Hi, everyone!
I know I haven't been here in a while. I've just been pondering a lot of stuff.
I -- and probably most of you -- have been disturbed by the unrest and horrible division going on in our country.
Thus, I have been meditating upon the words of Pope Francis and the spiritualities of St. Francis and St. Benedict. They are all people of peace. They show a way to peace that transcends politics, that embraces the unity of creation and the love we should all have for creation -- including our fellow human beings.
I need to find a way for my life that does not cause me anxiety, but allows me to feel peace inside and that allows me to embrace beauty and creation and humanity (even that part of humanity I disagree with on important issues).
So, that's what I've been up to.
And I wish peace to all of you.
Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Thursday, July 20, 2017
Sitting Under The Swamp Cooler
It has been a very hot summer, which has made me remember back to a hot summer when I was a very, very small child of about two years old. I actually have a few memories of being that age and they mostly entail getting into trouble, which I did A LOT. I was kind of a handful, as I understand it. I still am. Haha.
Anyway, when I was a small child, my family lived in Sacramento, which is like hell in the summertime, temperature-wise. And back in the day, there was no air conditioning, so there was in our house what was referred to as a "swamp cooler." I have no idea what the thing really was or how it worked, but I remember that it was in the ceiling of our hallway. And it dripped. A lot. I don't think it was actually supposed to drip, but it did. So, naturally, in my two-year-old wisdom, during a summertime that was as hot as hell, I decided to sit under it. It was wonderful. I remember sitting under it and being so refreshed, as the cool water drip-drip-dripped onto my head.
My mother had told me not to sit under the swamp cooler. I have no idea why, but it was against her house rules. If you knew my mother, though, you will remember that she was an exceedingly neat, tidy person, who did not abide utilizing things for purposes for which they were not designed. And I suppose that the idea of her two-year-old daughter, all dressed in her cute summer outfit, with her hair neatly combed and held in place by a darling bow-shaped plastic barrette, sitting under a malfunctioning swamp cooler, just totally rubbed her the wrong way.
Even at that age, though, I had my own mind. And dammit if I wasn't going to sit under the dripping swamp cooler when the house was a fucking 104 degrees, or some nonsense like that. I, of course, did not know the word "fucking" at two years old. I did know the word "dammit," because that one was popular with my mother. But my toddler brain formed thoughts that definitely included the sentiments those words imply. Also, it was fun to sit under the swamp cooler and get wet. So, I would sneak into the hall and plant myself under the forbidden treasure, cooling myself off and having a grand old time until my mother inevitably found me. I knew she would find me, but I didn't really care.
I did care, though, about the spanking I got, but it was not enough to dissuade me from my mission of sitting under the swamp cooler. My mom was big on spankings, so I kinda learned to ignore them, especially when I thought The Rules were lame. I always had big and very self-confident opinions on The Rules, as I still do. If you know me, you know this about me. Fear of punishment is not an adequate motivation to keep me from disobeying The Rules, if I think they are lame.
When I grew up, my mom apologized about the spankings. She also apologized for "stifling" me. She would say, "We probably stifled you too much. But, I had never known a kid like you and I didn't know what to do." It's okay mom, I know I'm sort of a weirdo. ;-)
My dad must have fixed the swamp cooler, eventually, thus causing me to find some other way to get into trouble, which I inevitably did.
Anyway, when I was a small child, my family lived in Sacramento, which is like hell in the summertime, temperature-wise. And back in the day, there was no air conditioning, so there was in our house what was referred to as a "swamp cooler." I have no idea what the thing really was or how it worked, but I remember that it was in the ceiling of our hallway. And it dripped. A lot. I don't think it was actually supposed to drip, but it did. So, naturally, in my two-year-old wisdom, during a summertime that was as hot as hell, I decided to sit under it. It was wonderful. I remember sitting under it and being so refreshed, as the cool water drip-drip-dripped onto my head.
My mother had told me not to sit under the swamp cooler. I have no idea why, but it was against her house rules. If you knew my mother, though, you will remember that she was an exceedingly neat, tidy person, who did not abide utilizing things for purposes for which they were not designed. And I suppose that the idea of her two-year-old daughter, all dressed in her cute summer outfit, with her hair neatly combed and held in place by a darling bow-shaped plastic barrette, sitting under a malfunctioning swamp cooler, just totally rubbed her the wrong way.
Even at that age, though, I had my own mind. And dammit if I wasn't going to sit under the dripping swamp cooler when the house was a fucking 104 degrees, or some nonsense like that. I, of course, did not know the word "fucking" at two years old. I did know the word "dammit," because that one was popular with my mother. But my toddler brain formed thoughts that definitely included the sentiments those words imply. Also, it was fun to sit under the swamp cooler and get wet. So, I would sneak into the hall and plant myself under the forbidden treasure, cooling myself off and having a grand old time until my mother inevitably found me. I knew she would find me, but I didn't really care.
I did care, though, about the spanking I got, but it was not enough to dissuade me from my mission of sitting under the swamp cooler. My mom was big on spankings, so I kinda learned to ignore them, especially when I thought The Rules were lame. I always had big and very self-confident opinions on The Rules, as I still do. If you know me, you know this about me. Fear of punishment is not an adequate motivation to keep me from disobeying The Rules, if I think they are lame.
When I grew up, my mom apologized about the spankings. She also apologized for "stifling" me. She would say, "We probably stifled you too much. But, I had never known a kid like you and I didn't know what to do." It's okay mom, I know I'm sort of a weirdo. ;-)
My dad must have fixed the swamp cooler, eventually, thus causing me to find some other way to get into trouble, which I inevitably did.
Tuesday, March 21, 2017
A Family Story
I come from a very colorful family. I think about this a lot, but a little incident today reminded me of one particularly colorful anecdote.
I shall tell you about it. ;D
My dad's parents immigrated to the U.S. from Italy back in the early 1920's. My mom's dad was 100% Italian and my mom's mother was 100% Irish. On St. Patrick's Day, I was thinking about the grandness of immigration, so I wrote on Twitter: "I am one quarter Irish and three quarters Italian. Magic like that doesn't happen without immigrants." Feeling happy inside, I went about my St. Paddy's Day, celebrating with a bit of Maker's Mark in the evening.
Anyway... Today, some cranky dude found my remark and evidently wanted to rain on my parade, so he replied: "No. ur 100% (insert American flag emoji here) and don't forget that! U didn't come off the boat and ur family did it the legal way"
Of course, I should have ignored this cranky dude, who is probably worried about his health insurance, but I didn't ignore him, because it is hard for me to ignore stuff. So, I said: "Actually, my grandpa did not exactly do it the legal way and almost got deported. (insert winky face emoji here) #ImmigrantsForeva"
The poor man (who was probably home sick with the flu and wondering if he will still have hospital coverage in 2018) apparently was not in the mood for me and my friendly attitude, and he came back with: "ur a retard for even responding with that! Mine did and is listed at Ellis Island. U should be ashamed"
Unbeknownst to my fellow second-generation American, I don't really shame that easily. So, I said: "Mine is, too, actually. It's a long story, from long ago. All my best to you." And then I closed with: "And -- yes -- I am (insert American flag emoji here), but I'm very proud of my Italian/Irish heritage. It is part of my identity."
Then the dude did not say anything else, because -- after all -- we women of Italian/Irish descent can be very exasperating.
I will now fill in the blanks of this story for you, so you will know how I almost didn't get the chance to exist and have the opportunity to entertain and exasperate you.
The grandfather to whom I am referring in the conversation above was my dad's father. He was a very unique individual -- full of fun and mischief. He grew up with my grandmother in a little village in Italy, and I guess he was quite smitten with her, because when she decided to come to America, he decided to follow her.
Initially, all was kosher. She was sponsored by some of her relatives already living in this country, and he was sponsored by some of his relatives. (They were not married, as yet, being only 18, or so.) My grandmother arrived here first, landing at Ellis Island. My grandfather followed a while later. And I guess when you arrived, you were asked by the immigration authorities about your destination and who was meeting you. The information you gave was supposed to match up with your application paperwork. My grandfather, though, wanting to be with my grandmother, gave them her family's name. He told me that he was then led to another facility, where he thought he would meet up with my grandmother's relatives. Unbeknownst to him, though, this facility was a jail and he was going to be shipped back to Italy forth-with. He just sat there quite contentedly -- with no idea of the fate which was set to befall him. Thankfully, various family members on both his and my grandmother's side somehow figured out what had happened and paid a visit to the immigration authorities to straighten everything out. It was my impression that some kind of bribe was involved, but I'm unsure. My grandfather was set free, heading home with his relatives for a nice meal and a good scolding of the kind only full-blooded Italian women can deliver.
My grandfather was, indeed, a rascal. All. His. Life. He even made moonshine during prohibition. Heck, he did a lot of crazy things. He was a decent guy, though. He never hurt anybody and -- together with my grandmother (who was an outstanding saint of a woman) -- raised an excellent son and daughter. His children's children all went to college. Our family is very close and fun and -- surprisingly -- VERY law-abiding.
So, here's to the immigrants! (Even the ones who don't take a completely straight and narrow road to get here.) <3
I shall tell you about it. ;D
My dad's parents immigrated to the U.S. from Italy back in the early 1920's. My mom's dad was 100% Italian and my mom's mother was 100% Irish. On St. Patrick's Day, I was thinking about the grandness of immigration, so I wrote on Twitter: "I am one quarter Irish and three quarters Italian. Magic like that doesn't happen without immigrants." Feeling happy inside, I went about my St. Paddy's Day, celebrating with a bit of Maker's Mark in the evening.
Anyway... Today, some cranky dude found my remark and evidently wanted to rain on my parade, so he replied: "No. ur 100% (insert American flag emoji here) and don't forget that! U didn't come off the boat and ur family did it the legal way"
Of course, I should have ignored this cranky dude, who is probably worried about his health insurance, but I didn't ignore him, because it is hard for me to ignore stuff. So, I said: "Actually, my grandpa did not exactly do it the legal way and almost got deported. (insert winky face emoji here) #ImmigrantsForeva"
The poor man (who was probably home sick with the flu and wondering if he will still have hospital coverage in 2018) apparently was not in the mood for me and my friendly attitude, and he came back with: "ur a retard for even responding with that! Mine did and is listed at Ellis Island. U should be ashamed"
Unbeknownst to my fellow second-generation American, I don't really shame that easily. So, I said: "Mine is, too, actually. It's a long story, from long ago. All my best to you." And then I closed with: "And -- yes -- I am (insert American flag emoji here), but I'm very proud of my Italian/Irish heritage. It is part of my identity."
Then the dude did not say anything else, because -- after all -- we women of Italian/Irish descent can be very exasperating.
I will now fill in the blanks of this story for you, so you will know how I almost didn't get the chance to exist and have the opportunity to entertain and exasperate you.
The grandfather to whom I am referring in the conversation above was my dad's father. He was a very unique individual -- full of fun and mischief. He grew up with my grandmother in a little village in Italy, and I guess he was quite smitten with her, because when she decided to come to America, he decided to follow her.
Initially, all was kosher. She was sponsored by some of her relatives already living in this country, and he was sponsored by some of his relatives. (They were not married, as yet, being only 18, or so.) My grandmother arrived here first, landing at Ellis Island. My grandfather followed a while later. And I guess when you arrived, you were asked by the immigration authorities about your destination and who was meeting you. The information you gave was supposed to match up with your application paperwork. My grandfather, though, wanting to be with my grandmother, gave them her family's name. He told me that he was then led to another facility, where he thought he would meet up with my grandmother's relatives. Unbeknownst to him, though, this facility was a jail and he was going to be shipped back to Italy forth-with. He just sat there quite contentedly -- with no idea of the fate which was set to befall him. Thankfully, various family members on both his and my grandmother's side somehow figured out what had happened and paid a visit to the immigration authorities to straighten everything out. It was my impression that some kind of bribe was involved, but I'm unsure. My grandfather was set free, heading home with his relatives for a nice meal and a good scolding of the kind only full-blooded Italian women can deliver.
My grandfather was, indeed, a rascal. All. His. Life. He even made moonshine during prohibition. Heck, he did a lot of crazy things. He was a decent guy, though. He never hurt anybody and -- together with my grandmother (who was an outstanding saint of a woman) -- raised an excellent son and daughter. His children's children all went to college. Our family is very close and fun and -- surprisingly -- VERY law-abiding.
So, here's to the immigrants! (Even the ones who don't take a completely straight and narrow road to get here.) <3
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
For The Rebel Children
I, myself, am a rebel, just so you know.
And a couple of weeks ago, I had the honor of being a chaperone on our parish's Confirmation retreat. If you don't know, Catholic kids receive the Sacrament of Confirmation sometime during their high school years; and before that occasion, they usually attend a retreat in order to prepare and reflect upon the graces they will receive from that Sacrament, as well as what it means to be a Catholic.
The retreat that I helped with was a very good one. It included prayer and music and speakers -- including teen speakers -- and Mass and Confession and Eucharistic adoration. It was very well-run and the kids seemed to enjoy it.
There were some kids there though, who were rebels, in the best sense of the word. These kids are people who question the status quo, who have merciful hearts, who have a great sense of justice, who are compassionate, who are creative. And they don't always like what they are seeing in the Catholic Church.
And I guess what concerns me is that these kids didn't seem to get much of a chance to have their voices heard during this retreat. It seemed to be, basically, assumed by the retreat organizer that everyone was on the same page concerning the moral authority of Church teaching. And these kids were very well-behaved, not really wanting to make waves.
But -- you know -- if we Catholic "grown-ups" aren't careful, we will lose these kids. Because these kids are smart and their questions are legitimate ones and they are not being answered. Oftentimes, too, the Church (at least where I live) doesn't act in a way that is very tolerant of different points of view. So, if a kid does have the guts to speak up and ask a difficult question, they might be given a solid answer, but that answer comes with the attitude that "it's this way or the highway." And that's not how it should be. Not everything is black and white in the application of Church teaching. There is the primacy of conscience. So, we need to be careful. The Church needs these young people. They are strong and they are smart and they are good. And they need to be taught in a way that respects their intelligence and their sense of justice and their compassion. They need to be taught in a way that respects their consciences and their creativity. Yes, we need to teach them Church doctrine accurately, but there needs to be space for discussion. AND they -- the rebel children -- need to know that we want them in the Church. At least I want them in the Church.
Why?
Because rebels bring fresh perspectives and honesty. They force us to look at ourselves. They shake things up; they force us to clean things up. They remind us of what is essential. They encourage us to behave respectfully toward different kinds of people. They keep us from living in an echo chamber.
So, my prayer for the rebel children receiving Confirmation is that the Holy Spirit will assure them of God's unconditional love for them and give them the graces of wisdom and understanding and confidence that their voices matter in the Church and in the world.
God bless the rebel children. Amen.
And a couple of weeks ago, I had the honor of being a chaperone on our parish's Confirmation retreat. If you don't know, Catholic kids receive the Sacrament of Confirmation sometime during their high school years; and before that occasion, they usually attend a retreat in order to prepare and reflect upon the graces they will receive from that Sacrament, as well as what it means to be a Catholic.
The retreat that I helped with was a very good one. It included prayer and music and speakers -- including teen speakers -- and Mass and Confession and Eucharistic adoration. It was very well-run and the kids seemed to enjoy it.
There were some kids there though, who were rebels, in the best sense of the word. These kids are people who question the status quo, who have merciful hearts, who have a great sense of justice, who are compassionate, who are creative. And they don't always like what they are seeing in the Catholic Church.
And I guess what concerns me is that these kids didn't seem to get much of a chance to have their voices heard during this retreat. It seemed to be, basically, assumed by the retreat organizer that everyone was on the same page concerning the moral authority of Church teaching. And these kids were very well-behaved, not really wanting to make waves.
But -- you know -- if we Catholic "grown-ups" aren't careful, we will lose these kids. Because these kids are smart and their questions are legitimate ones and they are not being answered. Oftentimes, too, the Church (at least where I live) doesn't act in a way that is very tolerant of different points of view. So, if a kid does have the guts to speak up and ask a difficult question, they might be given a solid answer, but that answer comes with the attitude that "it's this way or the highway." And that's not how it should be. Not everything is black and white in the application of Church teaching. There is the primacy of conscience. So, we need to be careful. The Church needs these young people. They are strong and they are smart and they are good. And they need to be taught in a way that respects their intelligence and their sense of justice and their compassion. They need to be taught in a way that respects their consciences and their creativity. Yes, we need to teach them Church doctrine accurately, but there needs to be space for discussion. AND they -- the rebel children -- need to know that we want them in the Church. At least I want them in the Church.
Why?
Because rebels bring fresh perspectives and honesty. They force us to look at ourselves. They shake things up; they force us to clean things up. They remind us of what is essential. They encourage us to behave respectfully toward different kinds of people. They keep us from living in an echo chamber.
So, my prayer for the rebel children receiving Confirmation is that the Holy Spirit will assure them of God's unconditional love for them and give them the graces of wisdom and understanding and confidence that their voices matter in the Church and in the world.
God bless the rebel children. Amen.
Tuesday, November 15, 2016
Thinking About Some Stuff
For years, I homeschooled my kids. Thus, for years, I was around many men (and women, too) who spoke about how the liberals want to destroy traditional marriage and how the LGBT people want to "come after" them and take away their religious freedom, how abortion is like the Holocaust, how Michele Obama's talk of being a "citizen of the world" is terribly unpatriotic, how Obama is not really an American and hates Christians, how we need to own firearms and build bunkers for when the evil "government" will inevitably attack us in our own homes and drag us away to camps, how the evil Muslims and other anti-Christian forces will shoot us as we try to go into church, how gay men "recruit" young boys to become gay (the head of a homeschool organization once said this to me), how Planned Parenthood is an "evil organization," how women who say they need contraception simply have no self-control when it comes to their sex drives, how contraception is not "health care," how feminism ruined the family, ad nauseum. There is even a Catholic homeschool textbook that I read once, which basically explains how the country was just so wonderful, UNTIL the "Liberals" (yes -- with a capital "L") ruined everything. It was the most ridiculous textbook I have ever seen and it horrified me, but many of the Catholic homeschoolers used it.
I used to feel ill upon hearing these kinds of things. I generally didn't say much, because there was nothing I could say. The one time I did say something about someone's ridiculous and dangerous end-times prophecies, one of the homeschooled kids asked her mom if I was some kind of category of sinner that they had recently learned about in religion class. Thankfully, her mother was kind of horrified, and told her "No." But, I think a fair number of the homeschoolers viewed me as not appropriately conservative. A lot of them really liked me, but I did get side-eyes from some. And if I had opened my mouth more, I probably wouldn't have had any friends, and neither would my kids. At the time, I was actually more conservative than I am now, so I probably just couldn't have homeschooled my kids, if I had to do it over again, because I would just be upset all the time.
I feel bad, though, that I never spoke up more forcefully about the ideas I knew were erroneous. As I said, I was afraid that if I truly spoke my mind, my kids wouldn't have many friends. I didn't want to rock the boat, too much. Also, I kind of figured that these were fringe ideas, and probably wouldn't gain much traction in the general population, so I wasn't too worried about it.
Well...
BOY, WAS I WRONG.
And the thing that is really upsetting to me is that most of these people were really good people. They wanted to do the right thing. And they have been completely hoodwinked by stuff like The Drudge Report and Breitbart and right-wing radio. And I really don't have a good answer to the problem, because it is practically impossible to get them to see things from any other angle than the right-wing conservative one. I been trying for a while now. They have basically been trained to think that the progressive view point is almost -- if not actually -- demonic. A lot of them probably would consider it a genuine sin to be "tempted" by progressive views.
Now, I am not saying that it is necessary to think abortion is a moral good. When I think about abortion, I feel like I am getting stabbed through the heart with an ice pick. But, it is not the same thing as the Holocaust. In this country, at least, nobody is lining women up and forcing them into abortion clinics. You have every right NOT to have an abortion. You have every right to help others who are in crisis pregnancies and do not wish to have abortions. Faith leaders have every right to explain why their religions teach against abortion. And pro-choice people in this country OVERWHELMINGLY do not believe in forced abortions or forced sterilizations. And -- frankly -- the thought of Mr. Trump or Mr. Gingrich or Mr. Bannon making decisions for me about my reproductive health is downright scary. And that is the point of the contemporary pro-choice movement. You do not have to embrace the pro-choice movement, but at least don't misrepresent it in ways that enable the rise of dangerous demagogues.
And I am not saying that it is necessary to be a progressive. There are many good things about conservative ideas. When done right, they prevent government power from getting out-of-hand. And we should always be wary of government power that gets out-of-hand.
But, for the sake of sanity, people -- LOOK AT WHAT IS GOING ON. IT IS NOT GOOD FOR ANYBODY. I feel for those who have been left behind in the global economy and who feel their voices are not heard. These people need to be heard. They need to be helped. But, let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Pax.
I used to feel ill upon hearing these kinds of things. I generally didn't say much, because there was nothing I could say. The one time I did say something about someone's ridiculous and dangerous end-times prophecies, one of the homeschooled kids asked her mom if I was some kind of category of sinner that they had recently learned about in religion class. Thankfully, her mother was kind of horrified, and told her "No." But, I think a fair number of the homeschoolers viewed me as not appropriately conservative. A lot of them really liked me, but I did get side-eyes from some. And if I had opened my mouth more, I probably wouldn't have had any friends, and neither would my kids. At the time, I was actually more conservative than I am now, so I probably just couldn't have homeschooled my kids, if I had to do it over again, because I would just be upset all the time.
I feel bad, though, that I never spoke up more forcefully about the ideas I knew were erroneous. As I said, I was afraid that if I truly spoke my mind, my kids wouldn't have many friends. I didn't want to rock the boat, too much. Also, I kind of figured that these were fringe ideas, and probably wouldn't gain much traction in the general population, so I wasn't too worried about it.
Well...
BOY, WAS I WRONG.
And the thing that is really upsetting to me is that most of these people were really good people. They wanted to do the right thing. And they have been completely hoodwinked by stuff like The Drudge Report and Breitbart and right-wing radio. And I really don't have a good answer to the problem, because it is practically impossible to get them to see things from any other angle than the right-wing conservative one. I been trying for a while now. They have basically been trained to think that the progressive view point is almost -- if not actually -- demonic. A lot of them probably would consider it a genuine sin to be "tempted" by progressive views.
Now, I am not saying that it is necessary to think abortion is a moral good. When I think about abortion, I feel like I am getting stabbed through the heart with an ice pick. But, it is not the same thing as the Holocaust. In this country, at least, nobody is lining women up and forcing them into abortion clinics. You have every right NOT to have an abortion. You have every right to help others who are in crisis pregnancies and do not wish to have abortions. Faith leaders have every right to explain why their religions teach against abortion. And pro-choice people in this country OVERWHELMINGLY do not believe in forced abortions or forced sterilizations. And -- frankly -- the thought of Mr. Trump or Mr. Gingrich or Mr. Bannon making decisions for me about my reproductive health is downright scary. And that is the point of the contemporary pro-choice movement. You do not have to embrace the pro-choice movement, but at least don't misrepresent it in ways that enable the rise of dangerous demagogues.
And I am not saying that it is necessary to be a progressive. There are many good things about conservative ideas. When done right, they prevent government power from getting out-of-hand. And we should always be wary of government power that gets out-of-hand.
But, for the sake of sanity, people -- LOOK AT WHAT IS GOING ON. IT IS NOT GOOD FOR ANYBODY. I feel for those who have been left behind in the global economy and who feel their voices are not heard. These people need to be heard. They need to be helped. But, let's not throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Pax.
Monday, November 14, 2016
This Thing I Did In 8th Grade
When I was in third grade (I know I said I was going to write about something I did in 8th grade, but this is the necessary backstory), I went to a new school. The Catholic elementary school I attended for 1st and 2nd grades closed, much to my horror, because I was very happy at that school, so my parents sent me to the Catholic elementary school one town over. And -- frankly -- I was miserable at that school. It was awful for me. I got bullied incessantly all through 3rd grade. I had no idea what I did to deserve it, and I was too young to realize that being bullied is never the fault of the victim. The horrible bullying died down in 4th grade, and beyond, but I never really -- shall we say -- "fit in with the 'in' crowd." I didn't care all that much, because I had a wonderful, marvelous, big, extended Italian family. That family provided me with all the support and companionship anyone could hope to have. And I did manage to make a few very close friends at school, even though the class I was in still contained a pretty big percentage of bullies. I managed to keep the bullies off my back -- and my friends' backs, to some degree -- by being willing to punch them, when necessary. Of course, nowadays I would have gotten suspended, but this was in the 70's, so... ya know... things were different. And the teachers in that school never did anything to help us victims of bullies, and the bullies didn't seem to be interested in my powerful words, so the power of the fist prevailed.
My day-to-day life in this particular Catholic school, combined with the support of my Italian family, served to have a certain effect on me. And the effect was this: I learned to not really give an "f" about what people thought of me. If I was happy with myself, that was enough. And -- of course -- my good friends in that school made my heart happy. I have also always had a very strong spiritual life, and Jesus has always hung with me, no matter what. Sometimes, certain people try to make me feel like Jesus is unhappy with me, but I have learned to ignore those people. My parents were EXCELLENT teachers of conscience formation -- I really have never known anyone who is better at that task -- so, I know when mean, judgy people just need to be blown off.
Anyway...
This is what happened when I was in the 8th grade...
My teacher decided that it would be a good idea to have a class debate about abortion rights. The anti-abortion-rights team was quickly populated, but ABSOLUTELY NOBODY wanted to be on the pro-abortion-rights team. So, me -- being who I am and not giving an "f" about what anybody would think of me -- volunteered to be on that team. And it ended up that I was the ONLY person on that team. Everybody looked at me in the most judgy way, but -- hey -- you cannot have a debate without both sides being represented, and I understood that, even if none of the other Catholic school 8th graders did.
So, I went to the library (because there was no internet in those days) and scoured the place for information on why people thought abortion should be legal (because nobody had ever told me why people thought abortion should be legal). My family was very Italian and very Catholic. Nobody in my family could be described, even vaguely, as an "anti-abortion activist," but my grandmother put the family philosophy very simply -- "It's okay to keep them from getting there (meaning: contraception is okay), but once they are there, you leave them alone." End of conversation. And I was cool with that. I also must say that NOBODY in my family had any objection to me supporting the pro-abortion-rights side in the debate. My family was pretty awesome about bipartisanship. Therefore, I researched the heck out of the subject (I was determined to win, after all), and I prepared, and I rehearsed, and I pretty much destroyed the anti-abortion-rights side in that debate. The arguments the other side used were lame-ass. Admittedly, they were a bunch of Catholic school 8th graders, so there's that.
After that debate, I was pretty much treated like a pariah by my classmates. But, everyone recovered quickly. My class was, actually, fairly good about not holding grudges, and there was kickball to be played.
I learned a lot of important things from that experience, and one of them was what it is like to be treated like a pariah for your opinions. Because -- in my Italian family -- nobody ever got treated like a pariah, even the hippie cousins who hitchhiked around the country and didn't have jobs and espoused communism. They were still welcomed with open arms for dinner and card games and all kinds of fun. My dad did tell me, though, that I was not allowed to be a hitchhiking, unemployed, hippie communist; but, he did say that my cousins were really "nice kids." My dad was probably the most awesome person, EVER.
Anyhow, to tell you the truth, I was pretty amused by everyone's reaction to me after that debate. As I said, I had learned, over the years, not to give an "f" about what people thought of me, as long as I had searched by conscience and believed in myself.
I'm not exactly sure what my point is in telling you this story. It just came to mind today, and I felt like telling it, so I did. ;-)
Pax.
My day-to-day life in this particular Catholic school, combined with the support of my Italian family, served to have a certain effect on me. And the effect was this: I learned to not really give an "f" about what people thought of me. If I was happy with myself, that was enough. And -- of course -- my good friends in that school made my heart happy. I have also always had a very strong spiritual life, and Jesus has always hung with me, no matter what. Sometimes, certain people try to make me feel like Jesus is unhappy with me, but I have learned to ignore those people. My parents were EXCELLENT teachers of conscience formation -- I really have never known anyone who is better at that task -- so, I know when mean, judgy people just need to be blown off.
Anyway...
This is what happened when I was in the 8th grade...
My teacher decided that it would be a good idea to have a class debate about abortion rights. The anti-abortion-rights team was quickly populated, but ABSOLUTELY NOBODY wanted to be on the pro-abortion-rights team. So, me -- being who I am and not giving an "f" about what anybody would think of me -- volunteered to be on that team. And it ended up that I was the ONLY person on that team. Everybody looked at me in the most judgy way, but -- hey -- you cannot have a debate without both sides being represented, and I understood that, even if none of the other Catholic school 8th graders did.
So, I went to the library (because there was no internet in those days) and scoured the place for information on why people thought abortion should be legal (because nobody had ever told me why people thought abortion should be legal). My family was very Italian and very Catholic. Nobody in my family could be described, even vaguely, as an "anti-abortion activist," but my grandmother put the family philosophy very simply -- "It's okay to keep them from getting there (meaning: contraception is okay), but once they are there, you leave them alone." End of conversation. And I was cool with that. I also must say that NOBODY in my family had any objection to me supporting the pro-abortion-rights side in the debate. My family was pretty awesome about bipartisanship. Therefore, I researched the heck out of the subject (I was determined to win, after all), and I prepared, and I rehearsed, and I pretty much destroyed the anti-abortion-rights side in that debate. The arguments the other side used were lame-ass. Admittedly, they were a bunch of Catholic school 8th graders, so there's that.
After that debate, I was pretty much treated like a pariah by my classmates. But, everyone recovered quickly. My class was, actually, fairly good about not holding grudges, and there was kickball to be played.
I learned a lot of important things from that experience, and one of them was what it is like to be treated like a pariah for your opinions. Because -- in my Italian family -- nobody ever got treated like a pariah, even the hippie cousins who hitchhiked around the country and didn't have jobs and espoused communism. They were still welcomed with open arms for dinner and card games and all kinds of fun. My dad did tell me, though, that I was not allowed to be a hitchhiking, unemployed, hippie communist; but, he did say that my cousins were really "nice kids." My dad was probably the most awesome person, EVER.
Anyhow, to tell you the truth, I was pretty amused by everyone's reaction to me after that debate. As I said, I had learned, over the years, not to give an "f" about what people thought of me, as long as I had searched by conscience and believed in myself.
I'm not exactly sure what my point is in telling you this story. It just came to mind today, and I felt like telling it, so I did. ;-)
Pax.
This Thing I Did In 8th Grade
When I was in third grade (I know I said I was going to write about something I did in 8th grade, but this is the necessary backstory), I went to a new school. The Catholic elementary school I attended for 1st and 2nd grade closed, much to my horror, because I was very happy at that school, so my parents sent me to the Catholic elementary school one town over. And -- frankly -- I was miserable at that school. It was awful for me. I got bullied incessantly all through 3rd grade. I had no idea what I did to deserve it, and I was too young to realize that being bullied is never the fault of the victim. The horrible bullying died down in 4th grade, and beyond, but I never really -- shall we say -- "fit in with the 'in' crowd." I really didn't care all that much, because I had a wonderful, marvelous, big, extended Italian family. That family provided me with all the support and companionship anyone could hope to have. And I did manage to make a few very close friends at school, even though the class I was in still contained a pretty big percentage of bullies. I managed to keep the bullies off my back -- and my friends' backs, to some degree -- by being willing to punch them, when necessary. Of course, nowadays I would have gotten suspended, but this was in the 70's, so... ya know... things were different. And the teachers in that school never did anything to help us victims of bullies, and the bullies didn't seem to be interested in my powerful words, so power of the fist prevailed.
My day-to-day life in this particular Catholic school, combined with the support of my Italian family, served to have a certain effect on me. And the effect was this: I learned to not really give an "f" about what people thought of me. If I was happy with myself, that was enough. And -- of course -- my good friends in that school made my heart happy. I have also always had a very strong spiritual life, and Jesus has always hung with me, no matter what. Sometimes, certain people try to make me feel like Jesus is unhappy with me, but I have learned to ignore those people. My parents were EXCELLENT teachers of conscience formation -- I really have never known anyone who is better at that task -- so, I know when mean, judgy people just need to be blown off.
Anyway...
This is what happened when I was in the 8th grade...
My teacher decided that it would be a good idea to have a class debate about abortion rights. The anti-abortion-rights team was quickly populated, but ABSOLUTELY NOBODY wanted to be on the pro-abortion-rights team. So, me -- being who I am and not giving an "f" about what anybody would think of me -- volunteered to be on that team. And it ended up that I was the ONLY person on that team. Everybody looked at me in the most judgy way, but -- hey -- you cannot have a debate without both sides being represented, and I understood that, even if none of the other Catholic school 8th graders did.
So, I went to the library (because there was no internet in those days) and scoured the place for information on why people thought abortion should be legal (because nobody had ever told me why people thought abortion should be legal). My family was very Italian and very Catholic. Nobody in my family could be described, even vaguely, as an "anti-abortion activist," but my grandmother put the family philosophy very simply -- "It's okay to keep them from getting there (meaning: contraception is okay), but once they are there, you leave them alone." End of conversation. And I was cool with that. I also must say that NOBODY in my family had any objection to me supporting the pro-abortion-rights side in the debate. My family was pretty awesome about bipartisanship. Therefore, I researched the heck out of the subject (I was determined to win, after all), and I prepared, and I rehearsed, and I pretty much destroyed the anti-abortion-rights side in that debate. The arguments the other side used were lame-ass. Admittedly, they were a bunch of Catholic school 8th graders, so there's that.
After that debate, I was pretty much treated like a pariah by my classmates. But, everyone recovered quickly. My class was, actually, fairly good about not holding grudges, and there was kickball to be played.
I learned a lot of important things from that experience, and one of them was what it is like to be treated like a pariah for your opinions. Because -- in my Italian family -- nobody ever got treated like a pariah, even the hippie cousins who hitchhiked around the country and didn't have jobs and espoused communism. They were still welcomed with open arms for dinner and card games and all kinds of fun. My dad did tell me, though, that I was not allowed to be a hitchhiking, unemployed, hippie communist; but, he did say that my cousins were really "nice kids." My dad was probably the most awesome person, EVER.
Anyhow, to tell you the truth, I was pretty amused by everyone's reaction to me after that debate. As I said, I had learned, over the years, not to give an "f" about what people thought of me, as long as I had searched by conscience and believed in myself.
I'm not exactly sure what my point is in telling you this story. It just came to mind today, and I felt like telling it, so I did. ;-)
Pax.
My day-to-day life in this particular Catholic school, combined with the support of my Italian family, served to have a certain effect on me. And the effect was this: I learned to not really give an "f" about what people thought of me. If I was happy with myself, that was enough. And -- of course -- my good friends in that school made my heart happy. I have also always had a very strong spiritual life, and Jesus has always hung with me, no matter what. Sometimes, certain people try to make me feel like Jesus is unhappy with me, but I have learned to ignore those people. My parents were EXCELLENT teachers of conscience formation -- I really have never known anyone who is better at that task -- so, I know when mean, judgy people just need to be blown off.
Anyway...
This is what happened when I was in the 8th grade...
My teacher decided that it would be a good idea to have a class debate about abortion rights. The anti-abortion-rights team was quickly populated, but ABSOLUTELY NOBODY wanted to be on the pro-abortion-rights team. So, me -- being who I am and not giving an "f" about what anybody would think of me -- volunteered to be on that team. And it ended up that I was the ONLY person on that team. Everybody looked at me in the most judgy way, but -- hey -- you cannot have a debate without both sides being represented, and I understood that, even if none of the other Catholic school 8th graders did.
So, I went to the library (because there was no internet in those days) and scoured the place for information on why people thought abortion should be legal (because nobody had ever told me why people thought abortion should be legal). My family was very Italian and very Catholic. Nobody in my family could be described, even vaguely, as an "anti-abortion activist," but my grandmother put the family philosophy very simply -- "It's okay to keep them from getting there (meaning: contraception is okay), but once they are there, you leave them alone." End of conversation. And I was cool with that. I also must say that NOBODY in my family had any objection to me supporting the pro-abortion-rights side in the debate. My family was pretty awesome about bipartisanship. Therefore, I researched the heck out of the subject (I was determined to win, after all), and I prepared, and I rehearsed, and I pretty much destroyed the anti-abortion-rights side in that debate. The arguments the other side used were lame-ass. Admittedly, they were a bunch of Catholic school 8th graders, so there's that.
After that debate, I was pretty much treated like a pariah by my classmates. But, everyone recovered quickly. My class was, actually, fairly good about not holding grudges, and there was kickball to be played.
I learned a lot of important things from that experience, and one of them was what it is like to be treated like a pariah for your opinions. Because -- in my Italian family -- nobody ever got treated like a pariah, even the hippie cousins who hitchhiked around the country and didn't have jobs and espoused communism. They were still welcomed with open arms for dinner and card games and all kinds of fun. My dad did tell me, though, that I was not allowed to be a hitchhiking, unemployed, hippie communist; but, he did say that my cousins were really "nice kids." My dad was probably the most awesome person, EVER.
Anyhow, to tell you the truth, I was pretty amused by everyone's reaction to me after that debate. As I said, I had learned, over the years, not to give an "f" about what people thought of me, as long as I had searched by conscience and believed in myself.
I'm not exactly sure what my point is in telling you this story. It just came to mind today, and I felt like telling it, so I did. ;-)
Pax.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
The Cantaloupe, The Heat, And My Mom
My mom and I sometimes had a cantankerous relationship. Because she was a cantankerous lady. And I am a cantankerous lady. She was also a bad-ass broad, and she tried to teach my sisters and I to be bad-ass broads, too. I am hoping that she succeeded, at least a little bit.
I thought of my mom this morning, because when I woke up, I could tell the day was going to be very hot (108 degrees, baby); and when I came down the stairs, I could smell the ripe cantaloupe on my kitchen counter. My mom's kitchen always smelled like ripe cantaloupe on hot summer days, because cantaloupe was one of her favorite fruits to buy in the summertime.
And I loved summertime at my mom and dad's house. There was no school and -- being that my mom was not "into" signing my sisters and I up for activities (the exception to this rule being swimming lessons, because my mom was a bad-ass life guard in her youth) -- summer was always very relaxing. My sisters and I would eat cantaloupe and watch the soaps with my Nana (who lived across the street) and read books and walk our dog and clean the house once a week. My mom was a stickler about having us clean the house once a week, which was quite fair and all, as we really didn't have to do much else, as far as chores went. We did clear the table, but we weren't allowed to load the dishwasher, because -- according to my mom -- we would inevitably do it wrong. We also washed the dog and cat bowls after they ate. And we would put our laundry away after my mom folded it and laid it out on the kitchen table for us. We weren't allowed to do our laundry, either, because my mom said that we would inevitably overflow the drain field (there were no sewers where we lived), and she was probably right about that. We were also expected to keep our stuff cleaned up, as my mom was very tidy. All in all, a pretty light amount of chores, I'd say. So, summer was very relaxing.
And that was so AWESOME, because I am a rather high-strung person in my nervous system, and I HATED school. I just HATED it. I went to Catholic school, where none of the teachers knew how to teach math, because they were all humanities majors. So, I sucked at math. Both because the teachers had no clue as to how to teach it and also because I had no natural talent in that area. I finally started to understand math when I was about 12 years old, but that was A LOT of years in which I suffered through the whole thing at Catholic school. I also sucked at science, probably also because the teachers were all humanities majors and didn't really understand science, themselves, let alone know how to teach it. In high school, I did well in both math and science, but it was a public school, where the teachers had actually majored in the subjects they taught (mostly, anyway). I also hated Catholic school because we had to wear wool skirts, no matter how goddam hot it was. And there was no air conditioning, or even fans, because -- in those days -- Catholic schools had no $$$. Now, Catholic schools charge people like a gazillion dollars a year, so I take it that maybe they can afford air conditioning (or fans, at least.) Maybe they can even afford teachers who know how to teach science and math. I bet Catholic schools still kind of suck, though, especially for people like me. I am an INFJ, and Catholic schools and INFJ's don't really go that well together, I don't think. Also, in the winter, it was goddam freezing in that school, because the boiler was always broken and my parents couldn't afford the "official" uniform sweater, so I wasn't allowed to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color), even though there was no heat and it was goddam freezing in that school. I would be all shivering, with goose bumps, but did the humanities major teachers allow me to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color)??? No. No, they did not. Because it was against the rules. And in Catholic schools, the rules are fucking EVERYTHING. I was so happy to go to a public high school, where I was treated in an actual Christian fashion by my secular humanist teachers. Thank God for secular humanist teachers. (Okay. To be fair, many of my public high school teachers were religious, but very few of them were Catholic. Thanks be to God.)
So, as you can see, summertime at home with virtually no activities and attire composed of shorts (which my mother sewed for us) and halter tops (which my mother also sewed for us) and cantaloupe eating and swimming in bikinis (which my mother allowed us to wear) were actually Heaven to me and my rather high-strung personality.
One of my favorite activities in the summertime was playing with the Barbie swimming pool. This was a lovely and relaxing game for me and my high-strung personality, because it was so mindless and involved Barbie, who I could always relate to. Why could I relate to Barbie? Not so much because of her magnificent boobs, but because she was -- in those days -- also bad at math. SO relatable for me. I actually thought that when I became a teenager, I would grow boobs like Barbie, so that ended up being kind of a disappointment to me, but those are the valuable lessons that childhood games teach us.
Anyway... Back to the Barbie swimming pool game.
When I was a little girl, my dad built a little deck/patio in our back yard. And when it was sweltering hot, my sisters and I ate some cantaloupe for a snack after our swimming lesson, and then we were allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with the hose and have our Barbies go for a swim. We weren't allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with actual water in the wintertime, because... Well, duh... Wintertime. But, when the thermometer went over 90 or 100 degrees in the summer, we were allowed to use actual water. And we had great fun having swimming games with our Barbies. One of my favorite games was to pretend that one of the Barbies was drowning and having another Barbie rescue her. We thought up this game after observing the life guard at swimming lessons.
Another wonderful Barbie game (that could be played in any season, because it was an indoor game, not involving water) was "Earthquake." My sisters and I would devise a makeshift townhouse in one of our baby buggies. This baby buggy would not be mine, of course, because I was the oldest and knew that this game was not really good for our buggies. My youngest sister didn't allow her buggy to be used for this purpose, either, because she was wise beyond her years. That left the townhouse to be devised in the buggy of our oft-abused middle sister, who was really nice about it. She is actually probably the brightest of the three of us, but is also the most generous. After devising the makeshift townhouse in our oft-abused middle sister's ill-fated buggy, we would arrange our Barbies in it and pretend they were hanging out at home, unaware that tragedy was about to strike. Then we would shake the buggy back-and-forth and up-and-down and scream and yell, pretending the "Big One" had hit. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, we were always hearing about the "Big One," and it seemed like an idea that would make an amazing Barbie game. And it did. Eventually, the middle Argenti sister's buggy would sway back and forth every time it was pushed, even when it was being pushed in a simple linear fashion. My sister didn't really like this development, but -- being that I was kind of a douchy older sister -- I think I convinced her that it was actually really cool that the buggy swayed like that.
So, as you can see, summer was AWESOME at my house, when I was a kid. It was fun and relaxing and SO incredibly un-demanding. I wish more kids had the opportunity to experience this kind of summer. I hated it when school started again. And I have my mom to thank for this. Thank-you mom for all of those wonderful summers. I am so grateful that the bright sun in the sky this morning and the smell of the ripe cantaloupe in my kitchen reminded me of this gift. I hope you are having a great time up in Heaven, partying it up with Chris Bruno's mom.
Oh, and here is one more cool thing my mom would do in the summer. She always read her book after lunch, and she would read it aloud to us, if we wanted to hang out in the living room and listen. These were "grown-up" books, and I so much enjoyed hearing them. One of them was Rose Kennedy's autobiography, which is so much fun! If you haven't read it, you should, even though it is old and doesn't talk about Joe and Jack's affairs. I am quite sure Rose knew about them, because she was the farthest thing from an idiot, but she told her story sans all the crap. And it is delightful! I actually had my kids read this book when they were growing up, and I think they all enjoyed it. And they learned a lot, too. Because -- after all -- there really is more to the Kennedy family than Joe and Jack's inability to keep it zipped. And those good things need to be remembered. And Rose was a DELIGHTFUL story-teller. I bet Rose and my mom and Nancy Bruno are all up in Heaven, partying together, as a matter of fact. Another book that I remember my mother reading aloud to us was "The Making Of A Surgeon." This was a book written by a surgeon, and the title is fairly self-explanatory. I found it all so fascinating and actually thought about becoming a surgeon, myself. Which I didn't, because it involved WAY to much math and physics. Even though I was a biology major and was, actually, fairly proficient in math because of my non-Catholic high school teachers, physics was never really my bag. But, the story this guy told about his journey to becoming a surgeon was incredible, and I so much enjoyed it. So, the lesson here is that you should read books to your kids that aren't necessarily kids' books or even the classics. Pop-culture stories can be quite educational and memorable for children.
Rest in peace, Mom. And thanks a million times over for everything!
I thought of my mom this morning, because when I woke up, I could tell the day was going to be very hot (108 degrees, baby); and when I came down the stairs, I could smell the ripe cantaloupe on my kitchen counter. My mom's kitchen always smelled like ripe cantaloupe on hot summer days, because cantaloupe was one of her favorite fruits to buy in the summertime.
And I loved summertime at my mom and dad's house. There was no school and -- being that my mom was not "into" signing my sisters and I up for activities (the exception to this rule being swimming lessons, because my mom was a bad-ass life guard in her youth) -- summer was always very relaxing. My sisters and I would eat cantaloupe and watch the soaps with my Nana (who lived across the street) and read books and walk our dog and clean the house once a week. My mom was a stickler about having us clean the house once a week, which was quite fair and all, as we really didn't have to do much else, as far as chores went. We did clear the table, but we weren't allowed to load the dishwasher, because -- according to my mom -- we would inevitably do it wrong. We also washed the dog and cat bowls after they ate. And we would put our laundry away after my mom folded it and laid it out on the kitchen table for us. We weren't allowed to do our laundry, either, because my mom said that we would inevitably overflow the drain field (there were no sewers where we lived), and she was probably right about that. We were also expected to keep our stuff cleaned up, as my mom was very tidy. All in all, a pretty light amount of chores, I'd say. So, summer was very relaxing.
And that was so AWESOME, because I am a rather high-strung person in my nervous system, and I HATED school. I just HATED it. I went to Catholic school, where none of the teachers knew how to teach math, because they were all humanities majors. So, I sucked at math. Both because the teachers had no clue as to how to teach it and also because I had no natural talent in that area. I finally started to understand math when I was about 12 years old, but that was A LOT of years in which I suffered through the whole thing at Catholic school. I also sucked at science, probably also because the teachers were all humanities majors and didn't really understand science, themselves, let alone know how to teach it. In high school, I did well in both math and science, but it was a public school, where the teachers had actually majored in the subjects they taught (mostly, anyway). I also hated Catholic school because we had to wear wool skirts, no matter how goddam hot it was. And there was no air conditioning, or even fans, because -- in those days -- Catholic schools had no $$$. Now, Catholic schools charge people like a gazillion dollars a year, so I take it that maybe they can afford air conditioning (or fans, at least.) Maybe they can even afford teachers who know how to teach science and math. I bet Catholic schools still kind of suck, though, especially for people like me. I am an INFJ, and Catholic schools and INFJ's don't really go that well together, I don't think. Also, in the winter, it was goddam freezing in that school, because the boiler was always broken and my parents couldn't afford the "official" uniform sweater, so I wasn't allowed to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color), even though there was no heat and it was goddam freezing in that school. I would be all shivering, with goose bumps, but did the humanities major teachers allow me to wear my regular sweater (which was even the right color)??? No. No, they did not. Because it was against the rules. And in Catholic schools, the rules are fucking EVERYTHING. I was so happy to go to a public high school, where I was treated in an actual Christian fashion by my secular humanist teachers. Thank God for secular humanist teachers. (Okay. To be fair, many of my public high school teachers were religious, but very few of them were Catholic. Thanks be to God.)
So, as you can see, summertime at home with virtually no activities and attire composed of shorts (which my mother sewed for us) and halter tops (which my mother also sewed for us) and cantaloupe eating and swimming in bikinis (which my mother allowed us to wear) were actually Heaven to me and my rather high-strung personality.
One of my favorite activities in the summertime was playing with the Barbie swimming pool. This was a lovely and relaxing game for me and my high-strung personality, because it was so mindless and involved Barbie, who I could always relate to. Why could I relate to Barbie? Not so much because of her magnificent boobs, but because she was -- in those days -- also bad at math. SO relatable for me. I actually thought that when I became a teenager, I would grow boobs like Barbie, so that ended up being kind of a disappointment to me, but those are the valuable lessons that childhood games teach us.
Anyway... Back to the Barbie swimming pool game.
When I was a little girl, my dad built a little deck/patio in our back yard. And when it was sweltering hot, my sisters and I ate some cantaloupe for a snack after our swimming lesson, and then we were allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with the hose and have our Barbies go for a swim. We weren't allowed to fill the Barbie swimming pool with actual water in the wintertime, because... Well, duh... Wintertime. But, when the thermometer went over 90 or 100 degrees in the summer, we were allowed to use actual water. And we had great fun having swimming games with our Barbies. One of my favorite games was to pretend that one of the Barbies was drowning and having another Barbie rescue her. We thought up this game after observing the life guard at swimming lessons.
Another wonderful Barbie game (that could be played in any season, because it was an indoor game, not involving water) was "Earthquake." My sisters and I would devise a makeshift townhouse in one of our baby buggies. This baby buggy would not be mine, of course, because I was the oldest and knew that this game was not really good for our buggies. My youngest sister didn't allow her buggy to be used for this purpose, either, because she was wise beyond her years. That left the townhouse to be devised in the buggy of our oft-abused middle sister, who was really nice about it. She is actually probably the brightest of the three of us, but is also the most generous. After devising the makeshift townhouse in our oft-abused middle sister's ill-fated buggy, we would arrange our Barbies in it and pretend they were hanging out at home, unaware that tragedy was about to strike. Then we would shake the buggy back-and-forth and up-and-down and scream and yell, pretending the "Big One" had hit. Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, we were always hearing about the "Big One," and it seemed like an idea that would make an amazing Barbie game. And it did. Eventually, the middle Argenti sister's buggy would sway back and forth every time it was pushed, even when it was being pushed in a simple linear fashion. My sister didn't really like this development, but -- being that I was kind of a douchy older sister -- I think I convinced her that it was actually really cool that the buggy swayed like that.
So, as you can see, summer was AWESOME at my house, when I was a kid. It was fun and relaxing and SO incredibly un-demanding. I wish more kids had the opportunity to experience this kind of summer. I hated it when school started again. And I have my mom to thank for this. Thank-you mom for all of those wonderful summers. I am so grateful that the bright sun in the sky this morning and the smell of the ripe cantaloupe in my kitchen reminded me of this gift. I hope you are having a great time up in Heaven, partying it up with Chris Bruno's mom.
Oh, and here is one more cool thing my mom would do in the summer. She always read her book after lunch, and she would read it aloud to us, if we wanted to hang out in the living room and listen. These were "grown-up" books, and I so much enjoyed hearing them. One of them was Rose Kennedy's autobiography, which is so much fun! If you haven't read it, you should, even though it is old and doesn't talk about Joe and Jack's affairs. I am quite sure Rose knew about them, because she was the farthest thing from an idiot, but she told her story sans all the crap. And it is delightful! I actually had my kids read this book when they were growing up, and I think they all enjoyed it. And they learned a lot, too. Because -- after all -- there really is more to the Kennedy family than Joe and Jack's inability to keep it zipped. And those good things need to be remembered. And Rose was a DELIGHTFUL story-teller. I bet Rose and my mom and Nancy Bruno are all up in Heaven, partying together, as a matter of fact. Another book that I remember my mother reading aloud to us was "The Making Of A Surgeon." This was a book written by a surgeon, and the title is fairly self-explanatory. I found it all so fascinating and actually thought about becoming a surgeon, myself. Which I didn't, because it involved WAY to much math and physics. Even though I was a biology major and was, actually, fairly proficient in math because of my non-Catholic high school teachers, physics was never really my bag. But, the story this guy told about his journey to becoming a surgeon was incredible, and I so much enjoyed it. So, the lesson here is that you should read books to your kids that aren't necessarily kids' books or even the classics. Pop-culture stories can be quite educational and memorable for children.
Rest in peace, Mom. And thanks a million times over for everything!
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
My "Animal Kingdom" Story
Well... That title is, admittedly, a bit of an exaggeration. ;-)
Anyway...
You may have noticed on my social media that I am a fan of the TV show entitled "Animal Kingdom." It airs on Tuesday nights at 9:00 on TNT. Tonight is the Season 1 finale, and you should definitely tune in. Or, if you are hopelessly behind, you can catch up on episodes online.
"Animal Kingdom" is not for the faint-of-heart. You have been warned. But, it is a fantastic story!
Now, back to the title of this post and what it means.
"Animal Kingdom" films on location in Oceanside; and one day, there was a casting call for local background actors. I found out about this casting call from my friend, Sharon. She posted it on Facebook, because (I think) she knew I was interested in the show. So, being that I am the rather odd duck that I am, I decided to show up for it (even though I am a simple suburban housewife). I have always kind of had this "actor fantasy," because playing pretend is a ton of fun.
And lo and behold, Bridget and I found ourselves on the set of "Animal Kingdom" as it was shot in and around the Oceanside Pier. It was a great and fantastic day! So much fun! I feel SO blessed!!!
We arrived early in the morning and filled out forms. Then we got sent to wardrobe. I had no idea we would get sent to wardrobe, because we were playing "tourists" and were told to wear outfits that typical tourists would wear. I guess we failed in our clothing choices, though, because the production assistant sent us to wardrobe. And -- boy -- did we end up looking like tourists! I have never been dressed by a wardrobe professional before, and it was great fun! The lady and man in charge of costuming people were amazing! They had two giant trailers full of clothes and hats and handbags and accessories -- and they knew where EVERYTHING was. And they quickly sized Bridget and I up -- both literally and figuratively -- and gave each of us two wardrobe changes and told us exactly how to put them on and take them off and carry them around so that we could get ready in public without flashing anybody. (Actually, I think I may have failed once in the goal of not flashing anybody, and I sincerely apologize. Everyone was very polite, though, and acted like they hadn't seen anything. Not that there is anything worth seeing, anyway.)
After our wardrobe adventure, Bridget and I were greeted by Shawn Hatosy, who is one of the lead actors in "Animal Kingdom." Shawn played Sammy Bryant in "SouthLAnd," which is my favorite show of all time. Bridget and I had met Shawn before, because we saw him in a play in Los Angeles, entitled "Reasons To Be Pretty." We had the privilege of meeting him after the play, and he is the utmost of wonderful gentlemen. He knew that we were going to do background work that day, because I communicated my excitement about it to him via social media. As he was at "base camp" at the same time we were, he came out of his trailer (at least I think that's where he came from) to say hello. I got so excited when I saw him that I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug, thus breaking my very own rule about not hugging celebrities, unless they initiate it. Shawn was very kind about it, though, and seemed unfazed. He did give me a rather quizzical look, but I think that was because of the "tourist" costume I was wearing, which is not at all the kind of clothes that I usually wear. I looked like a middle-aged, mid-western woman who had come SoCal for vacay and took a rather misplaced stab at wearing SoCal fashion. And it was really the perfect look for the part I was playing -- the part of "tourist," which basically implies that you are not local and, thus, might be rather clueless about local customs and fashions. Shawn quickly recovered himself, though, and chatted briefly with Bridget and I before we went on our way. I actually wasn't really expecting to see Shawn, so it was a special and incredible treat to encounter him.
And now that I have dragged middle-aged, midwestern women, I will continue with my story... (Mea culpa, middle-aged, midwestern women. Mea culpa.)
After our Shawn encounter, Bridget and I were directed to board a van with a bunch of other actors and surfboards, and were driven down to the pier. (The show is about hot robber guys who surf and their nefarious, yet hot, middle-aged mom, so that is why there were surfboards in the van.) We offered to walk, because it wasn't very far, but the production assistant seemed to be very much afraid that we would get lost. And -- if you know me -- you will know that his fear was probably quite justified. So, into the van we got. One of the stars of the show was in the van with us. His name is Jake Weary. I didn't know that he was one of the stars of the show, but I did notice that he shone with wondrous beauty. If you ever meet a lead actor in a TV show or movie, you will see that they all shine with wondrous beauty. They are all naturally stunning creatures to begin with and then they are worked on by all the finest beauty people in the world -- and they just gleam. And -- believe me -- Jake Weary gleams like the star that he is. He was sitting in the seat in front of me in the van, and was very humble and nice. Live long and prosper, Jake. ;-) I was sitting next to one of the make-up artists in the van. She was really awesome and fun. She even sprayed me down with sunscreen when we got to the set. So, now I can say that I have been worked on by a professional Hollywood make-up artist.
Bridget and I were in two scenes filmed on and around the pier. During one of the scenes, we had to stroll down and around the end of the pier and then sit down on one of the cement bench-type things that are under the pier and pretend to have a chat. We were directed by one of the assistant directors, while the principal director directed the main actors in their scene on the beach. Unfortunately, Bridget and I did not have that scene make it into the final cut of the show, which was probably my fault. During one of the takes, I misunderstood the assistant director, and started to walk before I was supposed to. I quickly realized this, and turned around to walk back to my "mark," but in the meantime the action started. So, I wheeled around and started walking again, as I was supposed to for the "action." Bridget was pretty much doubled up laughing at her mum. But, anyway, that scene did not make it into the show. I don't know why, though, we looked pretty dang "touristy." ;D
Our second scene was up on the main part of the pier. We walked along the pier to the rear of the principal actress who plays Alexa. In the scene, Alexa is going to meet the nefarious lady cop, who is pumping her for information about the criminal, yet very hot, Cody boys. The nefarious cop is not at all impressed with the hotness of the Cody boys, and just wants to see them all put behind bars for the rest of their lives. Alexa is her key to the putting away of the Cody boys, but if you want to find out why, you need to watch the show. I am NOT going to tell you. And just so you know, the lady who plays Alexa is tall and slender and beautiful. Bridget was afraid that we would look fat walking behind her in the scene. And this scene did, in fact, make it into the final cut of the show. And Bridget, upon seeing it, said, "Wow! We don't look fat, AT ALL." Anyway, when you watch the show and you see Alexa striding all tall and slender and beautiful -- though nervously, because she is going to meet up with the nefarious lady cop -- down the Oceanside pier, you will see Bridget and I behind her, dressed in our outstandingly put-together tourist costumes.
And this leaves me with one final tale from our day on the set of "Animal Kingdom." As those of you who know her will attest, Bridget loves to be barefoot. It is a struggle to get her into shoes. I really don't even try, anymore, being that she is all grown up. Anyway, she was shoeless up there on the Oceanside Pier. During the second scene we participated in, we were walking on the wooden portion of the pier. The assistant director noticed Bridget had no shoes on and sent her back to the beach base camp area to get them (as that is where she left them), because he was afraid she would get splinters in her feet. (They are very protective of you when you work on TV shows. They don't want you getting sunburned or injured, and they are really careful with you. And it is SO lovely.) Bridget was afraid to miss out on doing the scene, so she ran as fast as she could down the pier, toward the beach. The above-mentioned Jake Weary (principal actor and star) happened to be jogging along in front of her, back to the same place. As Bridget tells it, Jake spotted her, looked a bit alarmed, and started running faster. He kept checking over his shoulder to see if she was still running towards him, looking more and more alarmed. Finally, he shouted to her, VERY POLITELY, that he was going to the trailer (or something like that). She then realized that he thought she was some crazy female fan in hot pursuit of his hotness, so she told him that she was a background person and the AD had sent her back to get her shoes. This made everything okay. All was well, and Bridget -- with shoes on her feet -- managed to get back to the pier on time for the scene.
Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this post. Bridget and I so much enjoyed our day as background peeps on "Animal Kingdom." We will never forget it. And thinking about it will always make us smile. :-)
Anyway...
You may have noticed on my social media that I am a fan of the TV show entitled "Animal Kingdom." It airs on Tuesday nights at 9:00 on TNT. Tonight is the Season 1 finale, and you should definitely tune in. Or, if you are hopelessly behind, you can catch up on episodes online.
"Animal Kingdom" is not for the faint-of-heart. You have been warned. But, it is a fantastic story!
Now, back to the title of this post and what it means.
"Animal Kingdom" films on location in Oceanside; and one day, there was a casting call for local background actors. I found out about this casting call from my friend, Sharon. She posted it on Facebook, because (I think) she knew I was interested in the show. So, being that I am the rather odd duck that I am, I decided to show up for it (even though I am a simple suburban housewife). I have always kind of had this "actor fantasy," because playing pretend is a ton of fun.
And lo and behold, Bridget and I found ourselves on the set of "Animal Kingdom" as it was shot in and around the Oceanside Pier. It was a great and fantastic day! So much fun! I feel SO blessed!!!
We arrived early in the morning and filled out forms. Then we got sent to wardrobe. I had no idea we would get sent to wardrobe, because we were playing "tourists" and were told to wear outfits that typical tourists would wear. I guess we failed in our clothing choices, though, because the production assistant sent us to wardrobe. And -- boy -- did we end up looking like tourists! I have never been dressed by a wardrobe professional before, and it was great fun! The lady and man in charge of costuming people were amazing! They had two giant trailers full of clothes and hats and handbags and accessories -- and they knew where EVERYTHING was. And they quickly sized Bridget and I up -- both literally and figuratively -- and gave each of us two wardrobe changes and told us exactly how to put them on and take them off and carry them around so that we could get ready in public without flashing anybody. (Actually, I think I may have failed once in the goal of not flashing anybody, and I sincerely apologize. Everyone was very polite, though, and acted like they hadn't seen anything. Not that there is anything worth seeing, anyway.)
After our wardrobe adventure, Bridget and I were greeted by Shawn Hatosy, who is one of the lead actors in "Animal Kingdom." Shawn played Sammy Bryant in "SouthLAnd," which is my favorite show of all time. Bridget and I had met Shawn before, because we saw him in a play in Los Angeles, entitled "Reasons To Be Pretty." We had the privilege of meeting him after the play, and he is the utmost of wonderful gentlemen. He knew that we were going to do background work that day, because I communicated my excitement about it to him via social media. As he was at "base camp" at the same time we were, he came out of his trailer (at least I think that's where he came from) to say hello. I got so excited when I saw him that I threw my arms around him and gave him a big hug, thus breaking my very own rule about not hugging celebrities, unless they initiate it. Shawn was very kind about it, though, and seemed unfazed. He did give me a rather quizzical look, but I think that was because of the "tourist" costume I was wearing, which is not at all the kind of clothes that I usually wear. I looked like a middle-aged, mid-western woman who had come SoCal for vacay and took a rather misplaced stab at wearing SoCal fashion. And it was really the perfect look for the part I was playing -- the part of "tourist," which basically implies that you are not local and, thus, might be rather clueless about local customs and fashions. Shawn quickly recovered himself, though, and chatted briefly with Bridget and I before we went on our way. I actually wasn't really expecting to see Shawn, so it was a special and incredible treat to encounter him.
And now that I have dragged middle-aged, midwestern women, I will continue with my story... (Mea culpa, middle-aged, midwestern women. Mea culpa.)
After our Shawn encounter, Bridget and I were directed to board a van with a bunch of other actors and surfboards, and were driven down to the pier. (The show is about hot robber guys who surf and their nefarious, yet hot, middle-aged mom, so that is why there were surfboards in the van.) We offered to walk, because it wasn't very far, but the production assistant seemed to be very much afraid that we would get lost. And -- if you know me -- you will know that his fear was probably quite justified. So, into the van we got. One of the stars of the show was in the van with us. His name is Jake Weary. I didn't know that he was one of the stars of the show, but I did notice that he shone with wondrous beauty. If you ever meet a lead actor in a TV show or movie, you will see that they all shine with wondrous beauty. They are all naturally stunning creatures to begin with and then they are worked on by all the finest beauty people in the world -- and they just gleam. And -- believe me -- Jake Weary gleams like the star that he is. He was sitting in the seat in front of me in the van, and was very humble and nice. Live long and prosper, Jake. ;-) I was sitting next to one of the make-up artists in the van. She was really awesome and fun. She even sprayed me down with sunscreen when we got to the set. So, now I can say that I have been worked on by a professional Hollywood make-up artist.
Bridget and I were in two scenes filmed on and around the pier. During one of the scenes, we had to stroll down and around the end of the pier and then sit down on one of the cement bench-type things that are under the pier and pretend to have a chat. We were directed by one of the assistant directors, while the principal director directed the main actors in their scene on the beach. Unfortunately, Bridget and I did not have that scene make it into the final cut of the show, which was probably my fault. During one of the takes, I misunderstood the assistant director, and started to walk before I was supposed to. I quickly realized this, and turned around to walk back to my "mark," but in the meantime the action started. So, I wheeled around and started walking again, as I was supposed to for the "action." Bridget was pretty much doubled up laughing at her mum. But, anyway, that scene did not make it into the show. I don't know why, though, we looked pretty dang "touristy." ;D
Our second scene was up on the main part of the pier. We walked along the pier to the rear of the principal actress who plays Alexa. In the scene, Alexa is going to meet the nefarious lady cop, who is pumping her for information about the criminal, yet very hot, Cody boys. The nefarious cop is not at all impressed with the hotness of the Cody boys, and just wants to see them all put behind bars for the rest of their lives. Alexa is her key to the putting away of the Cody boys, but if you want to find out why, you need to watch the show. I am NOT going to tell you. And just so you know, the lady who plays Alexa is tall and slender and beautiful. Bridget was afraid that we would look fat walking behind her in the scene. And this scene did, in fact, make it into the final cut of the show. And Bridget, upon seeing it, said, "Wow! We don't look fat, AT ALL." Anyway, when you watch the show and you see Alexa striding all tall and slender and beautiful -- though nervously, because she is going to meet up with the nefarious lady cop -- down the Oceanside pier, you will see Bridget and I behind her, dressed in our outstandingly put-together tourist costumes.
And this leaves me with one final tale from our day on the set of "Animal Kingdom." As those of you who know her will attest, Bridget loves to be barefoot. It is a struggle to get her into shoes. I really don't even try, anymore, being that she is all grown up. Anyway, she was shoeless up there on the Oceanside Pier. During the second scene we participated in, we were walking on the wooden portion of the pier. The assistant director noticed Bridget had no shoes on and sent her back to the beach base camp area to get them (as that is where she left them), because he was afraid she would get splinters in her feet. (They are very protective of you when you work on TV shows. They don't want you getting sunburned or injured, and they are really careful with you. And it is SO lovely.) Bridget was afraid to miss out on doing the scene, so she ran as fast as she could down the pier, toward the beach. The above-mentioned Jake Weary (principal actor and star) happened to be jogging along in front of her, back to the same place. As Bridget tells it, Jake spotted her, looked a bit alarmed, and started running faster. He kept checking over his shoulder to see if she was still running towards him, looking more and more alarmed. Finally, he shouted to her, VERY POLITELY, that he was going to the trailer (or something like that). She then realized that he thought she was some crazy female fan in hot pursuit of his hotness, so she told him that she was a background person and the AD had sent her back to get her shoes. This made everything okay. All was well, and Bridget -- with shoes on her feet -- managed to get back to the pier on time for the scene.
Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this post. Bridget and I so much enjoyed our day as background peeps on "Animal Kingdom." We will never forget it. And thinking about it will always make us smile. :-)
Saturday, April 23, 2016
Some Thoughts On The Cult
It's really tough to admit you're in a cult. It's really tough to leave a cult. It's really tough when the cult leaders threaten you -- both when you're in the cult and when you leave it. In short, cults suck.
It's really hard, though, to know you're joining a cult. They often are not very obvious. When I used to think about cults, I thought of odd clothing and communes. I never dreamed I would join one. I was too smart for that.
Well... Haha.
Actually, many smart, kind people join cults. Cults can be full of awesome individuals. And cults can look like ordinary, run-of-the mill businesses, religious groups, or community organizations. There can even be cult-like relationships between two people.
My family belonged to a cult for about seven years. My husband was very loosely associated. He never really liked the people running it. He didn't recognize that they were running a cult, but he thought they were incredibly arrogant. And they are. My kids and I were much more involved. We were quite dedicated. We were incredibly enthusiastic.
As time went on, though, I was seeing things, hearing things, and experiencing things that bothered me more and more. I was exhausted and disillusioned. I didn't realize it, but I was being abused -- physically, mentally, and spiritually. I was being horribly manipulated.
One day, toward the end of my tenure in the cult, the girlfriend of one of the members happened to drop by. She wasn't involved in the cult, but her boyfriend was pretty enthused about the place, and she wanted to see what it was all about. The next day, this young man said to me, "My girlfriend says this place is a cult." Wow. Being that I was becoming more and more disturbed by my experiences in the cult, I decided to go home and Google "cult." Wow. Everything I read about the danger signs and marks of a cult were present in the group I belonged to. Absolutely everything. I was shocked and horrified that I could have joined a cult and that -- worse -- I had put my children into one. I shut the computer off. I couldn't possibly have used such poor judgment. I couldn't possibly have put my family into that kind of situation. I refused to believe that we were in a cult.
And I stayed. For a little while, anyway.
What kind of cult did I join, you may be wondering.
It was a "martial arts school." Did they teach real martial arts? Yes. Did they do many of the things that authentic and non-cult martial arts schools do? Yes. I know how to beat the crap out of someone, if I need to. I have many valuable martial arts skills. But, this place was a cult. And it still is. Because it's still around.
I used to be very afraid of the people that ran this cult and some of their most zealous members. I would never have written a blog post like this ten years ago, or even one year ago. Because when I left the place, the evil cult people tried to absolutely ruin my reputation. They told a lot of lies about me. And some people believed the lies. My husband said, "These people will say absolutely anything about anybody to protect themselves." And it's true. They will.
Here are just a few of the things they said about me:
1. I was very upset about the inappropriately sexual behavior displayed by one of the instructors -- an older man -- toward some of the female children. I spoke about my displeasure to one of the cult members, after I left. I guess she told the cult leaders about it, and within a couple of weeks I was hearing from people I knew that this old guy (a gross old guy, btw) was saying that I had come onto him sexually and he rebuffed me and now I was trying to get back at him. OMG!!! I felt kicked in the gut. NONE of that was in the least bit true. I felt humiliated beyond all telling. I wanted -- almost literally -- to die. Now, though, because of some good professional counseling, I don't give a fuck. Go fuck yourself, dirty old man.
2. The three guys who are the cult leaders reportedly said that I tried to kiss them. Now, it is true that I would give an occasional kiss on the cheek, but it was never in an inappropriate fashion. It was like with family friends after a special occasion. And we all did feel -- for a very long time -- that these people were our friends. We had Thanksgiving together. We had New Year's Eve together. We were like a big family. So, it did not seem odd to me to give someone a kiss on the cheek, occasionally. For example, once I kissed the dirty old man on the cheek because he "allowed" my 40th birthday party to be thrown at the cult headquarters -- aka "the martial arts school" -- aka "the bunker" (Kimmy Schmidt reference, y'all). Now, when I think about it, the dirty old man should just be grateful to have gotten a kiss on the cheek from me. So there, dirty old man. Go fuck yourself. Anyway... There was one other time that I tried to give a kiss. One of the instructors was grappling with me and had me pinned to the floor. I couldn't get up. I couldn't move. This was going on for a VERY long time. And he was laughing at me and mocking me for not being able to move and pinching me and tickling me. I was pretty upset. So, I decided that I would try to kiss him. I knew he would HATE that and that he would let me go. It worked, too. He let me go REALLY fast. Now, of course, I shouldn't really have done that. It was probably not the thing to do. But, I didn't mean it in a sexual way and I was kind of having an anxiety attack, being pinned to the floor and mocked by the instructor for not being able to do anything about it. So, there you go.
3. After I left, the cult leaders said I was dangerous and mentally ill and told the other cult members to stay away from me. When I first left the cult and heard this, I wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe there was something wrong with me. This -- by the way -- is not an unusual way for people to feel when they leave a cult and get mad-mouthed by the cult leaders. Anyway, I told my counselor about it and how much it upset me to think that -- perhaps -- I was crazy. My counselor, who was a cult expert, told me that this is typically how cult leaders talk about dissatisfied ex-members. It is a way to both keep a hold on current members and frighten the former members into keeping their mouths shut. And it did work. I have been very humiliated to think of what my friends and acquaintances would think of me if they heard I had been making sexual advances toward and kissing the cult leaders. I knew they were lying, but it's basically a "he-said, she-said" kind of thing. And I think they knew that spreading this kind of evil gossip about me would work, because they knew that being a "good Catholic wife and mom" was very important to me. They knew a lot about me, because I had basically spilled my guts in all our "meditation lessons," so they knew where I was most vulnerable. They knew where they could hurt me. And it worked. It's like the Scientologists do with the people they "audit." They keep a bunch of records of everything these people say and then they use it against them by making up twisted lies when the poor, abused members get mad and leave. But, you know what? I am not afraid of you, anymore, you evil cult leaders. I know the truth. The people who love me know the truth. And that's what matters. Years of counseling have worked for me AND for my daughters. You have no more power over us, you brood of vipers.
Anyway, many thanks to all of you people who have read this. I will probably blog about it more, in the future. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Also, you may be wondering why I decided to speak about this now. Over the past couple of weeks, a situation developed with a person who had a brush with this cult. My daughter and I spoke with this person about our experiences. Apparently, it got back to the cult leaders and -- once again -- they show a willingness to tell a bunch of lies about me, probably similar to the lies I discussed above. So, this time, I am being proactive. I am not just going to sit by and cower and let them have the ball. I have the ball. My daughters have the ball. And you can't hurt us anymore, evil cult leaders. ;-)
It's really hard, though, to know you're joining a cult. They often are not very obvious. When I used to think about cults, I thought of odd clothing and communes. I never dreamed I would join one. I was too smart for that.
Well... Haha.
Actually, many smart, kind people join cults. Cults can be full of awesome individuals. And cults can look like ordinary, run-of-the mill businesses, religious groups, or community organizations. There can even be cult-like relationships between two people.
My family belonged to a cult for about seven years. My husband was very loosely associated. He never really liked the people running it. He didn't recognize that they were running a cult, but he thought they were incredibly arrogant. And they are. My kids and I were much more involved. We were quite dedicated. We were incredibly enthusiastic.
As time went on, though, I was seeing things, hearing things, and experiencing things that bothered me more and more. I was exhausted and disillusioned. I didn't realize it, but I was being abused -- physically, mentally, and spiritually. I was being horribly manipulated.
One day, toward the end of my tenure in the cult, the girlfriend of one of the members happened to drop by. She wasn't involved in the cult, but her boyfriend was pretty enthused about the place, and she wanted to see what it was all about. The next day, this young man said to me, "My girlfriend says this place is a cult." Wow. Being that I was becoming more and more disturbed by my experiences in the cult, I decided to go home and Google "cult." Wow. Everything I read about the danger signs and marks of a cult were present in the group I belonged to. Absolutely everything. I was shocked and horrified that I could have joined a cult and that -- worse -- I had put my children into one. I shut the computer off. I couldn't possibly have used such poor judgment. I couldn't possibly have put my family into that kind of situation. I refused to believe that we were in a cult.
And I stayed. For a little while, anyway.
What kind of cult did I join, you may be wondering.
It was a "martial arts school." Did they teach real martial arts? Yes. Did they do many of the things that authentic and non-cult martial arts schools do? Yes. I know how to beat the crap out of someone, if I need to. I have many valuable martial arts skills. But, this place was a cult. And it still is. Because it's still around.
I used to be very afraid of the people that ran this cult and some of their most zealous members. I would never have written a blog post like this ten years ago, or even one year ago. Because when I left the place, the evil cult people tried to absolutely ruin my reputation. They told a lot of lies about me. And some people believed the lies. My husband said, "These people will say absolutely anything about anybody to protect themselves." And it's true. They will.
Here are just a few of the things they said about me:
1. I was very upset about the inappropriately sexual behavior displayed by one of the instructors -- an older man -- toward some of the female children. I spoke about my displeasure to one of the cult members, after I left. I guess she told the cult leaders about it, and within a couple of weeks I was hearing from people I knew that this old guy (a gross old guy, btw) was saying that I had come onto him sexually and he rebuffed me and now I was trying to get back at him. OMG!!! I felt kicked in the gut. NONE of that was in the least bit true. I felt humiliated beyond all telling. I wanted -- almost literally -- to die. Now, though, because of some good professional counseling, I don't give a fuck. Go fuck yourself, dirty old man.
2. The three guys who are the cult leaders reportedly said that I tried to kiss them. Now, it is true that I would give an occasional kiss on the cheek, but it was never in an inappropriate fashion. It was like with family friends after a special occasion. And we all did feel -- for a very long time -- that these people were our friends. We had Thanksgiving together. We had New Year's Eve together. We were like a big family. So, it did not seem odd to me to give someone a kiss on the cheek, occasionally. For example, once I kissed the dirty old man on the cheek because he "allowed" my 40th birthday party to be thrown at the cult headquarters -- aka "the martial arts school" -- aka "the bunker" (Kimmy Schmidt reference, y'all). Now, when I think about it, the dirty old man should just be grateful to have gotten a kiss on the cheek from me. So there, dirty old man. Go fuck yourself. Anyway... There was one other time that I tried to give a kiss. One of the instructors was grappling with me and had me pinned to the floor. I couldn't get up. I couldn't move. This was going on for a VERY long time. And he was laughing at me and mocking me for not being able to move and pinching me and tickling me. I was pretty upset. So, I decided that I would try to kiss him. I knew he would HATE that and that he would let me go. It worked, too. He let me go REALLY fast. Now, of course, I shouldn't really have done that. It was probably not the thing to do. But, I didn't mean it in a sexual way and I was kind of having an anxiety attack, being pinned to the floor and mocked by the instructor for not being able to do anything about it. So, there you go.
3. After I left, the cult leaders said I was dangerous and mentally ill and told the other cult members to stay away from me. When I first left the cult and heard this, I wondered if maybe they were right. Maybe there was something wrong with me. This -- by the way -- is not an unusual way for people to feel when they leave a cult and get mad-mouthed by the cult leaders. Anyway, I told my counselor about it and how much it upset me to think that -- perhaps -- I was crazy. My counselor, who was a cult expert, told me that this is typically how cult leaders talk about dissatisfied ex-members. It is a way to both keep a hold on current members and frighten the former members into keeping their mouths shut. And it did work. I have been very humiliated to think of what my friends and acquaintances would think of me if they heard I had been making sexual advances toward and kissing the cult leaders. I knew they were lying, but it's basically a "he-said, she-said" kind of thing. And I think they knew that spreading this kind of evil gossip about me would work, because they knew that being a "good Catholic wife and mom" was very important to me. They knew a lot about me, because I had basically spilled my guts in all our "meditation lessons," so they knew where I was most vulnerable. They knew where they could hurt me. And it worked. It's like the Scientologists do with the people they "audit." They keep a bunch of records of everything these people say and then they use it against them by making up twisted lies when the poor, abused members get mad and leave. But, you know what? I am not afraid of you, anymore, you evil cult leaders. I know the truth. The people who love me know the truth. And that's what matters. Years of counseling have worked for me AND for my daughters. You have no more power over us, you brood of vipers.
Anyway, many thanks to all of you people who have read this. I will probably blog about it more, in the future. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.
Also, you may be wondering why I decided to speak about this now. Over the past couple of weeks, a situation developed with a person who had a brush with this cult. My daughter and I spoke with this person about our experiences. Apparently, it got back to the cult leaders and -- once again -- they show a willingness to tell a bunch of lies about me, probably similar to the lies I discussed above. So, this time, I am being proactive. I am not just going to sit by and cower and let them have the ball. I have the ball. My daughters have the ball. And you can't hurt us anymore, evil cult leaders. ;-)
Monday, March 7, 2016
Not Really A Conservative, After All
Throughout most of my adult life, I have considered myself a conservative. And now I'm wondering why. Maybe I never was a conservative. I do know that when I have hung out with conservatives -- which has been A LOT -- I have always felt a bit "on the outs." And when I hung out with liberals -- which occurred often during my youth -- I felt more comfortable, because they tended to be really kind and understanding people, who wanted me to be fulfilled and happy. But, I kind of ignored those feelings.
Lately, though, I have considered my identity as a conservative and how it evolved.
When I was a little girl, there was Jimmy Carter and Gloria Steinham. They weren't very popular with my little girl self. Or my teenage self. My memories of the Carter era are rather depressing. There was the "energy crisis," which -- for my own life -- meant getting bundled into the car by my parents in the wee dark hours of the morning to get into the line at the gas station, which went around the block. The "energy crisis" also meant being freezing cold in the house during the winter, due to the fact that President Carter (according to my little girl understanding) couldn't get along with the Middle East people, thus causing them to not sell us enough oil, and so he made us all turn our thermostats to 65 degrees. I remember Mr. Carter giving a fireside chat during which he instructed us all to put on a sweater (while gesturing to his own). I was REALLY PISSED at Mr. Carter after that chat. And then -- to top it all off -- there was the hostage crisis. This occurred when I was a teenager. And according to common knowledge, it all happened because Mr. Carter did not have any balls and couldn't stand up to the bad guys. First the oil. Then the hostages. Mr. Carter was -- clearly -- a wimp. A really good Christian, yes. But -- also -- a wimp.
And Gloria. I couldn't stand Gloria. She wanted my mother to go to work and send me to day care. Well... That sucked. I really loved having my mother at home. Having my mother at home was an awesome thing. How dare Gloria try to take her away??? Gloria was a very personal threat to my little girl self.
And then there were the mortgage interest rates, which were so high that nobody could afford a house. I was aware of the interest rate problem -- in spite of my young age -- because my dad was a general contractor/real estate broker. The discussion in our home often revolved around those subjects. And -- somehow -- in my young girl mind, the interest rate problem was necessarily the fault of President Carter and Gloria Steinham.
I knew President Carter and Gloria Steinham were Democrats/Liberals. And they were trying to ruin my life, according to my understanding.
Then came our hero, riding -- quite literally -- a handsome steed. Ronald Reagan. Savior of all. Not afraid to stand up to bad guys. In favor of mommies at home. Battling the evil forces of high interest rates. And he was so cool! Not a pissant idiot like Donald Trump, but a cool and awesome and charming guy, saving all that was important to me in my young girlhood.
Thus, I came to see myself as a conservative Republican.
Of course, I have had to face the fact that these opinions of young Marla Argenti were based on limited information and personal anecdote. As the years have gone on, my thinking has become more complex about Jimmy, Gloria, and Ronald. I have come to hold more balanced views about their views. I have come to see Jimmy and Gloria more compassionately and I no longer idolize Ronald.
Okay. Admittedly, I still have a bone to pick with Gloria. I recently read a quote of hers:
"A feminist is someone who has sex before marriage and a job after."
That. Is. Lame. Sorry, Gloria.
Please understand. I have nothing against women who have sex before they are married and jobs afterward. These are personal decisions. I mean, sex is great, as long as you are being responsible about it. And I have come to see that having a career -- even while you are raising children -- is a very positive thing. But -- just as a woman can validly choose to have sex before marriage, she can also choose not to. That is a perfectly justifiable position. Having sex can cause a lot of trouble that not having it can avoid. And just as a woman can validly choose to have a career after she is married, she can just as validly choose to be a SAHM. Women have different personalities and tastes and abilities and desires, and they need to lay off of each other about these things; and Gloria's statement is not a very good example.
As time has gone by, I have also had time to reflect on my feelings of comfort with liberals versus my feelings of being rather "on the outs" around conservatives. Now, if you are my friend and you are a conservative, this does not apply to you. If you are my friend, I feel comfortable with you. But, I have had to examine what these feelings mean. And I have determined, through much soul-searching and research about issues, that I actually agree much more with the liberals, aka progressives, about the issues. I think society needs to be about the Common Good. We are not all just in it as individuals who owe nothing to each other. And -- often -- when conservatives accuse progressives of wanting them to be "politically correct," all the progressives really want is for the conservatives to have some manners and some understanding that certain things might be more complex than they realize.
I saw this bumper sticker today:
"The BIGGER the government, the smaller the citizen."
Um... Well... Not necessarily. It all depends on how that government is run and what its priorities are. And I think the opposite can, just as often, be true. For example, if there is healthcare for all, that gives people the economic and psychological freedom to apply themselves to other things in life, rather than just worrying about how to get and keep health coverage. Before "Obamacare," my oldest daughter had no stability in her health coverage, AT ALL. That is a story for another time, but -- let me tell you -- it wasn't because she was irresponsible and felt that she deserved a hand-out. Quite the opposite, in fact. Basically, "Obamacare" was a Godsend to her. In fact, it has been a Godsend to our whole family. When I think about it, government benefits have -- in many ways -- helped me throughout my entire life to get a leg up. And when I get a leg up, I can have more stability in my life and help others get a leg up. Government benefits can be a blessing in helping people to achieve personal stability, health stability, economic stability. Of course, they can also go awry, and I will speak of my experiences with that at another time. But when done right, they can be a huge benefit for individuals and for society.
So, there you have my very condensed version of how I have come to realize that I was probably never a conservative, at all. I apologize to any of you who feel that I misled you. I didn't mean it. It comes just as much of a surprise to me as it must be to you. ;-)
Lately, though, I have considered my identity as a conservative and how it evolved.
When I was a little girl, there was Jimmy Carter and Gloria Steinham. They weren't very popular with my little girl self. Or my teenage self. My memories of the Carter era are rather depressing. There was the "energy crisis," which -- for my own life -- meant getting bundled into the car by my parents in the wee dark hours of the morning to get into the line at the gas station, which went around the block. The "energy crisis" also meant being freezing cold in the house during the winter, due to the fact that President Carter (according to my little girl understanding) couldn't get along with the Middle East people, thus causing them to not sell us enough oil, and so he made us all turn our thermostats to 65 degrees. I remember Mr. Carter giving a fireside chat during which he instructed us all to put on a sweater (while gesturing to his own). I was REALLY PISSED at Mr. Carter after that chat. And then -- to top it all off -- there was the hostage crisis. This occurred when I was a teenager. And according to common knowledge, it all happened because Mr. Carter did not have any balls and couldn't stand up to the bad guys. First the oil. Then the hostages. Mr. Carter was -- clearly -- a wimp. A really good Christian, yes. But -- also -- a wimp.
And Gloria. I couldn't stand Gloria. She wanted my mother to go to work and send me to day care. Well... That sucked. I really loved having my mother at home. Having my mother at home was an awesome thing. How dare Gloria try to take her away??? Gloria was a very personal threat to my little girl self.
And then there were the mortgage interest rates, which were so high that nobody could afford a house. I was aware of the interest rate problem -- in spite of my young age -- because my dad was a general contractor/real estate broker. The discussion in our home often revolved around those subjects. And -- somehow -- in my young girl mind, the interest rate problem was necessarily the fault of President Carter and Gloria Steinham.
I knew President Carter and Gloria Steinham were Democrats/Liberals. And they were trying to ruin my life, according to my understanding.
Then came our hero, riding -- quite literally -- a handsome steed. Ronald Reagan. Savior of all. Not afraid to stand up to bad guys. In favor of mommies at home. Battling the evil forces of high interest rates. And he was so cool! Not a pissant idiot like Donald Trump, but a cool and awesome and charming guy, saving all that was important to me in my young girlhood.
Thus, I came to see myself as a conservative Republican.
Of course, I have had to face the fact that these opinions of young Marla Argenti were based on limited information and personal anecdote. As the years have gone on, my thinking has become more complex about Jimmy, Gloria, and Ronald. I have come to hold more balanced views about their views. I have come to see Jimmy and Gloria more compassionately and I no longer idolize Ronald.
Okay. Admittedly, I still have a bone to pick with Gloria. I recently read a quote of hers:
"A feminist is someone who has sex before marriage and a job after."
That. Is. Lame. Sorry, Gloria.
Please understand. I have nothing against women who have sex before they are married and jobs afterward. These are personal decisions. I mean, sex is great, as long as you are being responsible about it. And I have come to see that having a career -- even while you are raising children -- is a very positive thing. But -- just as a woman can validly choose to have sex before marriage, she can also choose not to. That is a perfectly justifiable position. Having sex can cause a lot of trouble that not having it can avoid. And just as a woman can validly choose to have a career after she is married, she can just as validly choose to be a SAHM. Women have different personalities and tastes and abilities and desires, and they need to lay off of each other about these things; and Gloria's statement is not a very good example.
As time has gone by, I have also had time to reflect on my feelings of comfort with liberals versus my feelings of being rather "on the outs" around conservatives. Now, if you are my friend and you are a conservative, this does not apply to you. If you are my friend, I feel comfortable with you. But, I have had to examine what these feelings mean. And I have determined, through much soul-searching and research about issues, that I actually agree much more with the liberals, aka progressives, about the issues. I think society needs to be about the Common Good. We are not all just in it as individuals who owe nothing to each other. And -- often -- when conservatives accuse progressives of wanting them to be "politically correct," all the progressives really want is for the conservatives to have some manners and some understanding that certain things might be more complex than they realize.
I saw this bumper sticker today:
"The BIGGER the government, the smaller the citizen."
Um... Well... Not necessarily. It all depends on how that government is run and what its priorities are. And I think the opposite can, just as often, be true. For example, if there is healthcare for all, that gives people the economic and psychological freedom to apply themselves to other things in life, rather than just worrying about how to get and keep health coverage. Before "Obamacare," my oldest daughter had no stability in her health coverage, AT ALL. That is a story for another time, but -- let me tell you -- it wasn't because she was irresponsible and felt that she deserved a hand-out. Quite the opposite, in fact. Basically, "Obamacare" was a Godsend to her. In fact, it has been a Godsend to our whole family. When I think about it, government benefits have -- in many ways -- helped me throughout my entire life to get a leg up. And when I get a leg up, I can have more stability in my life and help others get a leg up. Government benefits can be a blessing in helping people to achieve personal stability, health stability, economic stability. Of course, they can also go awry, and I will speak of my experiences with that at another time. But when done right, they can be a huge benefit for individuals and for society.
So, there you have my very condensed version of how I have come to realize that I was probably never a conservative, at all. I apologize to any of you who feel that I misled you. I didn't mean it. It comes just as much of a surprise to me as it must be to you. ;-)
Sunday, October 4, 2015
I have this problem when I pray...
And it is that I start totally worrying and fretting over the thing I am praying about, as I am praying about it.
It makes me a nervous wreck.
It doesn't make for a very good prayer life.
And I should really know better.
HOW DID THIS HAPPEN???
I am a 52-year-old Catholic lady. I have been praying for a long, long time. But, it suddenly dawned on me, a couple of months ago, that over the past 10 years, I have turned my prayer life into a source of constant stress.
I guess it kind of all started when something bad -- very, very bad -- happened to my family. I will not get into all that here, but the stress associated with that event started to affect my prayer life. I didn't really notice it, but as I look back, I can see where it started. And over the past few years, my parents both passed away after long struggles with illness. My dad died of cancer and my mom died of complications associated with congestive heart failure and subsequent heart surgery. None of it was pretty. But, through everything I prayed and -- somehow -- prayer stopped being a source of peace for me and became, instead, a source of stress. I didn't really see all of this clearly, until rather recently.
This is now what I do when I pray: I sit quietly, I place myself in the presence of God, I thank Him for the many blessings I have received, and I begin to speak to Him about my concerns and intentions. And then my mind begins to wander down all the possible and terrible paths the situations I am concerned with might take. And I wonder if God will stop these situations from taking on these awful forms. I begin to get all upset with all the suffering people in the world and I wonder if God will send something good my way when He obviously didn't send something good the way of the Doctors Without Borders hospital. And then I start envisioning the carnage at the Doctors Without Borders hospital. And then I start thinking about the insanity of so many "Christians" these days, who are so mean. And then I get rather annoyed with God. And then I realize that it's really not God's fault, because God gives us our freedom, including the freedom to do horrible things to each other. And then I wonder why I am even praying, at all. And I become convinced that the worst possible thing is going to happen to the person I had been meaning to pray for at the beginning of my prayer. And then I'm like, "Stop this nonsense, Marla!" And I get up and fold laundry.
Now, before all you theologians start telling me all the faults in my reasoning here, I will just say one thing to you. STOP. Do not say anything to me. Because I am freaking good at theology, even though you might not know it from some of the things I write about. I know how to logically argue everything about God and free will and sin and suffering in the world. I know about the Economy Of Salvation. I sent my kids to three of the most conservative Catholic colleges IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I am a damn good armchair theologian, damnit. I know how DESTROY the reasoning I used in the above paragraph. Somehow, though, logic is not enough. I have to look at God and myself and just sigh. And maybe that's okay. Everything is not clear-cut and clean. Even in the Christian life, there is a lot of murk and crap to wade through. If there wasn't murk and crap to wade through, there wouldn't have to be any "faith," would there? Sometimes shitty things happen. And sometimes they don't resolve well and you really don't know the why of it all.
So, this is what I have decided to do. This coming liturgical year is the year of mercy, as declared by Pope Francis. And I think I am just going to immerse myself and all the people and situations I care about into God's mercy and try to be merciful. Instead of sitting and explaining to God all of my problems and concerns -- thus causing my imagination to travel to the worst of the worst places -- I will just try to release things into His mercy.
Because when it comes down to it, I do believe in God. I do believe we are fallen.
Why?
Because -- to me -- it is the best explanation of why we all do the shit we do to each other and to our world. The shit we do is not really explainable on a purely evolutionary level. Now, I am not a Creationist. I have a biology degree and I respect the theory of evolution and believe it makes a lot of sense. But, it truly does not explain the shit we do. And The Fall does. Very well. And if The Fall is real, it affects me. It affects all of us. And this is why Jesus said, "Do not judge, lest you be judged." He was basically telling us that none of us has anything to brag about. We are all capable of enormous shit. Including me. And so the answer is mercy. At least for me.
And that is how I am going to attempt to rectify my prayer life.
Lord, have mercy on me, the sinner. Lord, have mercy on us. Amen.
It makes me a nervous wreck.
It doesn't make for a very good prayer life.
And I should really know better.
HOW DID THIS HAPPEN???
I am a 52-year-old Catholic lady. I have been praying for a long, long time. But, it suddenly dawned on me, a couple of months ago, that over the past 10 years, I have turned my prayer life into a source of constant stress.
I guess it kind of all started when something bad -- very, very bad -- happened to my family. I will not get into all that here, but the stress associated with that event started to affect my prayer life. I didn't really notice it, but as I look back, I can see where it started. And over the past few years, my parents both passed away after long struggles with illness. My dad died of cancer and my mom died of complications associated with congestive heart failure and subsequent heart surgery. None of it was pretty. But, through everything I prayed and -- somehow -- prayer stopped being a source of peace for me and became, instead, a source of stress. I didn't really see all of this clearly, until rather recently.
This is now what I do when I pray: I sit quietly, I place myself in the presence of God, I thank Him for the many blessings I have received, and I begin to speak to Him about my concerns and intentions. And then my mind begins to wander down all the possible and terrible paths the situations I am concerned with might take. And I wonder if God will stop these situations from taking on these awful forms. I begin to get all upset with all the suffering people in the world and I wonder if God will send something good my way when He obviously didn't send something good the way of the Doctors Without Borders hospital. And then I start envisioning the carnage at the Doctors Without Borders hospital. And then I start thinking about the insanity of so many "Christians" these days, who are so mean. And then I get rather annoyed with God. And then I realize that it's really not God's fault, because God gives us our freedom, including the freedom to do horrible things to each other. And then I wonder why I am even praying, at all. And I become convinced that the worst possible thing is going to happen to the person I had been meaning to pray for at the beginning of my prayer. And then I'm like, "Stop this nonsense, Marla!" And I get up and fold laundry.
Now, before all you theologians start telling me all the faults in my reasoning here, I will just say one thing to you. STOP. Do not say anything to me. Because I am freaking good at theology, even though you might not know it from some of the things I write about. I know how to logically argue everything about God and free will and sin and suffering in the world. I know about the Economy Of Salvation. I sent my kids to three of the most conservative Catholic colleges IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. I am a damn good armchair theologian, damnit. I know how DESTROY the reasoning I used in the above paragraph. Somehow, though, logic is not enough. I have to look at God and myself and just sigh. And maybe that's okay. Everything is not clear-cut and clean. Even in the Christian life, there is a lot of murk and crap to wade through. If there wasn't murk and crap to wade through, there wouldn't have to be any "faith," would there? Sometimes shitty things happen. And sometimes they don't resolve well and you really don't know the why of it all.
So, this is what I have decided to do. This coming liturgical year is the year of mercy, as declared by Pope Francis. And I think I am just going to immerse myself and all the people and situations I care about into God's mercy and try to be merciful. Instead of sitting and explaining to God all of my problems and concerns -- thus causing my imagination to travel to the worst of the worst places -- I will just try to release things into His mercy.
Because when it comes down to it, I do believe in God. I do believe we are fallen.
Why?
Because -- to me -- it is the best explanation of why we all do the shit we do to each other and to our world. The shit we do is not really explainable on a purely evolutionary level. Now, I am not a Creationist. I have a biology degree and I respect the theory of evolution and believe it makes a lot of sense. But, it truly does not explain the shit we do. And The Fall does. Very well. And if The Fall is real, it affects me. It affects all of us. And this is why Jesus said, "Do not judge, lest you be judged." He was basically telling us that none of us has anything to brag about. We are all capable of enormous shit. Including me. And so the answer is mercy. At least for me.
And that is how I am going to attempt to rectify my prayer life.
Lord, have mercy on me, the sinner. Lord, have mercy on us. Amen.
Saturday, October 3, 2015
Hiking In Runyon Canyon -- A Comedic Blog Post
There is this place in LA where the "it" people, the wanna be "it" people, a lot of in-shape college people, and some "never get old never say die" middle-aged people go to hike. It is called Runyon Canyon.
I can't remember exactly where I heard of Runyon Canyon. Probably somewhere on social media.
But, anyway...
One weekend, this past Spring, my daughter Bridget went on a retreat with the young adults of St. Monica Catholic Church in Santa Monica. That is a whole story unto itself, which I shall not tell right now. But, as you may know, because of health issues, Bridget doesn't drive. So, I drove her up to the retreat, which was at a beautiful retreat center in Malibu. And since I didn't want to make two round-trip drives to LA in 48 hours, I decided to just get a hotel room and amuse myself in this wonderful area for a couple of days. And one of the ways I decided to amuse myself was to go hiking in Runyon Canyon.
And it's a very good thing I can laugh at myself.
I am 52 years old. I recently lost 55 pounds, which means I can fit into a cute exercise outfit. That doesn't mean, though, that I am in actual "shape." Because I am not. I don't look too bad, for a 52-year-old, but my workouts consist mostly of walking up and down my stairs with baskets of laundry and strolling around the block with my two greyhounds. Greyhounds, though they may run VERY fast, walk VERY slow. No shit. On the plus side, I am rather tan, due to my Italian heritage. My tan, combined with my weight loss and my cute exercise outfit, gave me the courage to make my way to the hiking trails of Runyon Canyon. I figured that I could sort of blend in with the "it" people and the "in-shape" people, which I did. Other things which gave me the courage to go to Runyon Canyon were that I am, basically and in many ways, not very self-conscious, difficult to embarrass, and rather adventurous. And a little bit divorced from reality. Which is why I really love LA. There are MANY people there who are just like me.
So, early one Saturday morning, this past Spring... (Well, it wasn't that early. Because now that I am 52, I don't do early.)
So, late one Saturday morning, this past Spring, I activated Google Maps on my iPhone and made my way from Santa Monica to Runyon Canyon. And I discovered that Runyon Canyon is actually right smack-dab in the middle of a rather "edgy" LA neighborhood. The people inhabiting this neighborhood are all about 20 years younger than I and worth about 20 million dollars more. (Okay. I am exaggerating. A little.) And the neighborhood is composed of steep hills with practically no parking anywhere to be found. There really isn't a Runyon Canyon hiking trails parking lot. At least as far as I could find. And if there was, I'm sure it was all full. So, I drove around and around and around and finally found a parking spot MANY blocks from the entrance to the hiking trails. And did I mention? All of the streets leading to Runyon Canyon are on steep hills. And you don't walk DOWN to get to the hiking trails. You walk UP. UP and UP and UP. So, I was kind of panic-stricken, for two reasons. The first reason was that I was afraid I would never find my car again, because I was totally disoriented. I did have Google Maps on my iPhone, but this weekend was the first time I had used it without Bridget's help and I wasn't sure what I was doing. I had visions of having to call the LAPD for help finding my car. And I was afraid the LAPD would send hot cops to help me and I would be embarrassed in front of them. I figured that they -- being hot LAPD cops -- would be sophisticated enough to see through my facade of tan skin and cute-workout clothes to the poser that I really was. Secondly, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to walk up all the hills to get to the actual hiking trails without collapsing from exhaustion, let alone be able to actually hike once I got there. I almost got back in the car to go back to Santa Monica to eat fancy desserts.
But, I said to myself, "NO. You will do this thing, damnit. And you will use your Google maps and not have to call the hot LAPD cops." And I proceeded to walk up ALL THE HILLS to get to the hiking trails.
And I was successful.
Frankly, all the people on the trails were very nice. They smiled and said good morning and were generally cordial. I find that all the LA people are pretty nice to me. LA people have to be nice to every middle-aged person they see who is halfway decently dressed and has a good hair colorist, because that person might -- JUST MIGHT -- be an indie producer who could fund their next project. And do I use that fact to my advantage? Yes. Yes, I do. And I have funded certain indie projects, too. So, I don't feel horrible about it.
I greatly enjoyed my hike. It was a lot of fun. There were many cool dogs, who were happy to see me. I heard interesting people talk about their interesting bosses. There were some darling young couples on first dates. The view was amazing. All in all, it was quite a pleasant experience.
Until...
I got to the downhill railroad-tie staircase with the slippery gravel soil all around it.
You see? I have a bad knee. A REALLY bad knee. A knee that is not at all reliably stable on slippery downhill surfaces.
I took a couple of tentative steps down the railroad-tie staircase and started to slide, my bad knee giving me absolutely no help.
Thankfully, there were large rocks positioned around the railroad tie staircase, so I was able to artfully slide my ass onto one of them, acting like I did the whole thing on purpose in order to sit for a few minutes and enjoy the view.
So, I sat. And sat some more. Rather unsure of how I was going to get the hell down.
A few hot guys of varying ages asked if I was okay and if I needed any help. I said, "No. I'm fine." I don't really know why I said that. I really should have availed myself of the hot guy help. LA guys -- and gals -- really are nice people, you know? A lot of them come from the mid-west in order to become "industry" people, and they bring a lot of those mid-west values and manners with them. I really do love the "industry" people. I have heard that they can be rather cut-throat. They are never cut-throat to me, though, because I am not -- in any way, shape, or form -- their competition. That is very clear to them. So, they are just always really nice to me. And -- in return -- I love them and donate to their very cool Kickstarter projects.
Eventually, I did make my way down the staircase. I descended by scooting my butt from one rock to the next rock, all the time pretending that I was just stopping to enjoy the magnificent view. And once I was safely at the bottom of that evil staircase, I did an inward victory dance and proceeded hiking the rest of the trail. Which -- thanks be to God -- was all downhill from there. I was quite pleased with myself. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I no longer feared having to call the LAPD to assist me in locating my car. I brazenly whipped out my iPhone and turned on my Google Maps and found it.
A VICTORIOUS MORNING!!!
And then I drove back to Santa Monica and got myself a nice lunch. ;-)
I can't remember exactly where I heard of Runyon Canyon. Probably somewhere on social media.
But, anyway...
One weekend, this past Spring, my daughter Bridget went on a retreat with the young adults of St. Monica Catholic Church in Santa Monica. That is a whole story unto itself, which I shall not tell right now. But, as you may know, because of health issues, Bridget doesn't drive. So, I drove her up to the retreat, which was at a beautiful retreat center in Malibu. And since I didn't want to make two round-trip drives to LA in 48 hours, I decided to just get a hotel room and amuse myself in this wonderful area for a couple of days. And one of the ways I decided to amuse myself was to go hiking in Runyon Canyon.
And it's a very good thing I can laugh at myself.
I am 52 years old. I recently lost 55 pounds, which means I can fit into a cute exercise outfit. That doesn't mean, though, that I am in actual "shape." Because I am not. I don't look too bad, for a 52-year-old, but my workouts consist mostly of walking up and down my stairs with baskets of laundry and strolling around the block with my two greyhounds. Greyhounds, though they may run VERY fast, walk VERY slow. No shit. On the plus side, I am rather tan, due to my Italian heritage. My tan, combined with my weight loss and my cute exercise outfit, gave me the courage to make my way to the hiking trails of Runyon Canyon. I figured that I could sort of blend in with the "it" people and the "in-shape" people, which I did. Other things which gave me the courage to go to Runyon Canyon were that I am, basically and in many ways, not very self-conscious, difficult to embarrass, and rather adventurous. And a little bit divorced from reality. Which is why I really love LA. There are MANY people there who are just like me.
So, early one Saturday morning, this past Spring... (Well, it wasn't that early. Because now that I am 52, I don't do early.)
So, late one Saturday morning, this past Spring, I activated Google Maps on my iPhone and made my way from Santa Monica to Runyon Canyon. And I discovered that Runyon Canyon is actually right smack-dab in the middle of a rather "edgy" LA neighborhood. The people inhabiting this neighborhood are all about 20 years younger than I and worth about 20 million dollars more. (Okay. I am exaggerating. A little.) And the neighborhood is composed of steep hills with practically no parking anywhere to be found. There really isn't a Runyon Canyon hiking trails parking lot. At least as far as I could find. And if there was, I'm sure it was all full. So, I drove around and around and around and finally found a parking spot MANY blocks from the entrance to the hiking trails. And did I mention? All of the streets leading to Runyon Canyon are on steep hills. And you don't walk DOWN to get to the hiking trails. You walk UP. UP and UP and UP. So, I was kind of panic-stricken, for two reasons. The first reason was that I was afraid I would never find my car again, because I was totally disoriented. I did have Google Maps on my iPhone, but this weekend was the first time I had used it without Bridget's help and I wasn't sure what I was doing. I had visions of having to call the LAPD for help finding my car. And I was afraid the LAPD would send hot cops to help me and I would be embarrassed in front of them. I figured that they -- being hot LAPD cops -- would be sophisticated enough to see through my facade of tan skin and cute-workout clothes to the poser that I really was. Secondly, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to walk up all the hills to get to the actual hiking trails without collapsing from exhaustion, let alone be able to actually hike once I got there. I almost got back in the car to go back to Santa Monica to eat fancy desserts.
But, I said to myself, "NO. You will do this thing, damnit. And you will use your Google maps and not have to call the hot LAPD cops." And I proceeded to walk up ALL THE HILLS to get to the hiking trails.
And I was successful.
Frankly, all the people on the trails were very nice. They smiled and said good morning and were generally cordial. I find that all the LA people are pretty nice to me. LA people have to be nice to every middle-aged person they see who is halfway decently dressed and has a good hair colorist, because that person might -- JUST MIGHT -- be an indie producer who could fund their next project. And do I use that fact to my advantage? Yes. Yes, I do. And I have funded certain indie projects, too. So, I don't feel horrible about it.
I greatly enjoyed my hike. It was a lot of fun. There were many cool dogs, who were happy to see me. I heard interesting people talk about their interesting bosses. There were some darling young couples on first dates. The view was amazing. All in all, it was quite a pleasant experience.
Until...
I got to the downhill railroad-tie staircase with the slippery gravel soil all around it.
You see? I have a bad knee. A REALLY bad knee. A knee that is not at all reliably stable on slippery downhill surfaces.
I took a couple of tentative steps down the railroad-tie staircase and started to slide, my bad knee giving me absolutely no help.
Thankfully, there were large rocks positioned around the railroad tie staircase, so I was able to artfully slide my ass onto one of them, acting like I did the whole thing on purpose in order to sit for a few minutes and enjoy the view.
So, I sat. And sat some more. Rather unsure of how I was going to get the hell down.
A few hot guys of varying ages asked if I was okay and if I needed any help. I said, "No. I'm fine." I don't really know why I said that. I really should have availed myself of the hot guy help. LA guys -- and gals -- really are nice people, you know? A lot of them come from the mid-west in order to become "industry" people, and they bring a lot of those mid-west values and manners with them. I really do love the "industry" people. I have heard that they can be rather cut-throat. They are never cut-throat to me, though, because I am not -- in any way, shape, or form -- their competition. That is very clear to them. So, they are just always really nice to me. And -- in return -- I love them and donate to their very cool Kickstarter projects.
Eventually, I did make my way down the staircase. I descended by scooting my butt from one rock to the next rock, all the time pretending that I was just stopping to enjoy the magnificent view. And once I was safely at the bottom of that evil staircase, I did an inward victory dance and proceeded hiking the rest of the trail. Which -- thanks be to God -- was all downhill from there. I was quite pleased with myself. In fact, I was so pleased with myself that I no longer feared having to call the LAPD to assist me in locating my car. I brazenly whipped out my iPhone and turned on my Google Maps and found it.
A VICTORIOUS MORNING!!!
And then I drove back to Santa Monica and got myself a nice lunch. ;-)
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
The Pope And Kim Davis -- A Jesuit "Fast One"???
I have often been accused of being "Jesuitical" in my way of thinking. I say "accused" because those who observed this about me were not being complimentary. Not at all. I used to be rather ashamed of this fact about myself, as I do think it is an accurate observation. As I have entered midlife, though, I have chosen to embrace it.
So, here we go.
I was thinking about the Pope's meeting with Kim Davis. This has some people wringing their hands and others jumping for joy. But -- let us remember -- the Pope is a Jesuit. And I'm wondering if the Pope pulled a Jesuit "fast one."
I am probably going to get a phone call from the Vatican because of this blog post, telling me that I am ALL WRONG. That's okay. It would be sort of cool to get a phone call from the Vatican. And I still think that what I have to say might be worth considering, even if it's not a Slick Jesuit Papal Maneuver.
I was reading the NPR article on the Pope's visit with Kim. (I just love NPR, don't you? They are always so calm and professional. I also love Ezra Klein on Vox. He is witty and hilarious and sort of a sexy nerd. But, I digress.) In this article, I noticed that the Pope used the term "conscientious objection" when discussing his visit with Kim. This is very interesting to me. VERY interesting.
I grew up during the time of the Vietnam War, and there were many conscientious objectors. My parents and their group of friends were rather divided on the validity of being a conscientious objector. Most of them thought that these individuals were, basically, unpatriotic cowards. Some of them, though, admired the values and courage of the "peaceniks." I once dated a guy -- for a little while -- who had been a conscientious objector. I decided that it was probably a good thing he had been thus, because he basically couldn't seem to stay awake. EVER. The dude would have been a very poor soldier. I would not have wanted to go into battle with this dude. He did have a cool car, though. And he helped me on a limnology project that I basically would have failed without his assistance. After said project, I never saw him again. I suppose traipsing around all those bodies of fresh water convinced him that I was MUCH too energetic for him. (OMG. I am digressing SO much today!)
Let's think, though, about conscientious objectors. In Vietnam, anyway, they were excused from the draft. I guess some of them did non-combat jobs. But, NONE of them performed the duties to which they objected. Why? Because they were excused/dismissed from the job which entailed those duties, meaning they were excused/dismissed from the job of being a soldier.
And this is the point. A conscientious objector was not allowed to become a soldier and then decide -- according to his conscience -- which of his duties he was going to perform and which of his duties he was not going to perform. Either he was in. Or he was out. And if he wanted to conscientiously object, he was OUT.
This is relevant to the case of Kim Davis. If she wants to hold the job that she has been holding, she needs to do that job. ALL of that job. As in the case of the soldier, she does not get to decide which duties she approves of and which she is going to abstain from. That kind of thinking brings chaos and anarchy. We would soon be a country resembling Gotham, if everybody got to do that. (Have you been watching the new season of "Gotham"? It is INCREDIBLE. They totally gave it a face lift from last year's season. And -- yes -- I have digressed again.) So, if the law has changed and Kim conscientiously objects to it, that is her human right. As the Pope stated. But, I bet the Pope is clever enough to realize that a conscientious objector needs to be excused -- or excuse himself/herself -- from the job to which he/she objects. Just as the soldier does not get to define his role, neither does Miss Kim. Perhaps this is the Pope's indirect and understated -- but, very Jesuitically clear -- message. And even if it's not his message, it's mine. ;-)
Now, I do think Miss Davis is a decent lady. She has basically been emotionally hijacked by and made a pawn of religious right-wingers. So, I kind of hope that the county for which she has worked will find her a new position that is both amenable to her conscience and provides for her needs. Do I think it's necessary for the county to do this? No, I don't. But, I think it would be decent. She probably won't need another job, though, because she's probably going to make a lot of money off the right-wingers. You know? With public appearances and podcasts and a YouTube channel and a book. There will probably even be a movie made about her by a certain university with which I am acquainted. Maybe I'm being cynical. I don't know.
Pax. :-)
So, here we go.
I was thinking about the Pope's meeting with Kim Davis. This has some people wringing their hands and others jumping for joy. But -- let us remember -- the Pope is a Jesuit. And I'm wondering if the Pope pulled a Jesuit "fast one."
I am probably going to get a phone call from the Vatican because of this blog post, telling me that I am ALL WRONG. That's okay. It would be sort of cool to get a phone call from the Vatican. And I still think that what I have to say might be worth considering, even if it's not a Slick Jesuit Papal Maneuver.
I was reading the NPR article on the Pope's visit with Kim. (I just love NPR, don't you? They are always so calm and professional. I also love Ezra Klein on Vox. He is witty and hilarious and sort of a sexy nerd. But, I digress.) In this article, I noticed that the Pope used the term "conscientious objection" when discussing his visit with Kim. This is very interesting to me. VERY interesting.
I grew up during the time of the Vietnam War, and there were many conscientious objectors. My parents and their group of friends were rather divided on the validity of being a conscientious objector. Most of them thought that these individuals were, basically, unpatriotic cowards. Some of them, though, admired the values and courage of the "peaceniks." I once dated a guy -- for a little while -- who had been a conscientious objector. I decided that it was probably a good thing he had been thus, because he basically couldn't seem to stay awake. EVER. The dude would have been a very poor soldier. I would not have wanted to go into battle with this dude. He did have a cool car, though. And he helped me on a limnology project that I basically would have failed without his assistance. After said project, I never saw him again. I suppose traipsing around all those bodies of fresh water convinced him that I was MUCH too energetic for him. (OMG. I am digressing SO much today!)
Let's think, though, about conscientious objectors. In Vietnam, anyway, they were excused from the draft. I guess some of them did non-combat jobs. But, NONE of them performed the duties to which they objected. Why? Because they were excused/dismissed from the job which entailed those duties, meaning they were excused/dismissed from the job of being a soldier.
And this is the point. A conscientious objector was not allowed to become a soldier and then decide -- according to his conscience -- which of his duties he was going to perform and which of his duties he was not going to perform. Either he was in. Or he was out. And if he wanted to conscientiously object, he was OUT.
This is relevant to the case of Kim Davis. If she wants to hold the job that she has been holding, she needs to do that job. ALL of that job. As in the case of the soldier, she does not get to decide which duties she approves of and which she is going to abstain from. That kind of thinking brings chaos and anarchy. We would soon be a country resembling Gotham, if everybody got to do that. (Have you been watching the new season of "Gotham"? It is INCREDIBLE. They totally gave it a face lift from last year's season. And -- yes -- I have digressed again.) So, if the law has changed and Kim conscientiously objects to it, that is her human right. As the Pope stated. But, I bet the Pope is clever enough to realize that a conscientious objector needs to be excused -- or excuse himself/herself -- from the job to which he/she objects. Just as the soldier does not get to define his role, neither does Miss Kim. Perhaps this is the Pope's indirect and understated -- but, very Jesuitically clear -- message. And even if it's not his message, it's mine. ;-)
Now, I do think Miss Davis is a decent lady. She has basically been emotionally hijacked by and made a pawn of religious right-wingers. So, I kind of hope that the county for which she has worked will find her a new position that is both amenable to her conscience and provides for her needs. Do I think it's necessary for the county to do this? No, I don't. But, I think it would be decent. She probably won't need another job, though, because she's probably going to make a lot of money off the right-wingers. You know? With public appearances and podcasts and a YouTube channel and a book. There will probably even be a movie made about her by a certain university with which I am acquainted. Maybe I'm being cynical. I don't know.
Pax. :-)
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Things That Make Me Go "Hmmm..."
You may have read the comment made by "Ricardo" on my last blog post. When I read it, I pretty much felt like Hester Prynn. Into my mind came all the images of women -- misunderstood, abused, ostracized, shunned, shut down -- because they were/are sinners. I especially felt that way because I am a Catholic and Ricardo is a Catholic deacon. Thankfully, not at my parish. Although, he does live a few doors down from me. And I admit that every time I walk down the street since reading that comment, I hyperventilate and feel rather faint (which I do twice a day, when I walk my dogs).
Now, as a Catholic, I do not deny that I am a sinner. I know that I am. I am also grateful that I was not brought up in a Catholic environment inhabited by people like Ricardo. I was brought up in an environment inhabited by people like Pope Francis.
I read today some words that Francis spoke in Cuba, addressing priests and bishops (members of the clergy who hear Confessions). Deacons do not hear Confessions, thanks be to God. And these words reminded me why I have faith in Jesus. Because Jesus EMBRACES the sinner. He has MERCY and COMPASSION on the sinner. He does not smack the sinner to the ground as she makes herself vulnerable and tries to get up from a fall. Rather, He gives her His hand.
I would like now to share these words of our wonderful Pope Francis with you, so that you may understand why I am still Catholic, in spite of what people like Ricardo might say to me:
"....there is a privileged place for the priest where this last one, this least one, this smallest one is found -- and it is the confessional. And there, when this man or this woman shows you his misery -- careful because it's the same misery that you have and from which God saved you, eh? from getting to that point. When he or she shows you his misery, please, don't scold him. Don't scold him, don't punish him. If you don't have sin, throw the first stone. But only under that condition. If not, think of your sins and think that you could be that person and think that you could potentially fall even lower, and think that you in this moment have in your hands a treasure, which is the mercy of the Father. Please, priests, don't get tired of forgiving, like Jesus did. Don't hide in fears or in rigidities. Just like this nun (a sister from the Congregation of the Missionaries of Charity who had spoken before the Pope) and all of those who are in the same ministry as she is, they don't get furious when they find a sick person who is dirty, but instead serve him, clean him, take care of him. Just like this, you, when a penitent comes, don't react badly, don't get neurotic, don't cast him out of the confessional, don't scold him. Jesus embraced them. Jesus loved them. Tomorrow, we celebrate St. Matthew. He was a thief and beyond that, betrayed his people. And the Gospel says that at night, Jesus went to dine with him and others like him. St. Ambrose has a phrase that moves me a lot: 'where there is mercy, the Spirit of Jesus is there; where there is rigidity, merely his ministers are there.'
"Brother priest, brother bishop, do not be afraid of mercy, allow it to flow out of your hands and through your embrace of forgiveness. Because this person or that person who is there are the least ones, and therefore it is Jesus. ....Poverty and mercy....that is where Jesus is."
And isn't that how we come to conversion -- a turning away from the bad and toward the good? Isn't it through being shown love? Isn't it through being shown mercy? Not from having your lack of logic pounced upon. Not from being compared to "pagans" who practiced child sacrifice. But from being embraced by love, by compassion -- by Christ. And he isn't walking down the streets of our cities right now -- but, we are. And we who call ourselves Christians have a very serious obligation not to push people away in His name.
There are people who believe in God and people who don't. There are Jews and Hindus and Muslims and Pagans and Buddhists. Among all of these, there are people of goodwill. All deserve to have their faith -- or lack, thereof -- respected. All deserve love and mercy and compassion. Because we are all kind of a mess, when you think about it. Nobody -- really -- is in a position to cast that first stone. I mean, look at Jesus. Christians believe He is God and -- thus -- perfect. And even He does not cast stones. Rather, He holds us close and wipes our tears.
Pax.
P.S. -- Please pray for me to forgive Ricardo. I admit that it isn't easy. I want to be able to walk by his house and offer him a kind hello, instead of fainting in his driveway. ;-)
Now, as a Catholic, I do not deny that I am a sinner. I know that I am. I am also grateful that I was not brought up in a Catholic environment inhabited by people like Ricardo. I was brought up in an environment inhabited by people like Pope Francis.
I read today some words that Francis spoke in Cuba, addressing priests and bishops (members of the clergy who hear Confessions). Deacons do not hear Confessions, thanks be to God. And these words reminded me why I have faith in Jesus. Because Jesus EMBRACES the sinner. He has MERCY and COMPASSION on the sinner. He does not smack the sinner to the ground as she makes herself vulnerable and tries to get up from a fall. Rather, He gives her His hand.
I would like now to share these words of our wonderful Pope Francis with you, so that you may understand why I am still Catholic, in spite of what people like Ricardo might say to me:
"....there is a privileged place for the priest where this last one, this least one, this smallest one is found -- and it is the confessional. And there, when this man or this woman shows you his misery -- careful because it's the same misery that you have and from which God saved you, eh? from getting to that point. When he or she shows you his misery, please, don't scold him. Don't scold him, don't punish him. If you don't have sin, throw the first stone. But only under that condition. If not, think of your sins and think that you could be that person and think that you could potentially fall even lower, and think that you in this moment have in your hands a treasure, which is the mercy of the Father. Please, priests, don't get tired of forgiving, like Jesus did. Don't hide in fears or in rigidities. Just like this nun (a sister from the Congregation of the Missionaries of Charity who had spoken before the Pope) and all of those who are in the same ministry as she is, they don't get furious when they find a sick person who is dirty, but instead serve him, clean him, take care of him. Just like this, you, when a penitent comes, don't react badly, don't get neurotic, don't cast him out of the confessional, don't scold him. Jesus embraced them. Jesus loved them. Tomorrow, we celebrate St. Matthew. He was a thief and beyond that, betrayed his people. And the Gospel says that at night, Jesus went to dine with him and others like him. St. Ambrose has a phrase that moves me a lot: 'where there is mercy, the Spirit of Jesus is there; where there is rigidity, merely his ministers are there.'
"Brother priest, brother bishop, do not be afraid of mercy, allow it to flow out of your hands and through your embrace of forgiveness. Because this person or that person who is there are the least ones, and therefore it is Jesus. ....Poverty and mercy....that is where Jesus is."
And isn't that how we come to conversion -- a turning away from the bad and toward the good? Isn't it through being shown love? Isn't it through being shown mercy? Not from having your lack of logic pounced upon. Not from being compared to "pagans" who practiced child sacrifice. But from being embraced by love, by compassion -- by Christ. And he isn't walking down the streets of our cities right now -- but, we are. And we who call ourselves Christians have a very serious obligation not to push people away in His name.
There are people who believe in God and people who don't. There are Jews and Hindus and Muslims and Pagans and Buddhists. Among all of these, there are people of goodwill. All deserve to have their faith -- or lack, thereof -- respected. All deserve love and mercy and compassion. Because we are all kind of a mess, when you think about it. Nobody -- really -- is in a position to cast that first stone. I mean, look at Jesus. Christians believe He is God and -- thus -- perfect. And even He does not cast stones. Rather, He holds us close and wipes our tears.
Pax.
P.S. -- Please pray for me to forgive Ricardo. I admit that it isn't easy. I want to be able to walk by his house and offer him a kind hello, instead of fainting in his driveway. ;-)
Friday, September 18, 2015
What The Republicans Are Doing Is Downright Dangerous
I am talking about their effort to de-fund Planned Parenthood.
I am also talking about all these misrepresentative videos the "pro-lifers" have been putting out.
This is all wrong-headed and dangerous.
And I'll tell you why.
This whole thing about selling baby parts for profit and the controversy over fetal experimentation is nothing new. And I'm not saying we shouldn't be disturbed by at least some of what we heard in those videos.
But, there is a danger. A very real danger.
Let me tell you a story:
Years ago, when conservatives were talking about the selling of baby parts and fetal experimentation, I had an acquaintance who was pregnant. She started to miscarry. She bled pretty badly. But -- she wouldn't go into the hospital. Why? BECAUSE SHE WAS AFRAID THEY WOULD EXPERIMENT ON THE BABY AFTER SHE MISCARRIED. That's right. And this was an intelligent woman. She was very conservative, though, and was wont to listen to all the conservative propaganda about this issue. And by the time she finally did go into the hospital, she came very close to HAVING TO HAVE A HYSTERECTOMY, because the medical personnel feared that they wouldn't be able to get the bleeding under control in time to save her. She actually endangered her own life and her reproductive health because she was misled by all of this "pro-life" propaganda.
And this makes me angry. So. Very. Angry. It is wrong to use misleading scare tactics to win people over to your side -- even if you passionately believe your side is in the right.
Hear that Republicans??? You are putting people's lives in danger -- including the lives of the unborn, because women might be afraid to seek care when they need it. I mean, what if my acquaintance's baby could have been saved if she had sought help in a more timely way? It's probably unlikely anything could have been done, but we'll never know, will we? Why? Because of people like you, Republicans. This lady did go on to have more children -- children she was almost not able to have because of conservative fear-mongering. So, that would have been on you, conservative fear-mongers.
(If you are getting the idea that I am totally pissed, you would be right. My apologies.)
And let me tell you one other story. This is a personal story that I have never told anybody, because I was ashamed. Now, right up front, this is not my abortion story. This is my almost, could-have-been abortion story. And I hope you will all still speak to me afterwards.
Years ago, when I was still in college, I was in a very bad place in my life. I had broken up with my fiance -- and it was awful. I was not getting along with my parents, AT ALL. I felt all alone. And I messed around with a guy one night, because I was lonely and heartbroken and not feeling very self-protective. We didn't have sex, but we came pretty close. And then my period was late. And I panicked. I prayed and prayed that I wasn't pregnant, because I didn't feel like there was anyone I could go to. I wouldn't have gone to my parents, because things were horrid between us. And there was no way that I wanted this guy to end up being the father of my child. And his family was pretty dysfunctional, as well. All my close friends were Christian. None of them would have supported me in getting an abortion. And I don't blame them. I certainly didn't believe in abortion. But, when I look at it honestly, I probably either would have had an abortion (and felt like absolute crap about it) or committed suicide. And I'm not exaggerating about that. Suicide would have been a very real danger to me, at that point. Now -- thankfully -- I wasn't pregnant. But, as I have watched the "abortion wars" over the years, I have often thought about myself in this situation. And I guess I am glad Planned Parenthood would have been there. Yes -- the baby would have been lost, but I wouldn't have been. And I think there is value in that. There is potential hope in that. For you Christians reading this, I'd say, "My baby would have been in God's hands. And I would have had the chance to heal -- and repent." For you non-Christians reading this, the repentance part might sound silly, and I respect that. But, it wouldn't have been silly to me.
There are many abortion providers. There will always be abortion providers. But, at least Planned Parenthood is a non-profit. I bet a lot of the providers aren't. Abortion services are also a small part of their total activities. And -- if you look at their website -- the information is quite accurate. If you really don't want to get pregnant or a sexually transmitted disease, all you have to do is look at the information and follow it. I actually had a young woman who worked for a pro-life pregnancy center tell me that she used to refer to the Planned Parenthood website, because the information was very complete and very accurate.
Of course, I'm sure that there are Planned Parenthood affiliates that operate in a less than ideal manner. But, let me tell you one more story:
I heard a woman from Texas speak once. She had run an abortion clinic. I think she actually owned it. And I don't believe it was affiliated with Planned Parenthood. She said that they used to purposely give young women the least effective birth control pill because they knew a lot of them would get pregnant and come back for abortions, which her particular clinic actually profited from. At least, with Planned Parenthood, they list -- quite accurately -- the effectiveness rates of the various methods of birth control, so you know what you're getting.
Now, at this point, I don't know if I have any friends left. But, that's okay. I have never lived my life for the purpose of seeking people's approval. I hope, though, that conservative people will at least look at these issues in a way that is more even-handed and less accusatory. It breaks my heart to see what much of the "pro-life" movement has become.
Pax.
I am also talking about all these misrepresentative videos the "pro-lifers" have been putting out.
This is all wrong-headed and dangerous.
And I'll tell you why.
This whole thing about selling baby parts for profit and the controversy over fetal experimentation is nothing new. And I'm not saying we shouldn't be disturbed by at least some of what we heard in those videos.
But, there is a danger. A very real danger.
Let me tell you a story:
Years ago, when conservatives were talking about the selling of baby parts and fetal experimentation, I had an acquaintance who was pregnant. She started to miscarry. She bled pretty badly. But -- she wouldn't go into the hospital. Why? BECAUSE SHE WAS AFRAID THEY WOULD EXPERIMENT ON THE BABY AFTER SHE MISCARRIED. That's right. And this was an intelligent woman. She was very conservative, though, and was wont to listen to all the conservative propaganda about this issue. And by the time she finally did go into the hospital, she came very close to HAVING TO HAVE A HYSTERECTOMY, because the medical personnel feared that they wouldn't be able to get the bleeding under control in time to save her. She actually endangered her own life and her reproductive health because she was misled by all of this "pro-life" propaganda.
And this makes me angry. So. Very. Angry. It is wrong to use misleading scare tactics to win people over to your side -- even if you passionately believe your side is in the right.
Hear that Republicans??? You are putting people's lives in danger -- including the lives of the unborn, because women might be afraid to seek care when they need it. I mean, what if my acquaintance's baby could have been saved if she had sought help in a more timely way? It's probably unlikely anything could have been done, but we'll never know, will we? Why? Because of people like you, Republicans. This lady did go on to have more children -- children she was almost not able to have because of conservative fear-mongering. So, that would have been on you, conservative fear-mongers.
(If you are getting the idea that I am totally pissed, you would be right. My apologies.)
And let me tell you one other story. This is a personal story that I have never told anybody, because I was ashamed. Now, right up front, this is not my abortion story. This is my almost, could-have-been abortion story. And I hope you will all still speak to me afterwards.
Years ago, when I was still in college, I was in a very bad place in my life. I had broken up with my fiance -- and it was awful. I was not getting along with my parents, AT ALL. I felt all alone. And I messed around with a guy one night, because I was lonely and heartbroken and not feeling very self-protective. We didn't have sex, but we came pretty close. And then my period was late. And I panicked. I prayed and prayed that I wasn't pregnant, because I didn't feel like there was anyone I could go to. I wouldn't have gone to my parents, because things were horrid between us. And there was no way that I wanted this guy to end up being the father of my child. And his family was pretty dysfunctional, as well. All my close friends were Christian. None of them would have supported me in getting an abortion. And I don't blame them. I certainly didn't believe in abortion. But, when I look at it honestly, I probably either would have had an abortion (and felt like absolute crap about it) or committed suicide. And I'm not exaggerating about that. Suicide would have been a very real danger to me, at that point. Now -- thankfully -- I wasn't pregnant. But, as I have watched the "abortion wars" over the years, I have often thought about myself in this situation. And I guess I am glad Planned Parenthood would have been there. Yes -- the baby would have been lost, but I wouldn't have been. And I think there is value in that. There is potential hope in that. For you Christians reading this, I'd say, "My baby would have been in God's hands. And I would have had the chance to heal -- and repent." For you non-Christians reading this, the repentance part might sound silly, and I respect that. But, it wouldn't have been silly to me.
There are many abortion providers. There will always be abortion providers. But, at least Planned Parenthood is a non-profit. I bet a lot of the providers aren't. Abortion services are also a small part of their total activities. And -- if you look at their website -- the information is quite accurate. If you really don't want to get pregnant or a sexually transmitted disease, all you have to do is look at the information and follow it. I actually had a young woman who worked for a pro-life pregnancy center tell me that she used to refer to the Planned Parenthood website, because the information was very complete and very accurate.
Of course, I'm sure that there are Planned Parenthood affiliates that operate in a less than ideal manner. But, let me tell you one more story:
I heard a woman from Texas speak once. She had run an abortion clinic. I think she actually owned it. And I don't believe it was affiliated with Planned Parenthood. She said that they used to purposely give young women the least effective birth control pill because they knew a lot of them would get pregnant and come back for abortions, which her particular clinic actually profited from. At least, with Planned Parenthood, they list -- quite accurately -- the effectiveness rates of the various methods of birth control, so you know what you're getting.
Now, at this point, I don't know if I have any friends left. But, that's okay. I have never lived my life for the purpose of seeking people's approval. I hope, though, that conservative people will at least look at these issues in a way that is more even-handed and less accusatory. It breaks my heart to see what much of the "pro-life" movement has become.
Pax.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
It's Really Nobody's Business How Many Kids You Have
A lot of mamas of big families will be nodding their heads "yes" to this. They do get a lot of comments (often negative) about having many kids. But -- I'm telling ya -- it goes both ways.
I will tell you of my experiences.
When I was pregnant with my third baby -- my son, Scott -- many people, often strangers in the grocery store, would approach me and my two little girls and say things (while pointing at my belly), such as: "Was that an accident?" or "How are you going to manage THREE little kids?" or "I could NEVER have more than two." or "You got pregnant again because you wanted to try for a boy, right?" or "You got pregnant again because your HUSBAND wanted to try for a boy, right?" And the answer to ALL of these questions was a polite, but firm, "No. I got pregnant again because I wanted another baby." Random strangers would also ask me how in the world we would afford THREE children, in this day and age. I mean, how do you answer that in the middle of the aisle at Toys 'R' Us???
Admittedly, I was pretty tired when I had three kids under the age of four. But, I wouldn't have sent any of them back. ;-)
But -- before you get on your "high horse" about the "contraceptive mentality" and "the culture of death," dear Catholic people, I will tell you the other side of the story.
Scott did end up being my last baby. And I have since had some interesting experiences with Catholic people concerning the fact that I have "only" (gasp) THREE children.
Here are a couple of the most notable:
A priest once called me out FROM THE ALTAR, DURING MASS. He said, "You're Catholic. Why do you ONLY have THREE children?!?!"
And just a couple of weeks ago, I was at a party at a friend's house. The crowd was composed -- mostly -- of very "traditional" Catholics. I was the stealth progressive. Two of my kids were with me -- my 26-year-old oldest daughter and my 22-year-old son. I was speaking with a nice lady and she asked me if my children were at the party. I pointed out my daughter and my son. And she said, "Oh, I met them. They are very nice." That made me quite happy. And then she looked at me expectantly and said, "Surely, God has granted you more blessings?" by which she meant "more children." Because I have a very Italian woman nature, I kind of saw red. But -- because it is a northern (versus southern) Italian woman nature, I managed not to "lose it." I simply replied, "I have one other daughter, but she is chaperoning Steubenville San Diego this weekend." This seemed to satisfy the nice lady.
So, you see, there is really much judgement flying around -- from all directions -- about people's family sizes. And this is really NONE OF ANYBODY'S DAMN BUSINESS, except the parents'. There are advantages -- and disadvantages -- to all family sizes. And as far as being blessed goes, your family size does NOT determine the degree of blessing you have received from God. One child is a blessing. Two children are a blessing. Ten children are a blessing. And it is up to the COUPLE to make decisions -- hopefully, wise decisions -- about their family size. Also -- some people do not have any children. Some choose this state; others do not. If you want children, and have been unable to have them, it is heartbreaking -- but, you are still BLESSED. You are still LOVED by God. If you choose not to have children -- and this is agreed to by both people who make up the couple, for reasons that only they know -- you are still BLESSED. You are still LOVED by God. My parents had some childless couples as friends when I was growing up -- some by choice, some not. But, I always loved it when they came over. Childless couples often bring this sort of special attention and energy with them to the children of the families they know. I had wonderful times visiting with and playing with the childless ladies -- both the ladies who were childless by choice and those who were not. I gained a lot from the attention of these women, which was fresh and not colored by the exhaustion of caring for their own children. (No offense, exhausted mothers. I have been you. No guilt is necessary.)
Anyway, let's watch our tongues -- and our attitudes -- shall we? There are all types of families. They can all be beautiful and full of love. And people's decisions about how many children to have can be very complex. And these decisions are really nobody's business, but their own.
Pax. <3
I will tell you of my experiences.
When I was pregnant with my third baby -- my son, Scott -- many people, often strangers in the grocery store, would approach me and my two little girls and say things (while pointing at my belly), such as: "Was that an accident?" or "How are you going to manage THREE little kids?" or "I could NEVER have more than two." or "You got pregnant again because you wanted to try for a boy, right?" or "You got pregnant again because your HUSBAND wanted to try for a boy, right?" And the answer to ALL of these questions was a polite, but firm, "No. I got pregnant again because I wanted another baby." Random strangers would also ask me how in the world we would afford THREE children, in this day and age. I mean, how do you answer that in the middle of the aisle at Toys 'R' Us???
Admittedly, I was pretty tired when I had three kids under the age of four. But, I wouldn't have sent any of them back. ;-)
But -- before you get on your "high horse" about the "contraceptive mentality" and "the culture of death," dear Catholic people, I will tell you the other side of the story.
Scott did end up being my last baby. And I have since had some interesting experiences with Catholic people concerning the fact that I have "only" (gasp) THREE children.
Here are a couple of the most notable:
A priest once called me out FROM THE ALTAR, DURING MASS. He said, "You're Catholic. Why do you ONLY have THREE children?!?!"
And just a couple of weeks ago, I was at a party at a friend's house. The crowd was composed -- mostly -- of very "traditional" Catholics. I was the stealth progressive. Two of my kids were with me -- my 26-year-old oldest daughter and my 22-year-old son. I was speaking with a nice lady and she asked me if my children were at the party. I pointed out my daughter and my son. And she said, "Oh, I met them. They are very nice." That made me quite happy. And then she looked at me expectantly and said, "Surely, God has granted you more blessings?" by which she meant "more children." Because I have a very Italian woman nature, I kind of saw red. But -- because it is a northern (versus southern) Italian woman nature, I managed not to "lose it." I simply replied, "I have one other daughter, but she is chaperoning Steubenville San Diego this weekend." This seemed to satisfy the nice lady.
So, you see, there is really much judgement flying around -- from all directions -- about people's family sizes. And this is really NONE OF ANYBODY'S DAMN BUSINESS, except the parents'. There are advantages -- and disadvantages -- to all family sizes. And as far as being blessed goes, your family size does NOT determine the degree of blessing you have received from God. One child is a blessing. Two children are a blessing. Ten children are a blessing. And it is up to the COUPLE to make decisions -- hopefully, wise decisions -- about their family size. Also -- some people do not have any children. Some choose this state; others do not. If you want children, and have been unable to have them, it is heartbreaking -- but, you are still BLESSED. You are still LOVED by God. If you choose not to have children -- and this is agreed to by both people who make up the couple, for reasons that only they know -- you are still BLESSED. You are still LOVED by God. My parents had some childless couples as friends when I was growing up -- some by choice, some not. But, I always loved it when they came over. Childless couples often bring this sort of special attention and energy with them to the children of the families they know. I had wonderful times visiting with and playing with the childless ladies -- both the ladies who were childless by choice and those who were not. I gained a lot from the attention of these women, which was fresh and not colored by the exhaustion of caring for their own children. (No offense, exhausted mothers. I have been you. No guilt is necessary.)
Anyway, let's watch our tongues -- and our attitudes -- shall we? There are all types of families. They can all be beautiful and full of love. And people's decisions about how many children to have can be very complex. And these decisions are really nobody's business, but their own.
Pax. <3
Saturday, July 18, 2015
Having An Actor For A Dad...
...just might be the most amazingly cool thing EVER. I guess you could also say this about having a director/producer/writer for a dad.
Why???
Well... Yesterday, I was in Los Angeles for an event. Being that I arrived rather early -- as I am wont to do -- I hung out for a while in this wondrous place called Griffith Park. It was reminiscent of Disneyland in its magicalness. I would like to go back there very soon.
I sat at a picnic table eating my lunch in a spot that was relatively close to a small playground. There was a lovely climbing structure on the playground, which was being occupied by a group of 5 or 6 small children. Also present were a few mommies and a daddy. The daddy appeared to be in his early 30's, and he was very handsome and actor-like. And he engaged the children in the most wonderful game. I have never seen any other daddy do what this particular daddy did, and I thought, "I just love this land of creative people."
What was this game?
The daddy -- in a MOST enthusiastic and energetic way -- told all of the children that they would be playing a game which, to sum it up, was rather like a Game Of Thrones episode, if that show could possibly be happy and about good guys. He told the children -- in a voice that projected all the way across the park, like any good actor would -- what the "tag line" would be, which "characters" each of them (and he) would be playing, and how the drama would unfold. The children laughed and screeched delightedly as they were given their "stage directions." The "play" then commenced, with all the actors -- including the daddy -- participating in a whole-hearted, high-spirited fashion. "So this," I thought to myself, "is how the phenomenon of "being a star" is handed down, generation-unto-generation." I have raised three kids. I have been to LOTS of parks and birthday parties and play dates. And NEVER have I seen anything quite like this. It was astounding. And totally delightful.
I love LA. It is full of incredible people. Sure -- it has its problems -- but, there is no place quite like it in all the world. Every time I go there, I find something new at which to marvel. (Someday, I am going to go to NYC, and I'm sure that will be incredible, too.) ;-)
Why???
Well... Yesterday, I was in Los Angeles for an event. Being that I arrived rather early -- as I am wont to do -- I hung out for a while in this wondrous place called Griffith Park. It was reminiscent of Disneyland in its magicalness. I would like to go back there very soon.
I sat at a picnic table eating my lunch in a spot that was relatively close to a small playground. There was a lovely climbing structure on the playground, which was being occupied by a group of 5 or 6 small children. Also present were a few mommies and a daddy. The daddy appeared to be in his early 30's, and he was very handsome and actor-like. And he engaged the children in the most wonderful game. I have never seen any other daddy do what this particular daddy did, and I thought, "I just love this land of creative people."
What was this game?
The daddy -- in a MOST enthusiastic and energetic way -- told all of the children that they would be playing a game which, to sum it up, was rather like a Game Of Thrones episode, if that show could possibly be happy and about good guys. He told the children -- in a voice that projected all the way across the park, like any good actor would -- what the "tag line" would be, which "characters" each of them (and he) would be playing, and how the drama would unfold. The children laughed and screeched delightedly as they were given their "stage directions." The "play" then commenced, with all the actors -- including the daddy -- participating in a whole-hearted, high-spirited fashion. "So this," I thought to myself, "is how the phenomenon of "being a star" is handed down, generation-unto-generation." I have raised three kids. I have been to LOTS of parks and birthday parties and play dates. And NEVER have I seen anything quite like this. It was astounding. And totally delightful.
I love LA. It is full of incredible people. Sure -- it has its problems -- but, there is no place quite like it in all the world. Every time I go there, I find something new at which to marvel. (Someday, I am going to go to NYC, and I'm sure that will be incredible, too.) ;-)
Thursday, July 16, 2015
And This Is Exactly Why Caitlyn Jenner Won The Arthur Ashe Courage Award
Today I read a post by a popular Catholic blogger. It began: "Bruce Jenner won the ESPN courage award last night." This blogger's refusal to refer to Ms. Jenner as Caitlyn Jenner tells you a lot. And everything else he wrote in his article tells you EXACTLY WHY Caitlyn Jenner won The Arthur Ashe Courage Award. The whole piece was dripping with cruel disrespect and downright ignorance. In fact, in perusing this man's blog, I must say that a lot of his posts drip with cruel disrespect and downright ignorance.
But, anyway, back to the issue of Ms. Jenner.
The Catholic blogger goes on accuse Ms. Jenner of "mutiliating" her "genitals" and "playing dress up." The blogger says, "Jenner cut himself up and started wearing girls' clothes because he wanted to. It makes him feel good." EXCUSE ME?!?! First of all, from everything I have read, Ms. Jenner has not had any surgery on her genitals. Ms. Jenner also identifies as a woman, so she cannot be accused of "playing dress up." She is trying -- for all intents and purposes -- to authentically live her gender identity. And to have to live one's gender identity in the face of such ignorant insults certainly qualifies as courage, in my book. Catholics say that they "don't hate" LGBT people. Well... I'm sorry. But, this is hate, pure and simple. Ignorant hate.
The Catholic blogger says that Caitlyn Jenner does what she does "merely because it satisfies an urge." And then he goes on to say, "He needs counseling. Extensive, prolonged counseling. And Jesus."
Guess what? Ms. Jenner has had that type of counseling. It has been a struggle for her. She has done the best she can. She is doing the best she can. And standing tall in the face of the disrespect that this blogger -- and others like him -- throw at her is courage. Absolute courage.
And as far as Jesus goes? I read an article a while back written by the pastor of a Christian church that Bruce Jenner and his family attended many years ago. The pastor said that Bruce was there each and every Sunday -- even when the rest of his family couldn't make it. This pastor said that Bruce listened intently to the Bible readings and the sermons, sang with enthusiasm and devotion, and asked many intelligent and probing questions about our Lord in his attempt to know and love Him. In my opinion, it sounds like Bruce (now Caitlyn) has a lot more Jesus than this Catholic blogger. And a lot more courage.
It is easy to hurl insults and be applauded. It is NOT courage. That's what this Catholic blogger does.
Caityln is applauded, too. And -- yes -- she will make money from her story. But, that doesn't take away from its authenticity. Also -- as far as I can tell -- she has never hurled an insult at anybody. She has never shown any hatred. She seeks to spread understanding -- not just about herself, but about transsexual people, in general. And these trans people are hated by many. They need our love and support. So, Ms. Jenner, I will happily buy your book. Because you truly do have courage, especially when you are standing -- without flinching -- before those who claim to speak for God and who would condemn you for being who you are.
Catholics -- especially those who call themselves "traditional" and "orthodox" and would put themselves in leadership roles -- need to EDUCATE THEMSELVES about LGTBQ issues. They need to read modern thought with at least somewhat of an open mind. I am not saying they need to agree, but they need to stop sounding like cruel, ignorant fools. Sorry if that "fools" part sounds harsh, but they do come across as such. They really do.
My oldest daughter said to me once, "Maybe walking the 'straight and narrow' really means standing up for these people," meaning the LGBT people. Now -- to be clear -- she wasn't saying that we should reject Church teaching. But -- what she was saying -- is that when unfair, uneducated, cruel accusations are hurled at them, we need to stand up for them. We need to show compassion. We need to show mercy. We need to appreciate their intelligence and gifts and talents and actually integrate them into our society (and even into our personal lives). We need to LISTEN to them, and not just dismiss what they are saying about themselves. Because it is more difficult and requires much more wisdom and grace to do these things than to hurl Church teaching at them in a way that is unproductive, at best, and full of hate, at worst.
Frankly, we don't know all there is to know about human sexuality. And it's time for us Catholics to stop thinking that we do. Because that kind of pride is causing a lot of harm -- to individuals, to society, and to the Church.
Finally, I want to just remind everyone that Arthur Ashe died of AIDS, which is a disease -- at least when I was younger -- that caused people who had it to be treated with great suspicion and much unjust discrimination, even hatred. That is what Caitlyn Jenner -- and many LGBT people -- are being treated with now -- great suspicion, unjust discrimination, and even hatred. So -- maybe, just maybe -- Caitlyn is a VERY appropriate recipient of that award.
But, anyway, back to the issue of Ms. Jenner.
The Catholic blogger goes on accuse Ms. Jenner of "mutiliating" her "genitals" and "playing dress up." The blogger says, "Jenner cut himself up and started wearing girls' clothes because he wanted to. It makes him feel good." EXCUSE ME?!?! First of all, from everything I have read, Ms. Jenner has not had any surgery on her genitals. Ms. Jenner also identifies as a woman, so she cannot be accused of "playing dress up." She is trying -- for all intents and purposes -- to authentically live her gender identity. And to have to live one's gender identity in the face of such ignorant insults certainly qualifies as courage, in my book. Catholics say that they "don't hate" LGBT people. Well... I'm sorry. But, this is hate, pure and simple. Ignorant hate.
The Catholic blogger says that Caitlyn Jenner does what she does "merely because it satisfies an urge." And then he goes on to say, "He needs counseling. Extensive, prolonged counseling. And Jesus."
Guess what? Ms. Jenner has had that type of counseling. It has been a struggle for her. She has done the best she can. She is doing the best she can. And standing tall in the face of the disrespect that this blogger -- and others like him -- throw at her is courage. Absolute courage.
And as far as Jesus goes? I read an article a while back written by the pastor of a Christian church that Bruce Jenner and his family attended many years ago. The pastor said that Bruce was there each and every Sunday -- even when the rest of his family couldn't make it. This pastor said that Bruce listened intently to the Bible readings and the sermons, sang with enthusiasm and devotion, and asked many intelligent and probing questions about our Lord in his attempt to know and love Him. In my opinion, it sounds like Bruce (now Caitlyn) has a lot more Jesus than this Catholic blogger. And a lot more courage.
It is easy to hurl insults and be applauded. It is NOT courage. That's what this Catholic blogger does.
Caityln is applauded, too. And -- yes -- she will make money from her story. But, that doesn't take away from its authenticity. Also -- as far as I can tell -- she has never hurled an insult at anybody. She has never shown any hatred. She seeks to spread understanding -- not just about herself, but about transsexual people, in general. And these trans people are hated by many. They need our love and support. So, Ms. Jenner, I will happily buy your book. Because you truly do have courage, especially when you are standing -- without flinching -- before those who claim to speak for God and who would condemn you for being who you are.
Catholics -- especially those who call themselves "traditional" and "orthodox" and would put themselves in leadership roles -- need to EDUCATE THEMSELVES about LGTBQ issues. They need to read modern thought with at least somewhat of an open mind. I am not saying they need to agree, but they need to stop sounding like cruel, ignorant fools. Sorry if that "fools" part sounds harsh, but they do come across as such. They really do.
My oldest daughter said to me once, "Maybe walking the 'straight and narrow' really means standing up for these people," meaning the LGBT people. Now -- to be clear -- she wasn't saying that we should reject Church teaching. But -- what she was saying -- is that when unfair, uneducated, cruel accusations are hurled at them, we need to stand up for them. We need to show compassion. We need to show mercy. We need to appreciate their intelligence and gifts and talents and actually integrate them into our society (and even into our personal lives). We need to LISTEN to them, and not just dismiss what they are saying about themselves. Because it is more difficult and requires much more wisdom and grace to do these things than to hurl Church teaching at them in a way that is unproductive, at best, and full of hate, at worst.
Frankly, we don't know all there is to know about human sexuality. And it's time for us Catholics to stop thinking that we do. Because that kind of pride is causing a lot of harm -- to individuals, to society, and to the Church.
Finally, I want to just remind everyone that Arthur Ashe died of AIDS, which is a disease -- at least when I was younger -- that caused people who had it to be treated with great suspicion and much unjust discrimination, even hatred. That is what Caitlyn Jenner -- and many LGBT people -- are being treated with now -- great suspicion, unjust discrimination, and even hatred. So -- maybe, just maybe -- Caitlyn is a VERY appropriate recipient of that award.
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