live and demonstrate justice by forgiving myself and others. And before all this - my mother taught me to love. These are the lessons I am passing on the my children.

And that is why I rise today. Happy October.

Believing in something

The crows are back. Building their fucking nest on the roof again.

I was sitting on the front porch the other day and a white owl left the branch of a tree nearby and flew over my head. It was not dark outside so, I saw the owl clearly. It was odd not as much for the time of day but, because I live in a heavily populated area near a loud highway with little green spaces.

The following day, a dragonfly visited me about the same time and place. No water nearby. No lakes, ponds or pools. Just the dragonfly. Beautiful and blue.

I already know the historical significance of these animals within the world of talismans and symbolism so I am not looking for information on those aspects of these moments. I make no claim that I have had a deep spiritual experience - I make no claim that I didn't. It is just that lately I have been a bit more noticing of things and there seemed to be recognition that meaning existed in those moments if I go looking for it.

But, I want to know . . . why was I triggered by these moments? These creatures? I still hold back when it comes to answering such enigmatic questions. I am waiting for the story to be longer. The claims I would make now are premature. But, I believe in something . . . something.

The claim I make today is this: That something that may already be shifting can be recognized by the person in the middle of a transition more easily when externally triggered to take note. Now I am waiting to find out what that shift really is.

Until that time comes, and I have lived to tell the tale marked by these moments, I will just keep hoping that I am right. And I will keep believing in . . . something.

Already Happy

Friends occasionally encourage me to be happy and to see the blessing in my life regardless of what bleak situation I may be drudging through. It is in those moments I feel perhaps I have not been loud enough in giving thanks and recognition for what I have. So, I start racking my brain . . . "Did I forget to say thanks to them for something? Was there something that happened that I don't know about that I should be thankful for? Oh, NO! I don't want my friend to feel I don't appreciate them!" Sometimes, I even start listing everything they have EVER done for me "Thanks for all you do for me, thank you for the cup of coffee four months ago, that piece of chewing gum you just gave me, and the ride to the store when I was sick, and for having us over for dinner, and for opening the door for me last Thursday, and for holding my hair after that party in college . . . and . . . and" But, that is shortly before I remember - that I do. I say "Thank You." several times a day. And I say it with mindfulness and sincerity. It seems they need me to feel happiness loudly because the frankness with which I speak of life is uncomfortable for them. If my ability to speak freely about things that suck makes someone brand me a complainer - than they misunderstand my comfort with the existence of crappy things.

I am going to come out of my normal morose string of thoughts to let you know that I am a happy person. I may have some "Debbie Downer" tendencies, but, it is not out of general discontent that I share my frustrations. Do not confuse honesty with unhappiness. It is out of a need to recognize that there is still much to be done in this world that I speak of the things that are not always fun to hear about. It is my way of reminding myself that any contentment I feel can be seen in contrast to something that brings sorrow or upset. It is the rocks in my shoe - the salt in my tea. If it makes you uncomfortable . . . just know it isn't about you. I do it for me. And I don't go out of my way to point these things out to you. I just don't hide them behind rainbows and cupcakes. I am clear about the existing muck, because, I could easily become complacent.

I have a great life. If I died today - I had things that other's search for their whole life. I have an amazing family and we find joy in this life and in each other. I have great friends. And though, just recently, I mentioned a frustration with meeting NEW people, It was not a comment on the LACK of good people already in my life. It was just a remark on the effort to expand love in the world through new friendships. I recognize the joys and blessings in my life. Maybe, you struggle with that. But, don't assume everyone does.

I don't get mad with people who think they are broke when they have less than $100.00 in the bank and a paycheck coming in a week. I don't deny the pain and difficulty of driving with a sprained ankle when I have a friend in the hospital with cancer. I will not compare my pain or yours. And I will not compare our happiness either. I have no desire to compete for your pain so why should I borrow your happiness?

If you find the sad things that happen to others a bit too much to handle and you aren't as strong as you would like to be, that doesn't mean others aren't. And that doesn't mean they need you to remind them that they have goodness in their lives. The truth is . . . if someone lives a life full of adversity and pain . . . they will be the first to tell you "It could be worse."

Friendship 2011

Sometimes, I wish I were a child again. The ease and simple way they have of finding a friend in even the most random places - is beautiful. Albeit, some children are far more gregarious and quicker to jump into a conversation with a stranger or playground of hollering raucousness (my son is an example of this personality) where others tend to be slower - maintaining a quiet distance and sliding into play with a timidity and care (my daughter). Either way, they are all playing and laughing before you have laid out your blanket or checked your cell for voice mail.

I don't know what I was like as a young person in regards to this phenom... I don't remember if I was more like my son or more like my daughter. I know my mother used to say I was a bold child. But, I like to think I have always been the cautious type.

My oldest, clearest, memory of my youth in regards to making a new friend - I was already in seventh grade. Thus past the "do you want to play with me" stage. I remember, watching a girl I thought was interesting for about a week during the lunch period until I worked up the nerve to introduce myself. We were fast friends. We had an instant connection (once we actually spoke) and we were tied at the hip for years. Sadly, our friendship did not survive a major rift toward the end of high school.

I have had hundreds of friendships since then. Some based on a common interest, some based on similar beliefs, some based on a shared experience. Only a dozen or so with whom I had an instant connection. And, truly, I only have a few close friends.

I am not a shy person. But, I am not a social butterfly either. I have moved around a lot through the years and have found ways of getting by and fighting loneliness with random conversations with strangers and 'friendship lite' - meaning friendships that were more of an extensive acquaintanceship for the purpose of having company at a movie or someone to carpool with. One year of my life, I relied entirely on the company of three people I couldn't stand to be around - simply because it was better than being alone everyday (though, I chose to be alone quite a bit that year). As I get older, I am less willing to tolerate people I don't enjoy. And I seek company and conversation that is deeper and more fulfilling than what is available through small talk. I have noticed these simple preferences make establishing friendships ever more difficult. And I find the ritual of making friends intimidating.

Here are a few examples:

Case Study #1: A MEAN WOMAN

I was kind to a woman because I was raised well. This woman determined that I was a "worthy" subject for friendship and has gone out of her way to become my friend. I do NOT want her as a friend. She is always generous to me and has not done anything to cause me immediate harm however, she is an asshole. I see her behave as an asshole to others and behave with the most self-centered, selfish, egotistical ways. I do not care for her. So, why is she trying to be my friend? Why does she insist on stealing time from me that I would find better spent watching paint dry? Do I have to be viciously mean to make her go away? Really?

Case Study #2: A WOMAN I MET WHILE THE KIDS WERE AT DANCE CLASS

I was waiting at the rec center with my son and another young man entered into a conversation with him and they began to play (see! kids make it look so easy!) . I had a migraine but, was listening as they spoke. This kid was crazy smart! I saw a woman who shared some of his facial features and I asked if he was her brother or son. She said "Yes, I am his mother." and I went on to say how I thought he was so smart and to encourage her to look into schools for him with accelerated classes. We had a nice little chat and shortly after making my remarks, I apologized for being rude but I had a migraine and I put on my sunglasses and hid under my hoody. Today, I was again present (migraine free) at the rec center. The woman and I made some strange efforts to try and not be obvious in our very obvious desire to speak to each other once again. We did this awkward secret dance involving looking at clocks and cell phones, peeking in at our children dancing, and walking past each other three or four times (without making eye contact), before getting courage enough to say hello. Seriously, it could have been a reel of an animal behavioral study on Discovery Channel. Finally, she asked if my headache was better and said she had gotten acupuncture for a migraine just last week herself. The conversation would have been interesting but, we spent so much time not wanting to be the one 'in need' of a friend to talk to we wasted almost every moment of the children's dance class and ended up only exchanging a few sentences. Sigh.

Case Study #3 BOY-FRIENDS

I have a history of having both male and female friends. I was super close with a man who got married to a woman who was uncomfortable with the depth of our connection and asked him to stop speaking with me. Which . . . hurt. And, though I understood her perspective, it has strongly tainted my ability to get close to heterosexual males as friends ever since. I have heterosexual male friends who are married- who I met as part of a couple and I maintain a friendship with as a couple- and I have gay male friends (single and married). But, I fear exploring friendships with single straight men because I worry it will create another "problem" for myself or that person. Ugh.

Case Study #4 SOUL MATES

With all of the traffic in my head regarding the "right" way to make a new friend - Sometimes, I still manage to find people who I can spend time with. VERY RARELY, I find someone who, no matter how we navigated the initial "hello.", shakes me into a deep knowing that the web of life had us sewn together before we even knew the other existed. But, life is complicated, and we are not children on a playground. There are rules and rituals and expectations. And so, we allow people who, we KNOW and LOVE - INSTANTLY, to fade into the background of our lives to avoid complications. Robbing ourselves of those deep meaningful connections that , quite possibly, could sustain us as we reach the time in our lives when we no longer tolerate shallow convenience friendships and egregiously offensive personalities.

I ask . . . am I a prematurely curmudgeonly thirty-something? Is friendship at this age meant to be such a hardship? Am I alone in my desperation? If friendship is this hard now - how the FUCK do people manage ROMANCE? SEX?

I am not giving up. I believe if I did give up - if I accepted that this is how it is - well . . . what would be keeping me from permanent hermitage? . . . So . . . Would you like to play with me?

Occupy my Apartment

I have limited access to communication devices lately and as a result have limited numbers of minutes to spend on social networking sites (which I don't spend a ton of time on to begin with) or even to check the news. But, I have read bits and pieces about Occupy Wall Street. I have seen that there are articles debating the relevance of this protest and I am not shocked by any of the commentary. Who are these people? What are they doing? Is it useful? Is it meaningful? Will it change anything? Are there bathrooms? All good questions.

I am not on Wall Street and have not gone out to "Occupy San Diego" either. I cannot - just now. Just now, I am working to avoid becoming homeless. Just now, I am looking for work and 'hustling' to get my bills paid. Just now, I am spending hours meeting with case workers and family charities and standing in food lines. Just now, I do not have time to show up with a sign and be part of a movement where people are talking about why the system isn't working and wanting to know why other's don't care enough that the system isn't working to do something about it.

I am a hard working, intelligent, creative, college educated woman. I am married to a brilliant man with a BA, BS, Master's degree, and Juris Doctorate, whose vision of justice could change the world. If this system isn't broken - then why the hell are we unemployed?

Everyday, we are optimistic and working toward a positive outcome. But, if nothing changes for us, in another week, we will have to make a decision to sell our stuff and figure out where to sleep. I will not have time to hold a sign then either. So this is my sign. I am tired and worn to the bone. My feet hurt, my head hurts, I can't sleep. I am sad and scared and I am waiting for something to get better. I am the 9.1%.

Dear lady behind the counter

Good customer service is not information I didn't ask for.

Good customer service is not telling me that the information you have that is bad is my fault.

Good customer service is not yelling at me.

Good customer service is not sucking your teeth at me.

Good customer service is not acting like I don't know anything.

Good customer service is not pretending you didn't hear me ask for your supervisor.

Good customer service is not lying to your supervisor about why she is needed.

Good customer service is not blaming me for your inadequacies.

Good customer service is not BAD customer service.

The end.

Walking Meditation

I like to walk.

When I was elementary aged I hated to walk. Because, I lived about one mile from school and Kansas Winters can be harsh - and I was walking in them. My siblings and I walked in insanely cold weather (the kind that freezes your snot within one breath) and we walked in the rain and mud, we walked screaming at each other or playing, we walked past the old man's house with the clock on it telling us (consistently) that we were going to be late to school if we didn't run. Sometimes dogs were chasing us. Sometimes creepy folks would talk to us. Often, weighted down with a backpack full of school books and notebooks, a saxophone, a binder, and a violin (until, the morning I kicked the violin down the sidewalk and destroyed it). But, we walked.

When I was twenty-two I had an experience that changed my overall perspective on walking. I had been in a series of incidents as a young adult where some things happened that were, in many ways, out of my control. And I was broke (a cycle that would repeat years later). I found a weekend job that I could work (in addition to school and another job I had) but, it meant walking across town early in the morning before the buses were running to get there for my shift. At first, I hated it. It was something else to overcome. Something else that was hard. Something else that I had to do that no one else I knew was having to do to get by.

Then, something changed. I began to enjoy it. The morning air, the quiet, the challenge of arriving just a few minutes sooner every week. And I was doing it. I had complete control. My feet were mine and the challenges were mine and that time was mine. I began to notice more around me. The smells in the air, the sounds, the way that a day presents itself each and every morning as something new.

Today, I walked my children to school. It is most common for us to bicycle - but, today we walked. And I felt the most refreshed I had been in a long while as I left them for the day. As I made my way home I had many moments to rattle around inside my own head. But, I arrived home exhausted.

During my walk I entered into such a deep meditation that I uprooted much stress and emotions that haven't had time to wick their way to the surface while pedaling my bicycle and carrying on the business of my life. But, I know that is okay. . I may be tired today - but, let's examine the depth of such an activity. If you enter into a workout and focus on a muscle group it tends to be sore following the initial session but, subsequent exercise will leave you less in pain and instead energize you. When you manage, through whatever means necessary, to reach your emotional core and shake it clean - it can be painful. But, over time, you are less in pain and healthier for doing that work. I am so glad for my feet. I am so thankful for my legs. I give praise to my heart. I am at peace knowing that I can control my stress. I just have to walk.

May you be blessed with mediation that works for you.

I would rather teach my son using parables

Yesterday, I said I would wake up with a smile. I was wrong.

My son is nine years old. He is around the same age I was when the Tienanmen Square protest was broadcast on the morning news. My mother allowed us to stay home from school to watch the newscast because she thought it was important for us to see. I believe she said, "You will learn more watching this than going to school today." She was right. That was the day my intellectual mind first grappled with the concept of justice.

Growing, we are taught some basics; share, don't push, no name calling, etc. and those are appropriate things for small children. As a child matures and becomes more aware of the world around them you have a choice as a parent to keep silent or guard them from the truth of issues of famine, poverty, social injustice, drugs, sex, and death or to talk to them about these things.

I didn't set out to engage my son in the topic of Troy Davis's story. Indeed, I wasn't sure he would understand. Based on some of his questions (ie: Can't we just get some bolt cutters?) he is still a very nine year old child. But, he saw a cardboard sign on the table that I had attempted to attach to my bicycle and asked about it. So, we told him. We explained that we didn't know Troy Davis. We don't know if he was a good man or an honest man but, that he was found guilty of a crime based on wrongful testimony and that 7 of the original 9 witnesses had changed their stories since his trial and that it seems there was much more evidence besides that he may actually be completely innocent. And that in the state of Georgia, they had something called Capital Punishment which meant the government kills people - as part of the system of law. And Troy Davis was on Death Row - about to be killed for a crime he may not have committed.

After hearing this my son paced the floor for an hour. He would occasionally interrupt while I was reading with his younger sibling with questions and eventually he made a statement. "Listen, I think it doesn't matter if he was a good man or a bad man - it is wrong to kill him. I think I should fly to Georgia and talk to those government people and tell them that I have figured this out and that they should not kill him." I explained that many people were working very hard to keep Troy Davis alive and that if I knew of something else to do - we would do it. I explained that I had signed some petitions online and maybe he would like to do that too. He did. And he said, when he went to bed, "I hope they give him the stay and I hope they change their mind."

"Me too my darling."

Then Georgia killed Troy Davis.

And my son woke up to learn that sometimes the bad guys win. Sometimes we are powerless against a broken system and that he did all that a nine year old could do to save Troy Davis. I believe the bittersweet ending to this tale is that my son became an activist against injustice this week. He will grow into a compassionate adult who will do what he can to help build the world into a safe and peaceful one. But, Troy Davis should have lived. And my son could have learned that justice can prevail. He could have learned that. But, he didn't. Instead, he lay across my lap with tears in his eyes. And he asked, "What did Troy Davis do for a living?"

Sleep Keening

"You were keening in your sleep, you probably woke up some of the neighbors."

This morning I was sobbing the deaths of a thousand souls when my beloved woke me from a bad dream.

The dream was vivid and I could choose to recall it all for you now. But, as it is often the case, the details were the simple staging of a truth found within the context of those slumbered realities. And as such, the details are less important than the truth you find.

This is what I found last night . . .

When you are in a relationship with someone - it can be romantic or platonic - you have a responsibility to make yourself known. Relationships are never meant to be one-sided. If you fail to make your planning include you or an understanding of your expectations - you are setting yourself up for disappointment. Include yourself. Don't give up everything. Check in with the other people in your life often enough that you know you are not the only one invested in you. Make sacrifices - but, don't barter your soul away. If you are giving up something because you want something else - recognize that choice - and make sure other people in your life know you recognize it as a choice. Dream. And talk about your dreams.

Nothing is guaranteed. You can plan to your heart's content but, ultimately you are only a part of something and other's choices will impact your life. If you put trust in something or someone else it is not your responsibility to make sure they follow through. But, if you find you are giving and not receiving - reevaluate why. And talk about it.

We make promises because they are the binding of people and purpose. We make them to mark choices and to be held accountable to those choices. Sometimes we make promises to ourselves. Those promises are to be fully realized through our individual actions. But, promises we make to or with someone else are affirmations that we are not alone and can pursue our dreams with some kind of support. But, if you store your plans in a locked cabinet and ask someone to have faith in a dream you haven't shared - it is to your own detriment. They could be "on plan" and working against the intentions you thought were clear. Keep your desires quiet and you will hear them echoed back at you with the same resounding silence. And your heart will be broken and you won't know why or how.

I woke up keening. Mourning for a future me. So, I took action. I spoke my truth. I made myself known. Tomorrow, I will wake up with a smile.

Webster is a liar.

How many trips to the Oxford English Dictionary have you taken into your lifetime? I like looking up words from time to time just to see how they have developed. Today, I spent some time on Free and Freedom. And BOY HOWDY did I get a re-education! Now, you show know first and foremost that I believe in the trans-formative nature of language. I am aware that language develops over time and meanings will morph - usually slowly - over centuries. The changing of meanings is a part of the making of our culture.

Today, I learned that woman and free are one and the same (in the history of linguistics) and that the idea that the word woman is derived from 'wife of a man' is not so very true (at the very least omits points of importance to its life as a word). Instead, the Sanskrit word for woman was priya "conjectured to be ‘one's own’" and has "the same Indo-European base as Sanskrit priya beloved, dear, (rare) friendly" And if you look specifically at the etymology of 'free' it comes from words that mean to delight, to woo, to please, to take care of, to LOVE.

I don't mean to make the same mistake that Webster did by leaving out most of the story. I strongly encourage you to look at the full history of these words. Instead, I want to give you a snapshot of what it made me think about.

Freedom has come to be understood on terms of extroverted qualities; of being apart from, not constricted, or independent from persons, places, and things - it seems quite the opposite of the very intimate and delicate nature of holding something close and caring for it - cherishing it and protecting it. When we describe someone or something as 'free' we tend to imply a disconnect. What if freedom or this ability to be "One's Own" or as the etymological development shows to be "of one's own blood" would require that we instead make efforts to hold ourselves and others closer and "take care of" each other. That freedom is not as my dear Janice sings "Nothing left to lose" but, instead is EVERYTHING to lose. What does that change?*

And if, as the dynamic Uppity Blues Women chant, W-O-M-A-N is NOT secondary in definition and linguistic origination to man but - is "one's own" and is to be 'beloved' and we are "to delight" in its own development of meaning over time as the sanskrit word priyayate would direct us to do - what does that change?*

*I believe this is a LONG conversation

Poker Face

I have a moniker that my grandmother placed upon me when I was young. I am known by this name by family and will respond to it just as willingly as to my birth name. The name I will keep secret to you - because it is kind of like in CATS where all the cats had multiple names that served them different purposes (I learned all about that show from my aunt who LOVES it). I have this one for family. It is a bit of a talisman. It is a name that in one word describes my tendency to emote through facial expressions. Which, I do more than most people. However, the funny thing IS . . . people often misread my facial expressions and go about thinking they know exactly what I am thinking without having ever actually spoken to me. Funny thing about THAT IS . . . it isn't funny. It causes hurt feelings when there shouldn't be any or someone thinks I am amused when - I am actually pissed (or vice versa). I have struggled with this for some time because I don't like misunderstandings. I have finally figured out what purpose this strange 'talent' offers to me. It provides anonymity. It makes it possible to allow random people to come to their (in some cases ridiculous) conclusions about who I am without ever having to say a word to me. It makes it easy to ride the bus, or avoid a busy-body. I can also think "You are an asshole who isn't funny." and it is instantly translated into "Please, tell me more about yourself!" well, this sucks . . . except when that asshole wants to give me something pretty or buy me a drink CHA-CHING! Anyway, I used to think this wasn't okay. I would interrupt just to try and feel better about the interaction - I felt it was somehow my fault that this happens. I was hurt that some didn't care to know me and mad that others wouldn't go away. But, after careful consideration . . . it is my fault. But, there isn't a lot I can do about it. I was born with this face and whatever nerve endings that respond to my emotional brain stigma are actually creating fantastic facial expressions that people who do take the time to know me learn to read as a part of getting to know me. And I have decided that if someone who is so busy with themselves to not notice they are getting on my nerves wants to buy me a drink - it is the hazard of being that person. I like margaritas.

When Shiny people Tarnish

How do I start? I am amazing. There. That is it. I am amazing. I am not perfect. I am not the best of the best of the best. I am simply amazing. And you probably are too. I know there are plenty of people out there who don't make efforts to expend the potential they have to become amazing. But, let us assume for a minute they have all gotten lucky and found a majic lamp and are all living on an island somewhere drinking cocktails, eating tropical fruit, and doing their favorite thing - imagining ways to go to the bathroom without having to leave their comfy lounger.

The rest of us amazing people are still back home doing our day to day amazing things. Getting out of bed, washing off our funk, preparing and doing, preparing and doing. OK . . . so . . . some of us are amazing because we have the ability to do something WAY better than others. Some of us are amazing because we wear a smile despite whatever not-so-amazing things may be happening in our lives. Some of us are amazing because we work hard and push through. Some of us are amazing because we are visionary or loyal or organized. Sometimes, we are a combination of different ways of being amazing. I know I can be - though, I may be a part-timer in some categories. BUT . . . we are still amazing. Sometimes, other people see that we are amazing and tell us. "YOU ARE AMAZING!" but, then they pin our amazing-ness to some single random act or ability we have displayed and can't imagine that our amazing goes beyond that. Indeed, it seems they cannot ALLOW themselves to see us as amazing in more than one way - afraid our amazing will somehow out perform their amazing. And even as we try and explain to them that we are more than a pretty face/good typist/bendy circus act - they cannot hear it. All the while, letting you know how amazing THEY are and 'shouldn't we all be impressed'. hm. Have you noticed that after a while it becomes difficult to be a good person around those folks. Because you start to realize their narcissism is so deep and selfishness so blatant that you have become an accessory to them. They will declare the one amazing thing they are able to see about you loudly ( and it is in some cases one of your least amazing qualities). And ask others to gather round and look at your shiny bit - claiming that this bit needs to be seen by many and it will be a great beneficial thing for you to allow them to call upon others to view your bit - then stand in front of you in their reflective vest so that your shiny bit becomes an optical illusion present upon them. They in a way - superficially steal your bit. They could not actually take away your amazing. But, have successfully been able to trick others into believing they have the same bit of amazing as you. And aren't they a good friend for acknowledging your shiny bit. This behavior makes you want to find that lamp and send them to that island without toilet paper. You imagine their shiny vest covered in smears of feces and picture their desperation to show their amazing off to the island dwellers sunning themselves on their loungers. And whilst daydreaming their sad and lonely existence on that island - you remember that there are parts of you that are a bit ugly too. And for a minute feel less-than-amazing and forgive them a little for being narcissistic asses.

When Summer Ends

It has been a long while since I have taken the time to check in with my voices. But, after a crazy year and a great Summer with the kiddos - we are headed back to new. New teachers, new schedules, new lessons, new developmental stages, new parenting of older children, new experiences as a family, and for the parents . . . new opportunities to be grown ups doing new grown-up things. And in the case of this blog - new beginnings beginning again.

San Diego Tweed Ride is tomorrow! Hope I am rid of this ick so I can join the fun!

Percival Everett wrote some books I like

I don't write fan letters. I am generally not the fan type. I don't tend to see others as more or less worthy of attention but I do have favorites if pressed to express preferences. For example as writers go, Zora Neale Hurston is at the top of my list. I appreciate creatively written non-fiction and imaginative works of fiction. I do not enjoy dry intellectual writing steeped in the academy - even though it does not go over my head - I think the addressing of ideas in circular narratives with redundant meanings uses up paper and helps few answer the real questions i.e. how to conduct ourselves or how the heck humans got here to begin with. (beware tangent) Though, I do enjoy a good conversation about discursive this and that and enigmatic blah dee blah. And further, I hate talking about the weather IF you are afraid to move on from there to talk of industry or global climate change and I love talking about babies but that does not mean it won't lead to a conversation about pedagogies. . . ANYway, I think that is why I like Mr. Everett's writing. I don't know the man but I like his writing. His tall tales are delightful and his characters are not boring. He writes about middle places (in my mind they are middle places, probably because I like the idea of middle and not polar). His novel Erasure is so damn smart. There are some things his character said I really liked . . . 1. "Behold the Invisible" 2. "Too mystified to actually be depressed" 3. "I watched his lips and realized I understood nothing he was saying. His language was not mine. His language possessed an adverbial and interrogative geometry that I could not comprehend. I could see the shapes of his meaning, even hear that his words meant something, but I had no idea as to the substance of his meaning. I nodded."

This last one was the most meaningful to me.

How Many Voices are in Your Head?

Today I realized the multitude of voices in my head may never be separated out enough to determine how many there really are - but, I did manage to find two of them (three maybe) that seem to be at each other's throat regularly. One, this particular thinking voice who notices things and comments about them in the most stunning ways and the other that in hearing the first says things to discredit it by making the most cutting remarks possible and quick at that - and the third, the one who brings this quarrel to my attention - seems to be regarding both with equal wonder and frustration and only painting pictures and colors and recalling memories in response to them both.

I am temporarily naming voice one Opulent Voice and Mean Voice is the second. Number three I call Vision as it does not have a vocal quality or develop words in any way but presents every question or statement with depth of meaning only understood through shapes and shades of a life of first-hand accounts and dreamworlds. I believe there may be a shadow voice or accomplice voice to Vision through which I am given smells and spacial relativity. For instance, if Opulent Voice says something about the way the green leaves move across the blue backdrop of sky reminding it of breathing and that g*d must have taught the first people to relax by giving them wind in the trees - at which time Mean Voice says "You arrogant shit. What kind of bullshit is that? - you sound like a puke ball wind bag of bad fiction!" Then Vision just shows me two sets of hands over a glass table gesticulating with authority and defiance and my body begins to feel like it is in a room with shrinking walls. And then I think again - a fourth voice - the voice I know the best . . . the one I know as Era . . . says "Goodness." and I sigh outwardly(a sigh my friends and loved ones have come to know well).

Today I realized that Mean Voice may be the one a friend calls 'the hater' in her own head. And, I believe that Opulent Voice may be the one that my friends who are writers are most in communication with. I however, continue to relate more to Vision. Vision, who is a quiet observer of my own thoughts pasting together meaning from colors and memories and bringing to attention the internal arguments of my mind. This, a process less in-your-face than either of the other voices would allow if they ruled my thoughts. Which, I think would make me a different person all together. And I think - they are indeed part of me. And at different times in my life they are the louder and force themselves out and my life becomes a series of reactions to the patterns of speech of Opulent or to the negative droning of Mean. But, that I do prefer the mellow and quiet peace of Vision and am also settled that sometimes when Vision is aware that my life is in greater need of poetry or in hasty need of a good come-back will defer its place at the forefront of my thinking for another voice to take over because reflections may make me a better person but, they won't get the rude woman off my toes on the bus.

New Year

I can't say that I know what this year will bring but I am hoping for the following:

1.We move to a different house or apartment

2. My children have a great school experience

3. My spouse has new and better school and work experiences

4. I do something new that is challenging and fun and exciting all at the same time

5. I see my niece for the first time

6. I gain strength in my arms and back while regaining flexibility

7. I am a better friend

8. I make a new friend

9. I read every book I have in my house that I have put off reading til "I have more time"

10. I get a new passport and plan a trip