Tension Makes a Tangle

Twenty-six days since my last post. I'm improving!

Recently, Honey shared with me a link to a program that would allow us to seal in today's college tuition prices for Shortcake's future use. In other words, we could pay X amount each month for a total of Y amount, which would be honored at up to 270 universities around the U.S. - including our alma mater - in 2028, when she starts college. We figure in 18 years, the program will expand to include more than just 270; but for now, we're pleased that it includes our alma mater, MIT, Stanford and plenty of other recognizable, "good" schools. At our present income, the monthly amount we'd need to deposit for the program is not really do-able. This is something that I want to look into further and might likely be the best idea for college savings for Shortcake. But I'll be honest, I worry that discussing how to save for her will lead to a conversation I'm not sure how to have. Carrying my economic weight.

The underlying topics of this conversation, as I see it applying to me: obligation and role-modeling.

Let's begin with the obvious, obligation. I have a child now. I am no longer the center of my own universe, nor is my husband the center of his own. (Well, when we decided to marry, we combined orbits around a collective of two, so we haven't been the centers of our universes for several years.) Now, the focus of our orbit is around this little girl and any of her future siblings, and it is a vital focus. So that means every decision we make, and action we take, needs to be done for the good of the family, and more specifically, the good of her. Wanna move to Ireland? Will that be good for the unit? Good for her? Maybe. Maybe not. So, it seems like the logical response should be: Molly should get a job outside the house. It is her obligation, if she wants her child to attend college. And don't be so selfish, Molly - your husband needs someone to lighten his load. Get over yourself! What makes you so special that you don't have to get a hair cut and get a real job?

And this is where I begin to falter. I'm not sure I'm ready to re-enter the full-time workforce, yet. I'm not sure I ever want to. Let's get the selfish reasons out of the way, first: I enjoy caring for our daughter. I love it. Even when it's at its most annoying,caring for our daughter is still more rewarding than when outside work is least annoying. I enjoy being able to go to the library or go grocery shopping during the day, or take the dog for a walk in the sunlight, or go on an audition. Though mothering doesn't let me get as much done as I'd like to do on any given day, I like the weekly flexibility it offers. An economic reason I'm reluctant to return: childcare is expensive. The last job I almost took - a contract job that would've lasted a few weeks - I turned down, because the cost of childcare would've been about 2/3 my paycheck. Yes, 1/3 is better than 0/3, but it's hard to argue that I should leave our child in the care of a virtual stranger to bring home 1/3 of a paycheck working on a project that I'm actually not enthusiastic about. I've been in the workforce for about a decade or so, and my attempts to climb beyond the bottom rung have met terribly limited success. So, I'm not entirely sure I qualify for many higher-paying jobs to offset the cost of childcare, anyway. Finally, a sentimental reason: I don't want to become my mother.

My mom has worked outside the house in some form or fashion since she was a teenager. In the 34 years I've been around and have seen her work, I've rarely seen her content with her work situation. She usually resents her jobs. She enjoys being employed. Mom is one of those people who wouldn't know how to fill the time if she didn't have a job. She'd be bored and confused. But she's always ended up resenting her job.

And this is where the role-modeling conflicts with my sense of obligation.

I was lucky enough to see my dad switch career paths and find his calling. Ministry is difficult (financially, emotionally, spiritually), but it's what he's best at and what he loves, passionately. Mom never really found that path of passion. She did what she had to do to pay the bills when they were newlyweds, up through my tween years: working for the state in a mind-numbing bureaucracy. She despised it. When she decided she wanted to teach, she was thrilled to pursue it. She learned, after a few years, that students don't give a shit about learning, administrators' support of teachers is fickle and parents are either disengaged or overly protective. She hates it - or, at least, she's rarely had anything good to say about it in the last 15 years. I'm certain some of my mom's resentment isn't so much at her job as it is at the fact that she's always had to be the one whose salary is most stable, and often larger. Try raising a family of four, plus a dog, on $12k a year, the take-home my dad had when I was a teenager, and you can see how Mom was obligated to stick out a job she didn't like.

My goal has always been to provide our children - but particularly any daughters - with a mother who is happy with her career. Whose job is, if not her passion, then at minimum, a source of pride and joy. It has always made me terribly sad that my mom has never been happy in her career choices. The last thing I want my daughter to see, when she sees me, is a woman who lives with personal or professional resentment.

Of course, I realize I have to correct an earlier assertion. My mom did once have a job she was passionate about. She was a feature writer at our town's daily newspaper. Knowing her as I do, these days, I think that was the best job for her personality. It fits her organizational style, her personal curiosity and her writing style. She gave it up about a year or two before I was born. I never knew why until this last year.

She gave it up because she and Dad wanted to have a child. Dad, newly ordained, was chaplaining here and there, and subbing in pulpits, as well as in the local school system as a teacher. His income wasn't steady or sufficient. Mom's was. However, in the mid-70s, if you wanted to keep your job, as a woman, you didn't get pregnant. The only employer who wouldn't fire you if you were pregnant back then, that she knew of - and that would pay a better salary than she made - was the State of Texas. She returned to work six weeks after I was born. Six. Weeks. That's the amount of time they gave her. For those of you who've had kids, you know your body is just then starting to heal, and the baby, who still needs to eat every 2 - 3 hours, is entering the 6-week fussy phase and needs Mommy. Luckily, Dad was unemployed at the time, so he provided the childcare for a few months. Within a year, he got a full-time chaplain job at a local hospital and they had an employee nursery.

And this takes me back to work. I could be wrong, but I suspect that having me at home is an emotionally beneficial arrangement for us as a family, right now. I have had a few auditions (a couple this week, actually) for paying gigs; I'm exploring a paying gig for Shortcake and I'm not without options in terms of working from home or working on occasion. What I need to do right now is decide how committed I am to not subsuming. This would mean more self-promotion on my part, something I am loathe to do. I truly hate tooting my own horn, particularly as a means to an end. It might also mean a little more flexibility on my family's part. Currently, I try not to be out more than 1 - 2 nights a week, for rehearsal and performance. But I could (and would like to) make myself more available for improv teaching opportunities, some of which would be at night. The pay would be a pittance, but it would be pay doing what I enjoy and I'd be getting better at it for future work.

I really do appreciate all Mom has done for us. I just mourn that she decided to sacrifice her personal, professional happiness in the process. For most of human history, women have been the ones who've had to subsume their dreams for the expectations of society, or their subsume their happiness for the good of the family. Though Mom had more options than her mother, and she pursued them, she still subsumed both her dreams and happiness, ultimately. I live in an era when I have more options than my mother had. My dreams are fluid, as is my happiness, but I don't want to subsume them. I want Shortcake to see a woman who is happy with her professional choices, whatever they look like. ... I'm just living in tension about this, right now.

Reluctant Thanks ... and all the guilt.

This is what happens when I can't sleep ...

Twenty-five years ago, yesterday, the father of one of my favorite childhood friends was murdered. He was a cop, just off duty, on his way home. He spotted an accident, moments after it occurred, and he pulled over to help. The driver and passenger were out of the car, and as he approached them, asking if they were okay, one of them shot him in the chest. What he didn't know was that they were fleeing a robbery. They'd just knocked over a convenience store, if I remember correctly. They panicked when they saw a police officer approaching. The perpetrators were caught within a few hours. They were convicted and a few years later, one of them was executed. (The trigger-man, I always presumed, though I don't recall.) This memory is a big, multi-faceted one for me. One of the facets of that memory for me was that he died on Veterans' Day and he was a VietNam vet.

Yesterday, when many people had the day off, and everyone was thanking vets on Facebook and Twitter and in memorial services for their service, my thoughts turned to my friend's dad. He died serving his fellow man. Not as a soldier, not even as a cop (since he was off-duty), but as a concerned citizen. We thank his military service with Veterans' Day, but how do we thank his civil service or his citizen service?

Veterans' Day is frequently a hard one for me to wrap around. Probably largely because I carry a lot of ambivalence about the role of our military in our country. It's also probably hard for me to process Veterans' Day during wartime. And, I guess, I'm a little annoyed that we don't really publicly recognize the service of others in our society with even half as much appreciation. When is Teachers' Day, Clergy Day, EMT Day, Coal-miners' Day, Water Sanitation Provider Day? These people rarely die in the execution of their jobs, but they educate you, comfort you, keep your heart pumping, keep your house fueled and keep you from getting cholera on a daily basis. And each comes with its unique set of skills and training. Where are their honors in rhetoric and mall sales?

When I consider the training that goes into being a military service member and the discipline that it instills, I'm nothing less than impressed. When I consider the time away from family that we demand of our service members in the service of military goals, I am sympathetic. When I consider the physical conditions our service members endure during war time and other times of conflict - and I suspect my imagination is a paltry shadow of what they actually endure - I am, indeed, grateful that they are trained and willing to go through that on my behalf. (Seriously. Thank you!) And when a military service member dies in battle, or while serving, I am humbled and thankful for their sacrifice. Because of all this, my gratefulness to our veterans is genuine. Heck, even as I write it, I become more acutely aware of how grateful I am for those who served and have served in the military. Wow. Thank you, Vets!

I suppose my ambivalence, then, is about how and when to say thank you, and why. A few years ago, I was on a bus when a man in Army fatigues stepped on. A mother, with a toddler, instructed her child to say "Thank You" to him for his service. He accepted the thanks. But I couldn't help wonder: she doesn't know what this guy's career has looked like; she doesn't know if this guy has seen frontline, or even backline combat; even if he has, she doesn't know exactly how he comported himself there. While I am grateful to our military service members as a collective, I don't know how each of them behaves as an individual representing me. Though, I think it's fair to say that the vaaaaassst majority of military service members behave honorably, and within codes of conduct, how do I know a random stranger in uniform is the paragon of integrity?

My favorite childhood friend's father was a policeman who died helping people. And I trust that the vast majority of police officers in this country honor their badges and their communities. However, a dear, dear friend of mine was also raped by a cop. He did time and lost his badge, thankfully. But I'm sure there are other crooked cops out there who get away with this crap, frequently. I am terribly thankful to our police force for keeping us safe. Seriously, as much as I hate getting tickets, I am so grateful that there are people who enforce the rule of law. But do we teach our children to say thank you to police officers for their service when we just see them randomly on the street? Maybe some do, but I don't know that it's as broadly accepted a convention as thanking random military service members. And if we do, then when we thank the random cop, are we thanking one like my friend's dad, or are we thanking one like my friend's rapist? We never know a stranger's back story or past deeds. Thanking a stranger, based on his or her profession seems kind of hollow to me. (And again, my annoyance: no stranger has ever thanked my mom for being a teacher, nor my dad for being clergy, and I wouldn't be surprised if no stranger has ever randomly thanked my mother in law for being a nurse.)

I consider myself a patriot: I dutifully pay my taxes, without whining (I'm actually okay with paying for services my government provides - like roads, libraries and the military!) I vote in most elections, I even contact my representatives when an issue moves me enough. But I don't thank random strangers for their military service, just because I see evidence of their service. I feel guilty about lacking that impulse. Like I'm an ungrateful, bad citizen.

Honey served in the military for several years, and occasionally, when someone learns of this, they might thank him. The last time I remember someone thanking him was at a wedding last year. It was a table-mate; someone we didn't know and were just chit-chatting with. I later asked Honey what he thinks when strangers thank him for his service. He always graciously accepts the thanks, but he's ambivalent, too. He told me he's known plenty of people in the service who are assholes, who do the bare minimum, who you wouldn't necessarily be proud to have defending you, if you really knew them, so he kind of sees the random thanks as less meaningful. Along the same lines, a friend of mine who spent the 80s and 90s in the Air Force addressed the thanks he got on Facebook with self-deprecating humor: All I really did was drink a lot and learn to swear in foreign languages. I'm sure he did more than that, but the point I take from that is that not everyone in uniform saw combat and defended in the sense that we like to imagine. More significant to me was the rest of his response: But thanks. It means a lot. I haven't asked him, so I don't know, but I took this to mean that the thanks is meaningful because it comes from a friend. This isn't an apples to apples comparison, but random people on the street have congratulated me on having a new baby. I accept it, but their congratulations means far less to me than that of friends and family.

I should divorce my dislike of thanking random vets for their service from my desire to thank the collective. It's not fair to my friends and family who have served honorably in whatever capacity. I am a "partly cloudy patriot." I'll admit it. (Incidentally, if anyone wants to get me that book - or that other newer one Sarah Vowell wrote - you'd definitely get a huge thanks from me!) Maybe it's my tendency to be contrary, but almost any time the masses wave flags, wax sentimental and hum America the Beautiful, I kind of crinkle up my nose and think, "really?" Unless it's the Fourth of July, because, then, dammit: citizen, soldier, immigrant or fan, America is the best damn country on the planet! But I digress. Though few read this blog (largely because they don't know about it), I'll use this space to thank my friends and family who have served, using initials and pseudonyms, because you know how I am about my anonymity.

Thank you: Honey, Grandfather SM (WWII, Pacific), Honey's grandfather LM (WWII, Europe, Africa), Honey's other grandfather RF (WWII, Europe), Cousin PH, Cousin MG (OEF), Uncle TM, Uncle RAM, Uncle CR, Uncle BP, SB, SW, JM** (VietNam), AB (Afghanistan), PB, JP, RGR ... and probably lots of other friends I'm having difficulty recalling in the twilight of dawn after a mostly sleepless nights. You're all awesome and I'm relieved to have had you, specifically, guarding us.

** and thanks for coaching my tee-ball team when I was five and fathering my friends. They miss you.

Three Beautiful Things ... to pull me up

I've had a rather rough week (hence the last post with the boat, "The Heartbreaker"). I've been crying a lot and trying to cope with the implications of yet another defeat that is so absolutely beyond my control, and frankly, beyond that of just about anyone else. Today, I've been trying very hard to focus on fleeting moments of beauty and blessings small and large that are so easy to overlook in the dense fog of sorrow. So, in the vein of Clare, here are three beautiful things for which I am truly grateful this week.

1. Happy, wiggly puppy. God must've known I needed some fresh warm fuzzy, because right out side the door to my office, as I left tonight, was a 4 month old Australian Blue Heeler being walked by her mom. After getting permission from her mother to greet her, I approached her, speaking in my best puppy-loving voice. The fuzzy baby was both shy and terribly excited to meet me - alternately hugging close to her mom's legs and running up to me. There is nothing more adorable than a puppy in its wobbly, uncoordinated phase when life is new, everything is a delightful discovery and every stranger is just a friend she hasn't met.

2. My girlfriend's daughter. My good friend Earthmother and American Dad, her husband, were in town for a few days and spent Sunday with us. Their 4-year-old is going through a princess phase, despite her parents' encouraging her inherent tomboy nature. She can't totally shake the tomboy: during our pasta dinner, she took it upon herself to strip down to her waist to avoid getting dirty. But she's still eager for tiaras: while watching Wall-E for the first time in our basement, she kept turning to her father saying, "here come the princesses!" Hope springs eternal, doll. (For you and me, both.)

3. Genuine vacation coming our way. Because of family obligations, combined with the limited amount of vacation time, it looked like our vacation this year would be dictated by weddings and not by our own want for a new getaway. But because Honey is a fucking badass at what he does, it looks like that's changed. Honey received the highest award given within his company - awarded annually to only 10 out of the 10s of 1000s of employees in the company - for his badassery. Now, while I've worked in corporations who laud their employees with restaurant gift certificates or maybe a cash prize of $200, Honey works in a company that lavishes much better, IMHO. In addition to a swanky dinner with the company brass, and a token plaque, we're getting a choice of vacations including a cruise in the Bahamas or a trip to Hawaii, among the options. Those are the two we're most attracted to. Frankly, I'm more drawn to Hawaii, since I've never been there and after years of adamantly not wanting to go ("oh you MUST go!" sh'yeah, right. see 4), I'm finally interested. So, screw company time limitations. Life's too short not to take vacation just because some greedy corporation won't pay for an extra few days. I'm already so proud of Honey for all his badassery. I'm doubly proud that I'm not the only one who sees his genius. And I'm supergrateful that it's going to give us a genuine vacation. We need a genuine vacation so badly.

2009: The Year of Good Enough

I've been trying to decide what my inaugural post for 2009 should be about and I decided that I should begin by returning to one of my goals for 2008: my personal reading challenge. When I reviewed my post from last year describing my challenge (to read 10 books in the course of the year from my own library), I saw that the bulk of that post was dedicated to being grateful for the time we have with our loved ones because we will not always have them with us. There seems to be some sad coincidence in that.

I have fallen way behind on reading people's blogs and obviously on writing this blog. So far behind that I only learned yesterday that Mommanator's husband passed suddenly in the interim. Something that struck me was that she stated she was happy to have him 10 years longer than she thought she might. Again, I'm reminded that we need to love each other fully and seek delight in our loved ones as much as possible. We lose more than the person if we don't attempt it. I know I'm not the only one to express it, but just wanted to publicly convey my most heartfelt condolences to her and her family in their time of grief. I definitely keep you and yours in my prayers right now, Mommanator. Many hugs, doll.

Some good news about this new year for me, is that something in me switched when the clock struck midnight on January 1. I've been decidedly angry and emotionally stubborn about some health concerns of mine, lately. Though I'm progressing with more investigation and possible treatment, I'd been furious that this was something I even had to deal with. I was furious at my body for betraying me. Then at the beginning of the year the emotional stubbornness and the fury just dropped. I'm still angry, I still feel betrayed, but I'm not wrapping myself in it like a self-pitying blanket anymore. I have resigned myself to the probable. I'm still not happy about it, but I'm no longer emotionally resistant. I'm actually more accepting of it. Unless something changes: it is what it is.

That shift also freed me to review other things in my life. It's a new year. New choices? Maybe. I don't do "resolutions," but I do set personal goals. Among my goals this year are:

• Write more, of course. I've got at least one piece lined up. I work best with deadlines, so maybe I should look for more deadline-driven writing opportunities. But in the meantime, I should just keep tapping at the keyboard. I wrote more in 2008 than in 2007, so let's keep up the momentum.
• Become more craftily self-sufficient. Re-teach myself to sew on the machine that I've been ignoring for years and make something wearable.
• Make the house look more grown-up. Replace craptastic college-era plastic shelving with real stuff; paint at least 2 rooms in the house this year; buy a few furniture pieces (new sofa-set for basement, maybe?).
• Put stuff on the walls. Frame photos I like and hang them. Maybe buy some art. That costs money and spending money scares me shitless, but our walls are scandalously bare.
• Exercise more. Specifically, start running again! I never felt better about my life than when I ran a marathon 6 years ago. I don't know that I want to do a full 26.2 again yet (maybe in a few years), but I can easily do a 5 or 10K. There's no reason I shouldn't. Plus, I should really buy a friggin' bike. It's stupid that I don't have one.
• See more live theater. There's so much that's good out there and I don't take enough advantage of it. I had the pleasure of seeing some Shakespeare with Darla D and her girls this past week and I really enjoyed it. Why don't I do it more? I dunno. Routine lifestyle, I suppose. Honey and I go on jags every few years. This should be one of them and it should really increase to a regular habit.
• Re-up my reading challenge of 2008. Same deal. So many books in my collection that I've not gotten around to reading or only half-read. 10 more to read and/or finish for 2009. Just finished Born to Buy (pictured above), which was actually book 9 or 10 from 2008 - that's right, I fell short; sue me. I'm moving on next to God in the Machine: What Robots Can Teach Us About Humanity and God. I think I heard that author on Speaking of Faith a few years ago. Honey began reading it, but said it didn't teach him anything new. But he's a techie-guy. I hope that it'll illuminate something for me.
• Ditch the high-fructose corn syrup (and hopefully later the partially hydrogenated oils). I've known since sophomore nutrition class (thanks, alma mater, for making that part of our core requisite curriculum) that corn syrup is no good for me, and neither are partially hydrogenated soybean or corn oil. But damn, that stuff is addictive. So far, I've gone a week without the corn syrup. I've managed to gain weight, but that's mostly because I have no sense of portion control and I've not been exercising as much. Still, it's as much about being mindful about what I put into my body as it is about weight loss. Temptations may surround me, but if I can ward off just one of them, then the battle is not yet lost.
• Spend more time with Honey. Evenings, weekends, whatever.
  
• Find a new job, or a new path. Not necessarily outside my field, but just some path that allows me time to enjoy my family and to pursue my outside interests. My recent down-shift to part-time should help.
  
• Stop thinking I have to define myself by my career or other "achievments." I'd like to say I'm bigger than that, but I'm not. I'm just a regular achiever living in the land of hyper-acheivers. When I really contemplate it, yes career and title are in there, but the lifelong goals I'm most concerned with are more personal in nature: travel, family, language-learning, re-learning piano, etc, etc. I love my work, but I need to stop measuring myself against the hyper-achieving hyper-tense, hyper-paid peers in this town. I'm me. That's good enough.

Maybe that's what I need to carry into this year. Things don't have to be perfect. They just have to be good enough. I don't have to find the most extraodinary wine bar/buffet for our dining area. I just have to find good enough. I don't have to run a marathon. A 5K will do. I don't have to lose 15 pounds; 6 will be sufficient. I don't have to read all the ancient classics I should've read in college. I'll just read one. I'll do what I can. And that will be good enough.

Good Election Morrow!

I'm in a line spiralling around the local school's blacktop right now, waiting to cast my ballot for president, senator and congressperson. Anticipating a multi hour wait, I downloaded this blog app to my iPhone, so I could stay productive. However, it looks like I may be in and out in an hour or less!

Got seriously little sleep last night. Maybe 2.5 hours tops. Schlepped down to Manassas, Va last night to see Obama. The return drive was just as hellish as the outgoing. The rally was very energizing. Tried to coordinate with VA Gal to meet up, but with tens of thousands of people, it was a futile effort. Fate being who she is though, we did run into eachother. The good folks of Manassas, Va provided the worst crowd control I'd ever seen in my life. Seriously worried we might have a Who concert crush on our way out; exits weren't marked and we parting attendants were like the Hebrew children without Moses trying to find their way out of the mess. The friends who joined me last night and I grumbled, but no one else was moaning. Then I heard a familiar raspy voice complaining a familiar, "aye chihuahua! You'd think ... Come ON, people!" And of course it was VirginiaGal. We got to chat briefly before scattering to the winds again, but I was so thrilled we got to meet up. Thanks Manassas fairgrounds for having so crappy a crowd control that 100,000 people had to bottleneck through a single ten foot space!

Well, I'm impressed. Been here about 20 minutes, and already about halfway closer than I was when I arrived. Not bad at all. Thanks early voters!

If you haven't already, to do your civic duty. Stand in the rain if you must. Your forebears didn't suffer for you to sit on your ass. Rock the vote! (or Barack it! ... but that's just my preference.)

***************************************************************************************

Update: I was in and out in less than an hour. When I got up to the check-in, I was given the option of a paper ballot or digital voting. While touchscreen might be easier, I'm still wary. There's no paper trail to verify how I voted, if there was ever any kind of repeat of Florida 2000. So, I opted for the optical scan paper ballot. Luckily, voting was so quick and easy this morning that I was able to get home in time to do other stuff before work. Think I might take a brief nap and try to catch up on a little of that sleep I lost last night.

Apropos of nothing. In fact, inappropriate

WARNING: If you're easily offended by bodily functions and non-medical/clinical discussions thereof, then it may be better for you to check out another blog.

Alright, so tonight I should be writing content which may or may not be used in collateral to be distributed at a fundraiser I hope to attend this weekend, but haven't really delved far into my wallet to see what kind of coin I can afford to part with these days. Yesterday I attended a baby dedication for a friend (or rather, for his baby) at a Unitarian church where I had several years previous, attended a memorial service for a former coworker, and I had been planning to blog on religion, ritual and variations on the theme. However, musings on religious expression will have to wait, and before I proceed with my writing assignment tonight, I simply must share with the few of you who read this what simultaneously turned my stomach and tickled my funny bone (all foreshadowed puns intended) this evening.

Honey and I have been watching The Tudors on iTunes; the first season anyway. It's totally as trashy as the website makes it out to be, but it's also got plastrin-front gowns! lutes! plague! Northam, Neill and Jonathan Rhys Meyers! Tonight, we watched the 10th (and I believe final) episode of season one. It opens with the young King Henry VIII masturbating into a cloth being held open by a servant-boy. I kid you not. I can't help but laugh just thinking about it!

The scene is awkward to say the very, very least. It cut away to shots of Anne Boleyn's heaving breasts and then back to the young king straining and whacking (all seen from the waist up). And just as the king came, we saw a closeup of Anne's delicate hands piercing a threaded needle through a piece of embroidery she was working on. Then, with the king spent, the servant, who had previously had his face maybe a foot from the royal junk and turned away (a wise choice in his position, I must admit), gets up, bows to the king, and holding the cloth slightly slack, leaves the room.

The way the scene played out, it seemed like Henry was working off some morning wood. Now, I have no idea if this was common practice for male monarchs to employ a manservant to accept his "kingliness," as it were. Though no history buff myself, per se, I place no faith in the historical accuracy of this series; I see it more as costume-drama porn set against the skeleton of historical events. All that said: what worse job could there be in the court than to be the Royal Jizz-catcher? Who did you have to piss of to get that assignment? I should hope that promotion was swift. My God! I'd much rather scrub the peasants' outhouses than have to spend each morning with my face inches from the sweaty scepter, praying that his aim was good. (Massive shudder!) I would be begging God every day for tuberculosis or the plague or leprosy to get me out of that job!

I was icked out by that for at least the first 5 minutes of the show. I wish I could tell you what transpired in those first five minutes, but I was temporarily blind. That's right: masturbation blinded me. All these years of the real stuff did nothing to my vision; seeing the staged version on TV blacked me out for five.

I apologize if I grossed anyone out. Mostly. This was just too weird and hilarious to keep to myself. ... I suppose it's discussing these sort of things that keeps be from being invited to posh places and events. This, and the fact that I'm not well-heeled.

Toward a More Purple Union

It's over. I'm in. I love Barack Obama.

Where I had been split on Hillary and Barack, Senator Obama's speech yesterday sealed it for me. I don't know that I have ever heard a politician or high profile figure give a call for such a genuinely honest conversation on race in this country. The only other figure I can think of who has has been our former pastor, a black man who successfully integrated a majority white congregation. It was not without struggle, but it was successful.

The furor over Rev. Wright's comments in some of his sermons kind of amuses me for a couple of reasons:

Firstly, it's naive, and frankly, insulting, to believe or imply that the purpose of a house of worship - at least in this country - is to uphold the policies of a government or the prejudices of a society. The church should always be challenging immoralities and injustices it sees around it. We may not agree on what those disparities are, but that's the job of each church. Plus, as my Dad was saying last night, he doesn't know a preacher out there that hasn't at least suggested that America will be judged by God somehow or another for something or another. "I've done it, your grandfather has certainly done it; all preachers do on some level, they just may not be as pointed or fiery as Rev. Wright." And, of course, not every pastor agrees on what draws the judgement of God, or what that judgement entails.

Secondly, it's insulting to the intelligence of people everywhere and the spiritual integrity of people of faith to imply, as the media hype has over this, and does over similar scandals, that if you are a parishoner of a church, then you agree 100% with 100% of the content - which apparently is devoid of nuance - that comes out of the mouth(s) of your church leader(s). Seriously? Give me a break. To paraphrase Barack: who hasn't sat in church, synagogue or mosque and at least, on occasion, thought I'm not sure I agree that's what God was trying to say? Reverend Wright may be Senator Obama's spiritual mentor, but give a person some credit; that doesn't mean Obama agrees with everything Wright believes. Wright merely led him to the table; they may not all use the same condiments. (The uptick of this is: this opens my eyes to my own prejudices against people on the other side of the aisle whose churches I disagree with. God, make me slow to judge.)

Thirdly, I feel like Wright's comments were not only taken out of context of full 40 minute sermons (you'll judge a man's whole outlook based on 30 seconds of one 40 minute sermon of over 4,000 sermons in his career?), but more importantly, were taken out of the context of the experience of the black church in America. Before we had attended our old church, I had worshipped in Spanish and with one or two black people, but never had my worship experience been influenced by the African American church experience. While our services were never as charismatic as described by Obama and as depicted in pop culture, our pastor preached with a style more characteristic of a Southern black minister than I had previously known and our worship was less staid than most mainline protestant churches. You can't have a 50% African American congregation and maintain a 100% white-traditional service - particularly since what many whites were looking for was more expression (and at least some of our black friends told us they wanted a little less). Nonetheless, I learned that righteous rage is part of the black church history. And why not? It's not like African Americans in the country were given the pass to build the country and set the story. Were it not for righteous rage born in black churches, my neighbors down the street would not be black; I never would've had a black boss, teacher or viable Presidential candidate. Righteous rage inspired my grandfather to rally with LULAC in the 50s for Mexican-American rights in West Texas; inspired him to demand respect for him and his family from retailers who denied them service. And frankly, the righteous rage that inspired the civil rights movement then further fueled the women's movements and gay rights movements of the 70s, 80s, 90s and today. Reverend Wright has said some out there things - that, I won't deny - but to be shocked (shocked, I say!) that a man who leads people with a history of neglect, who shepherds congregants who are homeless and downtrodden, would express anger or derision for the nation that lets people slip through the cracks, despite her vast wealth, is a little shocking in and of itself.

I agree with Obama that the furor over his pastor's remarks unmasks racial disparities in this country. Precisely for the last reason listed above. We may be the most church-going nation on the planet, but our churches are usually full of people that look and think just like us, so we aren't challenged, socially. One of the many blessings of our old church was that I had to be challenged every Sunday with preconceptions I had - some I didn't know I had, and many I still have, both good and bad - about people of color, homeless people, gay and transgendered people, old people and myself. How often do black and white people hang out together? Rarely. So if we don't hang out, we don't talk. And when we do talk, how honest are we about race? We usually suffocate under our own politeness.

Ultimately, what I love about Obama's speech yesterday is that he could've taken the easy, political road. He could have repudiated not just Wright's remarks - which he had to do anyway if he wanted to remain viable - but Wright himself. Then, he could've stumped and swept it under the rug and ignored the issue of race altogether. That would've been easiest. That's what most serious politicians would've done. Instead, he said, let's start a genuine conversation. For real. Let's be respectful, but we have to stop being so politically correct that white people are afraid to say anything. We have to stop being so anti-politically correct that racism concerns among black people are written off as whiny. Let's talk!

I suspected before that he may be the man who can bring this country together. Now, it's just up to the country to want it. Barack, you've given me a mission to heal and a charge to keep. Where do I sign?

Hard to balance heartache.

Parents do stupid things.

My sister in law once accidentally locked herself out of the house as she was retrieving mail. Not a big deal until you consider that my then - three year old nephew was taking a nap in his bedroom. She realized her error and managed to break into the house via the garage. My dad once forgot he was supposed to pick me up from school and left his Kindergartener daughter crying on the school steps for a couple of hours. (I don't remember if there were school aides waiting with me; but I assume so.) There will no doubt be times that Honey and I do stupid things as parents (if we're lucky enough to ever get that distinction) which are done out of carelessness or oversight or during a bungled emergency. Nonetheless, I find I have decreasing sympathy for parents who seem outright derelict in their duty.

Last weekend, Honey and I took in a 9PM showing of Ratatouille. It was cute, but frankly, I can't tell you too much of it because most of what I remember of the movie-going experience involved a friendly pre-lingual toddler. He could not have been more than 22 months old. His parents saw fit to bring him and his three year old sister to a movie which would not let out until 11PM. The children were, thankfully, quiet, but their parents' behavior was rather disquieting. We were in a theater with stadium seating. Honey and I were at the fore of the top section, so that we had the railing in front of us, the floor and bottom seating section were below us. The childrens' parents took seats on either end of the handicap accessible seating at the top of the bottom section and let their children wander. During a movie. In a large room filled with strangers. In the dark. The little boy was really adorable and had we met under different conditions, I wouldn't have thought anything of it. But as the parents kept their backs to the children - in a dark room filled with strangers - only to check in on them ever 30 seconds or so and to retrieve them when they began to wander up the steps of the top section, I could not fully enjoy the movie. Why? Because, I felt like I had to keep my eye constantly open for this little boy in case someone did try to nab him. His parents certainly weren't doing it. Safety aside, it's simply rude to let your kids run around a movie theater. People are there to enjoy the film, not your cell phone text messaging session, not your comments to the screen and not your toddler's happy dance in the aisle! It's called, "pop for a babysitter or wait for the DVD," buddy. If you know your three year old can sit through a movie, bring her and let the other parent babysit.

What irks me most about this is that clearly, some people have no concept of safety, when it is their moral charge as parents to do everything in their power to ensure the safety of their children. I have been in a cave lately, so I just learned of this today, but when I did, I thought immediately of the parents at the movie theater. Little Madeliene McCann was nabbed from her family's resort apartment room while on vacation in Portugal. It's truly tragic and terrifying. But when I learned that the parents had put her and her 2 year old twin siblings down for the night in the room unattended while they went off to dinner for the evening, I was sadly unsurprised. How easy would it be for someone to break a window and take her? Or a hotel staffer who has a key to waltz in and nick her? Then when I read that her parents had actually left the room door and the patio doors unlocked I was livid. That's not just a stupid parent move - like leaving your kid in the car for 10 minutes to run in to buy milk - that's patently negligent. If that family were American, those parents would be arrested and separated from their remaining children. Who leaves toddlers unattended while you're 100 yards away?! (That's the length of a football field, mind you!) It's not as if her parents were 19 year old dumb kids. They're doctors!! I understand that abduction is not as common in England as it is in the US, so for the sake of those who live in "more civilized" societies, let's pretend kidnapping does not exist, that children are at no danger of ever being nabbed and harmed. You still don't leave a couple of toddlers alone in a hotel room to sleep! What if one of them falls off the bed and bangs her head? Or another wakes in the night and pulls the TV on top of himself? Doctors don't understand this?!

I certainly cannot begin to imagine the bereavement these parents must be feeling, nor their sense of guilt. I do feel sorry for them. But in my mind, they are just as accountable for their daughter's loss as the villain who took her. This was not a momentary separation from their child at the store or in a crowd or even a missed rendezvous because of poor parent communication. This wasn't even a piss-poor decision to let their kid run around a movie theater under a lazy parental eye. Theirs was a deliberate decision to leave their pre-literate children alone in a hotel room in a foreign country without even giving them the barest dignity of a secured room. They could not respect their children enough to lock. the. door. I have immense sympathy for the little girl. I pray that this comes to a happy ending for her. And I hope other parents take a moment and get a clue from this.

Good Things and East Coast Guilt.

1. Honey called in the new cell phone company to transfer over our old phone numbers onto the new carrier. I only heard his side of the conversation, but it sounded like he was making fast friends with the customer service guy, chatting about everything from our dog to how many children we expected to show up on our doorstep for Halloween!

2. Discovering one of my weekly recipe e-mails from Texas Monthly was for a Cream Filled Pumpkin Pie Roll. Mmm. We're hosting Thanksgiving at our house this year. Honey hates pumpkin flavored deserts, but I think I might try to make this anyway, as he will not be the only person at the table. Just thinking about it makes me all fuzzy with anticipation!

3. We're heading back over the mountain this morning so Babydog can do her second leg of her JHD trial. The last time we went to a herding trial/exhibition, it was all corgis; this time she's the only corgi in a sea of border collies and a few shelties. It's really only intimidating for me. HOWEVER, though she's not as disciplined as a lot of the border collies - and most of them are rural dogs anyway, so they have more room for practice than just a living room - in her part of the trial, she was still a lot better than some of the other dogs. (My chest puffs.) What can I say? I guess I'm a competitive American mommy.
I visited SonnjeaB's Friday post, today. It's interesting, her conundrum about volunteering and being a better person is not only somewhat personally familiar - I too sometimes have trouble reconciling my desire to make the world a better place and not really wanting to work the volunteer places I've sold myself on - but its familiarity seems to translate to another area of my life: the professional one. I think I'm only just now finding the general direction I want my career to take, but boy do I feel like I've been slow to the game.

In this part of the country people are defined by and happily define themselves by their employment or their achievements. (I may have blogged on this before.) If you're 5 years old, it's assumed you're a good reader. If you're 18, it's assumed you're applying to top tier schools and the state university is only your "safety." If you're 60, it's assumed you've made it to the top of your game, you still work-out and you've got a healthy retirement waiting with which you can travel the world in your twilight years. If you're out of college, it's assumed you're on your career track and you know what that is. So here I am, 30, just now starting up what I want to be doing and I feel like I'm perceived as a dilly dallyer, when really all it was was schlepping to pay the bills and sampling till I found the dish I liked. (And some days I think I might still want to switch the dish.) It's hard to be human in a part of the country that assumes over-acheivement on everything and everyone. (see #3 above!)

Revision to #3: I'm happy that Babydog gets a thrill from herding. It makes me happy to see her happy, even when she's over-eager!

Semana de Caca

Last week was very cruddy. The only grandfather I've ever known back in the hospital again for the second time in a month: this time, seemingly worse. My director has placed me in the back of the bus for all intents and purposes with my troupe. A little detail I've been trying to get ironed for the last two weeks at work just won't iron out. And my boss doesn't really want to renew my contract when it ends if she doesn't have to. I'm trying to bear in mind that that's the life of a freelancer, but as I'm new to the business, it hurts. Plus I can't help but think it's some reflection on my performance. Add all that on top of us trying to purchase this house, which is stressful in and of itself, but emotionally crushing to realize we'll pretty much be owned by our house, not the other way around for a few years. The east coast realty market is so stiff it's like the friggin' cliffs of insanity!

The good news is we had some friends come into town for a visit this weekend, whom we hadn't seen in months. It was great to just hang out with them and their toddler. Of course, when they left, I got sad again.

I'm not looking forward to work tomorrow. Blech. Hopefully, things will turn around soon - be it my understanding or my situation or whatever. God, give me some patience and clarity!