the dance

    O, I was out walking today and watched as a man noticed a woman coming toward him on the sidewalk. She looked up and recognized him and smiled. Their eyes met and I was enthralled in their story instantly. He began to slow his gait almost 20 feet before he reached her. It was obvious he was meaning to stop ...if she wanted him  to. She slowed and soon they were in the midst of a "Hey,  how are you? How are the kids?" conversation. It was amicable. Well, they both sure did smile a lot.
    It made me realize that all men do this. And it is so charming.

    Imagine if there were some soft music playing. He is walking across the dance hall and he sees her. He is unsure if she wants to dance, especially unsure if she would dare be seen dancing with him, but he slows to catch her eye and say a word in passing. He realizes that she is not only stopping to  talk but smiling and giving him her full attention. He is enamored. Perhaps he is enamored with his own skills, but enamored nonetheless.

   The brief dance that the couple does: smiling, chatting, exchanging pleasantries; all of this is intimate whether on the city street or on the dance floor. It is a funny and often lovely thing to watch.  It reminded me today that a man's smile (his genuine smile) is irreplaceable. It is soothing and warm, welcoming and inviting, boyish and happy. I saw today that no matter how old a man may get or how serious his occupation there is always a wanting for a dance...and I was glad to have stopped at that light today to be able to see it first hand.

You Put the Sugar in my Lollipop

   I was hanging out last night with my girlfriends. We were laughing and making fun of each other when I made a statement that I often make: My family may not be mentally adept, but we are awesome physical specimens. We live a lot longer than we actually need to! It's funny because we really don't know the ages of some of my aunts and uncles. They just keep on living. It makes me smile, but I also found myself thinking some deep thoughts about life on the drive home. So as the song goes, "This one's for the girls".

    There is this urban legend that I'm sure you have heard. The rumor is that girls always judge themselves then look around a room full of strangers to see who is "like" them, minus a point or two, and go make friends accordingly. In other words, women like to be around other women who are (almost) as pretty as they are. Evolutionarily speaking women want to be the prettiest so they can get first choice of mate. So I began thinking about my girlfriends...oh my. Okay, so I am their ugly duckling. I can handle this....maybe...okay in truth let's look at my good points. I can outrun them when I insult them and I can totally walk and chew gum at the same time. I know the best authors and can hold conversations about major rock bands of the 1980's. I also have good jewelry.
    I, believe it or not,  was in the car alone so I had 15 minutes of free thinking time. How my mind wandered. It wandered to the girls who have had to read things to me when my brain just couldn't make out the words. It wandered to the girls who call me late at night when I was already in bed but couldn't sleep because the anxiety of being alone was just too much. It wandered to the girls who trust me with their kids.
   I began to consider what I got out of all these relationships. I will gladly be the ugly duckling if I get to create this beautiful web of friendship that will one day catch my own girls. My girls grow up with great thinkers, artists, environmental educators, health care providers, teachers, musicians, and charity workers. Not all of my girlfriend have babies, but you'd never guess it by how they treat my girls. It just comes naturally to them. My girls have movie dates with my friends. They get ready for prom with my friends. They lunch with my friends. The real lesson that my girls learn is that girlfriends are so much more important than sleep, boys, or even food.
   
   I have no idea how long I am here for, I have no idea if that 'outlive your expiration date' curse will have and hold me, but I know that if I have to leave my girls tomorrow that they have people who love them and who will catch them in this beautiful web. Thank you to all those girls.

2 Women Gave Birth to the Same Baby

    Two babies are born.
One is born into poverty.
The second is born into a royal family.
Both are dependent upon the state for their food, clothing, and shelter.

    The mother who brings home a child that will grow up in poverty hears things like this:

"You should have aborted him rather than make me pay for his Oreos and your beer"
"You should have given him up for adoption rather than making him suffer."
"If my tax dollars are raising him then you better raise him right."
"Stupid bitch, ever heard of contraception?"
" How many kids does that make for you?"

   The mother living in a lavish home hears this:

"I hope he's ugly and mentally retarded."
"Don't you have to have an heir and a spare? "
"I am entitled to know and actually SEE what is being done with that child, he belongs to all of us."
"Oh, poor baby has how many nannies? Does he even know his own mother?"
"Thank G-d the first was a boy. Now you can stop worrying."

There will be moments when both moms have a private moment with their children. A beautiful quiet night of cuddling together and bonding. A night of promises and hand holding. Moms may come in all shapes and sizes and economic status, but today I hold both moms up in the light and hope that both may know peace and love. I hope both have kids that have few hospital visits and even less dental bills. Tonight I hope for a world that will know both children as only "human"- capable of love and capable of teaching us something.
   If you have to look down on women who live in poverty to make you feel self-righteous then you are the reason that they still live in poverty. You could always get up and help.  Jesus called the little children TO him. And with kids, comes parents with baggage. You either accept them or admit that you don't know love. If you look down on the royals because they have everything and have never worked for their castle, then jealousy is a mighty lover. You may need to find love for the children, all the children of the world, and recognize that their parents also come with baggage.

Tonight I hope that both moms get to know their kids, and that both kids will grow up to be wonderful human beings who don't hear the negative and won't allow themselves to be put down, hated, and called names.    You can always tell the people who hate themselves- they hate everybody else and make lots of excuses as to why. Here's to hoping both kids are color blind and have no interest in war. Here's to hoping for education and the yearning for knowledge.

Here's to love.

I am not a Mower

   There is a lot to say about how our lives have changed since the fire. The one thing that I have focused on has been the yard. The front yard was just empty and sterile after we moved back. Today it would seem to any passing motorist that I am trying to make the house disappear. There is what can only be called "a lot" of green. I think  that after losing so much of my privacy and feeling so vulnerable that maybe I am seeking refuge now behind wood and leaf.
    When I purchased the house I did so because of the big back yard. I thought of the hours that my boys would spend out there. They have too. There have been ballgames and potato wars and sword fights.  The back yard has become a shelter for one of the kids. A place where he can be surrounded by the woods and become lost in his thoughts. I still mow part of the backyard, but since moving home and seeing how the woods grew without our constant mowing and care, I have given up the weed eater for good. The hill on the right side of our property no longer runs brown when it rains. The bushes have grown up and erosion is no longer a problem. The woods have left the back 8 feet of our property and have crawled down the right hand side of the property. Perhaps soon I will no longer look up and  see the neighbor's house.
    Michael still has his fruit trees, his blackberries, and his grapes. What I now have includes bunnies, frogs, and an assortment of birds. I also have the funniest caterpillars that I have ever seen. Letting part of the woods go wild means that I can hear birds even in the dead of night. I can see all sorts of spiders and bugs. The fireflies  have a dark place where they can seek out mates. I even saw a groundhog in the neighbor's yard and I am taking full credit for that. Lynn Cherry taught me that if you do nothing more than put a hula hoop out in your yard and refuse to mow that small space you will see lots of bugs and may be lucky enough to get a new variety of plant. I have a dogwood that I didn't have to buy. I have lilies that I didn't have to buy.
   Even though we live in town there are moments when I can forget. I can forget about a lot. Nature heals.

be careful little ears what you hear

    I have issue with people who say that those who sit on these pews "deserve" what they get. As one who sat on a pew in a similar church and was raised by people who were just as aggressive, but without the hugging; I am telling you that the people who sit in these special pews in these special churches really believe that most churches conduct themselves this very way. The people, especially the children,  who grow up in these very special churches really have no idea that they are worthy or special or loved or talented or useful. They have ingested the ideology that they are sick and bad and that they live in a sick and bad world. They cannot "walk away". The brain has been wired to believe that guilt and shame is a way of normal life.
   I don't know if you believe in G-d, and that's not why I'm here. I don't care if you believe in G-d and I certainly am not offended if you believe in a different brand of spirit than I do, but I'm here to tell you this: The first thing I learned about my pagan friends is that they have one rule only. Do No Harm. They are free to live their lives without presuming judgement as long as they don't actively seek to harm anything or anyone. I had never...not in my whole life....ever....even fathomed that I could live and just be kind. Just be myself. Just do good works. Just focus on my relationship with me and my spirit.

    If you believe in G-d please accept my invitation to find a relationship with a loving nurturing G-d who doesn't send mean people to tell you that you are failing at life. And if you don't believe in G-d then please reach out to your friends and relatives who are being verbally and emotionally abused by people who think that they can speak for G-d and commit emotional blackmail on their congregants.

   I am emotionally drained and am having anxiety. I see a fetal position in my future after my kids go to bed.  If you were raised in a place like this, forgive me if this brings you pain. I feel your pain. I am bruised and broken even right now remembering all the  times I was called out, humiliated, shamed and scorned.
   I love you. I trust you. But I will never send my kids to church with you even on VBS night because I don't know what happens in that sanctuary of yours. And sadly, the beauty that I see in your heart does not deserve to be abused in this way on Sunday morning. I did not sit on a naughty bench of a pew for many months and thankfully I never took my kids to a church that allowed this sort of action. This behavior is nothing short of a Jim Jones meltdown when he stood on the Bible proclaiming his worth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSJt-LHMNRY&feature=youtu.be

The Passive Racist

    The sweet white haired grandma stood in the kitchen. She was baking some cornbread and had the radio on singing along with the Statler Brothers. She was happy. The sun was shining through the sunroom and she was planning on having a big family meal later on. She was washing up the good china when her son walked in and said, "Mom, I have a problem. There is a stain on my hood." The music continued to play as she walked to the bathroom and shut the door.
    After dinner was over that night her husband pulled her aside and said, " Hey, honey. Brent got a little too close to the fire tonight. See what you can do about patching up his robe. Okay?" He then kissed her on the forehead and walked back to the front porch where his son  and a few of the grandkids were playing guitars and singing together.

     The sweet white haired grandma that uses the "N-word" is harmless. She doesn't bring any grief to anyone: In fact she usually brings fried chicken. She is the one at church every Sunday who sings in the choir and walks by the nursery kissing the babies calling each one by name. She has actually travelled all over the USA. Her and her husband sit in their air conditioned RV and drive all over America seeing all the sights. They have met thousands of people. They have seen poverty. They have gotten lost and have seen the dusty roads of rural Kentucky. They have stopped before and had dinner at roadside shacks where meals were cooked by people who literally sleep on the booths after closing time because they don't have a house, just a business. They have been to the Universities visiting their grandkids, meeting college students from literally all over the world.
   No, sweet little harmless grandma is surely not our problem. She didn't raise her children to hate people. She doesn't know what her boys do once they leave the house, and after all; they are grown. She has broken bread with many people of many nationalities......none of which she respects.

  She doesn't have to teach her kids hate.  All she has to do is teach her kids that they are better than everybody else because   they are white Christians. All she has to do is teach her kids that they are above the law because G-d is the only one they need to answer to. All she has to do is teach her children that some people are waiters and some people are guests and those two lines don't blur. All she has to do is make sure her kids get vouchers to go to private schools so they don't have to be around "those types of people".

    All she has to do is sew up their robes and bleach their hoods and make sure they have dinner when they get back. Nope, she is surely not a racist. And she has convinced herself that because she has  kept her hands clean that G-d won't see blood on them. Looking away and acting stupid is not a free pass. No, the passive  women of America surely aren't the problem.
  Maybe the problem is the "old" generation....hmm. The generations before us that were just too ignorant to know better? Yes. The ones that cocerned themselves with voting laws, child labor laws, public education laws, and equality laws....they sure were ignorant. 

I am Breaking

    School is out and I am dealing with a range of emotions. This is the last real "summer" I get to spend with all of my kids. The spectrum of ages that now live in my house is daunting. There is no way to have a family lesson or a family discussion. Things are fragmented. My oldest two are practically adults. Samuel is 13. Jonas and Tika Rae are so young. The movies that I watch with the older ones are nothing like the movies I watch with the younger. My heart is in three separate pieces. Sometimes I wonder if those pieces even touch.  Lilli is embarking on her senior year. She is beginning her life. This is the last summer that I will have a baby in the house: Tika goes to Kindergarten in the fall. I have no idea how to feel. There is joy and sorrow mixed so well together that the emotions negate each other and I am left with a hole. A bright empty  hole.
    The biggest lesson to be learned this summer  though is about the middle child. The strong and adventurous boy who desperately needs freedom and through freedom finds identity. There are so many fights and so many late night conversations. There are so many tears and so many rules. I have looked at him and in plain speech said, "I have never had to raise a child before you. Those other two have never crossed me. They have never asked for their freedom. They have never dated, snuck out of the house, or needed space. If you need to be angry please go yell at them!" I am struggling. By the third child the parent is supposed to be so broken that she just hands the kid the car keys and says, "Just be home before daylight. Alive." I am not raising the third child. I am essentially raising my first. He is a deal breaker and a loner. He is a straight A student with tons of friends. He is 13.
    The dynamics in this house are changing. As I am giving him his freedom I am waiting for Lilli to take hers. I am preparing him to choose a high school. I am also preparing Tika to go boldly and bravely into a class of new friends, new ideas, and new rules. I am trying to figure out if Michael will ever get behind the wheel of a car or will he move to a city with a subway. I am breaking. I am fractured. I have never been so whole knowing that all the things that are happening are supposed to happen and all things are right. 
     I am trying to hand over the little kids to the bigger kids for a few minutes each day this summer. Michael is helping Jonas with math. Sam is helping Tika with money. All that seemed fine until I caught Sam trying to teach Tika to count to 'nerfteen'. (sigh). Lilli has taken on a part time job working for a friend for a few hours a week and I am tempted to ask Sam to teach her about money too.
    There is no joy in me. I am simply counting each hour. The nights are so very long as I ponder, in the heat, if any of these people will be recognizable this time next year. How will a year change them all? How will a year change me. What is like to NOT have a baby in the house? What is it like to watch your first baby turn 18? Life is a gaping hollow hole of perfect. I am miserable. I am so very proud.

Schools Behind Fences

 There's been a lot of talk recently about why schools are failing, why they are closing, and why schools are under attack. I don't have any easy answers, but I know why I am disconnected to the school system and it's the school system's fault.
   

"The Good Old Days"

   My children actually attend the same school that I went to. We live only a few blocks from the home I grew up in  and a few blocks from the elementary school. In fact both high schools that my children attend are within walking distance and when I was younger I walked home often from school. The great thing about walking to school is that you meet people. You meet the parents of your child's schoolmates. You see where people live. You become a part of your community. When my oldest kids were at the elementary school, I would walk over to get them and wind up meeting parents who had parked and gotten out of their cars to wander around or grab a teacher to talk to. It was all so casual. The kids were corralled at the Smiley Face and released as parents showed up. Some kids rode bikes and some kids, keys hanging around their necks, walked home. The teachers were out front walking between the kids, looking for parents, and having conversations. We could see the teachers and they could see us.

"Why Don't Parents Care About Education?"
  
    When teachers ask why we parents aren't more involved I get a little offended. The state has encouraged schools to be on lock down the whole day. Trying to get to my child's classroom is not easy. There are numerous locked doors between me and them. The state has also encouraged schools to have background checks on every parent who wants to volunteer. The parent  pays for those out of their own pockets.  The state has encouraged schools to get parents off the buses. You want to field trip with your child? Okay. Fill out this background check, pay for it, and please drive your own car.
   You're going to tell me "It's for the safety of the kids." Really? Because I would feel safer if my kids knew that grown ups weren't threats. The threats I see aren't from local sex offenders but from the teachers that are in the classroom. The state took parents out and replaced them with teachers who now cannot be contacted while they molest our kids or take pictures of our kids, while they yell at our kids and throw things at our kids, and while they pray over our kids (to what G-d I don't know). And while the kids are having sex in the bathroom they don't worry about Lindsey's mom walking in on them. Oh, and those school shooting.....? Were those parent related...? Get real. Kids are okay bringing guns to school because there is no parent wandering the halls who may know your mom or, even better, smack your behind.
   Maybe we don't come to bat for the teachers because we cannot find the teachers. We don't volunteer because we are treated like criminals. We don't care how little you get paid because we aren't there to see you tackle Rodney who has scissors at Tracey's throat. WE DON"T SEE YOU. The state has put you in a position where you are literally fighting this battle on your own. Parents have been put in a position where the only contact most of us have with a teacher is through a letter. I want you to tell me to my face that there is a problem with Timmy. I want that communication that only the spoken word can bring. We are told to e-mail. That is how the state wants us to communicate with our teachers. E-mail. How do I know the teacher got my e-mail? I don't.

    I have to admit that I have seen teachers bend over backwards to get my child to succeed. I have witnessed them go to bat for my kids. The truth is that it doesn't matter how much I am in love with my school district, the district took me out of it. I did not willingly remove myself from my child's school. The community that we spent  years creating is gone. The friends and neighbor attitude is shunned. Schools now want to be invisible and I'm pretty sure if they could have recess behind a jailhouse fence they would. Teaching children that community is dangerous has turned out to be the most dangerous concept of all; and not just for the kids but for the teachers too. We are supposed to hold each other accountable. No one is holding the state accountable for all the  rules. No one is holding the state accountable for anything....because they made sure we can't communicate.
   
   

College, Knowledge, and Learning

     When you say you are going to college this is what I hear:

I am going to test myself
I am going to test my beliefs.
I am going to test whether I have any beliefs of my own.
I am going to meet people who come from different socio-economic backgrounds than me.
I am going to make friends with people who are of different cultures than me.
I am going to hear stories about people who want something more than I do.
I am going to travel.
I am going to read.
I am going to listen.

   When I tell you I want you to go to college I am saying all of the above. I want you to GO to college. Between the years of 18 and 25 if you are sitting on your ass at a computer taking college "classes" you are getting a degree in " I can recite back or look up information". You will not receive a pat on the back from me if you get a certificate through the mail. I will laugh at you, mock you, maybe call you a loser who has no real working knowledge of the world you now claim you are worthy of working in. It's a joke that you are healthy and capable of getting to a school and you choose not to. Oh, and no way am I paying for that on-line tuition. You want a degree from Jamaica? Then get thee on a plane and goest thou there.
  A college class consists of a wide variety of people exchanging knowledge and ideas. Online classes allow you to stay in your bubble while holding onto your own beliefs and cultural value system. You are not challenged. You will not be prepared for working out there in the daylight with people whose world view is bigger, broader, and more advanced than yours. You will stay angry and confused most of your day because you have never met people outside your bubble. You will cling violently to the idea that you are "right" in your thinking and that other people are judgmental of you and you may even come to believe that people are bullying you. What people are trying to do is HOLD A CONVERSATION with you. No one is oppressing you because of your beliefs, what they are doing however, is asking you what, when, why, where....and you don't have an answer. College is the place you go to learn how not to argue with people or hate people or be a raging homophobic bigot.  College allows people to ask you questions and hold you accountable for your ideologies.  It introduces you to movies, music, politics, and ancient beliefs. It is where all the secrets are kept.
College teaches you how to talk to people. It introduces you to culture, religion, and independent thought. It teaches you how not to take yourself so seriously and then allows you in your golden years  the chance to hold your head up and tell people, "No, sir, I do DESERVE whatever I get in life because I spent years learning about myself and the world. You sir, can sit down." College is good.  
  
  If you come to me between the ages of 18 to 25 holding an online degree I am going to tell you to mow the lawn. That is what your degree is worth to me. What you were taught  I learned on YouTube from various professors and I learned it for free.  Community college is a wonderful thing. And you'll probably pay less. You cannot live on campus, so be sure to get a job (and an apartment. Dear G-d get an apartment).
   As you know I have been in and out of college for years. I really long to be in the classroom. The ideas and information inside a college classroom are  addicting. It is a liberating experience to know that there are answers to every question that you have. I sincerely hope you take advantage of college, and if now is not the right time; I hope that you give yourself that time later on in life. It was so very worth it for me. College helps, and it's not at all about getting the right job or a great job...it's about you. YOUR life, YOUR journey. Don't let someone else fill you up with ideas that could make you old and mean and nasty and judgmental  at 18. You have so many years to work on being the perfect  angry old codger. Take this time to open your mind.
.

Hiding Behind Pretty

   There has been so much press and chit chat recently about the Dove ad campaign that features women describing what they look like. I want to share my thoughts on what this ad has done for me.

   What the Dove campaign has taught me is that we (women) don't take into account what we have going on inside of us when we are trying to factor our pretty quotient. Where we see all of our wrinkles and imperfections, other people (even other women) see our light, our energy, our strength. What we feel really shows through our eyes and our smile. When we feel happy it radiates through us and makes us much more attractive. In other words, it makes us accessible and likeable.
    So how has Dove changed my mind about women? I am giving myself a challenge. I want to no longer tell you that you are pretty. Getting told that you are pretty makes all women feel good, okay; but pretty is so subjective. I want to tell you that you are smart. I want to tell you that you scare me with your rock star attributes. I want to tell you that you are fashionable. I want to tell you that you are courageous. I want to tell you that you are thoughtful and genuine. I want us to have a relationship that tests how well I know you so that if we meet in public I can say something more than, "Oh you look so pretty today." I realize how vapid that sounds. I know how pretty my girlfriends are, and I am not going to lie I may send you an e-mail just to tell you how beautiful you are, but in real life I want us to recognize that we are more than just clothes hangers and make-up ads. I love you. I want to tell you why I love you, and it's not just because you land high on someone else's pretty scale.

    Also, let me add this. The woman that you want to be -you are already her. You are just hiding her behind pain, sorrow, depression, and  exhaustion. She is there. She requires work. She requires encouragement. She requires sweat. She requires love. If you want to be a better you, if you want to be a brighter shade of you, then be it. It will take time, but you deserve to be whatever you want to be. It makes no difference if you feel 22 or 42, what matters is that you FEEL and that you are opening up to the world and letting them see you. What matters is that you express yourself.  When the world sees the inside of you, they will stop calling you "pretty" and they will start calling you "that girl I want to be."

2 Ladies Died Today

   Margaret Thatcher changed the face of politics for many females of my generation. England had many Queens before Thatcher, but Queens sit, they don't exactly "act". As Prime Minister though Thatcher was allowed to act and react. Perhaps it was because of how technology had advanced, the advent of Television, that brought Thatcher into our homes; but it was her politics that should have had us stammered. Thatcher chose to surround herself with men. She made the decision to be tough. She made the decision to stand for the Right regardless of moral or rational consequences.
   Today while every young lady in America is quick searching quotes from Thatcher trying to honor her, I present you with the truth: She was a politician. Period.
   For those who tell me not to love my President just because he is a black guy, I beg you to not adore Baroness Thatcher just because she was a woman.


http://irishecho.com/?p=69392

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/1999/oct/06/pinochet.chile

   Meanwhile another woman passed away today. A woman who was just as tough. Annette Funicello passed away after her struggle with MS. Funicello spoke openly about being a single mother. She spoke openly about how success had changed her family dynamics. She set up a charity so studies could be done on neurological diseases like MS.
   I found Annette Funicello when I was very young. She was in a bikini on a beach surrounded by teenage boys and girls, free from parental authority, talking about love and sex, and relationships. I found her on my cousin's TV set. Annette made it clear that her sexuality was hers alone and not to be undone by just any boy. She drove Frankie crazy. She introduced me to a girl named Candy who could dance like no one I had ever seen before. I wore Candy's dress to my prom. I held onto it and wore  it to a Christmas party a few years before my house fire. It was a symbol of my youth, my emergence as a single mom, my sexuality.
   Annette made it okay to know who you were as a woman. She made it okay to be free. She made it okay to ask questions. She made it okay to feel and forgive.
   Two ladies died today, both of them changed the world. One made me sad because she wasn't the feminine, empathetic leader that I had hoped for. One made me happy because she  didn't just embrace her own life, she took it seriously. Both impacted my life through music. Yes, Thatcher had songs written about her. Two ladies died today, as did a little of my youth. May they both find peace.

The Vapid Christain Right

   There comes a time when you have to wonder if Jesus would be happy seeing his picture up on billboards. Is that the kind of person that you signed on to worship when you first heard the Good news?  Did you want that rock star G-d head? Cause Pan is all up for that. Go meet him. The audacity of the Christian right to take over the internets yesterday and scream about Google honoring Cesar Chavez has made me want to Hulk out more than a couple of times.
   Chavez, a man who lived a Christ-like life without all the religious dogma, worked for the poor, the needy, the hungry and the abused. How about the right wing Christian fan base of Christ...because that is all you people  are: a fan base; do a little leg work. How about when someone does something Christ-like you acknowledge it. I don't think Jesus would be jealous.
   Your incessant need to splatter Jesus' face on every tree, sign, and lake dinghy is becoming about as tacky as your televangelists. Real people who have real relationships don't go around yapping about them, they live them. You remind me of rappers who have to get their gold teeth in to prove that they are no longer living in the hood. You constantly have to remind people that you know G-d. You have to remind us because we actually see you lie, cheat, and gossip...let. that. sink. in.
   Google has never been religious. You wanna go there?  The Christmas tree... a pagan symbol. The Easter eggs... pagan. You co-opt days out of a scientific calendar and then get pissed because some of us who understand what a solstice is actually acknowledge the solstice. Seriously. Some of you need a history book.

 WHEN...WHEN are you going to get angry at the real cause of your frustration? It's not the over educated atheists that are standing in your way. It's not the Muslims that demand equality (in America of all places) that are bothering you. Nope, your real enemy is your own church. The Church that decided when Jesus' birthday should be put you squarely at odds with the scientific and the pagan communities both. The Church that thought you were too vapid to understand that Easter is a floating holiday, well, maybe they were right. I have 10 year olds asking why Easter is never on the same day each year,  but 40 year old women who just never noticed. It is shocking to me that you are part of a religion that you "love" yet know absolutely nothing about its inception. You don't know anything about King James. Hell, some of you think he wrote the book! Have you ever watched a documentary about him?? nope. You know nothing about Constantine. You know nothing about the money that passed between religious and political parties so that your religion may be the biggest, loudest,  and strongest. And for a people who try to get each and every child they see into the church building you sure don't stand up to the Catholic Church about their rampant pedophilia.

What would Jesus do? Jesus would tell you to get him off your internet memes and get out of your churches, sell what the church has and feed people....no, that would mean nobody could read your self righteous Twitter updates anymore. Screw that.
What would Jesus do? He would be walking the streets meeting people, not sitting at home on the interwebs. He would be honest. He would be holy. He would be kind...and he would not be in church.

Lipgloss Part 2

 They are homeless because they came back from war to find their family had grown up and moved on without them.

They are homeless because they cam back from war and didn't trust themselves to stay with a fragile wife and delicate children.

They are homeless because they came back from war to find no jobs left for them

They are homeless because it is easier to be homeless than to be hit.

They are homeless because mommy's depression means she can't remember to pay the bills.

They are homeless because their house burned down.

They are homeless because people say, "We aren't helping them, they are homeless for a reason."


   Today, while you are dressed in hundred dollar outfits and  spending hours in the kitchen cooking  a large family meal, Jesus is homeless. While you participate in a fertility ritual that predates Christianity because you're not smart enough to realize what eggs are and that if you want a Savior born in December then somebody better get pregnant, Jesus is homeless. While you are singing about how blessed and saved and righteous you are Jesus is homeless. Yes, today is totally about how great you are. Totally about how you just got a free ticket to heaven. Totally about how super duper awesome Jesus thinks you are.
   
    Jesus is homeless. He is worn, weathered, dirty and alone. He is full of scars and scratches. He is homeless. He does not go to the temple and announce that he is back. He does not wave a flag and march through town. He simply wanders in the direction he feels his friends might be.

If you think that when Jesus returns he is going to have some sort of concert in your multi-million dollar religious complex with the basketball court and 3D movie theatre, Jesus is homeless. Homeless people don't hang out there. They generally aren't allowed to. If you think  Jesus is coming back wearing pristine robes that match your Dolce and Gabbana pink Easter purse, Jesus is homeless. If you look back at Jesus' history, he has always been homeless.

  Next Easter maybe for Jesus' sake, you could study a little. You might enter the church with some knowledge of Ostara and Ishtar. Maybe you could wear something a little less formal and more humble. Maybe you could be prepared to meet Jesus out on the street where he is wandering. Maybe you could even read his own words...John 18.36, "Jesus answered, My kingdom is not of this world: if my kingdom were of this world, then would my servants fight, that I should not be delivered to the Jews: but now is my kingdom not from hence." This scripture also frees the Jews form years of bigotry that followed by idiots that scream, "the Jews killed my Lord." Once again, good Christians who have never studied their Bibles.
   Maybe next year you could check you lipgloss at the door. Maybe you could care that Jesus is homeless. Maybe you could show a little character and act like you know what he did and what he said. Rather than telling everybody how great your next life is going to be, why don't you do something of value in this one. Why do you not go meet the homeless man that is your Savior?


~ if you ever wonder why people don't go to your church or why people look down on religion, it has nothing to do with what you believe. No one calls you stupid because you believe in a Savior/G-d. All religions do. What people don't like is that you celebrate with  pre Christian holidays and then scream about how they belong to YOU and only YOU. What they think you're wrong about is not your passion for your G-d but your hate for your fellow man. Jesus was a homeless Jewish man of Middle Eastern descent. You would call the cops on him today if you saw him in your neighborhood. It's the multi-million dollar  religious arenas and the  two thousand dollar suits that people are appalled by. In the world or of the world?  It's the hypocrisy, children. Stop screaming about your persecution as Christians when you have brought it upon yourselves with such hypocrisy. ~

  

A Little Lipgloss to Brighten Your Sorrow.

And Jesus wept.

      As anyone who is terminal does, there is bargaining. There is begging. There is hope for a reprieve. How can someone so young willingly roll over and be still while death stalks them? Most can't. Jesus didn't. There were prayers. There were tears. There were plans. There were friends.

    Each year as I sat in Maundy Thursday service I would weep. The guilt and the fear were very real to me. Each year I wanted to stand up and say, "No, I can carry my own burden. I can be responsible." It wasn't until years later that I would learn that I actually did have to carry my own burden and take my consequences squarely on the jaw; but as someone still immature to the world Thursday broke me. What also broke me was that Jesus' friends fell asleep while he prayed. They were either resigned to the fact that he believed he would die or they thought he was wasting their time. We will never really know.
    On Sunday morning I would walk into church to see an all out celebration and hear singing and chanting and people saying, "We won! He won the battle for us!" The battle. What battle? The battle over death they would say. I would reply with something along the lines of, "But he still died."
I was not being naïve. I was being honest. Have you ever sat with a cancer patient and watched the struggle. Yes, death would probably be easier, but damn, life means kids and books and TV shows. Living means a chance to do something different. What is death?
     We have no idea what death is, but we know how people react to it. I call it the "clawing".  Imagine a cat thrown into a bathtub. He digs his claws into the porcelain hoping, hoping, squeezing his little paws. He really doesn't want to go. I have a cat and he loves fish. He does not love fish enough to jump in the lake and get his own. I know that people are fascinated with what is on the other side of death, but very few willingly go simply because they know they can't come back and tell us. Once it's done, it's done. I have seen people clawing to stay here on earth just one more minute. Knowing your fate is different than accepting your fate.
    Jesus wept.
   What I want to know is, regardless if you believe him to be a real person or not, do you understand the emotion of Thursday? Not Easter, not Ostara, not the beauty of Ishtar, not the sun shiny happy eggs...do you understand the weeping? Do you understand (and I say this with respect, even if you believe it to be a story) that Jesus would never be human again and on some deep level that pained him. Look at his relationship to Lazarus. Jesus was full of mourning for his friend. Jesus felt real emotion. He lived a full life. He literally put his hands on people, not to heal but to feel.
   So what pains me about Easter? The "get over it" Christian attitude. The attitude of people that believe that someone died for them yet they celebrate- all out party- on the Sunday after their best friend just died. "He has risen and we are blessed". My father never let me have a crucifix because he said as Christians we do not focus on the death. Well, duh. When my father was diagnosed with cancer he certainly focused on death. He prepared for it. He paid for it. He gathered his friends around. They mourned, they prayed, they stayed up all night. That's what real friends do. Today they still call, they still say they miss him. They know that death means 'a not returning'.  To sit in Jesus' seat and know that you will not be returning. It is a great and holy narrative on what life should be: Friends, a last supper, a tear in the dark. And then repeat. Repeat it every single day until you are taken by death.
    For Christians who have for centuries waited with baited breath for Jesus to return so that they can go to heaven and be "happy", I ask you this: What if he doesn't return in your lifetime? Are you staring at the sky each day waiting for him so you can "get over" this life and move on to something better? Or are you mindful of what he gave up for you? Are you mindful and respectful of what the Bible tells you? Or are  you blessed and chosen and allowed to party and then sleep while Jesus begs his Father for a reprieve?
    How you view death is important.  How you view someone else's sacrifice is what makes you either a friend or a worthless disciple.

Outfielders

    Each baseball season I give my boys the same speech: You cannot win this game through hitting. Homeruns do not win ballgames. Defense wins ballgames. Do not ever stress out about how far you hit it or how hard you hit it. If you hit it, then run hard. Make the outfield get you out. You can swing for the fence all day long, but it's the outfielder that controls how far you move.

      I think this is sage advice too for normal everyday tasks. Yes, we all enjoy a good trip back to our high school. We like seeing our pictures on the wall in the hall outside the gym. We like seeing our names up on plaques. We all remember what great football players look like. Having a big shiny moment is special. It's fun to know that you are still remembered 20 years later as the "hero". But how's life working out?
       Batters swing at everything. Do they know their limitations? Do they know when others are throwing them  curve balls? Are you the kind that sees a pop fly and runs for it. Do you just HAVE to get it? When you see  that  ball barreling toward you at second base, do you cover your face or put your glove up and prepare for the blow? When you sit on the bench are you cheering or pouting...or watching the crowd?
    Life is made in those choices. How are you going to handle that moment when the bat slips out of the batter's hand and is headed straight toward you? Are you prepared for the sudden shocks that life hands you or do you need to be in complete catcher's gear just to handle a typical Thursday? You cannot win at life by riding those glory moments. You cannot keep patting yourself on the back because you won a game once. How often do you grab a competitor and say, "Man, what you just did there was awesome! Good job!" How often do we think that winning means  being a winner? They are two very different things.

    You need to focus on your defense. Your batting arm is very important, but so are your legs. So is your ability to think on your feet. Are you going to call that ball or let the other guy step up? Who you are, how slow you are, how much attention you pay on that field says so much about who you are in life. Learn how to take a hit. Learn how to feel the sun on your face while protecting your eyes. Learn how to listen.  The batters  who hit home runs come off the field all pristine and shiny. You, you my friend, need to walk into the house and have people look at you and say, "Wait, did you have a game today? You are filthy! Get a drink, grab a  bath and relax." The one thing that I have learned from running is that I earn my bath time!
   Don't be the guy with just his name on the wall. Be the guy people still come to because you have life skills, and smell fine.

A Simple Amen

The housework can wait for just today
I have ballgames to go to
and debts to repay
Tithes  to be offered
and board games to play
There are people that I miss
and one of them is me

The housework can wait while I learn to be me

Why I Don't Have a Tatoo and Other Stories

     People are usually surprised that I don't have my ears pierced. I did once, for 24 hours. It was the worst experience I could have imagined. There was something foreign in me, on me, that absolutely did not belong there. I have been clear with the kids. If you want your ears pierced you must be at least 12 years old. You have to pay for it with birthday or Christmas  or Chanukah money. You have to be responsible. I will not be taking you to the doctor for infections because you are lazy. Don't get infections. I won't be buying your jewelry either. It's you. It's all you.
    The kids have asked me about tattoos. My answer has always been: It's not for me. If it's for you then you have to be at least 18 and then we're back to the same rules. The real reason that I don't have piercings or tattoos comes down to a very simple principle for me. It's about honesty. When I look at history what I see are ancient cultures who marked themselves. This is what a tattoo is: a tribal marking.  Historically tattoos represent your belonging to a certain village. Each tattoo symbolizes a journey on your road to becoming a man (or woman). Each tattoo and it's color and placement tell a very specific story about how old you are, what your role in society is, what family you belong to. Perhaps the Jews were told not to get tattoos because each family actually had a crest; a color. They were not expected to mark themselves because this was seen as something that you do to slaves. Branding. Jewish families have other ways of recognizing themselves. Also, we usually just talk a lot and TELL you what you don't want to know and then some. The Jews also have a way of documenting their lives on paper, not skin.
    So, why do I not at this juncture have piercings or tattoos? Well, I really have never felt that I had a tribe. I don't feel like I work in conjunction with any village or group. I don't have that familial need to be forever branded to a group. I also don't have any deep bonds to any certain metal or gemstone. I believe earrings to be something that also identify your personality and should be worn to show who you are what you believe, and let's face it; what class you belong to. Jewelry is a magical thing. Earrings especially signify something that cannot or should not be removed.
   Am I taking this too far? Sure. On a few levels, but we come from a society that yells at a kid if he wears his shirt 3 days in a row. Give me a break! I am someone who has lost a marriage, all my personal belongings, my father, and a few friends. I completely understand why a kid NEEDS to wear the same shirt for a week. Safety and identity. In my case I always find a way to keep going though. My safety nets change and my identity, thank G-d, has changed a few times. I want to keep changing, but when I need to feel solidarity to a group of people, then I turn on some music or wear their tee shirt. I am a person who needs change.
   Let me add this story. I was in the book store one day when I met some parents from the middle school. We got along fine. A month later I ran into the father again. he took me aside and said, "May I ask you a question? It's personal." He wanted to know if my Star of David necklace was a Jewish symbol or a pagan star. He meant no offense, and neither answer would have swayed his like
or dislike of me, he just wanted to know who I was.
   Kids, it's not the tee shirt that screams, "I Love Boobs" that make people judge you as much as those little things. Those extremely personal things like jewelry or tattoos. And the truth is America is a huge place. A symbol of a star to one group of people in NYC does not translate the same here in the South. You have to be very careful with symbols. You have to be sure of yourself. I will never be sure of myself and I will never want some memories etched into my skin. That is my own shortcoming, my own faults and insecurities. You aren't me. Do what you like, harm none, and be sure of yourself. Just make sure you are mature enough to handle the questions and the controversies. Peace.

You Create Your Own Hell. Now Shut Up.

"If God listened to the prayers of men, all men would quickly have perished; for they are forever praying for evil against one another." --Epicurus (341-271 BC).
    I had been writing this for about a week now when I began reading The God Article on Facebook and  Randy posted this quote. It rather punched me in the stomach. I figured it was time to unleash my frustration because I certainly was holding onto it waiting for the "right time". So, here is my  piece for today:

    I recall a time when I was in someone's house and heard the man of the house in the kitchen praying. It was very early in the morning and the sound of his cries could be heard clearly. The sun was not yet rising, but he had risen with his anguish, his anger, and his grief. His life had recently become quite a drama due to another family member and he was seeking council with his Lord. There in the warmth of an uncomfortable bed I heard his prayer. It has stuck with me for many years. His voice was  cracking and his hand was  formed into a fist, pounding on his kitchen table. He was begging. He was broken. This was his prayer,
                       "G-d, get him. G-d I  am begging you to get him. He needs to die and be dragged to hell. G-d please, it's time."

      The prayer was said over and over. the tears involved were audible. This man was serious.

It happens all too often in the Christian church that we don't pray, "Open my eyes so that I might see his hurt, his anguish."

We don't pray, " Dear father forgive me for being a stumbling block and please remove me from the situation that I seem to be aggravating."

We don't pray, "Lord, please let me distance myself from those that cause drama so that I can better focus on myself."

We don't pray, "Dear G-d, you have been our hope in ages past, please be this man's hope and please change his heart to allow him to love."

    If you wonder why the doors of the church are closing please stop blaming Satan. He hasn't had to work in maybe 3 or 4 centuries.  There is a reason that the Bible says that the Christian Church will be persecuted. It's because obviously someone could see far enough into the future to see the Christians burning the witches, condemning the baby killers to hell, and telling single moms to stop being whores. You deserve persecution if that is your way of life, and for many "Christians" it most certainly is.
   I was invited to church recently by a lady whom I have to see because our kids are in school together.  I checked out her Facebook page. She keeps arguments up with non-believers...no, she keeps arguments up with people she claims are non-believers. She would know a believer, right? Inside track to G-d's voice, she has. She consistently calls people stupid, tells them to go to hell, is paranoid of Satan coming after her kids. She is representing Christ while telling people that they don't know the Bible or Christ and have never been to church.......because she "knows".
  If G-d is calling on you to "out" people and condemn them for not being Christians or for not believing what you believe, please, get thee to a doctor. You are not alright. Those voices are not the voices of G-d, they are your own voices of ego, delusional self worth, and anger. If you are lashing out at people whom you don't really know because you feel empowered by G-d to show them the "way", then you really need to spend some time working on yourself.
   It takes a sick person to call on G-d to punish others. It takes an even sicker person to cry because they are being persecuted for the harm that they are causing. You want hell? Fine, grow the hell up. Look in a mirror. Stop paying attention to your neighbors. Sop reading stupid Facebook posts that aren't about happiness, joy, and growth. You want to be a Christian, go be one. Keep your  mouth SHUT and try living as Christ called you to live: BY EXAMPLE, and with Love, Gratitude and Grace. If you cannot do that, then it's Satan who has won you, not the other way around.

There are no Least Favorites

   I am again faced with the, "I am not your favorite child" syndrome. Life is hard for kids, especially the teenage ones. It's hard for parents too who are trying to make everyone in the house happy. I've learned that I will never make everybody happy at once, my only goal has been to make sure that only one is unhappy at a time. When the kids were smaller we would play a game . Before I would take them into a store I would say, "Okay, it's (name of kid)'s turn to misbehave. Everybody would smile and laugh and they would spend time trying to figure out how the kid would misbehave. All tension was alleviated. I didn't have to worry about temper tantrums or fights, they knew that somebody "could" in theory misbehave. Of course, they didn't. As they have gotten older I have seen this play out on a bigger scope. If one is having a meltdown or giving me grief then the others just walk away. I am lucky that it comes in cycles. I can have 3 months of fighting with one kid and then suddenly there will be a break in the clouds, everything aligns and we are back to normal. Then another one will get under my skin. We have a rotating door here.
    My inability to make children happy really doesn't have anything to do with how many children I have. It comes from that place that tells kids that they are the underdogs and that they aren't getting enough attention...or stuff. I think all families go through this.  Kids, being the favorite in a house is really dependent upon your own personality. At times you are involved in sports or some after school program and you come home and you have stories to tell. You come home proud of yourself and  wanting to talk about how awesome your day was , and this leads to bonding. When someone walks through the front door with a, "Did you hear..." then of course they get attention. Parents seem to have favorites because they either love the kids that bring them adventure or they love the kids that bring them safety. The favorite one seems to change about every six months as personalities change, interests change, life broadens.
    There are no least favorites though.  I guess I always thought that all children wanted to see themselves as beautiful and wanted. The truth is that some kids are predisposed to believe that they are somehow lacking. I don't think that it has anything to do with being the middle kid or the third boy, I think some are just naturally self aware of their differences and they magnify those differences. It's not mom or dad who see you as the least favorite. You are throwing your own shadows in that situation.
   We have always taken the time to try and do something special with each kid. With Lilli I have tried to bring her into my world of long walks . I have tried to make sure she is surrounded by women that she can talk to and can hang out with.  Michael has band and  sci-fi conventions. Sam has theme parks and movies. Jonas  food, movies,  and camping out in mom's room. Tika has dance -offs and Chuck E Cheese.  The truth is that it doesn't matter what we do as parents we will never do enough. Rich kids are unhappy. Poor kids are unhappy. Mom is either working and never home or mom is way too far in their business. Guess what? It's not all mom's fault. The underlying reason that kids are unhappy is : they are kids. They are struggling to be just like us while not being anything like us. They want their freedom and their own ideologies while coming home to a safe place with unlimited food. It's called growing up and some of us don't achieve that until 30. Some of us, I guess will never reconcile what mom did and didn't do right. Some of us will always want to be unhappy. As a parent I just have to force conversations, be reasonable, and yell occasionally. Apparently if I don't yell it translates to I don't care. All I know is I can't win.
   In reality, maybe it's mom who needs the pity party because she is definitely the least favorite. Unless there are cookies involved. Geez.  Can't we just agree to be happily miserable together?

Strong Women; Good Plots

The Hangman's Daughter is  a novel by Oliver Pötzsch. It is the fictional book I was allowed to pick out for my birthday from ML. I chose this book at random having never heard of it, and I was not disappointed. The truth is I am a firm believer in "old" stories. The Hemingway's, the Fitzgerald's; these are the authors I am drawn to. I love books with dust  and fingerprints on them. I was surprised by what I found inside this book considering it was just published in 2010. I found a great mystery full of truth and a lovely and engaging  writing style.
    Have you ever sat down at a buffet and realized that it was so good you didn't want to leave, but you knew how stuffed you were?  This  book is like a big wonderful, well prepared meal. Each chapter is a different course. Each chapter leaves you full,  but you know you want more. I had to step away after I finished the first chapter, I had to ask myself if I truly understood what I just read, and was I prepared for what was coming.
    This book deals with the murder of children. Its characters are  a hangman, a doctor, and a strong willed young woman. All 3 of the main characters are smart and not to be undone by superstition. They have their feet firmly planted in reality, but are surrounded by uneducated, superstitious villagers who still cling to  the dark ages. It is a book that tackles the feeling of trying to reason with someone who refuses to see the light just because they want emotion rather than justice. If you liked The Crucible or if you like the story behind The Crucible, then you will appreciate The Hangman's Daughter.
   I have since discovered that this book is part of a trilogy. I cannot get my hands on the last two books fast enough. The characters are very real and remind me of people that I know. It is  a book that will stay in my library and I wish so badly to see this book become a movie...it played out that well in my head.

This is an Advertisement

    I got a copy of  "Restaurant Man" for my birthday. I was interested in the book because I like Joe Bastianich. I first became aware of Bastianich when I accidentally found Master Chef on Hulu (can I get paid for that ad?) Bastianich is not a chef.  He is  restaurateur in a world full of celebrity chefs and he is competing for attention- or money. He is surrounded by people who celebrate food and this book is his chance to show us that he is not just food savvy, but business savvy.
   I liked Bastianich, but I wanted to get to know him. On his show he has moments of great humanity and tenderness...those moments are rare, but I wanted a better understanding of who this new reality TV show guy was. His book is not an autobiography. It is a curse laden advertisement for how smart he is and how much he has given to America's diners. There is no editing going on inside the covers. What you read is exactly as Bastianich would tell it if you were across the dinner table from him. His voice resonates on each page.
    The book is all over the place. It is not a guide on how to open a restaurant, but it gives advice in every chapter. It is not another Bastianich Wine Bible, but he spends chapter after chapter walking the reader through good Italian wine, wine prices; wine glasses. I am not a drinker so a book that should have taken 2 days to read took me about a week. I was familiar with most foodie terms, but the names of wine and the Italian references took me time to paddle through.
    So why did I stick this out when it wasn't the book I wanted?  Bastianich is a character. He likes to talk about the sickness that rests inside most restaurants and I found that really interesting. He has a sense of business that is pretty incomparable. I also love New York.  Bastianich claims to have changed the face of New York eateries. I have not been back to the city since he opened Eataly  and it is the one thing I am seriously looking forward to on my next visit.
   Bastianich is a natural competitor, and I respect that. It becomes clear in this book that he is trying to sell the reader on a higher minded way of not just eating, but living. I would have liked to see the 4 books that were crammed into this one actually written. I would have liked to see the inside of his restaurant mind, the inside of his travels to Italy. I wanted to see the dirty side of the business. I got a taste of all of that. I got Bastianich talking at me, getting sidetracked, telling stories: I got the Bastianich that I see on TV. All that is good but I wanted it in a little more  thoughtful package.

     The book is good if you love wine. The book may even be great if you love wine. The book is good if you love New York dining. This is not a quiet book that makes you feel as though you are  the only one hearing Joe's secrets. This is loud, full throttle Joe letting the whole town know that he's here and he is the reason that America eats the way it does...with a little help from Lydia. He does love his mother.

Genius Jerk

   If you watch The Big Bang Theory on CBS you have heard Dr. Richard Feynman's name mentioned a few times. In fact if you watch closely you can see a little Feynman in Dr. Sheldon Cooper's personality. Over the holidays I finally sat down and  read Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman. It is a book that compiles some of Feynman's interviews and speeches. I was promised a "fun" book. Oh, geez.
   Feynman explains his youthful curiosity so we do get a glimpse of how intelligent he was as a child. This intellect wasn't taught or instilled in him, he simply was born to learn. Feynman's need to control things and use people as social experiments made me  uncomfortable, even angry. At one point I  was so aghast at his stalking skills that I declared to my cousin, whom knew I was reading this book, that Feynman was a sociopath. If Dr. Feynman had not entered into the University and been protected by his professors and peers is there any way he could have stayed out of jail? Even he admits that he spent many nights wandering the streets talking to himself. He made outlandish contracts with people and while working in Los Alamos on the bomb he became obsessed with safecracking.
    Yes, he was a genius but there was something in Feynman that wanted the ultimate human experience but he still came across as detached. He studied things but never submerged himself in them because he wanted the knowledge, but I, as a reader,  didn't see the passion. His whole life was made up of, "Tell me.", "Show me". I respect that. My problem with Feynman comes from his not actually seeming to have an emotional attachment to what he was doing.
    The real example came on page 74 when Dr. Feynman is working with Hildegarde Lamfrom on RNA protein production and she needs ribosomes. He gives her ribosomes from E. coli to use. He basically ruined her experiment and set the work back, by how many months or years I don't know. Dr. Lamfrom was working in the same lab as Watson and Crick and I believe it was Watson that went on to mention her in his Nobel Prize speech. This was a woman on the cusp of something huge, and then comes Feynman. In the end he makes this comment, "That's the trouble with not being in your own field: You don't take it seriously."  Throughout the whole experience of reading I just kept throwing the book down screaming, "Surely you're a jerk Mr. Feynman!!"
    The book talks a little about physics, but most of the book is just Feynman talking about ants, bars, women,  Los Alamos, and Carnival. I loved the name dropping that he does. He mentions Oppenheimer. He names names in Los Alamos. It's like eavesdropping on a pivotal time in history. Feynman had his hands in some of the most bizarre and crazy events in American history. He also makes great revelations about the human condition   ...I just can't get past the jerk part. I will continue to read Dr. Feynman's work. I am just too curious. I will have my aspirin handy and only throw the books at inanimate objects. Feynman will always be a key player, maybe even the star, of American science and I will never be bored.

I just turned 406 and still weigh the same as a duck

   There is a line  from the movie A Knight's Tale. William is in the stocks and his friends are around him holding various weapons trying to protect him from the mob. Lord Colville comes to release William and before knighting him says, "Your men love you." It is my favorite line from any movie.

    I grew up an only child. I was awkward and backward and weird; still am. The only thing I ever really longed for was people to come over- just show up. I was lonely.On birthdays I really wanted people to show up. The presents were nice but I never knew how to thank them appropriately for the gifts. I just wanted them to be there for me.
   I have worked very hard to try and create grown up friendships. It is difficult work. You never really know someone until you know them. As Jennifer once said (I am paraphrasing) We weren't instant friends. Friendship takes time and patience and work, and we don't ever know when the moment was that we decided we were friends...it just happens. It grows. And you  have to care for it. Jennifer is so thoughtful.
   I also have many friends that push me. They ask hard questions, they give me tasks that I hate, they explain things to me, but mostly they just show up. In fire, in birth, in sickness, in celebration they show up. In the past 5 years I have certainly done my share of time in the stocks. I have been weighed, measured and found wanting. I have been worthless and useless. They still show up. They bring laughter, reason, wisdom, blankets, sarcasm, and weapons. They are my people.

 I so want to repay them for what they have done for me. I have no idea how so let me say this: When the world comes for you and you are placed in the stocks,  I hope that you will look down and see me. I hope that you will say, "There is Shey. She is one of my men and she loves me." Because I do. I love you.