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Get off the Funk Train

December 1, 2012 by

UntitledThere are times when it feels the world is working against you, this year has been like that for me and I couldn’t put my finger on it. Each time I tried the reason, the cause for my angst slipped away. It wasn’t that I was particularly sad, depressed or angry; no, that wasn’t it at all. It wasn’t that this has been a terrible year, not a terrible one for me personally anyway. Something though sat in the corner, like a shadow just beyond my vision, sapping my strength, my energy and my emotional reserves.

There have been many changes this year, many things I have brought on myself. Explorations of my own history some of which was difficult, soul scrubbing even, these were not the cause of my bother. Then there has been the very ugly political season, I found myself in battle royale’s with friends and family, more times than I might wish. While the campaign season was nasty and brought out the ugly in many of us, myself included at times, this wasn’t what sucked me down into this muddle either.

So, what is it that has me in a funk? I feel sometimes I am swimming in a morass of quicksand with nothing to grab on, nothing to pull myself out

Truly, this year has been troubling to me; the more I sought answers the more my head and heart seemed to slip out the back door and away from my inspection. The greater my introspection and the more I searched for cause, the more the shadow seemed to grow, surrounding my days and sucking my energy along with it. On the one hand, I was releasing my history and I was lighter for it, my soul and heart were expanding and I could feel those pieces of me flying off to the winds. Was this what was wrong? Did I need those pieces to be whole, to be completely me was I really only me when I held on to the pain of my history; surly this wasn’t the truth. I hadn’t told everything, I still had my secrets those parts that I hadn’t let out that I hadn’t shown, was this what was wrong? No, I didn’t think so, some stories can wait I think until we are ready to tell them, one I had told to two people without comment so it was in their keeping for now.

This year was difficult, despite some of the great things and great people I found along the way. My energy was sapped, I couldn’t finish projects and I let people down. All too frequently, I ran away from interaction, from telling people there was something wrong. Even knowing there were communities of true friends I could turn to, I hid simply stopped communicating rather than say, “There is something wrong”.QuestionMark

What was wrong with me this year?

Part of what is wrong is simply physical, I am in pain and it is draining my energy. I have allowed this to continue without dealing with it head on. I am tired. That is the truth. It has been twenty long years; it is not ever going to get better. I am tired. I am tired of always hurting. I am tired of living in an alternate universe where pain is the norm and I live on a scale of 5-10 rather than 0-5. I am tired of having to explain.

I am tired of what pain does to my body. I am tired of being fat because moving hurts and keeps me away from doing anything healthy for myself. I am tired of being too embarrassed to go to the gym. I am tired of hurting too much to walk. I am tired of all the numb spots on my body that get worse if I stand too long or walk too far. I am tired of having to explain this to perfectly healthy, body perfect people my dearly beloved included who doesn’t understand what it means to not live in pain every single day of their lives.

I am angry, yes, I am angry because in October of last year someone rear-ended me while I sat at a stop light. That act caused me more harm; progress I had made with my physical therapy was entirely undone. I ended up losing a contract and thus losing income. The other person’s insurance company treated me terribly in large part because I had a pre-existing condition. This still hasn’t been resolved, an attorney who is a member at the club dearly beloved works offered to take the case on contingency. Yes, there is a contract and thirteen months later, we are still waiting for him to do anything. In fact, despite multiple times of him telling me he is preparing an offer for the insurance company he has done nothing. This week I have sent him two e-mails asking why, he hasn’t responded to either.

What is wrong with me this year?wellmoney

I lost a third of my normal income through that accident, because I couldn’t travel for months. I am the primary breadwinner in our marriage, always have been. No one seems to be at all concerned, but me perhaps because finances are my purview just as earnings are my responsibility. As I look at the year, though I realized I failed to live up to my end, but it feels like it is a domino effect. If I weren’t already hurt that accident would have been nothing, I would have walked away.

If it weren’t for fearing repercussions against dearly beloved I would take action against this attorney who is doing nothing. I do though; I fear greatly DB will be harmed if I take action so I am bound by ribbons of love and my own failure to act.

What is wrong with me this year? Why am I in such a funk? Why can’t I seem to move through the bad and focus on what is wonderful and what is great?

I don’t know the answer to the above. I just know I have been trying without much success to take on small projects for months now. It isn’t there haven’t been wins; they just don’t seem to be enough to push the blues out of my way to wash the fog from my brain entirely. I know I need something to compel me, something to spin my wheels.

Don’t misunderstand; I am not always sad or unhappy. I am just in a funk this year. There have been changes and some of them have worked my nerve. Some of them I have to deal with, I have to do something about so they don’t work my nerve next year too.

So, that is some of why I am in a funk, some of what is shadowing me. I don’t know what I will do to fix it, but somehow I must over the next four weeks get proactive. My funk is affecting my marriage, my work and my friendships. I refuse to allow it to follow me to next year.

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All that is Good

November 24, 2012 by

Gratitude

Appreciation

Thankfulness

I allowed my anniversary to pass without much fanfare, mostly because I wanted to sit back and consider all that had happened in the past year. Where I began and why, what caused me to start and what has changed for me, in large part since I began exploring pieces of myself I didn’t think to explore. This past year has truly been an exercise in redefining my limits and boundaries. I have wandered paths I long since allowed to be overgrown and choked off. I also rediscovered my love of research, history and yes you might have guessed the sociology within politics.

There were things I knew, things I intellectualized but had never spoken aloud. There were other things I knew, a history buried so deep in my soul despite my tough girl exterior I still allowed those hurts to define me. In these pages I began to speak the words, some of them made me weep for days. Some of them made me so angry all over again I could not speak aloud for hours after writing them down. Yet I hit the publish button and it was as if each time I released a piece of myself, comforting myself there was another door in the oubliette of my mind no longer hidden, no longer under lock and key.

When I started I didn’t know I would delve deeply into my history. Even today I don’t know that I could tell you why I did, except it was time. I was made brave by others I met in this wonderful world, others who were not afraid, who stunned me with their courage and their kindness, such as:

http://runningfromhellwithel.com/ http://deborah-bryan.com/
http://onehotmessage.wordpress.com/ http://rasjacobson.com/
http://knowmyworth.com/ http://cheatbuster.wordpress.com/
http://linneann.wordpress.com/ http://rebelthriver.wordpress.com/
http://runningnakedwithscissors.com/

Then there are those perfect places of rest and peace. I find them and think, ahhh I am home for a minute and can breathe. When I see there is something from one of these wonderful bloggers I smile just a little then rush right over to read.

http://tasteoflifebysabi.wordpress.com/ http://dragoneystory.wordpress.com/
http://yourdailydoseblog.com/ http://notquiteold.wordpress.com/
http://letscutthecrap.wordpress.com/ http://adamsart.wordpress.com/
http://somkritya.wordpress.com/ http://suedreamwalker.wordpress.com/
http://totsymae.com/ http://catforsley.me/

We all have places to laugh, giggle, argue and debate. In some cases a mix of personal stories, political shenanigans and the world around us is just what is needed to keep us connected. Certainly, despite what it may seem like to some, even I need that cool wind to blow and make me giggle, some of these marvelous bloggers do just that!

http://carrierubin.com/ http://afrankangle.wordpress.com/
http://k8edid.wordpress.com/ http://sweetmotherlover.wordpress.com/
http://pegoleg.com/ http://fiftyfourandahalf.com/
http://howthehelldidienduphere.wordpress.com/ http://monicastangledweb.com/
http://thebyronicman.com/ http://shesamaineiac.com/
http://frigginloon.wordpress.com/ http://heyjay139.wordpress.com/
http://romneymanassa.wordpress.com/ http://chiefwritingwolf.com/

There is one other blogger who I have to send out enormous hugs and great heaping mounds of gratitude to, without her I might not have continued forward. Without her I would have given up, frequently. She has been my bulwark, my voice on the other end of the phone and I am afraid I have burned her ear sometimes with my rants.

Red over at http://mommasmoneymatters.com/

I wanted to say to all the bloggers who follow me, I am so grateful. For the time you take to read and comment, I appreciate it is your time and you give some of it to me. To all the bloggers who have given their time and energy, who have taught me to let go and soar, thank you; I will never be able to express what it has meant to me to learn, your lessons have been invaluable. To all my new friends, I am so grateful for your warmth, humor and welcome.

This past year has seen me let go of some very old hurts. No, it hasn’t truly healed them, simply allowed me to let them go. This year has also allowed me to find new pathways to old and slightly damaged relationships, without the lessons I have learned here and from some of you I might never have found the strength and courage to reach out and rebuild those bridges, for this I am grateful. Over this past year I have also learned, much to my chagrin I need to apologize more often for my razor sharp tongue, ouch. I have been reminded to say “I love you” and to hug, even if the hug is remotely.

Perhaps most importantly I have learned not to ignore my feelings. Not to find another room in the dungeon of my mind and throw those pesky emotions inside under lock and key. I have learned my emotions will not slice and dice me leaving nothing remaining of who I thought I was, or pretended to be. I have begun to be a complete person again, while I still don’t wear my heart on my sleeve I might consider a tattoo of one someday.

I let my anniversary pass, mostly because I wanted to think about the past year and what it has meant to me. What changes this year has brought about. I have been in a funk this year and couldn’t put my hand on why, finally last week I figured it out (more on this later). This post is all about gratitude, I have much to be thankful for; while I may never be enpoint again my soul has begun to soar.

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Our Body Our Self id

October 6, 2012 by

I have been thinking lately about how I see myself and it causes me some angst, this has been on my mind a weight on my heart even. I know, it shouldn’t I am a tough old broad, generally not given to inner flights of fancy or brooding about what cannot be changed. My fifty-fifth birthday has come and gone now, I am past middle age and heading towards, well something else entirely.

Why am I noodling this? What am I really talking about; I am talking about Me, Myself, I, Id, Ego; all the things that make me ME. More importantly, I am talking about what I see in the mirror of my mind versus how others judge me when they see me on the street or meet me for the first time. Perhaps even more hurtful it is how those close to me offer up their helpful suggestions and thoughts on my ‘health’ and appearance.

I wonder does it never cross their minds to ask, “How do you feel today?”

Can it be that even those closest to me have decided I made a personal choice and it was to be fat? Do the people who claim they love me honestly think (this is a stretch, the thinking part) this is the look I chose? That I enjoy being laughed at on the street, dismissed as lazy and worse stupid. Do those who profess their care for me truly believe I don’t see myself, know my ass enters the room approximately thirty-two seconds after my boobs? Do they think this doesn’t bother me?

Of course it does you bunch of insensitive social incompetents!

There was a time in my life I wanted to be a Ballerina, I wanted to float across the floor in beautiful flowing costumes en pointe’ making art with my body. Then my body betrayed me, my ballet teacher smacked my breasts emerging like angry beehives from my chest and explained in her thick Russian accent, “No prima ballerina has breasts like a peasant!”

Ten years of grinding practice only to be told my peasant breasts were not the stuff of ballerinas. Nevertheless, I continued to dance, because I loved it. I also took gymnastics, rode horses, skied, ran, played soccer and did many other things all because I loved them. After all, with prima ballerina off the table everything else was on! There were times I brutalized my body, it didn’t matter I just kept going. I tore my knees up; I would walk again long before they healed properly.

I learned many forms of dance from ballet to belly; dance was my favorite form of expression and art. Dance was my heart.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

100 pounds.

That is how much I gained in the first two years after I was shot. Sometimes I lose some of it. Then I have another setback, another surgery or another round of partial paralysis. The reality is I don’t think I will ever lose it, not ever. Before I was shot I had already gained weight, I was in a miserable marriage and I was unhappy, I wasn’t fat but I was no longer thin and perfect either.

I wonder I look at those words and I wonder no longer thin and perfect. What does that mean, perfect in what respect and perfect according to what measurement. Who or what am I measuring myself against?

Now at fifty-five I use wonderful words to describe myself, words like Zaftig, which is one of my favorites. I laugh along with others at the shallowness of a society that would dare to judge me on my dress size without taking the time to value my intellect, my capabilities or my accomplishments. The reality is their judgment hurts. My own judgment hurts truthfully I am diminished by both.

Don’t you want to lose weight?

I am asked this question quite frequently. The answer is always the same, of course I do you nitwits. I also want to live without pain, wake up every morning leap out of bed without any numb spots anywhere on my body. Given a choice, I will take pain free over thin any day of the week. I won’t achieve that one in my lifetime either.

Would I like to lose weight?

Certainly, I would love to lose weight. I would love to shop in stores that didn’t specialize for ‘fat girls’. I would love to go to the gym and not feel ashamed; in fact, I would love to not be afraid to go to the gym.

I would like to go to the gym and take a yoga class where not everyone looked like they just stepped off the pages of Cosmopolitan. Why isn’t there ever a beginner’s class for fat people?

I would like to go to the gym and not feel like an alien, not be stared at as if I belonged somewhere else, anywhere else but there.

I would like for people to see me and not judge me. I would like to look in the mirror and not judge myself.

Why in the hell do gyms have so many damned mirrors anyway?

Kirstie Alley before and after at least she still looks like a woman

I would like to not be asked by those who profess to love me why I don’t lose weight. I would love, just once for someone, anyone who loves me to ask me how I feel today.

I have read so many great blogs recently on the subject of our bodies and social judgment; one stands out in part because as a woman it hit home I hope you will go read Sweet Mother http://sweetmotherlover.wordpress.com/2012/10/03/dear-fat-dudes/

I previously wrote this, a lighter look at the subject. https://valentinelogar.com/category/personal-notes/

The truth  is, this might just be my reality. I can eat the best I can. I can walk on the days I am not hurting so badly it is all I can do to crawl out of bed. I can try to overcome my fear of the gym, but I suspect that one is harder than anyone can imagine. My truth is, I live within the body I have and it doesn’t love me. I don’t fit the world and I don’t have the fight left to force the issue. We are so shallow we are willing to diminish anyone that doesn’t fit our narrow vision of beauty forgetting there is a whole person inside the body we judge not good enough. So today I will cheer for those women like Jennifer Livingston who was brave enough to address the man who berated her for her ‘choice’ to be obese. I wish more of us were willing to stand up to those who are so socially inept, cruel and frankly stupid.

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Failure with To-Do Lists

July 31, 2012 by

All too often I will wake in the morning with great plans and expectations for the day, ‘to-do’ lists in my head which after pouring my first 20 oz. cup of coffee I will rush upstairs to my office to transcribe. I will sometimes do this, grab coffee and take the stairs two at a time before I even complete my morning absolutions because I have a very short memory in the morning and my ‘to-do’ list will have come to me in that in-between state of sleep and wake.

  1. Clean & Sort the Closets

  2. Organize Office

  3. Sort Bookshelves

  4. Sort Music Cabinets

  5. Sort Clothes & Shoes

  6. Clean / Sort Garage

  7. Clean / Sort Kitchen Cabinets

  8. Clean / Sort Pantry

  9. Clean Refrigerator

  10. Clean Oven

Cowgirls have To-Do Lists

That is my list right now, does it look short, easy, simplistic maybe. I wish it were. It might be actually except for one little, tiny thing. I simply have no real enthusiasm for most of the items on that list. Oh, I know they all need to be done; in fact some of them are horribly overdue, some of them I have even started, which makes my world even worse than it was before I started.

There is more to the list above but this is the gist of it. Last year we did a significant update to our ground floor, I love the finished product but hated getting there. The upstairs feels woefully neglected and outdated now, it isn’t well loved, especially by me. I have always, my entire adult life despised carpet and need desperately to rip all carpet from my homes. This  house has lasted the longest with carpet on the floors, not much longer though I am coming to the end of my patience. It is my feeling if I am going to replace the floors I should get the big stuff done all at once, so I can feel at home in my home. Before I can start any remodel though I have to rid myself of mess.

Why can’t I seem to get the get up and move it, the inspiration, the just do it, the whatever it is that gets any of us to do what it is that we do when we finally get up off our butts? My answer is I don’t know, I start a project such as pulling everything out of my office closet that contains years’ worth of electronics, software, books, files and other things I haven’t yet identified and begin to sort these into boxes marked:

Sorting for Good or ill

 

Last Week

During a frenzy, a fit of enthusiasm I decided I could no longer stand to work every day in an office that did not reflect my personality or live up to my standards. That was it, I was done. Even if there was still carpet on the floors, mini-blinds on the windows and popcorn on the ceilings I was still going to at least begin the de-cluttering and scrubbing of my office. Once this was done, I knew I would be all revved up and ready for the next closet, the next bookshelf, the next task on my to-do list.

Disaster Strikes

I am certain you are thinking to yourself, how bad can it be? Really, how could this marvelous erudite, funny and lovely woman be a hoarder or a mess, who would have thunk it, behold my office closet.

Views of Closet Hell

As much as I would like you to think this is the disaster, it isn’t. I took it so I could be proud of myself when I completed the de-clutter project, the worst of the closet organization tasks. The disaster, I have dragged much of this out of the closet, some has even hit the sorted boxes. Woe is me though, some is in piles in my office and all the way out to the hall; the job is half done (this may be an exaggeration).

I live in Texas, land of 105 degrees. Land of central air. Land where even children know heat rises.

Last week my second story air conditioning died. Coughed once and died. Every single ceiling fan in my house is twirling at full speed. My first floor air is set to 65 to help, my bedroom feels like an igloo; but the upstairs, where my office is located feels like a sauna from 11am to 11pm every day. The compressor for my air conditioner is on back order, if we are fortunate it will arrive Thursday and will be installed this coming Friday.

Will having a cool breeze blowing across my neck re-energize me? I sure hope so. For now all I can say…

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Just a Thank You

May 31, 2012 by

 

Others often inspire me in the blogosphere, sometimes by what they say and sometimes by what they don’t say; that is what they leave unsaid after they have unfolded something of beauty or delicacy for us to draw in. My jealousy takes flight, oh I admit it I am envious of many. The green monster creeps up my spine and shakes me, back and forth until my eyes rattle in their sockets and my brain feels loosened. Then my sanity returns and I am simply grateful.

Why you ask and you should.

Some of those I follow have a delicacy of touch that I am forced to simply sit still and inhale slowly. I am regularly dumbfounded by their ability to communicate ideas or thoughts and still preserve dignity, their own or others. In their presence, reading their words I feel as if I write with a sledgehammer and two left thumbs.

I take slow breaths now and then, disappear for days on end to regroup and pull myself back from the edge. When I started this blog, I had intended something entirely different, something light, something carefree that trips across life and settles on lily pads, skips stones across ponds and chases rainbows. I had intended to learn to laugh at life, stick my tongue out at the silliness I find daily; sometimes I succeed at that I think though with a heavier hand than I plan. When I started out I did not intend to expose my secret self, my history or my skeletons; suddenly though they came dancing out, waltzing their way to my keyboard and demanding my attention; they are not done with me and thus I am not done with them.

I inhale and find my muses, heroes, dragon slayers and those that simply bring smiles to my face. Their stories, their poems and most importantly the generosity of their sharing brings me back to myself. Reminds me how gratified I am there are people in this world who share their gifts in such public forums and who have shared them with me.

In the blogosphere, we often send awards to others. We have to do awkward things once we receive these awards. I wanted to do something different, simply identify a few outstanding Blogs that recently have uplifted me, made me smile or stunned with their delicacy of touch. I hope, if you get a minute, you will take the time to read if you aren’t already.

RunningFromHellwithEl

Somkritya, Poetry, Prose and Lambretta

Debbie Adams

Dreamwalker Sanctuary

My Story to You

Monster in your Closet

My all the time, never fail inspiration and muse, sister of my heart:

Momma Money Matters, hosted by Red

I read so many blogs (though lately I have been slow). There isn’t one that I read that I don’t enjoy (I wouldn’t visit, comment and come back otherwise). Recently though I have found myself in a peculiar place in my life and in my blogging and have found inspiration and hope from these wonderful blogs. I wanted to share them with my blogging friends, in case you all find you could use a lift as well.

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Zaftig in a Mirror

May 10, 2012 by
Fears & Tears

My 2 Fears

I have been holding this in, trying hard not to spew venom over my sisters on the fat side of the scale. Yes, I said it…..FAT. Let’s all be honest, for just a brief moment, we are out here in the world, our scales register above thin and perfect, our BMI well it is imperfect also. We shop where we can, if it isn’t in stores designed specifically for us where all sizes start at 14 and head up from there it is in designated parts of the store, usually tucked away where others can’t see the fat girls shop. Some stores, such as Neiman Marcus, don’t sell plus sizes in their stores, not even in the Outlets but they will take our money on-line; I guess they don’t want their more rotund clients wandering the aisles and scaring other customers with their succulence.

24 Hours

My 24 Hourglass

Now that is out of the way, I am Zaftig (I love that word, don’t you). Have been for years and have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t going to change perceptively without surgical intervention which I am not at this time considering. If my doctor says I must consider intervention for my health, I would do so but he has not and thus I accept my hourglass figure being more a 24 hour than a single hour. The popularity of my abundant assets went out of style more than a century ago, along with corsets and bustles. It isn’t, mind you that I am in love with the view in my mirror, I have simply made peace with the idea there are battles I am not going to win, one of them is the one with my waistline. Frankly, my ego could not withstand the struggle along with all the other things I regularly fail at accomplishing.

After Surgery and One Year Maybe

One Year After Surgery Computer Generated

I know that I am Zaftig, Well-Padded, Succulent, or hell just plain fat, I am betting if you are you know you are too. With this knowledge in mind and knowing you are out there why oh why, pray tell me this do you insist on dressing in clothing that was never intended to contain your more ample curves? Why, please help me understand when there are plenty of wonderful options in your size do you insist your size is still in single digits or worse comes with JR in from of the single digit. Help me understand; is it self-delusion on your part? Do you believe the labels on those packages that say you will shrink two dress sizes by wearing those magic Lycra All-In-One

We all want to see this in the mirror. The perfect hourglass.

panties that tuck you in from stem to stern; you didn’t check your mirror before you left the house did you? Or, do you simply have a magic mirror, one of those fun house mirrors that distorts reality and lies to you all at once. If you have one of these, may I borrow it please, my ego could use a boost.

I am not trying to be a hater; really, I don’t want to take a rubber mallet to your fragile ego. I know how hard it is to find clothes that fit and make you feel good. It is possible though to find clothing that fits and doesn’t make you appear as if you are wearing either a potato sack or a sausage casing, these are not the only two options. I will be honest with you my rotund sisters, when I see you in the mall; I feel your pain, until I notice what you have chosen to wear in public. I know how hard it is to find clothing that makes you feel beautiful and feminine. But, really, does a dress two sizes too small and so short you are unable to bend over for fear of showing every bit of your so not sexy underwear; is this really making you feel desirable? Do you honestly believe what is exquisite on an infant; you know those adorable and kissable little

www.flickriver.com

Fat Baby Thighs are kissable

rolls of fat around their thighs is also attractive on a grown woman? You could not be more wrong, I promise you those rolls of fat on your thighs is anything but attractive especially framed by a mini-dress and high-heels, it is this sight that makes me want to shake you till your teeth rattle and you cellulite realigns.

Believe me when I tell you us succulent, bigger girls are still beautiful and still have wonderful gifts to offer the world. We are not defined by society that tries to shame us into boxes with labels that are hurtful and ugly. This doesn’t mean though that we should simply ignore all decorum, throw all good taste to the wind and not use good sense and our mirrors. We should at all times, celebrate who we are, just as we are right now. But ladies, mirrors please.

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Hope in Peaches

April 30, 2012 by

I have Peaches! Alright, they aren’t big juices, luscious and fuzzy skinned Peaches, but they are peaches nonetheless. They are growing on a little twig of a tree in my front yard planted just a year ago. The poor thing still has braces, but it has enthusiastically reached out and produced seven lovely little Peaches.

Now I know most people wouldn’t be impressed by this small, okay possibly minuscule crop. Nevertheless, I am in awe. First, I have a black thumb, usually killing all things green. The first three trees that were planted in my front yard died within months of their arrival. Next, this little tree really isn’t a ‘tree’ yet, more a stem with delusions of future grandeur as a tree.

But still, I have Peaches! It is spring the days are lovely and growing hotter and longer. Spring always makes me happy, that short prelude just before the furnace blast of summer in Texas.

I was outside picking up after the bad azzed neighborhood kids today; they seem content to leave their trash in my yard. So there I was wandering the front yard garbage bag in hand, looked up at my stick with leaves, there they were my Peaches!

Sometimes it is the smallest things that make you smile.

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I Am What I Am

April 30, 2012 by

All week I struggled with an idea that wouldn’t come. Honestly, the world has been on my last good nerve lately; caused my creativity to take a sharp turn towards a dark corner and remain there. For the past week, perhaps two, I have felt as if the inspiration muse has beaten me severely about the head and shoulders and then sent me to the timeout corner without my breakfast, lunch or dinner. It isn’t for lack of thoughts or ideas, no this isn’t the problem it is more than this, indeed it is something else altogether.

Lately I have been struggling with the world. I do this sometimes; the realm of politics, justice and social behaviors weighs on me, yet it is also safe to say I am a bit of a junkie when it comes to politics and world news. Though when I started this blog I swore (yes, I really did), I would not delve into the world beyond my front door, leaving these all too often controversial subjects for another site I write on. Here on QBG I would try to make friends, keep it light and join the blogosphere on a less divisive note; hiding my more contentious side under the table and behind the linen cloth.

Do we all simply have a natural bent to us? I suspect this is the truth of it. I hope I am not naturally scandalous and argumentative (though by many accounts this is my nature). I know I am by nature curious and have a deep well of compassion; maybe this is what draws me to certain issues repeatedly. I have always questioned the status quo; it drove my parents crazy and made my teachers want to set me on fire at times (they settled for sending me out to the hallway and later for suspending me).

Recently I have fought with what to say and when. This is another part of my nature I struggle with, that is my natural leaning toward privacy especially about my past. Though I want to amuse and make light of some of lifes moments and our human foibles, I would also like to be able to use my history to teach. This is hard, my history isn’t always easy to reveal, I have kept it so tightly held for decades. Part of my reasoning was there were many who would be hurt by my revelations; I wasn’t willing to do harm even where that harm was justly deserved. Now, well now I have the difficult time of unlocking the doors and breaking the walls built over so many years that have preserved my privacy and my sanity.

So, my silence has been me sitting in my timeout corner contemplating my navel, though not entirely in silence. What I struggled with writing all week finally was completed, instead of making it to QBG I decided it belonged with my other very political writing; it is titled Propaganda and the American Psyche.

I also worked through my thinking about revelations, how they affect us individually and interpersonally. Sometimes they hurt a great deal; other times well they just make things a little bit better. I suspect I am not going to change the world, maybe not even myself a great deal anymore, what I leave this entry with is the idea that “I am what I am”.

I will bet you thought this began with Popeye, didn’t you? In fact, this really started with the great Gilbert & Sullivan operetta The Pirates of Penzance and the song I am a Pirate King. So I am leaving you with my favorite Pirate King, Kevin Kline.

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Cover your Head Woman

April 4, 2012 by

1 Corinthians 11:4-6

4Every man praying or prophesying and with anything down over his head dishonors his head, 5But every woman praying or prophesying with head uncovered dishonors her head – it is the same as if her head were shaven. 6 For if a woman will not be covered, then let her be shorn! But since it is disgraceful for a woman to be shorn or shaven, let her be covered.

Michael Marlow, Research and Interpretation with both Greek and Latin

I love the depictions of veiled women, also the Quaker and Amish women in their traditional caps; I have always loved watching the Sunday-Go-To-Meeting Church Ladies in their fanciful hats, each brilliant by design. We have forgotten why we covered our heads for church; it wasn’t just to make a statement, to enhance our outfits, to be stylish in our brilliant plumage. Indeed no, we women were commanded to cover our heads when we pray. In fact, for centuries Christian woman, like their Muslim and Jewish sisters veiled, that is covered their heads upon marriage to signify their subservience to their husband and through him to God.

Thanks to Brittanica.com
Stellar example of a Wimple

The standard covering was a Wimple up to the fifteen century, which similar to the modern Hijab worn by Muslim women covered the head and neck. The Wimple was worn by married women of all social classes; it was replaced by materials that were more lightweight and less constrictive designs. If you look at art through the ages, the depictions of women both high and low born rarely will you see a woman that is not without a head covering, some utilitarian some fanciful but always present. Scarfs, veils and later wimples were worn by Jewish, Muslim and Christian women through the sixteenth century, because this was the religious standard, the commandment of God, the social custom. Later Christian women would adopt snoods, still later of course for many the customs would become more lax and only the most conservative would retain the custom of veiling.

Why is this important?

Since September 11, 2001, we in the West taken on another enemy, Islam. We have identified the enemy in the shrouds of their devotion to Allah, the outward indicators of their religious belief. We have demanded they unveil in our presence, in our nation and their own; the unveiling we claim is a sign of their freedom, though what it truly does, it alleviates our fear of ‘other’.

Courtesy News.BBC.Cook.com

If only we could free the women of the veil, they would be more like us. Free them from their religious and cultural bondage; they would no longer be ‘other’. But wait, are they really? Really, ‘other’ that is, Mennonites, Amish and many other more traditional Anabaptist denominations still require women to cover their heads during worship services and their everyday lives. Other less strict Protestant denominations have no official stance; nevertheless, many women still choose to wear hats when attending church.

This takes us to the Catholic Church, where it all started for the Christians; Paul was quite clear in his letter to the Corinthians, either cover your head or shave your head to be shamed. How much more clearly can the rules be stated? He wasn’t making this up as he went along either, he was simply repeating what was handed down from previous laws, taken directly from the his understanding of the Torah (two examples: Genesis 20:16 and Genesis 24:65). Cannon Law, Vatican I of 1917, Cannon 1262 stated clearly that women must cover their head any time they are in the presence of the Holy Sacrament; this means in church, when making sick calls and most especially when approaching the alter. Vatican II did not overturn or in any way abrogate this rule, in fact Cannons 20 and 21, of 1983 specifically state no Cannon that is not specifically mentioned should be presumed to be changed.

What does this mean?

Courtesy Catholic News
Chaldean Catholic Women heading to mass

It means, Catholic women are still required by Cannon Law (that is the rules of the Church) to cover their heads! Why is this important? It means we are not so different. The fact is we are started from the same place, we execute differently. Our cultures have taken different paths, thus our societies have as well. We spend a great deal of time staring at our Muslim sisters, worried they are downtrodden and abused simply by the fact they wrap their hair in the Hajib each morning as a sign of faith in Allah (God) and to signify their respect for themselves and their families. Has anyone bothered to ask them if they want to be free?

Don’t misunderstand me; I have great compassion for the women currently in nations guilty of true abuses. I am not discussing those nations or those abuses. I am simply addressing women and men in the west who look askance at those who are ‘other’, because they are Muslim, because they are easily identified as such by their choice to veil. Perhaps we could see how they are not so different from us, how our history parallels in many ways, we could eliminate some of the fear, some of the ‘otherness’. Maybe, just maybe we can start to extend our hand in friendship instead, begin to heal the wounds created by ‘other’.

Filed Under: Random Thoughts, Society Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Dust Up

February 20, 2012 by

I am having serious problems with my house; it is scaring me, causing me sleepless nights even. Really, I am having terrible problems with my house. It keeps getting dirty without any overt action on my part. I have evil nasty gremlins who take pleasure in my slow descent into insanity. I am certain of this; positive in fact there are malevolent Dust Bunny wranglers living in the vents of my house.

First let me say I am a bit retentive, anally retentive that is, about my environment. I need my house to be clean, things put back where they belong, where I put them originally. I do not like disorder in my environment; it makes me a bit demented truthfully. Okay, enough about me and back to my obvious problem with the evil Dust Bunny wranglers and my dirty house.

   It is clear to me this is what comes out at   night to ruin my morning.

Sure, it might be the dog or for that matter the cats. It might even be my intense dislike of laundry; really I do have a deep fear of dirty clothing, it goes along with my abiding hatred of ironing anything. It could be that as I age my standards have relaxed, I am not as retentive as I once was not so controlling. I don’t think this is it though, in fact I know this is not the case based on my reaction each morning when I find myself surrounded by cobwebs, muddy paw prints and those daunting dust bunnies.

I have studied the problem in depth, sitting in my living room watching my cats chase the self-animated dust bunnies across the floor. Truthfully, I am mesmerized by the paw prints across my floor, often thinking to myself, “I should have more closely matched the colors so they don’t make me so crazed.” I have considered never eating from the beautiful dinnerware or using the ‘good’ stainless utensils again, thus avoiding kitchen clean up.

There are a number of other ideas that cross my mind with regularity in my quest to stop the madness of my house running contrary to my desire for order and cleanliness, unfortunately when I have suggested them to my husband this is the look he gives me.

Is he wrong? Is there a possibility I am simply being overly nitpicky? The answer is yes I am without doubt being a bit overly sensitive to my surroundings and the gremlins that are destroying my sanity. I accept even that I am making my husband a bit crazed now and then. I can’t help myself; despite this; I am unable to stop my neurosis.

I sought exterminators for the Gremlin Wranglers, did you know I am the only one with this problem. No one has the solution to these insidious and nasty little beasts.

So what to do?

I have considered giving up hobbies, I could stop my forays into social media and the occasional debates on church and state I enter into, but if I were to do this where would I release my aggravations? If I did this only my husband would suffer, he would be my only remaining target.

I could abjure all forms of writing and the research I do for some of my writing projects. This would solve another problem, the dust bunnies would have one less place to hide, the Gremlin Wranglers one less frontier to conquer (my bookshelves). Were I to take this option my mind would atrophy, I am nearly certain of this, many of my friends wouldn’t like me any longer (maybe this isn’t true) and I would no longer be the woman my husband married (he may see this as a blessing, I will have to ask).

Finally, I could stop working outside of the home, give up my career, stop earning a paycheck and devote all my time to household duties and tasks. Palm meet face…this would not serve the purpose intended, for more reasons than I can count ($$$$$).

This leads me to only one conclusion I need help. I need a housekeeper, someone who can confront the Dust Bunnies, dog tracks, laundry and my neurosis with a small smile and a shake of her head.

Bradyworld Image

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