Purple Pud Muddle

Fairy Tales Girls Should Be Read

2009-10-19T16:43:00.002-05:00

My mom forwarded this to me; if you know where it originated, let me know and I'm happy to properly credit/link.

Is It Embryo Utopia, Or Are The Lyons Lyin' To Themselves?

2009-04-18T23:49:00.000-05:00

Also in the March (2009) issue of Good Housekeeping, there's an article by Amanda Robb called "Siblings Of A Sort" on the amazing story of Glenda and Scott Lyons. They're the couple with four children who donated/adopted their embryos to another couple, Susan and Bruce Lindeman -- and then again to Dana and Cliff MacMillan.

In total, there are seven children biological Lyons children, but the remarkable thing is that they hold family reunions of a sort... all gathering together, sharing the children -- and yes, the children know.

The Lyons say the children they've gifted the Lindemans and MacMillans with feel like "nieces and nephews" to them, but "all the grandparents lay claim to every kid; seven snapshots on every refrigerator."

I can't even imagine this.

It's not that it's not beautiful -- and I'm super glad it's working for them, really! But having one child who has a biological family which has never really acknowledged her (even after their son's passing), and watching her then lose grandparents in my divorce, well, it's hard to imagine such a perfect situation continuing.

Divorce, death, medical issues, confusion about &/or between biological siblings... The possibilities during the teen years alone boggle my mind.

When Sally Field Is Your Mother-In-Law

2009-04-12T05:23:00.002-05:00

Sally Field is interviewed in the March (2009) issue of Good Housekeeping. Maybe it's silly of me, but the most fascinating part was this passage in the beginning about her "beloved brood":

It includes her three grown sons--Sam, her baby, will be home from college, where he is already a junior ("How can that be?" asks his mother incredulously)-- and the three adored grandchildren she babysits for often. "And my sister and my niece, and my mother... oh, and one of my daughter-in-law's parents."

I'm not absolutely sure I'm reading that right; it sure is a poorly constructed bit of writing, so shame on you, Jenny Allen. But if I am reading that right, Sally Field has caretaker duties for one of her daughter-in-law's parents.

That's nice -- sweet even. And it's not a completely earth-shattering concept; I mean she is a human being with family. But can you imagine if her daughter-in-law's parent has Alzheimer's?

"How was your day, dear?"

"Oh, I thought I was doing fine... But then I could have sworn the Flying Nun was here... Time to get to the doctor's again."

Living With Extended Family: The Ultimate Mother-In-Law Nightmare, Or A Gift?

2009-02-18T23:45:00.001-06:00

Everyone's talking about Marian Robinson, President Obama's mother-in-law, living in the White House. Most make jokes, but I'm with Liz Smith and Craig Wilson; we believe that Robinson's presence is a good one for the family.

We're not alone. According to an interview with Edmund Leach published in the July 1974 issue of Psychology Today (People Plan Their Lives In Terms Of Imaginary Systems: Nobody Lives In The Real Word, Elizabeth Hall), "we have made our life very, very difficult by constructing a physical environment that is so inhospitable to the three-generation family."

Some selected quotes from that article:

Hall: ...Some commentators have charged that the nuclear family is unhealthy.

Leach: I don't know that the nuclear family is unhealthy, but in the generality of human experience the nuclear family as an isolated unit is rare. Usually supportive kin live in the same house or up the road so that if there is tension between parent and child, the child can go live with someone else. Or if the couple breaks up, the children won't be in the ditch. But I agree that the highly isolated nuclear family is a problem for most industrial societies.

Hall: In your Reith lectures over BBC you went as far as to say it was "the source of all our discontents."

Leach: And from the reactions to my comments on the the family in those lectures, one would have thought that I was an obscene blasphemer. I thought my observations were commonplace.

Hall: Several alternatives to the nuclear family have been put forth, such as the kibbutz, the group marriage, the commune.

Leach: People say, "Look at Israel, how well they do it in the kibbutz." But Israel is a very small country, you can move in a motor car from one end to the other in a few hours. And the kibbutz covers many different kinds of organizations.

Hall: Not everyone lives on a kibbutz, and the whole situation is unique. Some people object to living in a commune because they say they couldn't stand the lack of privacy. Yet you have written that privacy is a source of fear and violence. Would you elaborate on that?

Leach: In our modern, middle-class society, we are conditioned to value privacy. But almost anywhere outside Europe -- even in urbanized places like Calcutta -- one of the most dramatic contrasts is the lack of privacy. I do think that the more we isolate ourselves from other people, the more we come to fear them. The more people we have day-to-day close contact with, the less dangerous they seem. You asked about violence. Violence is a very strange thing. The popular theme is that this society is going through an epidemic of violence. Now has this society actually become more violent, or have people become more upset about the violence that has always been about them? I have no idea. I do know that the most attractive society I have ever seen was one I visited in Borneo. The whole village was one long-house -- a street of rooms constructed on a platform. There was absolutely no privacy. The people were placid and delightful and never showed any violence to one another. But they were headhunters.

Hall: And we use headhunting as the epitome of violence. This society relies on the written word, and the act of reading demands privacy.

Leach: We have created all sorts of devices that seem to require isolation and privacy. Take music. In a primitive society, the sort that anthropologists study, one encounters music at communal affairs, feasts and parties. Everyone gets together and makes noise, and the musicians come out. Here we turn on the hi-fi and adjust the tone precisely right and everyone must keep quiet and listen to the music. This is a sort of fashion. It reflects out love of privacy; I don't think it reflects our love of music.

Hall: I'll admit that the hope of industrialized countries returning to the communal structure of a nondeveloped society is as futile as the search for the Garden of Eden. But is there no way for us to reconstruct the extended family?

Leach: The problem with artificial constructs like the kibbutz, the commune, or the group marriage is that they are artificial. The nuclear family is in trouble because of the social mobility in a society where one changes jobs frequently. It is not the presence of people which is needed, but the obligations of kinship that are wanted. I seriously doubt that you can construct artificial neighborhood groups and say to each person, "Look, you have equal obligations to everyone in the neighborhood whether they are kin or not." I don't think it'll work.

Hall: There are functioning communes in the U.S.

Leach: There are experimental communes here, too, and they are more or less successful according to the idealism of those who contribute and the degree of stable employment among commune members. There is one commune made up of middle-class professionals that's been going for 20 or 30 years, but they all have the same kinds of jobs they had 20 years ago. There's no mobility; the children are pooled in a play group; wives who want to work, those who want to look after children, do that. But I don't see this becoming a general pattern in our society. I think we have made our life very, very difficult by constructing a physical environment that is so inhospitable to the three-generation family. The houses that have been built in the last 20 years just won't accommodate three generations, so we are making it difficult all ways: bad for the children, more tension for the parents, the old people out on a limb.

Hall: Do you think that the nuclear family is inexorably bound up with capitalistic society?

Leach: That's a tricky question. What do you mean by "capitalistic society"? The modern industrial society developed in Europe and in America in contexts where the nuclear family was the accepted norm. Since then Japan has industrialized, and there kinship obligations are getting worked into the structure of industry. The nuclear family is the norm in Soviet society, but there is little mobility of labor and you can compel people to stay in the same place for most of their lives. I think the correlation is not between capitalism and the nuclear family, but between the nuclear family and the Protestant democratic idea that every individual should be free to move wherever he wants and to sell his labor in the open market. It is difficult to see how such a system could operate in any context other than that of the isolated nuclear family.

Hall: Then a change in the family arrangement would necessarily mean giving up that sort of freedom.

Leach: So it would seem. Kin groups can function effectively only if most members are clustered in one place. Apparently we must choose between curtailed social mobility and an isolated, stress-ridden family life.

I think there are some great points about privacy and mobility helping to create the demise of generational family living -- and, to some extent, even living hear extended family. I'm not sure the Obama's are poster-children for this with mobility, but I think they'd agree that it takes work and sacrifice of individuals within the family to maintain both living together as a unit and remaining near extended family.

I remember when I worked for a homeless organization in town, how there were a disproportionate percentage of white people in our shelter and receiving our services...

While the community's Asian and Hispanic populations were, comparatively & statistically, poorer than whites, it was the white population which seemed to end up homeless more often. It didn't take long to see how the Asian and Hispanic communities were culturally different. They not only lived in multi-generational family settings more often, but when an extended family member lost or was at risk of losing their housing, they quickly took them in -- be it one person or an entire "nuclear" family.

Whenever I describe this to white people, they wrinkle their noses and talk about how crowded, uncomfortable and not private such living would be. But any and all of these complaints are rather meaningless to those who are homeless.

I lost count of how many times I heard (mainly white) folks say that their families never offered to take them or even just their children in.

With all the mobility, social mobility & physical mobility -- moving simply to keep or access employment, these issues are multiplied. And if you have no place to turn to for emergency housing needs, how assisted are you in terms of your daily parenting and marital stresses? If your mother-in-law or other extended family member could live with you, sparing them living expenses and you child care concerns and expenses, wouldn't that be beautiful?

Now maybe you'd like to consider having your in laws move in, maybe even make an accessory apartment to have the extra room -- and privacy.

Tonight's Thoughts On Lost

2009-02-18T20:39:00.002-06:00

I'm thinking the folks at Lost are Pro-Choice; because if Aaron doesn't need to go back... Well, pregnancies don't count as people.

Political thoughts aside, I'm completely freaking out about what's happened to Aaron. Poor Kate!

"the meek do not inherit the earth -- or at least that part of it presided over by the American political system"

2009-02-16T16:30:00.000-06:00

Buried inside the July 1974 issue of Psychology Today, an article which sheds some light on political movements in the United States. In Violence and Political Power: The Meek Don't Make It (pages 35-41), William A. Gamson analyzes and discusses just what really affects changes in American politics.

Some of the article is Activism 101, but still worth mentioning.

...a challenging group must demand some change that its own membership cannot provide. A Messianic group that offered salvation to members would not qualify unless the group wanted changes in laws or social institutions as well.

I keep re-reading this article in the context of What happened to feminism? If you believe there's a problem with the feminist movement, and with related issues of sexual autonomy and sexual rights, it might lie in several key places. Is it too fragmented? Unclear in it's goals? What will history show us?

What seems unlikely, even unlikable, is the fact that violence works.

The activist groups that fought back or, in some cases, initiated violence, had a higher than average success rate; six of the eight won new advantages and five of the six were eventually accepted as well. The nonviolent recipients of attack, however, lost out completely. None of them met their goals, although one, the Dairymen's League, was co-opted.

Violence is even more certain to reap benefits when the group's goals are limited and when the group does not aim to displace its antagonists but rather to coexist with them. When I eliminated revolutionary groups that aimed to displace the opposition, I found that every violence-user was successful in winning new advantages and every violence-recipient was unsuccessful.

Gamson clearly states that violence is "the spice of the protest, not the meat and potatoes" but it's amazing how effective it is. When you read that in terms of the abortion issue today, it is too clearly true. I'm not advocating bombing back; but it certainly is frightening how effective Pro-Life violence has been.

He suggests other unruly acts with which Pro-Choice groups might fight back:

Violence is not the only kind of high-pressure tactic that brings success. Ten groups used other unruly strategies on their opposition, such as strikes, boycotts, and efforts to humiliate or embarrass their antagonists.

The parting words:

Challengers who try to play by the rules that members observe among themselves should realize two things. Insiders won't apply their rules to outsiders, and outsiders, being poor in resources, have little to offer the powerful in an alliance.

Challengers do better when they realize that they are in a political combat situation. They don't need to look for a fight, but they had better be ready to participate in one if the occasion arises. They must therefore be organized like a combat group -- with willing, committed people who know what to do, and a command structure that can keep its people out of the wrong fight at the wrong time.

But this advice really only applies to groups with limited goals. I included revolutionary groups in my sample but it should come as no surprise that none of them were successful. I can't say what makes for success among such groups since I had no successes to compare with the failures. A more complete picture of the successful group is one that is ready and willing to fight like hell for goals that can be met without overturning the system.

Perhaps it is disconcerting to discover that the meek do not inherit the earth -- or at least that part of it presided over by the American political system. But those rambunctious groups that fight their way into the political arena escape misfortune because they are prepared to withstand counterattack, and to make it costly to those who would keep them out.

14 Kids, 8 Babies, 3 Fingers, 1 Parent: The Math Of Nadya Suleman

2009-02-10T11:53:00.001-06:00

Before watching the Dateline interview of Nadya Suleman, my only interest in this story was the passing thought of, "Will this family replace Jon & Kate Plus 8??" I honestly had no idea of the squawking & hostility towards this mother of six who just gave birth to octuplets. In fact, I was surprised to hear of it -- and that's what drew me towards the show.

(Personally, I'd like to lay a large part of this concerned indignation from our nation on the bitterly infertile; but even the fertile seem to be pissed off. So it's larger than that... Hit a larger American nerve.)

What I saw was an articulate young woman who managed to keep her own anger at bay, who seemed understanding and forgiving of people who do not accept her decision, and was composed yet passionate as she tactfully mentioned her beliefs about the sanctity of life. But it was her earliest statements, regarding other large families, which seemed to lie at the root of all of the hullabaloo.

When two parent families give birth to &/or adopt other children, people seem to respect them. We're fascinated, yes; we've got television shows, both series and 'specials', dedicated to such large & extraordinary families. But we treat them with respect in those shows.

However, few seem to respect this woman. As they said on Chelsea Lately, single, unemployed moms who aren't entrenched in their community church aren't cute. Funny? Sure. But too true; and that's what's not funny. As were the comments Chelsea Handler made tonight (Tuesday, February 10th) about a new mom having a French tip manicure -- seeing those nails near such paper-fragile premature baby skin made me whine and wince. And yes, there are some questions about where the money for manicures and whatever is going on with mom's new lips... But would these statements be made with such heat about other new moms?

Would we trust the judgment of children? When her older children are questioned on Dateline, they mention 'squishy' (aka crowded living space) and crying babies. Those may be true things, and even un-coached or non-parroted statements they heard from adults; but are children known for their unselfishness? Not all children welcome additional siblings period. Does that mean parents or persons considering becoming parents take the advice or sentiments of their children to heart and not increase their family's size because their children complained?

I'm no pro-lifer, but as the mother of special needs children are the plethora of haters (& Dateline) actually saying that it is irresponsible for a family to increase in size because they have special needs children? And sure, special needs kids come with extra bills -- but I don't see anyone worried about me and my family struggling to care for my special needs kids... Where's the concern for us?

I'm not saying I think Ms. Suleman has all answers or answers that I'd like to hear when it comes to caring for her children; but then, see, that's the point: This is not my family, these are not my questions to answer, I am not the judge. I'm not a Christian, but I think that's supposed to be the Christian way; to leave the judging to God.

This is not to say that I, or anyone, shouldn't care about the welfare of this family, these 14 children -- but then most of the people worried are freaking out about the word 'welfare' so maybe I shouldn't use that word...

We currently have no test or licensing practices for parenthood; even adoption has few rules if one has enough money. And don't let money fool you either; money doesn't free any family from neglect and abuse -- which is what most everyone is talking about in defense of their questioning this woman's right to a large family.

But it seems to me, too much emphasis is this woman's single status. It seems to be the bottom line of all the upset reminding me of the old fuss about Murhpy Brown having a baby; a big moral debate about choosing to be a single mom.

Have a two-parent family who keeps popping out children because they don't believe in birth control, and few take them to task for their lack of common sense, even when they live on the government dole, or in a house that is 'squishy'. Extra points if they evoke God a lot. And when they have specific religious or church affiliations, no one dares to really berate them because they have religious protections & a coven of church brothers and sisters.

You want examples? Fine. Those annoying Duggars (of 17 and Counting) take their kids to a "wild life refuge" and allow/encourage their kids to feed animals pasty white bread from their mouths, run & chase animals despite the "do not chase the animals" signs -- and when asked, bozo dad Duggar says he wasn't worried about his kids. Apparently God will protect his kids from his own stupidity. Plus they do all sorts of impractical and stunting things to their kids in the name of religion -- so we aren't supposed to judge. Even my beloved Kate of Jon & Kate Plus 8 totes & promotes her faith.

Most egregiously of all, the Murphy family, headed by John and Jeanette Murphy, who, already the parents of four, opened up their home -- aka privately adopted -- 23 children with Down Syndrome and were the subject of Our 27 Kids. If you want to talk about what's fair to the children you already have, where's the outrage that they placed upon their young biological children (two who existed before they began adopting, and two born after) the burdens of special needs siblings? It's not just the daily grind either -- it's for the lifetime of those children they've adopted. As a mom who has had to deal with the safety of one child's future -- aka legal guardianship -- in light of other children's needs, I can't imagine saddling children with 23 such responsibilities.

But we don't talk about these issues. Or their economic dole. The Murphy's admit they too take food stamps, like Ms. Suleman; Jon & Kate likely don't need them due to their TV deal, their church, etc.; and I bet the Duggars took food stamps & more -- at least before the TV deal -- and their children, ill-prepared for the real world, are destined to return to such public assistance in the future. But we don't talk about them because these are two parent families who evoke the name of God & their idea of His vision of morality when speaking of their large families. In the case of the Gosselins & the Murphys, their marital status is a tacit approval of God for most of the gossip-mongering public so ready to judge Suleman.

I guess Suleman should get all kooky with an old time religion and marry a man; preferably the man who biologically fathered her kids -- the man her mother claims offered to married her. Then would everyone just shut up about her -- or at least just talk about the blessings and realities of raising so many tiny babies? Judging isn't going to diaper and feed those eight babies. Or her six other children. Nor is is going to help a new mom with her stress. It's just empty finger pointing.

Well, it's not completely empty finger pointing... Every finger pointed at Suleman has three more fingers pointed back the the finger pointer. And maybe those people should start there, looking at what makes them so judgmental.

Being Pregnant Makes You Public Property

2009-01-25T00:07:00.000-06:00

I apparently missed Blog for Choice Day 2009 -- like a missed period, it matters to me. But thankfully, I can still celebrate the 36th anniversary of Roe v. Wade with the Roe vs. Wade Blog-a-Thon because it runs January 21st through the 27th -- which might just be enough time to share some of my most important stories.

Prologue: I was pregnant when I was 35 years old, so my doctor recommended an amnio test. I had the test done just before the holidays that year.

Act One: Naturally when I arrived at the big holiday party at my sister's house, 'everyone' was asking me when I was due and whether I knew if I was having a boy or a girl. When I said it was a boy, of course, every other person countered with how their intuition &/or ultrasound was wrong (for some reason people either want to argue with and/or scare pregnant women -- or touch their bellies as if being pregnant made you public property). But when I countered with the fact that I knew it was a boy because I had an amniotic fluid test the challenges ended.

Eventually the news got around to my sister's mother-in-law, Mary. Now Mary & her family are devout Catholics; my sister converted before marrying into that clan. And it was around that time that I, out of respect for them & desiring to keep the peace, gave up having any religious or political conversations with anyone 'on that side' -- something, unfortunately, none of them have ever been polite enough to reciprocate. So when Mary heard the news, she walked right up to me and confronted me: "Why on earth would you agree to have an amnio test? That could put the baby in danger!"

I was rather shocked because that's both an attack on my judgment and a rather damn personal question (I mean she might as well have asked me to put my feet in stirrups and examine me right there in my sister's kitchen). But being polite I just replied that due to my age amniocentesis was a standard part of pregnancy protocol, and quite safe nowadays.

But of course, she didn't stop there.

"Well, what could you possibly gain from that? I mean if there was anything wrong with the baby, that's as God wanted it." Pause. And then the accusatory, shame-provoking, "You wouldn't do anything about it..."

A million options for reply popped into my mind...

I could have argued that some conditions detected by amnio could also be corrected in utero.

I could have allayed her fears and stated that at the time I had the amnio, abortion wasn't really an option.

I could have stated that as the mother of one special needs child already, I welcomed the opportunity to, if necessary, prepare myself, my finances and my world for an additional special needs child.

All true things...

But what I wanted to do was tell her how rude she was, that this was not her pregnancy, that this was my business not hers -- and furthermore, she should refrain in general from being so rude as to cram her religious and political beliefs down my throat when for years I had done nothing but politely bite my tongue.

Instead I just demurred that I was only following doctor's orders -- and before she could say anything else, I said that I had to pee again (dramatic sigh) and escaped. And you'd better believe that I kept my eye out for her the rest of the night, and never let her get near me again.

Epilogue: I look back at that time and know that I did the right thing, the proper thing. I took the high road, alright. But by deferring to the polite "let's not upset anyone else here", Mary (and other members of that clan) still feel they have the right to upset me.

I Thought Religion Was Supposed To Be A Source Of Comfort For Those Of Its Faith

2009-01-18T23:53:00.000-06:00

My sister is a born-again Catholic who converted before her marriage. She is a devout believer in her version of God -- The One who gives blessings of babies -- so no one has the right to question, let alone terminate pregnancies. My lack of religiosity coupled with my pro-choice stance and actions makes me some sort of wicked heathen in her eyes.

She also suffers with fertility issues, which amplifies these thoughts.

The result is that she's so bitter and angry about her fertility issues that she blames me for (so easily) becoming pregnant. She doesn't see my children as my blessings, instead she somehow has twisted my pregnancies as me stealing from her womb.

While this is very upsetting, it's also quite puzzling...

She doesn't find comfort in Her God who does not give her children (repeating that religious mantra about how we cannot know the mysteries and plans of God but must trust His wisdom), she doesn't even blame Him for blessing me so easily with babies that should be hers.

Instead she just seethes with anger & shoots bitter barbs at me.

I thought religion was supposed to be a source of comfort for those of its faith.

Of Falling... And Landing. And Stoic Limping.

2009-01-09T00:02:00.000-06:00

About eight days ago I fell on the icy snowy driveway.

The story:

I fell in split second; no fantasy slow-mo. I was up, then I was down, laying on my left side with my arm and hip screaming in pain. My body may have screamed, but I was silent. I thought to myself, "I will not be my mother."

My mother, you see, has the pain tolerance of, well, nothing else I know of. She screams so loud when she stubs a toe that you can hear her miles away. And she doesn't stop complaining about how badly it hurts. You might think I exaggerate; all moms give birth, so they know real pain. But my mom is proof & product of yesteryear's birthing methods. Then, as my mom herself describes, you came into the hospital in labor, they gave you drugs which were the equivalent of a whack on the head with a mallet, and you woke up later with some nurse asking you if you wanted to hold your baby. While some days I use this to console myself with the possibility that I am not her daughter (hey, she wasn't really 'there' at the time... So, maybe...?), the point is that my mom doesn't know real pain.

Mom's pain threshold is so low that it's more than a family joke; it's a legend. Once, my mom hurt her finger reaching into my sister's SUV and pulled back screaming -- without the baby bag she was reaching for. It was too painful to proceed. So my brother-in-law reached in to retrieve the bag, and he stopped mid-action and said, "Who left a finger in here?"

My sister and I thought right then and there that she would be a widow. But mom just clenched her jaw and said her usual, "No one understands how bad this hurts!" And then talked about just how bad that hurt the rest of the day.

Anyway, I lay there in pain on the icy ground, unable to get up & unwilling to be my mother by screaming. Quietly I dropped the F-bomb.

The family was in the car (I had just ran back in for the usual "one more thing"), and I wondered why I lay there and no one was arriving to help. I told myself that while my agony seemed like minutes, and my mom-monologue was long, I had likely only been on the ground a few seconds. I began to ponder upon their experience... What I must have looked like, there one second and gone the next. I bet they were all laughing. I might have even laughed at such a (non) sight-gag. I quelled my pain-turned-to-anger and tried to plan my escape from the hard frozen ground.

Hubby had been on the phone. He had seen me walking towards the van, but when I didn't open the door, he guessed I'd fallen and got off the phone. He arrived at my side, asking if I was alright.

I replied sharply, "No."

He asked me if I had hit my head. I moaned, "No."

He offered his hand to help me up, but I figured I'd just leverage his help into his own fall on the ice. Instead, I left what I had been carrying on the ground for him to grab and scuttled like a one-legged crab to reach for the handle on the door.

One more F-bomb and I got into the van. I couldn't turn to see their faces, but I could hear their wide open eyes in the silence and so assured the kids I was alright.

But then the pain grew worse. I moaned a bit and dug in my purse for some generic ibuprofen, trying not to cry. Sometimes being the mom means suffering in silence.

Unless you're my mom.

Anyway, to put the kids at ease, I laughed about how funny I must have looked, about how I needed one of those medical alert buttons because I'd fallen and I couldn't get up, about how one day a fall like that might mean a broken hip. The jokes eased the children's worry (though that broken hip joke I made sobered me a bit), and we went on our way.

Consoling myself that I am not my mother made me feel better and so every time I felt the throbbing pain was becoming really really bad, instead of moaning or complaining about it I distracted myself making a joke about something or other.

I may have joked too much, because soon hubby asked me if I had, in fact, hit my head.

***

Update:

As I said, it's been eight days since I fell. But I've been hobbling ever since. My walk is best described as "a lurching snail's pace," and watching me navigate the stairs must be like watching paint dry (with the possibility of me falling similar to the color-snob's anticipation of the paint's color when dry).

Hubby has suggested I go to the doctor, perhaps because he just wants me to be able to get to the basement to do the laundry, but I figure I must not have any broken bones (or I wouldn't be able to walk period) and the best they'll do is dope me up -- which will only render me more useless in terms of writing & picking kids up from school, etc. Maybe if this continues into week three... Or four. Then I might reconsider the expense of medical attention. (My luck, they'll tell me something was broken but is healing wrong and they'll need to re-break it.)

My mom, however, is unfazed. She doesn't want to hear that I'm still limping about, but rather counters with stories of when she hurt herself.

***

Postscript:

The one thing my mother believes in are bruises; they are the proof of pain & torture, the exquisite colored badges with which to garner attention. But I have yet to have any real bruises.

I was hoping that given the layers of fat on my hip and thigh that the colors would appear a few days later and I could show them to her, at least in a photograph, and get a bit of sympathy from her. But now, as the time passes, I fear such a delay means I am too fat and I no longer wish to see them & be forced to ponder the fat-math.

***

I console myself with a laugh:

Once, my mom fell while gardening in the yard. She was backing up the wheelbarrow and tripped on something unseen behind her. Dad came over to help her up (he surely could hear her scream over the lawnmower).

Once he helped her to her feet, she turned about, rubbing her aching behind, to see what she had tripped on. It was some of the rocks she'd been moving to make a border around a flowerbed. Only...

One of the rocks was now cracked in half.

My mother had split a rock in half with her ass.

A Thought While Reading A "Music" Review...

2008-12-17T19:02:00.000-06:00

It's rather like listening to a musical score as a book review.

Christmas Monkeys

2008-12-12T16:58:00.000-06:00

I went to the grocery store to get a few boxes of Kraft macs & cheese for an easy (and somewhat cheapish) dinner tonight. Because this is the 'boxed dinners' isle, I noticed that the Chef Boyardee was on sale, 10 cans for $10; so I also grabbed 10 of those & headed to the checkout.

Now, I've always been fascinated by the purchases being made in front of me in the checkout lane. I can't help but make up stories about it -- their shopping list a set of ingredients for my imagination. One time it was a guy with canned cat food, one orange, and a huge bottle of vodka. I couldn't help myself. So I told him he should remember to feed the cat before he passed out. He laughed -- politely, if not actually amused.

Today the man ahead of me at the checkout had exactly 8 bunches of ripe bananas. I know because I counted them. He had nothing else, just the bananas. So I said, "Someone's getting a Christmas monkey."

He laughed. I think. Maybe he just flinched. Anyway, there was a quick facial movement (partially obscured by the huge collar on his winter jacket) and then he turned away from me -- literally turning his back on me.

No sense of humor.

But who buys 8 bunches of yellow, ripe bananas? You just have to wonder. Or at least I do.

Sorry for the guy with no sense of humor, I took my bags to the van, got gas, and then headed home. As I approached the stop sign, I saw a man holding the now-too-familiar cardboard sign of homelessness. The timing was perfect, what with me slowed to nearly a stop, preparing to turn at his corner and all; so I rolled down the window, reached for the bag and grabbed a can, and held it out with a, "Sir?"

He blessed me and I said it's the only thing I had with me. I felt embarrassed about that. I once used to drive around with apples and blocks of cheese in my car for cases just like this. It's nutritional food, easy to carry, requires no heating or utensils, and has a relatively long shelf life as far as perishables go. But here I was handing this man a canned food item. Sure, it's been cooked and he can eat it cold if he has to -- and thankfully it has a pull-top lid so he doesn't need an opener -- but no matter what variety I handed him (spaghetti, ravioli, the 'huge' ravioli, or that Beefy Mac stuff), a utensil would be a good idea. A humanizing thing.

I tried to console myself that I'd done good -- it was food and at least there was some meat in there. (But when I got home I realized my quick grab had resulted in giving the man a can of beefy mac -- to me, the lesser of the meals.)

Having worked for a homeless shelter, I knew that food was both needed and wasn't (at least as directly) enabling to those with addiction issues. That's why I used to stock my car with apples and cheese. I stopped doing it because as we creep closer and closer to homelessness ourselves, every bit of apple & cheese needs to go to my kids. But I just couldn't see that man freezing on the corner while I had bags of food right next to me & do nothing.

The gift of his bright smile (and "Bless you") nearly made me cry. I managed to hold the tears in until I got to our driveway. Then a salty mixture of happiness, gratitude, embarrassment and fear trickled down my cold cheeks.

Then I thought about the guy with the bananas; maybe he kept those in his car for the homeless. If so, bless him. He is the Christmas Monkey, handing out gifts of food to the homeless.

Today's Thought On Women's Magazines

2008-12-11T18:07:00.000-06:00

Because I really, really don't want aliens coming here or future anthropologists looking at today's women's magazines and thinking that's who we are; hence Pink Populace Paparazzi Parade Exposé.

How Nationalism Has Been Used To Manipulate Museum Collections

2008-12-04T13:45:00.005-06:00

We stand in a time where the ancient, the historic, and the modern are colliding, and they intersect in the collections of historical nature. As we look back in time, various antiquities have exchanged hands, crossed national lines that no longer exist, and end up in the hands of modern collectors. Under modern laws, items of historical importance or evoke a country’s identity can be forcibly returned or reclaimed by the original country, but it is not so simple a process.

Nor does it seem ethical when it comes to preservation & education. So, just who should own history?

Remote Hog

2008-11-23T10:26:00.000-06:00

Out thrifting the husband spotted this magnet & elbowed me. Naturally, I bought it.

The kids had no idea what the heck a male chauvinist pig was -- nor did they know what a chauvinist was. Is it a word lost to time already?

We defined and explained. Possibly too well. Later when my husband was goofing around with me about handing me the remote, the female child in the room (age 12) called him a chauvinist pig.

An Assail On The Rape Of Words

2008-11-23T05:40:00.002-06:00

From the February 22, 1941 issue of Liberty magazine.