What Caitlyn Does With Bruce's Penis is None of My Business

I wasn't going to write about Caitlyn Jenner.  In fact, after I read this piece of perfection, I really wasn't going to write anything; because, damn.  She nailed it.  The fact that it came from a Christian woman is what sealed it for me.  

Actually, let's back up.  I almost stopped reading that post when the author at "Motherhood...Unscripted" mentions the she is a Christian woman.  I guess that statement reveals my own prejudices fairly well, doesn't it?  I never said I was perfect.  I am working on it.  Being open to some one's words is a baby step in the right direction, I think.

My biases (that I SWEAR, I am working on!) are the subject of another post (or three) another day.

Okay, so the internet practically exploded when Caitlyn Jenner revealed her new, gorgeous self in Vanity Fair.

The haters came out almost immediately with the pictures.  I won't give them credit by posting any examples, but .5 seconds of Googling will get you many.  On one hand, I get it.  I don't condone it, but I get it.  It can be frightening when people don't follow the "norm".  It makes us question reality and our own place in the world and that is really, really scary.  It's much easier to see the world in black and white and wrong versus right, than to see the infinite shades of gray.  It takes a whole lot of thinking and who has time for that?  (Sarcasm...sorry.)

Seriously, though.  Wouldn't things be much easier (for you) if people just stayed who you thought they were?  And that is precisely my point.  What YOU think about someone else might have very little or nothing at all to do with who they really are. As parents, our kids grow out of the roles we assign them.  They get tattoos and girlfriends that you won't necessarily like.  They get to decide how to live their own lives...as scary as it seems.  We did it, with varying degrees of success, and they will too.

How we react, however, is all on us.  I think it is healthy to ask why, because only in questioning can we get to understanding, or at least, some level of acceptance.  In this case, I think the first, and only question we need to ask is:  How does Caitlyn Jenner's life affect me?  I can only answer for myself.  My answer is:  Mostly, it does not.  I say mostly because she has said that she is a Republican; and Republicans with money can and DO affect my life.  

(again, this is a post for another day)

The only other way Caitlyn affects me, is that her spread in Vanity Fair gives me one more unattainable model of beauty to reach for.  It is slightly disheartening that a sixty-something, former man, can look that freaking great in a corset.  I mean, those legs!  Those breasts!  Those collarbones!  Sigh...  Then again, if I could be made up and dressed by professionals, then photographed in soft lighting by Annie Liebovitz, I would probably look pretty hot, too.  It would definitely be better than yelling at my kids or husband to stop shooting me from under my chin while trying to hide behind my tallest child.

Caitlyn, in the end, is just a human being.  She has asked to be called "she" and I respect that.  It is her body, after all.  She still has a penis.  As confusing as that may be, in the end, who cares?  She has had that penis all her life.  I can imagine she is pretty attached to it (no pun intended...really).  That penis ran across the finish line along with the rest of (eventually to be) her and collected a gold medal in the decathlon in the 1976 Summer Olympics.  Maybe it is this that has people so bothered.  How can Caitlyn be Bruce and vice-versa?  I honestly don't have the answers to that.  Caitlyn herself said in the Vanity Fair article that she still screws up her name.  So, it's okay if we are confused, too.  

It's just not okay to be mean, or belittle those who feel as she does, or others' who don't quite fit into the neat little boxes that we wish they would.  I repeat:  It is NOT okay.  If your reaction to Caitlyn is one of anger or hatred, I suggest that you take a good look at yourself and ask why?

Meet the Neighbors

Today is the twentieth anniversary of the Northridge earthquake.  How twenty years have gone by is just crazy to me, but, somehow they have.

I was living in Hermosa Beach, California at the time, but spending most nights at my boyfriend (now, husband)'s house in L.A..  The night before the quake, we stayed up late, knowing we had the next day off.  We noticed the cat was acting funny, but didn't think much of it.  I mean, sometimes, cats do weird things.  Poor Poo Poo Meow was trying to warn us, but we just kept laughing at him as he tried to hide under things that were way too small for him.  

We got to bed at around 1:30 or so and were woken up by a jolt that turned into heavy shaking somewhere around 4:30.  I'm not sure at what point I realized it was an earthquake, but it definitely did not register immediately.  All I knew was that it felt like the world was ending.  I could see lights flashing through my closed eyelids (transformers) and I could hear screaming.  I realized hours later, since my throat was so sore I could barely speak, that the screaming had been coming from me.  

After what seemed like hours, but was less than a minute, everything stopped.  I could barely breathe because Danny had thrown himself on top of me when it started.  Once he let go, he immediately jumped up and went into Marine mode.  He searched for his flashlight (buried) and tried to get out the (stuck) door, slipping on cracked and fallen cd cases as he went.  In my terrified state, I wasn't about to let him leave my side, so I followed him, slipping and crashing behind.  

It took a few minutes of adrenaline based shoving to get the door open and when we tumbled into the hall, we began shouting for our roommates.  Everyone looked ghostly pale in the faint light.  

Once we realized everyone was okay, we headed outside to assess the damage and get away from the wreckage in the house.  We all kind of assembled on the front lawn, none of us wanting to move too far from the others.  We kind of stood there for a little while, talking about what had happened, wondering how many aftershocks there would be (many) and wondering how trashed the house was (kinda, but livable).  

At some point, I realized I was cold.  When I looked down at what I was wearing, it turned out to be Danny's flannel shirt, unbuttoned and inside out and a pair of underwear.  I remember thinking, huh, I should probably put some clothes on...maybe some shoes, too.  It was January after all, and even in L.A., these were not weather appropriate.  No matter that I was half naked, outside on the front lawn.  We all were.  The fact that no one cared or really even noticed was just proof of how scared we all were.

I did eventually fix the shirt and get some shorts.  I might have put on shoes, but, I'm not sure.

The first coherent phrase that escaped my lips, maybe ten minutes after it all happened was "It figures that we have an earthquake on our day off!  How many Mondays do we get off?!?!".  I wasn't even trying to be funny.  I was actually pissed.

After getting over the initial shock, we started to take in our surroundings.  The next door neighbors were huddled on their front lawn, as well.  All of a sudden, we hear our roommate say to one of them:  "Hey!  Weren't you in "Tales From the Crypt"?", as if he just walked into a party and was making small talk.  The guy kind of looked at us blankly for a few seconds and then said "uh, yeah".  We found out later that he had just moved to L.A. from New York the week before.  What a welcome!  He turned out to be a nice guy and a good friend and he's now semi-famous.  But, hey.  That is L.A. in a nutshell.

The twenty four hours afterwards have become somewhat of a blur to me now, but a few other things stand out; like not wanting to sit on the toilet (feeling a porcelain tremor go up your butt is not nearly as fun as it sounds) and not wanting to sleep alone.  We all (roommates + girlfriends and assorted others) tried to sleep in the living room that night.  Mostly, we talked and joked.  I still laugh thinking of one guy moaning in his sleep every time the ground shook.  I think he was the only one who actually fell asleep before light.  

So that's it; my earthquake story, twenty years later.

What the duck?

I have never watched Duck Dynasty, apart from catching the commercials for a few seconds as I changed channels.  I thought it was amusing that guys like "that" were so popular, but I kind of chalked it up to the train wreck mentality that seems to have taken over popular television.  I thought it was a little weird when I saw Duck Dynasty pj's in the kids' department, but again, whatever.  I didn't pay much attention.

I figured they were harmless.

After the brouhaha that has erupted over the remarks that Phil Robertson (yeah, I had no idea who that was, either) made in an interview, A&E suspended him.  Read or watch his remarks here.

While his musings are hateful and repugnant, I am less offended by them then by the cries from his supporters saying that his First Amendment rights were violated.  Um, what?  I am no Constitutional expert, but I am pretty sure there is nothing in the First Amendment that says you can say whatever you want in an interview without being fired by the television station you work for.  I could be wrong.

A&E is perfectly within their rights to suspend him over things he says if they feel that they reflect poorly on their station.  Maybe they should have given more thought to their programming ahead of time, but that is neither here nor there.  You can get fired from ANY job if you publicly say something potentially damaging to your employer.

And guess what, America?  Being a homophobe DOES reflect poorly and it DOES damage A&E's reputation with a majority of their audience.  Most people don't tolerate hate speech very well.

Even more offensive are the supporters saying how Godly he is for his views; how sad that he is being persecuted for following the teachings of the Bible.  

Again, what!?!?

How, pray tell, is it "Godly" to spew hate?  As with the Constitution, I am no expert in translating the Bible, but I do know that there is enough conflicting jibberish wisdom in there to contradict any notion that "God hates fags" (to use a catchy phrase from one of the Westboro Baptist Churches favorite signs).



I logged into Twitter just before starting this post and typed in Phil Robertson, which was trending.  Since then, about thirty minutes ago, there have been 352 tweets (and counting) with his name in them.  Shockingly, and to my point of view, scarily, many of these SUPPORT him.  Some are just in support of his right to say whatever he wants, which I would also agree with, but many are just to the right of seriously coo coo crazy.

Unsurprisingly, Sarah Palin has come out here to defend him, blasting A&E for their "attack on his First Amendment rights".  Bobby Jindal and Ted Cruz also tweeted about it.  Yawn.
I mean, these guys need to pander to the scary to get votes, so I take what they say with a grain of salt.

It's the tweets by the "regular" people that really scare me;  the ones that think this is all a conspiracy to distract from Obamacare.  The ones that are trying to make a martyr out of this grizzled duck hunter for his racist and homophobic views are terrifying.  "He's being persecuted for being godly" shouts one.  "Thank you for standing up for your beliefs" says another.

Yikes.

I will support anyone's right to say whatever it is they want, but (and this is a BIG BUT) if you are spreading hate, you'd better be ready to take the heat.  I don't tolerate speech that could potentially cause harm to anyone and I will let you know it.  If a company like A&E feels your words could damage them in any way, of course it is in their rights to stop giving you a platform.  In taking away the ignorant soapbox that this guy found for himself, A&E is sticking up for tolerance, that is all.  

I can only hope that the immediate and loud voice that the LGBT community used to shut him down will join those that come to the aid of individuals with intellectual disabilities.  People with developmental delays seem to be the last stand for hate speech.  I have your backs, now please have mine and my kid's.  If you won't tolerate it for yourself, or your community, PLEASE don't tolerate it for others. 

798 tweets (and counting)  https://twitter.com/search?q=%22Phil%20Robertson%22&src=tren

De-cluttering My Soul

I've been thinking about what it means to be me.  I'm wondering if I met me, what my first impression would be.  Fat?  Chip on her shoulder?  Nice teeth?  Well spoken, but salty?  Funny?  I wonder if hypothetical me would get past fat and chip on her shoulder to see the truth.  The truth is, that I have a hard exterior made up of guilt, sadness, fear, anger and confusion covered in a thin veneer of sarcasm.  With a little pressure, that shell yields to a gooey center of love, hope and dreams.  I'm basically a Cadbury Cream Egg.  No wonder my husband likes me.  I need that shell to protect what is really worth protecting.  You can have my anger and my sarcasm, but my dreams?  Not without a fight.  

The truth is, that up until just a few days ago, fat was all I was seeing. You'd think since having my last baby 13 years ago, I would be used to being fat, but I'm not.  There's fat and there's FAT.  Right now, I am at FAT and I'd like to get down to fat before spring comes and I can start training for some kind of crazy physical feat; like a triathlon or another marathon (read my condensed marathon story here ).

More about those plans later.

So, up until a few days ago, I was hyper-focused on what was going on with my exterior, to the point that it was exhausting.  I still had obligations to family, friends and the various committees I am involved with, but doing even the most basic thing felt monumentally hard.  I blame it on being heavier than ever before and being just a tiny bit depressed about it.  You know that things are not going well when brushing your teeth seems like a real chore; like something you need to cross off a list.  Forget the actual lists I have.  That shit is on the back burner.  

Now, the list has only one item:  Be the person I was meant to be.

That's it.  Of course, there are sub-headers and lines a through z.  There's a lot that goes into being that person.  But, the way to get there is simple:  Do the things that move me towards a goal and don't do things that move me away.  For example:  I want to complete a big, physically demanding goal by the end of next year.  In order for me to do that, I have to be physically and emotionally ready.  It will take many weeks, many smaller goals and many setbacks to achieve it, so I need to give it a good long time to be accomplished.   

I am not very patient and that has been a big part of what has kept me FAT.  It took too long to see results and I got mad and punished myself by gaining more weight.  It's a long and complicated journey, this one with food.  Everything I think about myself plays into how I treat my temple (it's a god damned temple, you hear me?!?  It just needs some slight retrofitting and remodeling and it will be a thing of beauty for years to come).  

This journey is not about being hot again.  That ship has sailed.  And you know what?  I think that for the first time ever, I don't care.  I was talking to my sister the other day about this.  I said something to the effect of being invisible; that I have gotten to the point where I could grocery shop wearing a clown wig and no one would notice because I am a chunky, middle aged mom. 

Somehow, I've gotten to the point where no one outside my circle of family and friends really sees me.  Sometimes, I wonder if they even see me; me how I really am.  I think my husband usually sees the girl who met him at the end of the aisle eighteen years ago.  I can't keep up with that girl in a race today, but I sure am more thoughtful and more compassionate than she was.  I wonder what my kids see.  Do they judge my weight?  It makes me think of my maternal grandmother, whom I loved so much, and who passed away this summer.  She was heavy most of the years I knew her and I loved her.  My grandfather loved her.  They were happy and laughed and had fun, even though she was bothered by the weight and was always trying some kind of weird diet.  I hope that at some point she stopped measuring her worth in pounds and more in love; that which she gave and that which she received.  I wonder what she would tell me now about wasting time on things that don't ultimately matter.

Speaking of my grandmother:  I am also realizing that I have not fully processed the losses of this past summer.  I lost three significant family members, including both of my grandmothers and Oliver; a boy I never met in person, but learned to love just the same.  I've tried to channel my feelings into advocacy and writing and doing things that make my existence on this planet mean something, but at some point, I just need to sit with my grief.  I've been catching myself from falling into that vast, unwelcome valley, but maybe it is time to explore it a little.  We all have to walk through this valley time and time again as we age.  It should be like going home, but instead, it feels like an endless mire of tears and silence.  It's murky and dark and I am afraid.

I don't need to fill that valley with food, or approval, or laughs.  I only need to sit there and see that I can survive on my own.  All I need is a hanky and a hug when I emerge.

And to the people (they seem to be coming out of the woodwork) who want me to find Jesus/go into business with them/join their cult I want to say thank you for making me see that I am the only one who can fix me.  I think I am on the right track and I will burn your business card keep you in mind, but I need to step away right now.  I have enough crazy up in here, thanks.

So, the to do list:  Be the person I was meant to be 

     a) lose the weight

          1) make a list of achievable goals to meet the ultimate one

     b) sit with my grief

     c) start today

The Unwelcome Teacher

We all have them.  

They come in many forms:  a layoff from a job, an illness, some other life event that makes us question the big picture, or in the form of a person.

Mine comes in the shape of a relative that I used to be very close with. Her particular brand of attack is a constant, thinly veiled hint that my soul is in danger.  She feels that because I have not accepted Jesus Christ as my savior, that I am going to Hell.

There are so many problems with this, not the least of which is the fact that I don't believe in Hell.

No matter how many times I asked her to stop, the bombardment continued.  I began asking less nicely, than less, until I became downright hostile.  

Kinda like this:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iogo35GvYtE

Damn, I love Phil...

It's kind of funny, but, then it isn't.  I've lost someone close to me because she couldn't see that she was making me hostile with her words.  She would not hear me when I said that I would no longer speak to her if she continued. It got to the point that I was getting so angry over it, that I was turning into the exact kind of person that I imagined she thought I was.

It made me angry that she could not just accept me as I was; flawed like anyone else, but overall, a good person.  I hold no malice for anyone, I am active in fighting for justice, I volunteer, I help those in need.  I don't ask for praise or even acknowledgement of these things, I just ask that you overlook my shortcomings (however you perceive them) and see the good.

As I am writing this, I am realizing that I am asking of you (and that judgey relative) what I cannot do for myself.  I guess I am having an epiphany of sorts.  What I mean is that I am the harshest, judgiest, meanest, least tolerant of my flaws.  If I can't see my inherent good, how can I ask anyone else to see it?  If all I see when I look in the mirror is a middle aged, chunky failure, why should I expect anyone else to see me differently?

The biggest and most wonderful irony is that those who truly love me (not just my soul), see my beauty and my goodness and my charity and my passion and my authentic self.  They see what I am begging myself to become.  They see that I am already that person.  

See yourself through a loved one's eyes.  See yourself as you see them; perfect because you love them.  We don't love others despite their flaws, we love them because we don't dwell on their flaws.  We dwell on what makes them beautiful to us.

So, to my unwelcome teacher, thank you.  You have made me realize that in wanting to change me, you only want to change yourself.  I may be a disappointment to you, but to those that matter, I am perfectly imperfect and worthy of love without judgment.  

I am blessed without your blessing.

MyFace

See what I did there?  

I think way too much.  I know it doesn't sound like a bad thing, but trust me, it is.  

I also, occasionally, think too little.  I am spontaneous and short tempered and passionate.  Sometimes, I forget to think before I act.  Sometimes this works out alright and sometimes, well, it doesn't.  That's okay.  Some of the greatest gifts in my life came out of acting as though rational thought was not even a consideration (my husband, a couple of my kids...ok, all of my kids, moving to California...).  The list is practically endless.

Then, there are the things that I perseverate on: 

Injustice

My weight

The environment

The meaning of life

I drive myself kind of crazy.

This tendency was bad enough before the invention of the Internet, but now, it has gotten much, much worse.

Now, whatever scary thought I get in my head ( " I am having a heart attack " / "my kid has Leukemia" /  "The World Trade Center Attack was an inside job"), I can find "proof" of it on the WWW.  Usually, I can find six million reasons why I should panic in the matter of half a second.

And I do panic...at least a little.

And then, the tiny, rational part of my brain says:  "Uh, hello?  Crazy?  Yeah, you need to take it down about seven thousand notches".  

And that also works...until the next time.

I was thinking about all of this when I heard back from the hematologist concerning my middle son, Charles, who had recently had a potentially scary blood test result (see Leukemia, above).  

After hearing that things were okay and hanging up, I had about two minutes of happy before I started to get sad for the kids who did not hear good news.  

I started to think about a little boy in England with months to live, thanks to effing Leukemia.  I thought about how, before the Internet, I probably wouldn't even know he existed, even though he is now pretty famous since he met the "Queen".  

http://www.newsday.com/entertainment/celebrities/helen-mirren-as-queen-elizabeth-ii-meets-with-sick-boy-1.5327321

Before the days of Facebook at least, and for sure before the Internet and email, if and when I heard this story, it would be gone from my head soon after.  Sweet and sad, yes; but I don't know them.  I can't get wrapped up in every tragedy.

Today, however, I feel like I know little Ollie, the boy in the story.  I am a fan of his page on Facebook.

https://www.facebook.com/OneLittleLifeInspiresEveryone?fref=ts

I have read his mom's personal account of his daily journey.  I have seen the many pictures of what going through chemo means.  I have cried for him and his family.  I am hoping for a miracle, as I know they are.

This is where it gets terrible and wonderful at the same time.  

Facebook has made me hate some people that I thought I loved and love some people that I have never even met.

It has made me realize the kind of person that I want to hang out with, call my family or friend and what kind of person I should aspire to be.

On this wonderful/terrible web I have met Buddy, 

http://reecesrainbow.org/?s=buddy

who lives halfway around the world, but I think of him every day and I am doing my best to make a small difference in his life. 

I have all this endless information in front of me.  Can I use it to fill my days with conspiracy theories and nonsense?  Sure.

Can I get angry at the injustice in the world?  Yes, and I should.

Do I perseverate on it?  Yes.  

But, I think that as much as I get aggravated and sad and sometimes, completely heartbroken, it is worth it, if I can do some good with it.  

Even if I just send some more love into the world, isn't that good?  I won't stop there, though.  I am doing...a little bit every day, but I am doing something.  

I hope my ripples meet Buddy and Ollie and Ethan Saylor and all those that I think about and work to help everyday.  

The same ripples have already washed over me and made me stronger and more determined to fight, to be heard, to stand up, to love, really love those that mean so much to me.

Facebook, with all it's flaws, has made the world closer.  If we can weed out the negative and cultivate the good, what kind of wonderful place will we live in?  

That, my friends, is something to think about.

Number NIne

I've got a couple of things on my mind today.  The first is...even though I watched the season finale of Downton Abbey twice, like, five days ago, it's still haunting me.  I can't even explain what I love about it.  It's funny, but in that dry, English way, not HA HA HAAA, funny.  It's set in a lovely castle, which is nice to look at and dream about,  but if I were to try and describe what happens each week, I'd have a hard time explaining what is so interesting about a bunch of Lords and Ladies sitting around talking and eating.  

I freaking love Dame Maggie Smith 

and...Rob James-Collier (Thomas).  

She lives in a well-bred bubble and doesn't seem to realize how funny she is.  If she did, she would probably disapprove.  He is the scheming, smoking (hot) gay footman, whom you hate to love.  He manages to be completely evil and totally vulnerable at the same time.  So, yeah.  Just watch it.  If you hate it, you never have to listen to me again.  :)

Shifting gears...uh, big time...

I had to run up just over the border to Wisconsin today to pick up a donation for my son's Special Olympic's team fundraiser.  I was hoping for a sunny, slightly warm day, so that I could take a quick side trip to Lake Geneva while I was up there and have some lunch and maybe take a walk.  It is a dreary, cold day, with the promise from the Weather Channel people that we are going to get hammered by WINTER STORM Q!!!  Dun, dun DUUUNNN!

Seriously, when did we start name snowstorms?  So dumb.  Anyway, I headed home right away to avoid getting caught in the mess, but stopped for lunch on the way.  

While eating my less than diet killing and less than delicious salad at McDonalds, I noticed that the family sitting across from me had nine (9) children.  Nine, as in one less than double digit's worth of kids.  Nine, like they could have their own baseball team.  Nine, un-adopted (they all looked alike) children that all came out of the same, sad blue minivan with their parents.  I realized that it was their minivan because I parked next to them and saw four of the kids get out on my side.  I wasn't paying much attention at that point and I am kicking myself now, because I would love to know how they all fit in that otherwise normal looking family (clown) car.

I was trying not to stare as I counted and re-counted the kids.  I originally counted seven before eight and nine arrived from another table out of my sight line, so I was trying to make sure.  Who knows?  Ten and Eleven might have been sitting there as well and I just never saw them,  I don't want to sound judgy (I know I am being judgy), but...why?  Why nine kids?  It's not 1890.  You don't need Bobby Jim to work the fields and the chances (thankfully) of your kid dying young are slim thanks to you know, Penicillin and soap.  So, why then?  Birth control is not cheap, but it's a heck of a lot cheaper than nine kids.  Not every guy is up for a vasectomy, but I say a real man should be willing to go under the knife if it means getting to have carefree sex with his woman.  :)

If it's a religious thing, I will stop you right there, because that is nonsense.   I'm pretty sure God or whoever doesn't want nine kids, including an infant, in a car with only seven seatbelts.  Just no.

If these kids were adopted I would have been the first to cheer for them.  But, am I wrong to think that this is irresponsible?

And lastly...this is the big one.

I am following a little girl on Facebook who is very sick.  Her parents are very into praying and apparently, so are most of their followers.  I have no problem if it makes them feel better. It bugs me personally because I don't believe any of it, but more than that, I find myself wondering what their prayers mean.  People say things like " I hope the Lord favors her" and I go ballistic.  I mean, if there was a God, wouldn't he favor all children?  Wouldn't he want all children to be well and healthy and not need painful medical procedures?  If she pulls through, which I sincerely hope that she does, does it mean that she is better than those other kids that didn't?  Or maybe that those other kids didn't get enough people to pray for them?  Doesn't Jesus love the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white, la la la?

This is what makes me a non-believer.  I can buy free will and that sometimes we make poor choices. I can buy God made the heavens and the earth, because the big bang sounds just as amazing as some guy up there blowing shit up.  But, I cannot buy the "God works in mysterious ways" line.  It's just too big of a cop out to me.  We chalk up everything we don't understand to some mysterious old guy in the sky's whims?  How totally unfair.

Life is patently unfair.  But, as a parent who would stand in front of a moving train to protect my kids, I cannot imagine how a loving being, our "parent",  could dole out cancer and brain tumors and earthquakes and tsunamis and hurricanes.  This is what makes me a non believer, an agnostic, an atheist, a heathen or whatever else you want to call me.

What do you believe?