cliff list

So, some of you have heard what I want done with my body upon the occasion of my demise. For those that haven't, I would like my ashes tossed off the same cliff on the big island of Hawai'i that we tossed Jeff's ashes.

In honor of the 10th anniversary of Jeff's death, on July 1, 1999, I hear by present my Cliff List (in no particular order).

Some of the following I have already accomplished so those are crossed out, but it didn't seem like I should leave them out just because I've already done them...so here it is.

1. Get my book published
2. See the Taj Mahal with my niece
3. Go into the Grand Canyon on a mule
4. Make 100 beautiful things (more on this to come)
5. Take a frame-worthy photograph
6. Visit South Africa
7. Return to Israel for a visit with friends and float on the Dead Sea
8. Rent a motorscooter in Greece
9. Visit the Clinton Library
10. Travel around the U.S. in an RV
11. Visit Mt. Rushmore and Crazy Horse Memorial and ride through the Black Hills
12. Learn to fence
13. See the Northern Lights
14. See Chichen Itza
15. Cruise to Alaska
16. Learn to play poker
17. Learn to do metalwork
18. Learn woodworking and make something useful (or a treehouse!)
19. Get my master's degree
20. Mentor a student
21. Have high tea while sartorially appropriate
22. Have occasion to make and wear a renaissance style gown
23. See the grunion run
24. Spend a week at a writing retreat in New England in the fall
25. Write a children's book
26. Take a train to Canada with a sleeper car
27. See a meteor shower in the desert
28. Stay at the Shady Dell in Bisbee, AZ
29. Make a quilt for myself
30. Make a quilt for someone who is special to me
31. Take "that picture" with the Leaning Tower of Pisa
32. Visit Zion National Park
33. Visit Bryce Canyon National Park
34. Visit Yellowstone National Park
35. See Old Faithful erupt
36. Stand on the Great Wall of China
37. Have my portrait painted.
38. Have a "drive in movie night" in my back yard
39. Fly in a helicopter (that isn't lifeflighting me to a hospital)
40. Be in New Orleans on Mardi Gras
41. Write a cookbook
42. Design and build my perfect back yard
43. Have a spa environment in my bathroom
44. Eat fire
45. Buy a needy stranger a meal
46. Dive off a cliff
47. Learn to ride a motorcycle
48. Snorkel in the Great Barrier Reef
49. See an active volcano
50. Stay at a monastery or convent
51. Eat fresh lobster in Maine
52. Pick apples at a U-Pick farm and make applesauce
53. Grow a bunch of heirloom tomatoes and eat them with olive oil and mozzarella
54. Have a glass of Greek wine while watching the sunset off a balcony in Greece
55. Have the best Hallowe'en display on the block
56. Make my own Hallowe'en costume
57. Have a reunion with my Israel classmates
58. Go to a concert at the Hollywood Bowl with box seats
59. See a seriously campy movie at Cinespia
60. Go to Pageant of the Masters in Laguna Beach
61. Fix up an old car (preferably my 66 Ford Galaxie >photo) and join the Hell's Belles
62. Finish my tattoo
63. Get the rest of my body tattooed
64. Grow a pumpkin
65. Visit the longest yard sale
66. Design and print my own fabric
67. Have a yearly themed party until I can't think of any more good themes
68. Build a firepit in my backyard and have a s'more roast
69. Make and can my own pickles
70. Start an Etsy site and sell my wares
71. Make my bedroom into a cozy retreat
72. Learn to sew well enough that I can make an item of clothing without hesitation
73. Have a massive Hallowe'en party
74. Have an article that I wrote printed in a major magazine
75. Go kayaking in Hawai'i again
76. Take a belly dance class
77. Ride in a hot air balloon
78. Successfully make spun sugar
79. Sleep on a houseboat
80. own a home
81. sit and read in front of my own fireplace
82. learn to scuba dive
83. Get my SCUBA license
84. Go to the races
85. Make every recipe in one cookbook
86. Run a 5K
87. Have a full day of beauty at a spa and enjoy every moment
88. Leave a 100% tip for someone
89. Teach a University course
90. Fire a gun
91. participate in an archeological dig and find a treasure
92. Skinny dip
93. Visit Pompeii
94. Visit the Anne Frank house
95. Visit (or at least pee in) all 50 states
96. Take a pilates class
97. See the Milky Way from Joshua Tree
98. Open a store
99. Retire!
100. Ask a stranger in another country if I can take their picture in their native language
101. Have my photographic portrait taken
102. Build a snowman
103. Visit the Louvre
104. Go to the top of the Eiffel Tower
105. Take a swing dance class
106. Make a piece of art that I could hang on a wall and be proud of
107. Stop ending sentences in prepositions.

That last one was just for those of you who are still with me. I'm going to try to update this list to let you know how I'm doing. It's not a complete list. I'll probably add to it as I go.

I'm looking forward to checking things off the list!

Victory!

I haven't had a crafty post in quite a while so, here is the latest news.

It's 80 degrees F and gorgeous in L.A. with no reports of a cool down. Must be time to start planting!!!

Despite my backyard being a total disaster (my fault entirely), I am, as part of this weekend's MLK National Weekend of Service, going to do my part in making this a healthier earth by planting my very own victory garden!

I have Mel Bartholomew's All New Square Foot Gardening
for a guide. He's quite a "character", that Mel. I think in the south, they'd call him touched. I'd call him a total nutbag, but he has some great tips for raised bed gardening.

This weekend involves building the beds. I won't be following Mel's advice exactly because my existing beds will make excellent bases. Then next weekend, I will be adding Mel's extra special fancy recipe for soil. Over the year I plan to plant:

• Blackberries
• Carrots
• Cucumbers
• Lettuce
• Peppers
• Potatoes
  
• Pumpkins
• Strawberries
• Tomatoes
• Zucchini and whatever else seems fun at the moment.

In addition, I will be replanting some citrus trees that I have sadly neglected and thereby horribly murdered.

On February 1st, due to budgeting constraints this month, I will be purchasing this composter and making my own compost and compost tea!

Gardening appeals to me on a number of levels. I am crafty, but the crafts that appeal to me most are where something useful is created. Hence, my great love of knitting, crocheting and sewing hats, as all my Stitch n' Bitchers know.

I consider making fruits and vegetables grow out of the ground as supremely crafty. Not to mention, turning egg shells and coffee grounds into rich compost. That is some serious craft right there.

So, while I am still knitting, crocheting and sewing (btw - my serger is actually at the repair shop getting a spa mani/pedi and lube job!)

In addition to all of the love of having actual food growing in my back yard, the hard work of making it grow is something I have discovered in my two years in our new home. I really enjoy getting out into the dirt and the sun. I love getting into the shower afterward and watching rivers of dirt stream off me. Hard work on my land for such a great benefit is really quite fun and later in the spring I can have my niece and all of my other little faux nieces and nephews come over and help me pick the produce.

Forward, ho.

So, looking forward, what am I doing with 2009?


Getting my health in order, 'cause right now, frankly, it's not. I've been ignoring a bunch of stuff that, were I my child or my wife, it would be unacceptable.


Getting my money in order. A number of years ago, I went debt-free, which is a wonderful feeling. Ever since then, I've been using my AmEx, so essentially, I live one month behind. I pay my AmEx at the end of every month. So I am always paying for January with February's paycheck. In this year, I'd like to start going backward a little more by trying to live a cash life. That will certainly involve at least 2 or 3 months of very strict budgeting but I know it is worth it. Despite being in pretty good shape fiscally, I still have anxiety about money. And really, who doesn't right now?




I need some intellectual challenge. It ain't coming from the Sunday crosswords and it's not happening at work. It's time to come up with a plan, and right now, that plan probably entails going back to school for a master's degree. I might have even found a program. And no GRE!* I'll keep y'all posted.






Those are the big ones for 2009. Of course I'd like to have all holiday presents hand made by November 15th and have the perfect desk by then as well but...we'll take one thing at a time.

Happy new year y'all.


(*The last time I took the GRE, I felt like my brain had been drained of all fluids afterward. It was unpleasant. I could barely remember how to drive a car. I'm not doing it again. I like an intellectual challenge but that was just plain stupid.)

Mortified

The other day I went out on my front porch to find Michael having a discussion with our next door neighbor. It seems that he is a Republican (which I did not know) and he is having a hard time voting for McCain.

I joined the discussion (duh.).

"Why," he asked me, "are you voting for Obama?"

Among about a billion other reasons, I am voting for Obama, I said, "because I am tired of the anti-intellectualism being fostered in this country and especially by the Republican party. I want someone as President who is smarter than I am."

He replied incredulously, "And you think Obama is smarter than you?"

My response:
"Yes. Barack Obama was president of Harvard Law Review.

I could not be President of the Harvard Law Review. In fact, I couldn't get into Harvard. I couldn't get into Brown. Believe me, I tried."

"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that." he said.

No. You hadn't, because you're too busy eating up all of the bullshit put out into the world about Obama raising your taxes and being Muslim.

W. couldn't have been president of Harvard Law Review and I believe I am correct in saying that he was legacied into Yale. Unfortunately, as the first woman in my family to graduate from college, I wasn't about to get legacied in anywhere except perhaps L.A. Valley College and I don't think they do those sorts of things.

I am genuinely mortified. I do not know what is wrong with people. This election has brought out the absolute worst of our society. The amount of clear, unfiltered racism is repulsive (not that filtered, shadowy racism isn't). I just didn't think I'd see so much of it.

Shakesville has a Obama Racism/Muslim/Unpatriotic/Scary Black Dude Watch that is up to #97. And #97 is quite a doozy.

The worst part is that the creator of this caricature denies she had intended to be racist in any way.

Jeebus, woman. If you're going to surround Obama with fried chicken, watermelon, ribs and Kool-Aid, own it. You've got yourself a little racism.

I wish there was a vaccine for that.

Lessons of Yom Kippur

I went to synagogue starting in about the 3rd or 4th grade and we always attended services for Yom Kippur, both evening and all day. (in addition to Shabbat, Rosh Hashana, Purim, Sukkot, Simchat Torah, and others...)

I don't remember much about the rest of the holidays (though I loved Simchat Torah) Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, was, for me, a great lesson in ethics.

First, the language of the prayers for forgiveness of chet (sin), are all in the plural.

As I recited the Vidui (confessions) as a child, I wondered how I could have committed the "alphabet of sin" from Aleph to Tav (A-Z). I tried to remember everything I had done wrong over the past year. Eventually I realized that the reason for the plural (al chet shechatanu) was that no one single person has committed all of these chet, but rather we, as a community, are collectively responsible for all of the chet committed. We said every year,

"For the sin we have sinned by failing to work for peace."

As a 12 year old, how could I work for peace? How could I have sinned like this? And I realized, even as a 12 year old, that I could, in fact, work for peace. Perhaps not like Jimmy Carter did, but peace within my own circle. Peace between classmates. Peace as a noble virtue. (is it any wonder I was voted most likely to join the Peace Corps?)

In praying in the plural I also learned that being arrogant, while not equal to, for instance embezzling millions, it did not give me the right to be arrogant just because other people had done worse than I.

We said every year,

"For the sin we have sinned by our narrow-mindedness."

And I took this to heart. I tried very hard to look at both sides of a situation early on. I wanted to know exactly where I was being narrow-minded. I also knew I would have to answer for it again next year and I wanted desperately to say, no, I had not been narrow-minded.

In Judaism, we recount the chet of taking credit that we didn't earn. That was never something that was taught to me specifically but I remember reading it in synagogue and thinking how unethical that would be. I try to always give credit where credit is due. Acknowledging the contributions of others to a project is something I see as inherently ethical.

Another chet we confessed to was of giving in to despair. I could feel despair, I learned, but I could not give in to it. I could not give up. Even today, I carry that with me. I may be frustrated and may feel helpless but I still will not give up on working for change.

Tzom kal to everyone who is fasting today and may none of us give in to despair.

Summer of Change

On a day to day basis, I have quite a lot going on.

I work and commute.
I write a blog (not as often as I'd like)
I keep up with friends (poorly)
I write (less than I would like)
I have 3 meals ( most days)
I work on craft projects (whenever I get around to it)
I spend time with my husband (again, less than I'd like)

So, in other words, on a Likert scale I'm slightly dissatisfied with everything I'm up to right now. Which means, something needs to change.

In addition to the inspired moratorium on buying non-essentials (exempted: closet system for craft room, birthday gifts and tattoo work), I need to figure out some better time management skills.

I could use some help on this one. I'm taking a writing class this summer at UCLA and I've joined an online writing group which will start on June 1st. These should help out with the writing on a regular basis. I would like to negotiate a telecommute once or twice a week which could help a bit.

If you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, I'd love to hear them. I'm open to helpiness right now. Thanks!

Day 4 - Enduring love

Not the creepy Ian McEwan novel.

But honestly, my mind isn't on today's meditation. It's not on love or how long it lasts, or doesn't last, how to make it last. My mind is focused elsewhere.

Getting around to a meditative practice is HARD WORK!

I work all day, I want to go to Stitch n' Bitch tonight. I have about 30 errands to run and I am desperately trying to figure out how to have free clean dirt (about 18 cubic yards worth) delivered to my backyard. Not to mention 480 square feet of sod for cheap. Then I am looking forward to baking 2 gigantic cakes for this weekend and a panel I'm on next Thursday at Cal State, Northridge.

I'm definitely not concentrating on love and the endurance it takes to maintain it. But I guess that's the whole point, isn't it?

Then again, isn't part of this about loving myself?

I have a pretty hard time with that whole concept. It seems so crunchy. Yet, everyone in my recovery seems to focus on learning to love myself. Learning how to treat myself with kindness, and not just when I've done something that I can be proud of, but -- and maybe especially -- when I've made a mess of things, or haven't quite stuck to my good intentions.

So today, I'm focusing on loving myself, despite my mistakes. Which is a good thing, since I'm having quite a day.

Compassion - Omer Day 3

Today's meditation is about compassion in love.

Baruch Spinoza said, "I have made a ceaseless effort not to ridicule, not to bewail, not to scorn human actions, but to understand."

I live my life by this ethic and yet every day, I am challenged.

• I am challenged by the driver in front of me in the morning going 25 miles per hour in a 40 mph zone.
• I am challenged by the system in which I work that sends endless criticism for which I have very little recourse.
• I am challenged by people I know and love who want to be more but choose not to be.
• I am challenged by my own inability to fight off demons that have haunted me for nearly a lifetime.

I try, every day, to be compassionate. To remember that the driver in front of me may have very precious cargo. To remember that the system is doing its best for people who are in vulnerable positions. To remember that the people I love are trying their best, and even when they aren't, there is a reason. To remember that I wake up every day and try to do my best, even when I don't quite make it.

Happy Pesach

Good morning and welcome to another edition where an Atheist Queer Jewess named Faith explains it all!

Our topic this morning is cleaning for Pesach, which starts Saturday night, (not the cleaning, the holiday). Why am I concerned with cleaning for Pesach? Well, in Jewish communities, it's a big deal. The reason for the cleaning is called bedikat chametz which literally translates to search for chametz. What is chametz? That all depends on who you ask.

Wheat, barley, spelt, rye or oats are the 5 prohibited grains during Passover. Once these come in contact with water = chametz. That's the technical side. It gets a lot more complicated from there. I’m not even going to go into it…it would be like the longest blog post in history. Back to cleaning. You thought your grandmother did spring cleaning?

Cleaning for Passover involves making sure there is no chametz in your home. Any crumb of old food in any corner of your home that might have touched chametz and still be edible is considered chametz. In my home, we would throw out all of the bread and crackers, cookies and cereal. Anything that had a carby ring to it was gone. Clean out the pantry, refrigerator, freezer, oven, microwave, appliances and check every crack and crevice for edible chametz. And that’s just the beginning.

According to an article in the New York Times, some families start a month ahead of time with a wash of every Lego that may have a crust of chametzy saliva.

Don’t forget to copy all the recipes from your cookbooks that you may need during the 8 days because if a cookbook full of cookie crumbs gets loose, all is lost. Lest you think you are done – go out to the garage and get your specially made Formica countertops to sit atop your regular everyday countertops for fear that you have chametz permeating the pores in your Corian.

Put all of your starched shirts in storage, for fear you may get water on them, lick your shirt and get a little chametz that way. Finally after getting out your candle and feather, searching for the last crumbs, burning them and nullifying all the chametz that may have inadvertently been left behind, then you can get out the Passover dishes.

“WTF?” You may be thinking.

Well, as nothing in Judaism is just as it is, chametz is more than just the little crumbs of carboliciousness that are prohibited during these 8 days. Chametz is said to symbolize the egocentricity that threatens to eclipse our essential selves. It is also seen as a symbol of the yetzer hara (our inclination toward evil). We spend this time searching for the parts of ourselves that are not ourselves. Those things that we hang onto because our mother wanted us to marry well, because our peers thought would make us more popular, more fun or just more interesting, but we couldn’t have cared less about.

This weekend, I am going to do a little inventory of my internal chametz. Then, I might just do a little burning.

What are the things that you are holding on to that you might need to clean out of the nooks and crannies of your home?

Gayest Looks For Leno

Jay Leno is an ass and doesn't know the difference between a good gay joke - which, in general is funny and clever - and laughing at the gays - which is lame and stereotypical and something I might expect from a talk show host in the 90's, not two thousand fucking eight.

From Liss at Shakesville (who I have a big ol' brain crush on):

Last week, it was an interview with Ryan Phillippe, during which he asked the actor to look into the camera, pretend it was his "gay lover…Billy Bob," who "has just ridden in shirtless from Wyoming (still milking the Brokeback jokes, I guess), and give it his "gayest look."

Phillippe responded, incredulously, "Wow. That is so something I don't want to do."

Jeff Whitty, writer of Avenue Q, who does not need to prove his ability to be able to "take a joke" wrote about this and gave his "gayest look" to Jay.

Which is really similar to my "gayest look" for Jay.


You can send your gayest look too!

Shadow and light

Let me tell you a story.

When I was 17 years old, I moved to Israel. I needed to be away from everything and everyone I knew, including myself. I was "sensitive" and "needy". I was opinionated but intensely afraid of not being able to defend my positions. I was already quite engaged in an eating disorder and terrified of my sexuality.

No one knew me in Israel. I lived and worked on Kibbutz Tzora with 21 other American students. I was the youngest. I worked in the cotton fields pulling up irrigation lines, and in the furniture factory spot welding office chairs. I worked in the laundry ironing sheets on huge rolling machines and in the kitchen cutting onions and cucumbers for the 450 families who lived and worked there with me.

Together with my group of American students we would go to university on Sunday and Monday, Saturday nights we would go to the bars in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Together, we traveled to Haifa and Eilat, to Ashkelon and the middle of the Negev.

On one excursion we assisted the university in an archaeological dig. It was there that I found an Asherah figurine. I was so proud of having found an archaeological treasure that I ran over to the head of the dig and handed it over. In my haste, I had barely looked at her before I'd released the tiny goddess. Later, I felt like I had betrayed something in myself. I had abandoned something that I should have held, even for just one more moment. I might have spent one minute understanding what I had come upon but just as suddenly as I had found it, it was rushed away in the hands of some post-doc or fellow to do dating and identification.

I think it was my first adult lesson in denial of self. I had been self-sacrificing for years and years but this lesson was new. Like plants growing so slowly you don't ever remember them becoming tree from seed, I was suddenly gazing into a new garden and I had just given up an outstanding opportunity.

In the last couple of years I have traveled great distances emotionally. Along the way I have abandoned my fear of sharing my opinion with anyone who will listen. I have taken more time to savor things that I come by in my travels. I have learned that people are interested in what I have to say. I still have a long journey ahead of me though.

I am just now reading a book called Eating in the Light of the Moon. It is a book filled with metaphor and goddesses, which, frankly, I haven't picked up in the past because I am cynical and suspicious of stories of "the goddess" and feminine vs. masculine spirituality. I am a feminist but I am an atheist. My atheism (obviously) extends to goddess myths. Finally, after many recommendations, I picked up the book.

The author, Dr. Anita Johnston, is not interested in converting readers into feminists or believers in a Wise Woman myth. She is interested in helping us discover how we found our disordered relationship with food and how we can leave it behind. In one chapter, near the end of the book, she talks about looking at ourselves,

"deep in the depths of our being, to confront all those aspects of herself that she would just as soon leave hidden in the dark....she eventually discovers that whenever we try to disown the shadow parts of our being, they seem to acquire strength and begin to take over our lives in the form of obsessions and addictions."

This is what happened to me. I tried to disown myself. The parts of myself that I showed were bright and shiny and the parts of myself that were eating me alive were ugly and caged in shadow. I was terrified that what was in there, deep in the shadows, would destroy me. And it nearly did.

In our society we are virtuous if we "bear our pain stoically, keep it hidden from view." says Dr. Johnston. "We have been reprimanded time and time again for engaging in "self-pity" when we have tried to pour out the pain we feel in our hearts. And so we deny our pain and say everything is "all right." But everything is not "all right" if I am eating without knowing why and throwing up to get rid of my anger and my frustration. Everything is not "all right" if you are starving yourself or on a diet every single day of your life or using food in a way that makes you feel angry or disappointed or frantic.

I don't need to share every pain, but I also am no longer keeping it stoically hidden like a good girl. Some have wondered if it is self-indulgent to write a blog. Especially a blog about oneself. Yes. The entire point of writing a blog is self-indulgent. The question I have is, is there anything wrong with that?

New year's revolution 2008

January 1st always brings the dieting ads out - in force.

Ad nauseum.

This week I can't listen to the radio or turn on the TV without some Nutri-Slim-Force-Band-Program shouting at me about how soon summer will be here and how this year I don't want to be fat.

On January 1, Kate over at Shapely Prose posted a brilliant article on what liars fat people are if they can't lose weight. I highly recommend it. From all of the anecdotes she received she posted today's diet tips from the mouths of idiots. I am proud to say that mine landed on the list.

I felt it was time, in honor of everyone trying, once again to force themselves into a body that is based more on InStyle Magazine's airbrushed photos than reality, I would do a repost.

I first posted this almost exactly one year ago.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most of you have been here. I have been here. The first time when I was 9 years old and about 10 stints after that.

I am talking about sitting in a Weight Watchers meeting. You are surrounded by people (mostly women) of various sizes, led by a perky 50 year old chick who lost 35 pounds and has kept it off for 6 years. She tells the story of how, at her daughter’s bat mitzvah she realized that no one wanted to pick her up on the chair (as is customary) and she went to a meeting the next day and she is living proof that the program works.

She is encouraging the room to clap for everyone who has lost a pound (or more!) this week. Hooray! You are one step closer to perfection, one step closer to being what your (partner, husband, boss, mother, community) wants you to be.

Ultimately, I found out that the applause is not what you think it is.

It starts as maybe something that you wish you felt good about – everyone else is smiling, aren’t they?

Eventually you realize that in fact when they are all clapping for the woman who reached her goal weight, there is a room full of women wailing.

You are sitting among a group of women who cannot understand why they can’t do it, why they are so "weak." A room full of women who wear the same stretch pants and t-shirt every week and exhale deeply to rid themselves of the ounce of air polluting their lungs.

There is a room full of women dying inside from the shame.

There is a room full of women surrounded by before and after pictures not of themselves. Photos of women and men who did IT. Who were able to overcome what seems like insurmountable odds to shed a thick layer of scorned flesh. A room full of women surrounded by sayings in cute fonts with sunshine and flower stickers on them like:

Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels!

A diet is the penalty we pay for exceeding the feed limit.

Eat to live, don’t live to eat!

Which is utter bullshit. I keep thinking that perhaps my mother’s generation was not as psychologically sophisticated and they fell for stupid sayings like this. Then I think, we all want to fall for stupid sayings like this.

Ultimately, it is a room full of women that got fat, not because they’re stupid, not because they like chocolate and not because they have no willpower. It is a room full of women who are doing everything they can to get through each day.

And sometimes that means 15 oreos.

It is a room full of women who are in so much pain that the only way they know how to get up and go to work every day is by eating a box of Ritz on the way in.

It is a room full of women who are not genetically designed to weigh less than they do right now.

It is a room full of women who come home to an empty apartment and all that means in our society and eat a loaf of bread.

It is a room full of women who take care of children, parents and spouses and who have little time to become the woman they thought they would be.

It is a room full of sexually assaulted, abused and harassed women who wish that they could disappear.

It is a room full of women who have been called names their entire lives that have nothing to do with who they are but rather what their thighs might have looked like in middle school.

It is a room full of women who, when they have the audacity to take a parking space, get called a "fat bitch" by the 25 year old guy in the BMW convertible who wanted it.

It is a room full of women who have "such pretty faces."

It is the saddest room I have ever been in in my life.

I am not criticizing Weight Watchers. What I am talking about is my inner shame. What I would never admit to during the hundreds of meetings I attended and beat myself up for years after each of my failures.

I hate knowing that I/we feel this way. And yet, I/we do.

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And yet - how do you feel about this photo?

Things I learned

Dear ladies and gentlemen of the blogosphere:

I know. You thought I'd come back and post a bazillion photos of my fabulous time. Tell you all how wonderful and healing the whole thing was and share some embarrassing and unexpected moments. I will. No worries. But first I have to share something I learned.

I am smooshy.

That's right, you read it here first. I'm smooshy.

Last night I went to my parents for our annual Hanukkah festivities which involves the obstacle course of grandmas and dogs and piles of stuff (not to mention one very drunk and amusing grandpa).

We took family photos.

Now - I have learned that for me, looking at photos of myself triggers some very bad thoughts ("You are so ugly, lazy, stupid, what the hell is wrong with you, etc. etc."). This is because I am just a little bit crazy (what with the bulimia and the nervous breakdown and such). A few weeks ago I saw some photos of myself and...let's just say, it wasn't a good reaction. My therapist suggested that maybe I should lay off the looking at photos.

I did not disagree.

This morning I got a family photo in my email from last night's event (surprise attachments!!! Yay!). At first, it triggered the same old stuff. Then I looked again and I realized...I look smooshy. Which, in my crazy head, is somehow better than all the other things I tell myself. Smooshy isn't so bad. You can be smart and smooshy, right? Nobody hates a smooshy person, right?

Our culture lays a ton of shit on us about how we should all have a body mass index of 20. When Dr. Gupta of CNN reported last week about a new study showing how 25 or 30 extra pounds is not going to cause an early death (JAMA 2007;298(17):2028-2037) I thought the morning anchor was going to pop a stitch. Perhaps it was in her script, but she seemed genuinely surprised.

Our culture not only tells us that people with a BMI of more than 25 are unhealthy, it also tells us that they are creatures to be pitied at best, despised, shunned and deserving of an early death at worst.

• People do, in fact HATE fat people. Look around the blogosphere - see how many times you come across the phrase "shoving twinkies into their faces" in reference to fat people
  
• Discriminate against fat people.
  
• One study found that found that 16% of employers admitted they wouldn't hire an obese woman under any conditions. Another 44% reported they would only hire them under certain circumstances.
  
• 28% of teachers in one study said that becoming obese is the worst thing that can happen to a person; in the same study 24% of nurses said that they are "repulsed" by obese persons
• Openly abuse fat people. Ask the guy who yelled at me calling me a fat bitch when I took a parking space (that was rightfully mine).
• Think it's fucking hysterical to make fat jokes.
• Think that people who have some excess fat on their body are "really, kinda gross" (heard it with my own ears).

Also, what that may or may not have to do with above referenced nervous breakdown.

Now, I know that fat (the molecule) is necessary for human life. The word has taken on some connotations though, that are none too pleasant. Hearing the word makes me cringe. I also know that has a lot more to do with the environment in which I grew up than the word itself or the actual molecule itself. I also know I have to get over it.

Also, just as an aside, I'm not writing this as an attempt to hear compliments. I don't need to know how "not fat" you think I am. This is real. Fat discrimination exists.

Let's call this a step in the right direction, shall we?

As for me, from now on - until I decide I am something else - I am smooshy.

Bad blogger...

No hits for you!!!

I'm a baaaad blogger.

I have an absolutely gorgeous pumpkin that I grew with my own hands in a sad and formerly trash piled plot of dirt now sitting on my dining room table. Have I taken photos? No.

I made super cute little thingies for my niece for her birthday. Have I posted them? No. (But here is one!! ---->)

I have planted many a zucchini, not to mention Meyer lemons, Key limes and blood oranges. Did y'all know that? Nooo. I'm too busy rolling around naked in the schadenfreude about Senator Craig.

I have learned to make the easiest damn enchiladas in the entire world. Have I documented this for posterity? Of course not.

Actually the issue here is that I am a hideously lazy photographer.

My grandfather was a photographer and so there are bazillions of photos of me from when he was still alive. I have always aspired to be one of those people constantly behind the lens of a camera but I guess I have been told a few too many times that I'm not such a great photographer (not to mention my ONLY non-passing grade in my ENTIRE life as a student was in photography - too much math!!!).

Anyway, here are my Rosh Hashanah Resolutions.

• I hereby resolve to take my camera with me where ever I go despite the fact that the on switch CONSTANTLY turns on in my bag thereby depleting the somewhat expensive lithium batteries that I use.

• Additionally, I resolve to save up enough for this camera so that I can take really pretty pictures and my camera will not turn on spontaneously and deplete said batteries.

• Lastly, I resolve to take a Photoshop class within the next 6 months (along with the yoga class, the embroidery class and the screenprinting class that I have also resolved to take) so that my photos turn out pretty like Laurie's and Ree's.

• Also, in the next year I have two (!) big home improvement projects that are going to happen at my new house and I really want to document them.
  

I expect you all to keep me on track with this. Haven't seen a photo in a while? Call me on it. See me at SnB without my camera? Feel free to smack the back of my hand.


Bad blogger. Baaaad.

If mamas ruled the world...

Big ol' tip o' the hat to Quaker Dave and Blue Gal for this one.

Sally Field donned shades of Norma Rae at the Emmy Awards this week stating that " ... if the mothers ruled the world there would be no goddamn wars in the first place."

Well - here's what I think life would be like if the mamas ruled the world

• There would be no children starving in China/Africa/etc. because everyone would have enough to eat
• We'd share everything. We wouldn't take things that aren't ours. We would put things back where we found them.
• We'd leave a place better than we found it and there would be a lot more parks
• Everyone would get a turn
• We'd hold hands and stick together
• Whether or not you were born in a barn, everyone would have to clean up their own mess
• Though money doesn't grow on trees, trees are as important as money
• If you're going to start a fight do it outside and make up before you go to bed

L'shana tova

Let me start with a short story.

This is what I learned about "sin" growing up as a little Jewess.

The word for "sin" in Judaism is het.

A word meaning, "to go astray".

It is actually an archery term. It means to miss the target.

Did you take archery in summer camp? How often did you hit the bullseye?

It's fairly difficult isn't it? With practice however, you got closer and closer. I know I did.

This is how I learned about "sin".

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Tonight is the first night of the Jewish new year.

It begins a time of reflection for Jews. One of the rituals is called "tashlich" which is traditionally a recalling and casting out of one's "sins" by throwing bread crumbs into moving water.

For someone who focuses on her multitude of sins far too often (not to mention someone who doesn't eat bread), I went looking for something that was meaningful to me this time of the year that didn't involve the further gnashing of teeth and beating the breast since that is something with which I am very familiar.

Tashlich actually means casting away and comes from the same root as the shedding of foliage on trees.

This seemed to make sense to me. In order to bring new into my life, I needed to cast out some of my old habits, some of the things I have in my life that are not serving me well that are not nourishing me, that are causing me to wither.

I ask myself this year, what am I ready to release?

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This is also a time of forgiveness. This is a difficult one for me. Both forgiving myself and forgiving others. I am working on this forgiveness thing. I don't have it down.

I don't have a hard time admitting my mistakes generally. When it's all my responsibility, I'm especially eager to step up. I can say, "I'm sorry. It's all me." and feel like I've done teshuvah (repentance).

The problem comes when I don't feel like I'm fully "at fault". I don't like being the only one to take responsibility when it's not all mine. I have a hard time admitting my mistakes when it's not reciprocated.

The point of teshuvah is taking responsibility for your own actions without reciprocity though.

I plan on reflecting on this statement in the next couple of days by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz:

"Time flows in one direction; it is impossible to undo or even to alter an action after it has occurred and become an 'event', an objective fact. However, even though the past is 'fixed', repentance allows one to rise above it, to change its significance for the present and the future ... It is the potential for something else. "

Notes from the couch

First, I want to thank everyone for your thoughts and good wishes. I am so appreciative!

Second: realization. Wow. Being laid up is very hard for me.

Around some parts I am known to be quite the control queen. No, really.

I am crocheting like a mad woman but I never realized how much I like to do in a day and how much of it involves getting up and going.

I am not a fan of daytime television. So I have been mostly sitting in silence.

I'd love to go run some errands.

I'd love to water my lawns. (I don't have a sprinkler system)

I'd love to organize my craft room.

All of these activities involve work that my right side is just not ready to handle.

Seriously, my right boob looks like it was used as a punching bag. Gross.

I am learning how to give myself time to heal.

When I had my accident in Alaska (short version - Ford explorer, tire burst, car flipped over, hand crushed). I went back to work on drugs about a week and a half after the accident. I was determined to show everyone how strong I was. I'm not so determined right now but it is hard to just rest.

It's not in my nature. I'm much more likely to suck it up and show what a trooper I am.

So it's another one of those learning opportunities. Great. Just what I needed.

I'm learning. Slowly.

On Solitude

Loneliness is the poverty of self; solitude is the richness of self. - May Sarton

This weekend I made my annual vacation plans. I am going back to the Grand Canyon, a place of such beauty and silence it is overwhelming.

There is something special about the Grand Canyon. It is in both the synthetic and the natural of the place that makes me go back year after year. When I am there, I need nothing. I am remember the joy of simplicity and yet I have what I consider abundance.

I stay at a the cabins because they are comfortable and separate from the hotels and the few other visitors there for the winter. It also feels more like solitude than being in the Lodge which, though beautiful and also simple, is not the same, almost cloistered, experience.

The cabins host a bed, an armchair, a desk with a writing lamp and chair, a wardrobe and a full bathroom. There are maybe two paintings of the Canyon on the walls. There is a baseboard heating unit. That is all. They are all designed in the simple Arts and Crafts style.

They are neither ascetic nor luxurious.

There are natural gas powered buses that circle the park throughout the day starting before sunrise and ending at night. Once I park my car, there is no reason to move it as long as I am in the park.

At sunrise people gather with hot cups of coffee and cameras throughout the park to watch the sun rise. It is my favorite time of the day. There is no loud talking, only the click of a few remaining 35 mm cameras.

When I visit the Canyon, I will hike out onto a solitary rock where the average tourist does not dare trek. If one is given to vertigo, the paths I take are distressing at best and dangerous at worst.

I travel with my backpack loaded down: a journal, a book, knitting, camera, water and snacks. If it is not terribly windy or snowing, I can sit on the rock for hours, my bare feet dangling over the canyon walls, watching the sun make patterns on various features of the canyon, seeing trees in new ways, watching rock formations that seem created.

When I eat breakfast, I eat alone in the little hotel restaurant. When I am in the Canyon, it is the only time I don't mind eating alone in public. I take my journal and note the other visitors. The two couples together who are traveling across the country, the German tourists preparing for the hike into the canyon for the night, the family with children who will only remember the canyon as somewhere their parents dragged them and not much else.

I'll usually make lunch from provisions in the little market that supplies everything from parkas to marshmallows to decent produce. For dinner, it is so black ink dark in the canyon that I will pick up dinner from the hotel and take it back to my room before I cannot see as I am almost completely night blind and it becomes fairly dangerous.

It is a 7 hour drive to get to my retreat where there is no cell phone access, no internet access. It feels good to be away from communication for 5 days. It feels good to talk little and be observant.

I saw my first snowflakes and completed my only solo 11 mile hike at the Grand Canyon (despite passing one couple who looked pretty athletic and used to this type of thing being fairly concerned for my safety).

On one trip to the Canyon, I nearly returned with a shaved head but the barbershop in the nearest town had closed. I don't think that will happen this year, however, I have found that returning home from these little monastic adventures, I am more focused. I breathe more deeply and appreciate simplicity.

I appreciate the serenity, being responsible to no one but myself, speaking only to order a meal and say thank you to the bus drivers.

By the way, if you are thinking of going to the Canyon and need resources or have questions, don't hesitate to email me.

Madness

The terms of war have, almost without exception, included rape. Usually, the invading army comes in, kills the men and rapes the women. It routinely serves a strategic function in war and acts as an integral tool for achieving military objectives. HRW accessed 7/16/07.

According to Amnesty International,

In every armed conflict investigated by Amnesty International in 1999 and 2000, the torture of women was reported, most often in the form of sexual violence. Rape, when used as a weapon of war, is systematically employed for a variety of purposes, including intimidation, humiliation, political terror, extracting information, rewarding soldiers, and "ethnic cleansing".

Although women have served in various roles in military forces throughout the ages, including but certainly not limited to camp followers, military suppliers, medics and soldiers, never have we been more active in the military than today.

Canada, Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Norway, New Zealand, Nepal, Switzerland, Great Britain and Israel all have women in combat functions in their military. The Coalition forces in Iraq have lost 84 women to date.

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In 1987 I took the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) test as required by my high school. I aced nearly everything. Despite being voted Most Likely to Join the Peace Corps (I kid you not), I very seriously considered joining the Navy in order to become a chaplain.

Reagan was in the White House though and the Berlin Wall was still standing and the threat of war with the Soviets was something I was not willing to bet on. So, I chose not to join.

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Most of the rapes that have occurred by fighting forces involved the other side. The enemy. Not that that makes anything any better - any more sane. Whether a murder was "in the heat of passion" or premeditated murder matters not to the deceased.

Things seem to have taken a turn though. Last month in Doonesbury, Garry Trudeau introduced Cora, a sexual assault specialist working with the VA. Apparently military sexual trauma (MST) is so widespread within the ranks of female soldiers that Doonesbury has picked it up as a story line.

This is not the so-called "enemy" assaulting our female soldiers - these are men with our flag on their uniforms who are assaulting women in the showers and latrines.

Men who answer to our Commander in Chief who demand sex from their female subordinates.

Men who are protecting the "home front" who are denying medical attention to sexually assaulted soldiers and placing them back into the units in which their rapist still serves.

Salon.com features an article entitled, The Private War of Women Soldiers on sexual assault occurring in the military. This article is a "must read" and if you can stomach it, the letters to Salon are also pretty enlightening.

The Denver Post reported on a woman named Danielle who was raped in Kuwait.

Women's Policy Inc. reports on Military Sexual Trauma and PTSD among women.

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In 1987, I attended a party for a friend, K. He was returning home from Camp Pendleton. He was the first person I had ever known who had joined the military. When he was allowed to write, he did so, telling us stories of all of the trials he went through in order to become a U.S. Marine.

That night, like all other nights at K's house, his single mother was nowhere to be found and there was enough alcohol for all of us. With the few memories I actually have of any part of high school, I remember wearing a pair of baby blue leggings (1987, remember).

K arrived at his mother's house with a new friend that he brought home from boot camp. We were all in the backyard. K went to hug his friends. When he got to me he said, "Hi. I'm K." and put out his hand for me to shake. I had become so thin that he didn't recognize me.

Later that night, drunk and stoned off my 16 year old ass, I was making out with the other Marine, R. We went to K's room. I don't know what I had planned but it wasn't having sex with him. To this day I tell myself I should have known better. After all, it was his first hour home from boot camp.

Eventually, K heard me screaming. Or someone heard me screaming and K broke down his own bedroom door. There was a lot of yelling. He threw R out. The party ended. Someone took me home.

No one ever talked about it again. I wrote about it in a journal that was a required assignment. My English teacher never read it. She handed it back to me. It got an "A".

One guy I knew somehow found out about what had happened. He told me he wanted to help. He told me he was going to tell the school counselor. I told him if he did, I'd report him for drug use.

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I don't know what the military teaches people about how other human beings should be treated. I hear that the military is a place of honor and trust. I was raped under a bumper sticker that read, "Semper fi".

What ever it is that the military teaches, I want so badly to be wrong.

I don't think I am.

Mrs. Know it all

I love this picture of some anonymous little girl. I love her eagerness. Her confidence.

I wonder why that gets sucked out of us at such a young age.

I used to be her. (I'm still a total know-it-all - just ask Michael). I'm just no longer quite as eager as I used to be...not quite so bold.

I sometimes feel like talking about myself makes me a big drama queen...an attention whore. Like that's a bad thing. But I guess in my life, in a lot of ways, being the center of attention is not necessarily the best thing. Especially when you're a little-miss-know-it-all.

Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade being smart for anything. The one time I ODed, the one thing I was worried about was that I would have lost so many brain cells that I wouldn't be smart any more....can you say "DORK!"

Last night on the elliptical, I rocked my brains out to "Stupid Girls" by P!NK. That girl has big ol' brass ones. I adore her. I also rocked it a little old school to Cherry Bomb - the original by the Runaways. There's nothing like a little Joan Jett when you're feeling blue.