Happy Birthday to my mother who birthed me cesarean.

Growing up, my mom wanted to become a nun. Then, when she emigrated to the States, she loved the Amish. She thought the women radiated natural beauty, sans foundation and blush. Thus led to my thinking that Witness was one of the greatest thrillers of the 80s.

After moving to Ohio when I was 8 years old, I had my first glimpse of the Amish. The horse and buggy, simple clothing, and quiet demeanor, I sometimes confused them with Target shopping Menonites. What I always noticed first was their cleanliness, glowing with innocence, happiness, and earnest attempt to be good in this often filthy world. I may not know everything about the Amish, but their simplicity spoke volumes of their culture. I felt this community was something rare and deserving of honor.

This latest tragedy of 11 young schoolgirls, who were first sifted through a classroom with boys and adults, and shot in the head by a tormented man has shaken me. But what has more moved me is the Amish response. They have requested privacy for funerals and have outreached to the surviving members of the murder’s family. Relying on faith, not vengeance, the Amish have reacted with the pain and confusion of their humanity, but have acted with the forgiveness and healing of their divinity. It’s beyond remarkable, beyond heartwrenching.

I’m sure that not every soul affected in the Amish community is as pure as the media has pegged. I’m sure that many struggled with unfathomable grief, fear, and outrage, but the bottom line of their lifestyle is that they live their lives for what they are. They do not try to make themselves more sophisticated or advanced. They don’t play the stupid games of showing off homes and cars; the latest technology and backseat entertainment has no place in their lives. The essential and natural course of life – family, faith, simplicity, and even unexplained tragedy – are embraced, lived, mourned, and forgiven.

Bush…err- all of us – take a seat and learn.

Anytime I post about Adonis, I am revisited by two fears. One: By exuberantly exploding over how f*cking amazing he is, I am basically smearing my lovefest into the faces of people who may turn away in disgust and/or loneliness. I don’t want to contribute to that. or Two: By blatantly baring my love for this man of a man, inadvertently, I may contribute to heterosexism.

Let’s get something straight here.

Adonis, when I fell in love with him, was on his way to the seminary to become a catholic diocesan priest. Can I say from experience – you have MINIMAL to NO control over who you truly fall in love with. Luckily for us all, he looked into my chocolate eyes, ran his hand over my brown skin and thought, “There shall be no fracas! Who am I to resist this feminist sprite?”

And so the rest is herstory.

And so, if you read this and think to your gay self, “Oh, another straighter.” Know that some of the closest friends and family in my life are gay and lesbian and I’m about as uncomfortable with that as I am with a hot pot of steaming jasmine rice with fresh garlic adobo. (translation: there is nothing BUT familiarity and love)

And so, if you read this are are ready to throw yourself off a balcony, thinking luv has kept and treated you amiss – get over yourself and enjoy. Life is far too delicious to spend it lamenting something you have no control over. And while we’re at it – some advice: STOP TRYING TO CONTROL.

Anyhoo, last night I was in the puddle of sadness and anxiety. One of those nights were you swear nothing is actually wrong, but nothing feels completely right either. I HATE IT. It’s this horribly nebulous cloud that leaves me feeling like a blob of indecision and restlessness.
Adonis puts on his astronaut shoes (aka size 13 white sneakers) and whisks me away to downtown, where, for whatever reason, the big skyscrapers, bright lights, and people walking around relax me. One taco (for me) and one m&m mcflurry (for him) later, we head back to our apartment and my anxiety is gone. He ends the night whispering in my ear, “I will always be there for you.”

My dreams last night were soft, fluid, and utterly forgettable. No yelling, no nightmares. No kicked off blankets or disappointments known. I woke up, peacefully, wishing the world had a life partner like mine.

Pink. Purple. Blue. Red.

Because living in the grey is what I actively and repeatedly choose, GREY is the color of the month and will be the color font for all October posts. Some say it’s Breast Cancer Awarness Month. Others say it’s Domestic Violence Awareness month. Some remember that October 18 is Love Your Body Day. My mother reminds me that October is not only her birthday month, but the month of the rosary.

I say, who cares? Seriously, is there ever a time when we shouldn’t be hypervigilant of cancer and other health problems plaguing our society, especially women of color who have limited access to healthcare and services? When should we NOT be stealing the blanket that covers the contributing factors of environment, farming, and food issues that contribute to the mystery of benign and malignant tumors?

What month should we NOT be turning our attention to domestic violence? When will we fully realize that we need not to look further than into the homes of own communities to see women being beaten, raped, and sacrificed at the hands of their domestic partners? When will we include precipitating factors that contribute to the oppression of women – harassment, stalking, emotional and verbal abuse, and daily relationship control?

And then there’s LYB Day. I’ve got a love/hate relationship with this – do we seriously need another day when we are more focused on our bodies? Of course I agree that we need to be more accepting…blah, blah, blah…But let’s get real here. It’s like the world’s going to hell in a handbasket and we’re wondering how asses and thighs will be able to fit in the casket. Here’s a novel thought: turn your critical eye to media and the psychology of consumerism rather than your belly. Accept, love yourself. AND THEN MOVE ON. Dammit…there’s so much more to this world than just yourself.

My mother would say to pray your way into salvation. If we’ve got so much to be “aware” of in October, I’d say that it’s fitting to find a way to cope and think of others. If it’s the rosary, rock on. I prefer to pray my own way. In the mornings, I wake up, write for about 15-20 minutes, warm myself into vinyasa yoga, and then face the exploding purple and orange bursts in the sky. I talk to the sunrise about what I hope for the world that day. And because I, and the world, need it, I close my eyes and send a blessing out into the world from my deck.

I pray it reaches my friends in their apartments, flats, and huts, to the women bloggers in Iraq, the street orphans in the Ukraine, and to the surviving family of the 2yr. old little boy who died from eating a smoothie mixed with baby Spinach.

Be aware. Focus on something else beside yourself this month.

Well-behaved women rarely make history. – Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

I love that.

A bumper sticker with these words is tacked on to my bulletin board at work. It keeps me going when complicated questions are asked and when the seeker isn’t willing to talk about living in the grey. If there’s one thing I wish for the world is a larger capacity to sit with the grey. Things are not black and white. Life is far from neat. Stop going for straight and accept the dashed, crooked, incomplete, and faded lines that we must live with.

This week, my goal was to be able to deal with not being liked. My words are misquoted, colleagues are miffed by my answers, and I refuse to form alliances simply based on gender. Equality must first begin as a wake-up call.

We’re still waking people up.

Do you ever wonder why Google is a billion dollar dream come true? Now, I say this with no malice – I love Google and all the innovative, wonderous ways it brings info to your fingertips. But, for every search you do on google, the clicked-on site gives .02 cents to Google. That’s a lot of money once you add up the searches, hence the billion dollars.
But, there is a new search engine called GOOD SEARCH http://goodsearch.com that keeps one penny and donates a penny to either the charity of the day or the charity of your choice. It’s awesome! And my class at Women Writing for a Change http://womenwriting.org is one of the charities because they are a non-profit organization. So be good and use GOOD SEARCH.

In other news, it sounds like our nation, according to today’s New York Times, is becoming increasingly doubtful of the incumbent Congress and our Fearless Leader, George W. I’m glad it only took six years for the nation to see that a hurried excuse for war, isolationism, and shitty education policies that are proven to NOT WORK are only leading us into further division as a nation and further into contempt by our neighbors.

Maybe we should use Good Search and type in: “A new president who understands the needs of educators better than the need for bombs; an individual who works for the benefit of those who cannot afford healthcare; a leader who is humble enough to admit mistakes and address a nation with strategy and hope instead of drilling “stay the course” speeches and one who confronts complicated problems with open ears instead of arms full of weapons.” I don’t think Good Search will find a link.

Come, Obama, McCain, Hillary in ’08. Anyone. I’m ready for change.

Look! I’m computer savvy. That, or I have been itching to update my bloggy for a while now and finally set aside a few bum-expanding hours to reconstruct a few things. As I move forward in writing – yes, choosing a pen name – and advancing the look of my bloggy, I hope you enjoy some of these novelties. I’m excited and am inspired – an irresistable combination.

If there’s one thing that gets me fired up, it’s cliches. I absolutely cannot stand them. It’s that simple. My sister and I just had our morning commute talk about annoying terms and phrases. The spine-tingling verbiage can be enough to drive a sane person crazy. I once sat and made a list of the most frequently heard cliches. I had quite a lengthy list:

“If I could just piggyback on that point and add my own…”

“It’s a herculean-sized effort, but I think we can pull it off…”

“It’s more of a pilot project, if you will, that we project to be done…”

“I’m saying this just to put it on your radar…”

“Well, I thought that was your stock and trade…”

“Here, we make sure we to cross our T’s and dot our I’s…”

“The shock value is astronaumical, really…”

“It’s the natural ebb and flow…”

“I’ll run my eyes over the document and tweak it a bit…”

“It was really her brainchild, so she should take the lead on it…”

“Oh! Those are my old stomping grounds…”

“His leadership skills really provided the backbone we needed…”

“Let’s put our heads together and see if we can come up with it…”

“We’ll talk about that offline…”

“It’s really a bending of the ear kind of thing…”

“What a challenge it is to format something so it looks like a different animal than our previous efforts…”

There’s just so darn many that I don’t think I can label this list as exhaustive, so there shall be a They Getcha Burnin’ Part II. Send me any others you’ve heard.

AGEISM.

The world loves numbers. The world loves measurements of all kinds. With numbers, you have a corresponding piece of knowledge, will helps people make decisions of who they are, what they’re worth, how to speak to them, what their life experiences have likely been.

Age is a wonderful example of people’s erroneous tendencies to treat people like shit.

Children are fools.
Teens are uncontrollable.
20-somethings are self-indulgent and unreliable in the workforce.
30s are the new 21s.
40s are just beginning, but still wishing they were in their 20s.
50s should know better.
60s and up are disregarded, especially by the government.

I once was asked to NOT sit in the emergency exit aisle on a place. Why? I asked.

“Well,” the flight attendant condescendingly looked me up and down, “you have to be at least fifteen.”
That was only five years ago. I was 22.

I’m a full time, salaried with insurance and dental at a university. Can I even tell you how many times my ideas have been tossed aside, only to be echoed at a later meeting with a response, “Brilliant! We should do that!” because it came from someone older than me?

Get to know people. Quit making assumptions.

So I am taking a writing class. So I am also taking a women’s studies class. The potential of what might come out in my writing is monstrous. Can you see the volcano erupting by Thanksgiving? It’s a definite possibility.

In this women-only (there are mixed gender classes available, too) course, there is a lot of emphasis on symbolism, ritual, practice, and respect. Everyone’s thoughts and words are read aloud and held in a circle of curiosity, humor, patience, and silence. It’s absolutely counter-culture.

I pride myself that this is not the first time I have been a part of circles like this. The whole Jesuit thing, JVC, XU, BC, Women’s Centers, the Sacred Feminine…if you know any of those terms or acronyms, you know this to be true: for survival, it is essential to your own livelihood to be heard and feel validated. Fragments, whole, pieces, shards. It matters not what size or in/completed-ness, what matters is that you write. You write the world away. You write about dogs, lists, magic, jealousy, injustice, art, Blockbuster lines, and gas prices. You write what you live. I live deeply, so I write deeply.

We had the option of giving our name, or giving a name we would like to be called. For whatever reason, I regretted saying my real name. I wanted to be called Flora. I wanted to be called Flower.

http://womenwriting.org