Tenacious Poodle

Buying into Boobs

2012-01-27T11:19:00.000-05:00

I bought a pair of fake boobs. Not the full, round, porn-star size--just the silicone inserts designed to make your boobs look like they once did.

Now, I had grandiose hopes for these quarter-boobs because when I lost a lot of weight, my bras not only became too big, my boobs took a dive, if you know what I mean, and my breasts were about the only thing I liked about my body prior to my massive change. My boobs were not only bigger, they were...well, yeah. All that. For once, I had agreed with my husband that a part of my Physiognomy was pretty damn good, when on the whole, I tended to disagree with his positive assessment of me.

Don't get me wrong. Since the weight loss, there has been no lack of amore in any area, and my husband would be appalled that I ordered fakies and tried to hide the purchase. Since I am now admitting to the entire world that I have succumbed to our inane culture that puts boobs at the forefront of sexiness--at least in Sports Illustrated--I figure this proclamation of guilt is enough penance for the crime. Then again, since my husband doesn't read my blog, I know I still will feel I have committed a sin of omission if I don't confess. I can do this in several ways, the funniest by allowing him to discover my secret when we are being the most intimate. "I can't believe you bought those!" I'm betting both my fake boobies that is what he'll say, followed by a chastisement about wasting money, to which I would usually respond, "Don't worry. I'll sell them on eBay." But I doubt that is an option in this case.

The most pathetic part of trying on the boobs came with my realization that I was really stuffing my bra in the same way middle school and even some elementary school aged kids used to do with socks or paper towels. This was before the current era of push-up and padded bras for twelve-year-olds. In my day, girls who stuffed were publicly humiliated for doing so, especially if the ingredients happened to fall out. Now, it's acceptable and encouraged to go for the busto at any life stage, and women over the age of consent who get boob jobs don't seem a bit embarrassed by the discovery.

We women are conditioned at an early age to believe our boobs are pretty important. I recall in fifth grade, for example, one of the boys I had gone to school with since Kindergarten started singing, "You got them boobies...you got them," to no tune or no one in particular, but so everyone could hear him. So I started to wonder, "Have I got those boobies?" I wore a training bra, but did that count? Then there was my eighth-grade classmate who dated a not-so-great looking girl just because she had big ones. I thought mine were pretty big at the time, but apparently, they weren't. I was also pretty shy and had strict parents, so dating anyone at the time was out of the question anyway.

I could never pay for a real boob job, not only because I couldn't afford it, but because I would feel guilty about spending $10,000+ when there are people starving to death. Besides that, women often get boob inflations to raise self esteem. Do I really want my self esteem resting on an ample chest? Don't get me wrong--I am not condemning anyone who reaches for that metaphorical basketball, and I am certainly not talking about breast cancer survivors. I'm just saying for me, implants wouldn't be an option unless I had a mastectomy. But then, I suspect boobs would be only one of my worries. (Insert here a prayer for all people with cancer and serious illness.) Besides that, my husband be seriously upset if I took that step towards even the basketball court.

So, after not much consideration, I've decided I will let my husband figure out the hard way that his wife has experienced yet another moment of insanity. I will leave my silicone on the sink so everyone can have a good laugh. And I will be appalled at the search terms which bring up this post.

Turning Point for the Suffragists: A Memorial Planning

2012-01-26T21:17:00.001-05:00

Below is an email I received
about a great endeavor!
If you are interested in
taking part, post a comment
and I will get it in my
moderator's box, or
contact Turning Point
through their website
or Facebook page.

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

Did you that in the United States, there is not one
memorial commemorating the struggle for a woman's
right to vote? For almost 72 years, women like Elizabeth
Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Clara Barton
fought for women's rights, to include their right to vote.

In 1917 there was a turning point in the struggle for
voting rights for women and it happened right here in
our own backyard. Over 120 women were imprisoned
in Occoquan, in what we know as the Lorton Prison.
They were beaten, force fed, and stripped of their
basic rights. The story broke across the country,
and the suffering these women endured spurred
the public to push for the passage of the 19th
Amendment in July of 1920.

I am working with the Turning Point Suffragist
Memorial organization to help track down the
descendents of these women who suffered while
imprisoned at Occoquan. We hope to collect stories,
memorabilia, and written accounts that may
exist and shed light on who these women were
and their experiences. It's an exciting project,
with many talented women working to make
this memorial come to life.

Here's where you all come in: we need people to
know about the organization and the memorial.
And one of the best ways I know of is to spread
the word far and wide. Please go to their
Facebook page (search for Turning Point Suffragist
Memorial) and LIKE IT! Talk to your friends,
family and anyone you think would be interested.
You can also visit their website below to find out
how you can help financially. We have a huge
fundraising goal this year, and sometimes simply
spreading the word can help immensely!

Please visit their website at
http://www.facebook.com/l/7AQE5Lq5wAQGkG-nQd4tVj8l_jPplmJ0WWKf0pxjeuiPixg/www.suffragistmemorial.org
to learn more, or feel free to ask me how you
can help bring this long overdue memorial to life.

Home

www.suffragistmemorial.org

Check out http://suffragistmemorial.org/!

Perps, Pedophiles and Rapists

2012-01-22T10:40:00.001-05:00

I spent some of Friday morning reading about pedophiles. Yeah, I know. Disgusting, the very word, and most people wouldn't voluntarily delve into the details. However, my studies, no matter how disturbing to some, were attempts to understand the criminal mind better--also a dark endeavor most would not attempt. I've got my reasons, though, one of which is that I teach criminals, many of whom are sex offenders. Though I am not a counselor, do not discuss students' crimes with them and stay far away from their personal issues, I do wonder what brought these otherwise normal, respectful people to the horrible place where they are now, emotionally and physically.

Here's my disclaimer: I am far from insensitive to victims' and their loved ones' tragedies. I've been on the receiving end of a violent, sexual crime, so I know what this can do to a person. It has been about seven years since that happened to me, and I marvel at my own progress, including the found ability to be in a classroom with multiple sex offenders and other types of criminals. I'm pretty awesome, aren't I? I have had a lot of angels helping me along the way, though, and too many victims don't get what I have.

One of the first things I tried to do after my horrific experience, and after going through the denial, freaking-out, anger etc. stages, was try to comprehend what would lead a person to do such a reprehensible thing to another human being. The answers came fairly easily in my case. The perp had a history of alcohol and drug use so long, his brain was fried. He had years of anger built up against women and, I am sure, was abused as a child. I am also quite sure other factors figured in, but knowing the ones I do is enough for me to say, "Okay. I get it."

I used the oft-dreaded Wikipedia to begin my research. I read the entry. I looked at the links provided. I utilized the bibliography. I searched other websites. I will not provide links here, other than to the site where I began. If you want proof of what I say, I challenge you to explore in the same way I did. And if you find anything I and the public should know, post a comment with a link to the source. I'm not a pro, a criminal justice major or a psychologist.

Here's what I have learned about those who prey on children. First, perps may or may not have been sexually abused themselves. Second, perps have been exposed to serious violence as children, often directly, but often environmentally. Third, their minds have been physically and psychologically altered in a way that most of us cannot even comprehend. Fourth, they have anger and control issues way outside of what we'd consider "normal." And, like other criminals, sex offenders have made significant psychological, physical and spiritual moves away from other human beings, so much so that they take their illness out on the most vulnerable.

Maybe all of this is a "no duh," but for me, putting the research together helped me synthesize and come to the conclusion that on some level, these people are brain damaged. They may or may not qualify as mentally ill, but there is mental illness of some kind affecting them. Some of these folks can be treated with medication and therapy. Some can be treated but have things like personality disorders, a psychological sickness so serious, medication has not yet proven successful. Some of these people have biological things going on that we can't figure out. Science, unfortunately, hasn't advanced that far, and as long as we concentrate on developing things like technology instead of cures, our society is likely to suffer at the hands of a too-common, human illness.

My readings also reminded me that, even though we call all sex offenders against kids "pedophiles," there's a difference between someone who rapes a child and someone who is attracted to children. Rapists usually have otherwise normal sexual drives. They like adults. And their rapes are similar to other rapes in which the victim is someone vulnerable, someone easily manipulated. Child-centric crimes have little or even nothing to do with sexual desire. Just like other rapists, a criminal who rapes children has a goal or need to experience power, exercise control, express anger and/or get off on all of the above. The victim isn't a sexual object, per se. The victim is an outlet.

True pedophiles, on the other hand, sexually desire children. Some pedophiles admit to having always lusted after children. Others discover it later. Hormonal, chemical and environmental theories abound about the sources of these desires, but one thing is consistently believed true: pedophiles, like alcoholics, have their disease for life, even if they are not acting out, which is one reason why recidivism is so high among this population.

Does it bother me to work with sex offenders? Not really, I guess because when I am teaching, I am there for the purpose of instructing, providing an academic skill that hopefully will lead them to better critical thinking skills, healthier interactions with other human beings and a means of non-violent self expression. My job is mission-centric and important.

An officer asked me, one day, whether or not I thought I was making a difference. I responded with examples of academic success, but also, "At the very least, I am keeping them out of trouble for a few hours." But it's more than that. I can exercise real agape and real unconditional love in a safe setting. And I can experience real forgiveness again and again. It doesn't get any more fulfilling than that.

Valle de Bravo, Mexico, Part I: From the (edited) Hand-Written Journal of Me

2012-01-21T14:54:00.000-05:00

I did edit this excerpt so it can be used later for educational purposes, meaning I skipped some things and changed the order and wording where they made absolutely no sense. I fixed spelling errors, too. No idea why I am noting these changes here because who really cares about documentation integrity when it's my freaking journal posted on a freaking blog? Okay, I care because if I am going to call it a journal, technically, I should not edit it. Then why not not call it a journal? Because journals are so much more interesting than travel narratives--at least, I think so.

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

January 6-10, 2012

What a difference a day makes! When we pulled into the bus station in the old town of Valle de Bravo yesterday, all I could think is, “Get me off this damn bus!” The young Mexican couple sitting in front of me had been kissing the entire two hours, which would have been fine because I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the kissy noises. It was annoying, and after two hours of it, enough was enough! Also, two issues at the bus station: I had to pay for toilet paper, and there were no toilet seats. I remember this from my 1994 trip, but it still strikes me as odd.

Writing this, I am sitting on the porch at about 7:15 a.m. The sun is rising over the mountains. I awoke to the sounds of roosters and barking dogs. People think roosters only crow at sunrise, but that is far from true. Those crowed all night. I figured that out when at 2 a.m. I awoke to their calls.

I am wearing a t-shirt, thermal top and a sweater with a light pair of pants, and I am comfortable, feeling the morning sun on my face. I would be cold except that the air is still. Last night, I bundled under a sheet, two wool blankets and a comforter because there is no heat in the house or where I am sleeping. I thought I would never get warm, but I did, even though it was only about forty degrees.

Farms surround this property on a hill. I can hear a few cars or small trucks echoing through the main road running through the valley. From below the yard, the turkeys gobble every time something catches their attention, much like how dogs bark. Yesterday, as we drove through the gate, past their yard, the driver beeped the car horn on purpose, sending the birds into a gobbling frenzy. Walking the property later, we gobbled at them for the pure pleasure of hearing them gobble back.

Yesterday around dinner, I was feeling very lonely, not understanding much of the Spanish being spoken between my friends and our hostess. It’s easy to forget I am in Mexico because I am with friends, except when I can’t understand what is being said or struggle with the money conversion. An American dollar exchanges for about 13 pesos, and my math skills have never been very good.

This property also has another house on it. The front yard is full of avocado trees, which are harvested and bring in money at the market. There is a dog next door, an overweight beagle who begs for attention and food. The fat thing wanders through the grove eating avocados! There is also a Chihuahua, which our hostess is not fond of, especially because yesterday, he peed on her drying laundry outside!

The cost of living here is higher for locals, but for us, a huge meal of soup, tacos al pastor and nopal con queso that fed three of us in Mexico City was a bargain at twelve American dollars. Even the fancier buffet with my two friends’ alcoholic drinks at the city’s rooftop hotel restaurant only cost about twenty American dollars. The cabs here are also cheaper. For a couple of American dollars and a tip, we could go a few neighborhoods over, and the two-hour ride from Mexico City to Valle de Bravo only cost about ten dollars.

For dinner last night, our hostess prepared lentil with nopal soup, and we put frijoles, sour cream, vegetarian chorizo and lettuce on crisp corn flour tortillas. This morning, we are having mini enchiladas soaked in red sauce, topped with chorizo, grated cheese and onion, with frijoles on the side. I am going to get spoiled here.

Processing with Gratitude

2012-01-21T11:18:00.000-05:00

Ever notice the first week coming back from a trip is a real winner, sarcastically speaking? I just love transitions--not. Okay, so I am not complaining, but...yeah. I am complaining, a little, post-work week, and since I am now well rested and have more time, I thought I would write about everything going on, which, come to think of it, means I am actually processing, not complaining, and I can take this time to process because I got a great night's sleep and now have time to catch up on work and de-stressing, for which I am grateful. So yay, and thank you, life.

Hmmmm. Funny. I feel I am processed enough just after writing that. Gratitude changes everything.

Time to get on with the day.

What kind of nation are we? I know. I've asked that before.

2012-01-18T17:50:00.002-05:00

I was appalled when I read this article documenting how thousands of prisoners are in solitary confinement for years and how many of them are mentally ill. Sue me for copyright infringement, but here's the whole article, followed by a way to advocate a turn-around.

I don't care what a person has done to warrant a jail sentence. Long-term solitary confinement is torture.
-----------------------------------

Va. prisons’ use of solitary confinement is scrutinized

By Anita Kumar, Published: January 7

RICHMOND — At Red Onion State Prison, built on a mountaintop in a remote pocket of southwest Virginia, more than two-thirds of the inmates live in solitary confinement.

In a state where about 1 in 20 prisoners are held in solitary, Red Onion, a so-called supermax prison, isolates more inmates than any other facility, keeping more than 500 of its nearly 750 charges alone for 23 hours a day in cells the size of a doctor’s exam room.

Virginia, one of 44 states that use solitary confinement, has 1,800 people in isolation, a sizable share of the estimated 25,000 people in solitary in the nation’s state and federal prisons.

As more becomes known about the effects of isolation — on inmate health, public safety and prison budgets — some states have begun to reconsider the practice, among them Texas, which, like Virginia, is known as a law-and-order state.

Mississippi, New York and Texas have begun to scale back the use of solitary confinement under pressure from prison watchdogs.

Now critics have set their sights on Virginia, where lawyers and inmates say some of the state’s 40,000 prisoners, including some with mental-health issues, have been kept in isolation for years, in one case for 14 years.

The Legal Aid Justice Center, which represents 12 inmates in isolation in Virginia, has requested an investigation by the U.S. Department of Justice, which recently launched a probe into a 1,550-bed Pennsylvania prison where inmates complain of long periods of isolation and a lack of mental-health treatment.

Virginia officials were reluctant to answer questions from The Washington Post about the practice of solitary confinement. In some instances, they provided contradictory information to The Post and legislators; at other times, they declined to talk about the use of solitary confinement.

“I’m very concerned about taking away people’s socialization,’’ said Del. Adam P. Ebbin (D-Alexandria), who will be sworn in as a state senator this week. “If they haven’t interacted with people for long periods of time, it’s not going to make them behave better.”

Ebbin is one in a group of legislators who have been visiting prisons, including Red Onion, to examine how their most violent inmates are treated. Del. Patrick A. Hope (D-Arlington), who is leading the effort, said he will urge the General Assembly to study ways to limit the use of solitary confinement and offer more treatment before inmates are released.

A prison agency spokesman said that inmates are given breaks from “segregation” — the term the state uses to refer to solitary confinement — every 30 days or that their cases are reviewed regularly. But inmates and attorneys say prisons sometimes skip the review.

Gov. Robert F. McDonnell (R), a former state attorney general who has pumped more money and staff into helping prisoners reenter society, said in a recent interview that he was unaware of the complaints.

“People behind bars have civil rights,’’ McDonnell said. “At the same time, we have a duty to promote public safety. If people show, even in prison, that they can’t get along with other prisoners, then they are treated accordingly.”

Suicide attempts

Malcolm Springs, 24, who is serving time in Red Onion for rape and abduction, said his mental-health problems have grown worse since he was put in isolation for assaulting an officer five years ago.

He has tried to kill himself multiple times and has been moved back and forth from Marion Correctional Center, a prison psychiatric hospital, where he was housed in segregation, according to prison officials and his attorney.

“In segregation, all I could do is think about my life, what I have been through, how people treat me here,’’ Springs said in a phone interview. “If I was in population, maybe I wouldn’t be as depressed.’’

Abigail Turner, litigation director at the Legal Aid Justice Center in Charlottesville, said eight of the organization’s 12 clients in isolation in Virginia prisons have serious mental illnesses for which they receive inadequate treatment.

Harold W. Clarke, director of the Virginia Department of Corrections, declined to comment. Agency spokesman Larry Traylor said inmates are kept in isolation for disciplinary problems — such as assaulting another inmate, starting a riot or having weapons or drugs — or for administrative reasons to protect them.

Traylor acknowledged that an inmate in certain types of solitary could “potentially be assigned there for years according to their risk assessment.’’ But he said Red Onion operates in accordance with national standards and is accredited by the American Correctional Association.

Although solitary confinement has long been a tool of prison discipline (and a staple of pop culture depictions of prison life), the use of solitary became increasingly common in the 1980s and 1990s. Since then, many legal and medical experts have argued that inmates in isolation for long periods suffer from higher suicide rates, increased depression, decreased brain function and hallucinations.

“They should be trying to get them back in the general population,” said Marc Mauer, executive director of the Sentencing Project in Washington. “Sometimes, these are difficult situations, but it only compounds the problem if you never get out of there.”

In Virginia, many of those in isolation are at Red Onion, where two inmates were killed in the past two years by fellow prisoners.

Virginia opened Red Onion — deep in coal country and about 400 miles from Richmond — a dozen years ago as part of a major prison-building effort after the abolishment of parole and the lengthening of prison sentences. Like many other supermax prisons, Red Onion was designed to confine — but not necessarily rehabilitate — the most-dangerous criminals.

As of October, 505 of 745 inmates at Red Onion were in solitary, according to the state. When legislators toured Red Onion on Sept. 1, prison officials told them that 173 inmates in solitary there were considered mentally ill.

State officials said they do not keep statistics on the length of isolation stays, but they told Hope in a recent memo that Red Onion inmates have been isolated from two weeks to almost seven years, with an average stay of 2.7 years.

Inmates in solitary for disciplinary purposes are held for 30 days before receiving a 15-day break if they have additional isolation time to serve, Traylor said. Those isolated for administrative reasons have their cases reviewed every seven days for the first 60 days and every 90 days after that, he said.

Dennis Webb, 47, has been in solitary for more than 14 years. He is serving a 75-year sentence for armed robbery and malicious wounding. After stabbing a warden, he received an additional 30-year sentence.

Webb was found to have mental illnesses as a child, including bipolar disorder and schizophrenia, although for many years the state listed him as needing no treatment, Turner said.

At Red Onion, he was given written questions to answer as part of a program designed to alter his thinking and behavior. After the paperwork was done, he spoke to a counselor through the door.

23 hours a day

Prisoners held in isolation spend 23 hours a day alone in an at-least-80-square-foot cell with a bed, prison officials say.

They eat alone and have no group activities. They are moved in shackles and handcuffs. Their only interactions with other people occur when prison employees slide meal trays through a shutter on the cell door or crouch down to speak through the slot.

Three times a week, they can shower. Five times a week, they are moved for recreation to a 96-square-foot cell with metal wiring.

Prison officials declined to provide The Post access to Red Onion, citing state policy. But Del. Charniele Herring (D-Alexandria) said she saw a “sense of loss’’ in inmates’s eyes when she toured the prisons.

“They are turned back into society with no benefit of transition. Are we doing anything to help them transition?’’ she said.

James Reinhard, who was mental-health commissioner under Democratic governors Timothy M. Kaine and Mark R. Warner, said those with significant and chronic illnesses have been put behind bars ever since the nation began moving away from long stays at psychiatric hospitals in the 1960s. “It’s out of sight, out of mind,’’ he said. “I don’t think society has a lot of sympathy for them.’’

Traylor said the state does not know how many inmates are released from isolation into society or the portion of the budget spent on mental health. He told Hope that 30 mental-health counselors lost their jobs in 2002 because of budget cuts but that those positions have since been restored. Six positions were cut in 2008.

The American Bar Association calls for an end to solitary confinement for the mentally ill and one-year maximum stays for other inmates. In October, a U.N. expert on torture urged all countries to limit solitary confinement to rare cases and to ban it for the mentally ill.

Lawsuits have been brought by the American Civil Liberties Union and others in a half-dozen states — including Wisconsin, Connecticut and California — because of worries about isolation’s effect on the mentally ill.

Springs, who has been in and out of prison since he was 13, was initially sentenced for nine felonies, including carjacking, sodomy and abduction of two 19-year-olds in Hampton Roads in 2004. His mental-health problems — including bipolar disorder, depression and borderline personality — are related in part to childhood abuse.

He said he is frustrated that he does not receive the treatment he needs. Usually, a nurse and counselor come to his cell and ask him how he is doing — through the shutter in the door.

“I can’t have treatment because I’m in segregation,’’ he said. “All I can do is sit and think.’’

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Prolonged solitary confinement desecrates a person’s inherent God-given dignity and denies the essential human need for spiritual community. The National Religious Campaign Against Torture (NRCAT) is working to end prolonged solitary confinement in Virginia and you can help by signing their Statement Against Prolonged Solitary Confinement and then spreading the word. If NRCAT reaches 500 signatures in Virginia, NRCAT will send the statement and the signatures to our governor, state legislators and department of corrections officials.

Prisoners in solitary confinement are held alone in a windowless cell for 23 hours per day and exercise alone for the remaining hour. As a result, inmates experience paranoia, delusions, and other long-term mental effects. Experts estimate that at least 36,000 people in the U.S. criminal justice system are currently held in solitary confinement.

You can learn more about NRCAT’s state campaigns to end solitary confinement and access other resources at http://www.nrcat.org/prisons.

****************

Sen. Ebbin, Delegates Herring and Hope Introduce Bill to Study Limiting the Use of Segregation in Virginia’s Prisons

Richmond – Today, State Senator Adam Ebbin (D-Alexandria), and Delegates Charniele Herring (D-Alexandria) and Patrick A. Hope (D-Arlington County) introduced legislation to study the use of solitary confinement and whether it is feasible to limit its use for long periods of time, especially for those with mental illness, and whether it can be done safely.

The legislators recently toured the Red Onion State Prison where several hundred prisoners, many with a serious mental illness, are locked in segregation for years at a time. Prisoners in segregation at Red Onion spend 23 hours a day alone in an at-least-80-square-foot cell. Many of these prisoners in segregation will eventually be released directly back into the community.

State Senator Ebbin said, “We need an objective review of Virginia’s current policies on solitary confinement.” He added, “While the safety of our corrections officers and the general prison population is paramount, we cannot assume that all those without human contact for years are ready to be released directly into the community upon completion of their sentence.”

Delegate Herring said, “Public safety is our first concern so that our community is safe and prosperous. Having a system that releases felons straight from solitary confinement to our streets without the benefit of appropriate mental health care poses a danger to everyone.” Del. Herring added, “In addition to this broken system, working to integrate the population and treat these individuals while still incarcerated has proven to save the public money. Would we not rather want to increase public safety and save money so that can be then used for many other needs?” Delegate Hope said, “It’s alarming that prisoners can go from several years segregated in a small cell with very little human contact directly into the outside world.” Del. Hope concluded, “Many of these prisoners have a very serious mental illness or become seriously mentally ill primarily to their segregation. With a trend in other States moving away from this kind of confinement, maybe it’s time we took a hard look at what Virginia is doing and see if we can do it better in a safe and more humane way.”
Patrick A. Hope is a Member of the Virginia General Assembly as the Delegate from the 47th District representing part of Arlington County. He serves on the House Courts of Justice Committee and House Health, Welfare, and Institutions Committee.

My Mexico Journal--unedited from hand-written notebook, parts I and II

2012-01-17T08:26:00.002-05:00

Mexico City, Part I
January 4 - 6, 2012

What can I say about the city? In the Zucuro, the center, there seems to be a constant flow of people, like in any city. Still it doesn't feel like NYC--not quite so many people or maybe it's just spread out more. Downtown, there are high class shops like Manhattan. There are several ornate cathedrals constructed in the 1500-1600's well kept and being renovated. The architecutal & art are detailed & amazing. Inside, in spite of tourists like us, you can hear people saying the rosary. The words echo off the high ceilings.

The people here are warm and friendly or they don't seem to notice us even though we're obviously gringos and minorities. Even when we go to the open markets, the people are courteous and patient with my poor Spanish skills. There are ingeginous women sitting on the ground, weaving colorful bracelets, belts, hats & other garments. The elderly people are so cute & appear content.

I am writing this on a bus to Valle de Bravo where Jorge's aunt Paty lives. We will spend the rest of our time in that area. Jorge says it's tranquil and rural as opposed to Mexico City where it's easy to get sensory overload. The bus is hot and airless, which is uncomfortable, but the seats are soft & wide. Our luggage doesn't fit in the overhead storage, so I'm in the seat next to the luggage. It's a good thing the bus isn't crowded. If all the seats were crowded, I don't know what we'd do.

Near the bus station, there are many slums. The buildings are peeling cement & have a lot of graffiti. Clotheslines are strung across porches & due to the dump that closed recently, the trash has piled up. It's going to take awhile for it to be cleare, the schedule is so far behind. Still, many of the building are painted in bright blues, corals & pinks.

As we leave the city, we see many modern condos & apartment buildings. These are the wealthier sections. Like any other city, there are good & bad sections. We walked through a lower class neighborhoods & were safe. There is one neighborhood where a cult has started. The member pray to a saint that supposedly gives good luck to drug dealers. The churches do not recognize this cult & condemn it. Though it would have been interesting to see, it would not be safe so we stayed away.

I have to take a break from writing now b/c I'm getting bus sick. : )

______________________
Mexico City, Part II

The bus ride took about 2 hours. Slowly, the inner city became the outer city, became the suburbs, became the farms, where dilapaded buildings of brick or cinder blocks are topped by tin or terra rooves. Some of the buildings--you wonder how they even stand, but smoke comes through the chimneys and men roam the fields with lamas, horses cows and/or chickens.

I am reminded that while in the city, a group of young girls and a boy approached me & said they were doing a project for English class. They asked if I would answer some questions. I was so flattered and said "Yes! In fact, I'm an English teacher!" They introduced themselves and asked me what my favorite place in Mexico was to which I replied, "So far...here!" Then they asked me what I thought of Mexico and I said, "I love it! I love the history and the people and the art." They asked me what I knew about Mexican culture. This made me nervous b/c I felt a little on the spot. So I told them I knew about El Dia de las Muertas (I don't even know if I said it right). I know about a few other things, too, but I couldn't get it out! Through all of this, one girl was taking a video of it with her little camera. I must have sounded like an idiot.

A Related Immigration Item

2012-01-13T11:35:00.002-05:00

Welcoming the Stranger: Looking at Immigration Issues Through the Lens of Faith

Speaker: Kathryn M. Doan, Executive Director of Capital Area Immigrants' Rights Coalition

Lewinsville Presbyterian Church, 1724 Chain Bridge Road, McLean, VA 22101, 703-356-7200

2012 Salzman Lecture, January 22, 2012, 6:00 p.m.-refreshments in St. Andrews Hall; 6:30-8:00 p.m.–lecture in the Sanctuary

For over a decade, CAIR (Capital Area Immigrants’ Rights) Coalition, http://www.caircoalition.org/, has worked collaboratively with community groups, pro bono attorneys, volunteers and immigrants from the District of Columbia, Virginia and Maryland to ensure that all immigrants are treated with fairness, dignity and respect for their human and civil rights.

Our speaker will provide a brief overview of U.S. Immigration history to put the current political debate in it’s historical context and will pay particular attention to the impact of the government’s current “enforcement only” policy that has led to a record number of detained immigrants with devastating effects on immigrant families and communities and will conclude with how communities of faith are responding to these issues.

Kathryn M. Doan has served as the executive director of the Capital Area Immigrants’ Rights (CAIR) Coalition since 2008. Prior to assuming her position with CAIR Coalition, Ms. Doan was the Deputy Director of the Central American Resource Center (CARECEN) in Washington, DC where she also managed the agency’s Immigration Legal Services and Community Support Services programs. Ms. Doan is a member of New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington, DC where she serves on the Board of Deacons.

Emails to my family while I was in Mexico

2012-01-12T15:01:00.002-05:00

These were the start of a kind of journal I was keeping. I have more hand-written items, but I am not up to transcribing. Working in short bursts with plenty of hydration and rest between.

Jan. 5 Mexico City
>>Helloooo beautiful family! First, let me tell you how much I miss you. I am thinking about you all the time, especially as I shop. Girls, there are so many cute things here that I wish I could get you, but they will not fit in my suitcase. David, since you are a pain and do not want anything, I am going to get you at least one t-shirt. So there.

There will probably be mistakes in this email because the keyboard in
Mexico is different from ours. Who knew?? I never even thought of
that. Neither Jorge nor I could figure out how to get the @ off the
keyboard, so we had to literally copy the symbol from somewhere else
and paste it in. Very bizarre. I need to take a pic of the keyboard
so you know what I am talking about.

Mexico City is awesome. You guys would hate it after about an hour,
however. It is not quite as busy as New York, but we are staying in
the center where there is a skating rink and constant festival-like
activity. The guys who run this stuff bellow into microphones all
day--no exaggeration. Also, like I told you,Daddy, there is a
blinkling wreath right outside our window and the beds are harder than
the ones in our camping cabins. Last night, to drown out the noise,
David turned on a white noise recording of a campfire. It was
hilarious because through the curtains, the light looked like a fire
and the beds felt like we were sleeping on the ground. At least there
are no cockroaches. It is actually a gorgeous place, antique, like
many of the buildings here.

One good thing is that security in the city is beefed up. There are
cops everywhere, and everythig is very peaceful. The freaky thing is
that all the cops carry machine guns. The other thing that is kind of
unsettling is you see a lot of people wearing surgical masks. Joege
said they do that in big cities in China and other places to stop the
spread of sickness. Also, there are a lot of allergens here, and
there is smog, so for people with asthma, the air is difficult to
breath. I can not believe it--the altitude has not bothered me at
all! The weather is like our fall--cool at night in early morning,
around 70 during the day.

Girls, David and I have been playing punch buggy here. There are
millions of them, including taxi-punch-buggies! We call them
tax-buggies.

I am going to try to upload pics on Facebook once we get reliable
internet. The service here is not reliable. And of course, I am
going to call you soon, anyway, but I might forget to tell you all
this!

Girls, I hope you are being good and are not stressing Daddy out!
Daddy, I hope you are being patient with the girls. Cosmo, I hope you
are eating. Sallie, I hope you are not humping anyones leg. Shiba, I
hope you are not giving the Inu Bark too much. And fish, I hope you
are not slimy.

Okay, will call you in a little while. Love you to pieces!

MOM
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Jan. 5 Mexico City

Okay, so I tell you guys to check your emil and you don't. Fine. I
will just sit here in this little booth in the hotel and type to
myself. Hmph!

Actually, I would call you back but I have to get my calling card
working. Apparently, you need to get an 800 number within Mexdico and
direct calls through there. Not sure how to do that but Jorge is
going to help me later.

We just got back from walking around the downtown area. There is a
huge carnival and fair going on in celebration of the Epiphany, which
is when the Three Wisemen finally found Jesus (January 8, I think).
Anyway, this feast is called Little Christmas. Not only are there
celebrations but kids put out their shoes and parents leave candy and
treats, kind of like Christmas but I guess there's no Santa. The
carnival is WAY LOUD. There is music everywhere, lights, all kinds of
different foods (pork rinds as big as pizza--no lie), rides, games,
etc. It actually put all of us on overload so we got out of there and
went and had ice cream instead. : )

There were some other things I wanted to tell you about the city, but
I forgot last time. The first thing is, you see PDAs
everywhere--public displays of affection. People, especially older
teens through younger adults, kissing. It reminds me of movies of
France or Italy--very romantic. On the other hand, they don't have
"adult stores" here. They have "sex shops." No lie--it's written on
the signs like that. Girls, you probably know this, but a sex shop
sells sexual videos and lingerie and other things you will never see
until you are 35 years old, if I can help it.

The markets here are pretty incredible. You know how we have farmers
markets? Well that's how it is here all the time. A loit of people
don't go to grocery stores. They go to these markets that have all
fresh produce, meat and dairy. They pharmacies are separate, and they
are not like CVS. You have to ask for what you want and the staff get
the things for you. The last pharmacy we were at, all the merchandise
was in glass cases, like the jewelry section of Wal-mart.

I am probably boring you,. but....TOO BAD! LOL! That is my job as
your mother and your wife (you know which is which, I hope).

Anytway, I am going to try one more time to get into my comcast email
which is probably a nightmare. I don´'t know what's wrong with it. I
just know this keyboard is driving me NUTS. The apostrophe, quotes
and a bunch of other things are all in different places and some of
them I don't even know how to use. I hope we can get a quick tutorial
from Jorge's aunt tomorrow.

Okay, that is all for now. I love you and miss you.
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On Sat, Jan 7, 2012 at 1:04 PM, Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
Valle de Bravo, Mexico

Hello dear family! I am in an internet cafe where I hope I can open my students´ papers! The people here told ushow to do the @ which is helpful, but the keyboard is still a pain. Also, I have not figured out how to make the text larger and of course, I do not have my glasses so everything is a bit blurry. It is interesting in here, though, because there are headphones which I actually do not need because everything is in Spanish and, because I do not understand most of it, I can ignore it. I wish I could do that at home, eh? Or maybe YOU wish I could do that at home.
This little town is kind of amazing. I don´t know quite how to describe it--third world with modernity cree´ping in. Some of the shops offer traditional clothing, some contemporary. The restaurants are outside with only a few inside. The shops are tiny, not fancy and feel exotic. Everything is made of stucco or celement with terra cotta roofs. Streets are cobblestone. There are many young people walking around and working in the shops. I am definiately a minority here. I have no idea where spell check is here, so there will be many misspellings in this email. Spell check is picking up all my words as errors because it is looking for Spanish!
Jorge´s aunt Patty is riot. She is part witch, part hippie, part new age, part conspiracy theorist. She is a very education lady and used to be a therapist and a book distributor to colleges. She makes us lauygh our butts off with her abrupt ways and isn´t afraid to cuss or tell it like it is (or at least how she perceives it is).
Girls, you would love her house! It is Spanish colnial looking but totally updated. The turkeys gobble all the time and answer you if you gobble back. Chickens and roosters surround the place and there is a cat with Cosmo´s disposition who curled up on my lap last night. There is also a fat beagle named Bruno who eats avocados from the trees in the front yard. He is adorable but a begger!
Anyway, I really have to try to get to my class. Honey, thank you for sending me emails. Imagine if I let them collect the whole time??? Gitls, be good and be nice to Daddy. I miss you all very much and am thinking of this as school to help me cope with being homesick. It is sometimes difficult not speaking the language well--it makes you feel very alone and stupid, but if you do not make yourself try, you will never learn.
I will try to get the phone card working, but if I cannot, I will use David´s phone and try to call between 7 and 8 p.m. We are an hour behind, so I guess that is 8 or 9 your time.
Love you all so much, and kiss the pets for me, especially Inu because I know she loves it so much!
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

------------------------------------------
Jan. 9 Valle de Bravo

Omg I am sick hon. I think it is the band. Keep having dry heaves. I might have to go to a doc if it does not stop hurting. Right now I cannot even get water down. Jorge's aunt is keeping a good eye out for me though and if I need to see a doctor she knows someone. I will try to call you later. Davidd and Jorge went on a hike and David has the phone. I love you.

Note: I did go to a doc that day and went home the next day, January 10.

What I Learned in Mexico

2012-01-12T11:32:00.000-05:00

Six days in Mexico: two in Mexico City, four in Valle de Bravo before I had to take a quick and early trip home. My lap band didn't respond well to the elevation and dietary change.

Here's a VERY unedited chat conversation I had with my sister-in-law this morning, via Facebook. And then I have to lie down. Three days of no eating and drinking have taken a bit of a toll, but I'm on the mend. More later, with pics.

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welcome back..you ok?

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Hey! Yeah, just not very lively.

You know how it feels when your electrolytes are all screwy.

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we're getting snow today...girls are at school, but j has a snow day. He has huge midterms next wee.

Did you have a good trip for the time you were gone?

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Yay for snow!! I missed the half inch we've had all winter. Not that I minded being in 70 degree weather, of course. The time I did have there was great!

Did a LOT in a short period of time.

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Did you feel immersed

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VERY much so. LOL!

Wait till you see some of the pics.

Of course, I hadn't planned on studying the Mexican medical system.

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THAT musta been an eye opener...

did you end up in ER? What WAS the prob anyhow?

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It was weird because the regional hospital in the little town where we were staying looked like a modern place...all clean and everything.

But then...

I go in and see the doc. He's a GastroEnt. Talks to Jorge about my symptoms...

feels my stomach...

says he can do an endoscopy in his office at 3 p.m.

It's 2 p.m.

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and says Youre pregantn!

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He doesn't take my name, my history, weight, vitals, anything. No paperwork.

Jorge's translating and I'm saying NO! I am not having an endosopy! That's like an OP procedure where I come from!

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crazy.

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So the doc gives me a pain killer shot in the ass which numbs my ass and my face but not my stomach

and a bunch of RXs which actually DO help the pain.

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

scary

what a paperwork nightmare that will be

so was it just all irritated from the food?

or Montezuma revenge?

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Jorge's Dad is a doc so Jorge called him. His dad said do not go ANYWHERE for treatment except this hospital in Mexico City which was two hours away. Obviously, insurance was an issue and there was no guarantee anything would work and I had no intention of getting a procedure done. Was best to come home. Basically, the altitude and spices inflamed me so much I couldn't even swallow water. I was dry heaving everything--VERY painful and scary.

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musta been a tenuous flight, then, feeling like that!

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It wasn't too painful so long as I didn't try to do anything silly like take a sip of water. I managed to get down some dramamine by swallowing it with this gel the doc gave me to calm the spasms which got me through twelve hours of taxis and plane rides. The taxi was actually very interesting. Saw a LOT.

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not all good tho' i am guessing..

------------------------------------------You know how when you drive to east Bum-fuck Maine, out in the real boonies where people live in run down trailers and on farms? That's kind of how these little villages are.

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it was like that in Jamaice on our honeymoon...resort was rolling in the amenities, then off-site you see folk living in corrugated metal shacks w/o running water.

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Exactly. Except we were staying with Jorge's aunt who lives on a lovely property in a modest, restored house. It was interesting though because we could hear the farming neighbors because she's in a valley. The music was always playing, you'd hear kids and husbands and wives out working together and they generally seemed happy. There's a real sense of community there that we don't feel in the U.S.

And we assume that because people are living in concrete block houses that are falling down that they are miserable.

They don't have certain advantages but they have things we do not have and things we, as a cultural, miss out on.

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Agreed. We have, as a culture, been blinded by greed, and the desire to outdo our neighbor.

If we spent more time with our families, and less in the rat race, wed be better off..as long as prices were commensurate with doing so..that's a whole other problem/issue

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Here's another thing--the kids work with their families. At first, I looked at this as child labor. The reality is, these kids grow up learning skills, responsibility and a work ethic. They are with other kids, too and have a chance to play under community oversight. They still go to school, for the most part (no so in more remote places, I am sure) but what they learn is valuable.

In more remote places, living off the land is trying when there is a poor season. There are a lot of indigineous people who bring their wears to the market. We bough flowers from a lady who must have been 80 years old, walking around with this huge pack of thick lillies on her back. She was amazing. They use homeopathic remedies and live long lives.

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Family life has been over run here by too much academia (not that academics are bad, mind you) but common sense life skills are missed by some many kids who are in day care all day. They need to lear to budget, to pay bills, that they cant have everything thry want, that want is sometimes a good thing as it serves as a motivator. Poorer communities learn they are all responsible for the good of their whole, and everyone needs to contribute each in teir own way to the common goal.

thats it..lets move to a farming co-op!

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What I found disturbing as I was driving home in the taxi is that as you enter the city, all these billboards show ads with white people and watered down Mexican people. The majority of the Mexican people are of native decent and they are not white. In fact, the majority of the world is not white. It's like there's a stigma in being native and brown which is very sad to me because these native people are beautiful.

What's funny is that a co-op here means living with neo-hippies! LOL!

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very sad that society is making them feel less than perfect, somehow less desirable/acceptable in the world, because of their skin.. age old problem, huh?

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Yes, it is. Same thing with age. These elderly people are part of the community and they are respected. Becuause of that, they are taken care of and, when able, contribute out of necessity, physically and otherwise, but they have a sense of purpose. It's a more simple sense than we have and I think it's because there's not only a connection between one another, there's a connection between them and the land.

We bought gorgeous hot plates woven from pine needles. A man was making them right in front of us. Women were weaving right there in the markeplace.

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here we just shuttle our elderly off to die... no respect, in many cases almost a sense of embarrassment that gramma is losing her faculties, that grampa might say something inappropriate..so let's remove them to someplace theycan be with their kind"

sad

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I know. It's sinful what we do here in our country because we think independence is some sign of strength. Fact is, we disconnect from each other and the land.Don't get me wrong--there was some begging in the city by addicts and the really down and out, but not nearly as much as we see right here in D.C. our nation's capital.

And the slums were slums and the crime was crime, but there was also a huge police presence. Many with machine guns, which was rather intimidating, but those were mostly around the banks. There is a silent class warfare going on which is an age old problem. The only difference here is ours takes place on Wall Street.

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because we are "civilized" right? lol

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LOL! Yeah. Civilized.

meaning we don't call it what it is. We would rather look down on people and pretend "they" are different from us when it comes down to people being people.

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we kill our old, we kill our babies, we kill our brother man...hmmm real civilized, huh?

we haven't learned much in 2000 years have we.

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Yup. I think we could all use a trip to a Mexican village.

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and all in the name of progress

cool. when are we going?

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Seriously, you might consider arranging something through your church.

(By the way, if you don't mind, I am going to blog this conversation. I'm too tired to get on my own soapbox.)

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ever see the movie Saving Grace with Tim Conte? Awesom. The pope is disillusioned with things, feels he isnt getting close to the people, so one day he finds himself outside the Vatican gates, and leaves to find this remote village that a little girl had written him from.

he arrives there and gets down to the peoples level and sees where they are coming from, and it changes him..cool movie

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Never saw it, but I'd like to see it happen in real life. Also would like to have these fat assed politicos spend a week living like these natives not to learn pity but to learn how we are all the same on a basic level but have divorced ourselves from ourselves physically, mentally and spiritually.

I went to Mexico to learn more about the language of the people and the culture and I got to do it in under a week.

And I totally understand why my students have ended up where they have. They somehow ended up disconnected when they have moved to this country. The family and self fell apart.

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the lure of the Great OZ America, where the streets are paved with gold and everyone lives like kings..but only if you inherit it!

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And I know now what it feels like to be a minority, to be afraid to speak another language, afraid of being misunderstood and not accepted. To be scared as hell being thrown into an institution I had no idea how to navigate and could not have done so without help from natives of the country. My students don't have that help. What they meet with is discrimination which makes them more fearful.

The wizard behind the curtain is a fraud.

Can you imagine what it must be like to not know English and get sick? To try to get your kids through school when you can't communicate? The shame of not knowing the language which causes fear of learning and many times the incapacity to learn? Shit, it's hard learning another language, especially as you get older and your memory sucks. I struggle now recalling English words, never mind new words in Spanish!

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thats it..you're ready to be shelved in anursing home!

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We blame our Hispanic immigrants but don't realize many of them are trying. Some are succeeding, but some of them are not. So they stick to their own communities where they feel safer. We lure them here with jobs, let them stay illegally and then treat them like shit. We lie to them that this is a better place with a better lifestyle and then blame them for not assimilating.

We buy their criminals' drugs and give their criminals guns.

I'm not saying they don't have any responsibililty but we do have the education which we misuse.

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so whats the solution.? I dont think that we necessarily lure them, but the pull is irrisistible i am sure. what responsibilty do we have? Do we allow all in and then allow all to be on the public dime? Where do we decide who is worthy, who is not, who gets services etc? There has to be some plan that would work better than the current one.

do we close the borderes to all but those who come legally? Thats your fathers answer.

Do we ...what?

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I think we need to stop the influx because we can't handle it, treat the people who are here better than we do, stop looking down our noses and start working with those whom have worked their butts off for us, establish a good work program that protects our migrant workers, our constuction workers, our laborers who have done so much for us and work with our Mexican neighbors towards a sollution. The current president of Mexico has cracked down on cartels and crime and it's obvious.

so..what? Close the borders for now..focus on what is going on here

And we have to work more closely with El Salvador. I can't believe the risks my students and their families have taken to get here--the desert crossers, people fleeing from cartels...

Yes, close the borders for now but reunite families.

Let's clean up our mess!

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there are those who wish to come to our country to succeed, but there are also a fair number who come to exploit, and abuse/bilk the system, too. Welfare needs to be overhauled to allow better work program options etc, so that folks can learn skills and are able to gain independence.

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Actually, illegal immigrants don't qualify for public assistance and they can't work here legally.

It's a myth that they are living off the system. Many pay taxes and they certainly pay things like sales tax.

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everyone ends up down and out at some point and everyone may need a helping hand now and then but some have made it a lifestyle, and some are just soo downtrodden by te sysytem and the prejudice that they are paralyzed by it.

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Exactly!!!

Welfare in general needs an overhaul.

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i knew folks who were living together as husband and wife who didnt marry cuz their total welfare was more if she was a single mom head of household.. they lived better than we do.

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Yup. And these are citizens.

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those are the bilkers we need to re evaluate. Dont get me wrong folks still need help, but i mean, c'mon! sometimes the illegals are better "citizens" than the citizens.

because they know their status is questinable.

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People need help. We all do at some point. It's easier to judge than give assistance, though, isn't it?

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they obviously need to keep below the radar.

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people are real good at judging, agreed..a little more help would go a long way.

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The longer they have to keep under the radar, the more prone they are to taking risks, the more they become separated from society and family support.

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people need, even more than just help, aid/teaching, so they can help themselves...teach a man to fish..ya know?

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You are the bomb for having this conversation with me, Chris.

I have a problem now.

My intestines are demanding attention.

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what

oh no..

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Yeah. Not a very good smell, but at least it's not coming up anymnore.

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see.. we catholics arent evil ya know!

you really like the movie i mentioned

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I know. Catholics also have a history of service and compassion. It's always easier to see the worst in everyone and to generalize. And now, if I don't get to the bathroom, there's going to be a stain on my seat.

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bye!

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Love ya! More later.

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catch ya later, and we can continue to save the world, one post at a time

Chat Conversation End

Runinng Away from Home? Not Even Possible.

2012-01-02T19:29:00.000-05:00

You never know how much you do until you try to leave. That's probably obvious for people who work in a regular office, but I've never done much regular anything, so this discovery is pretty major for me.

I've been preparing to embark on a cultural learning experience to Mexico with some friends. I will be gone for 12 days, the longest and furthest I have ever been away from my family. And while I've been finishing correcting papers, teaching these last two classes, making arrangements, organizing, packing and communicating for the past week, I still will need to wrap up loose ends before the plane takes off.

I'm not saying I cannot be replaced, but when it comes to household duties, I take care of a lot of things that I worry might fall through the cracks when I am gone. For example, who's going to remember to make our elder cat eat at least four times a day? Will anyone else be successful at getting his thyroid pill down his throat? He tried biting during my husband's practice effort today. Is that an omen? Who will make sure vegetables are being cooked and consumed and that junk food doesn't make up the a-la-carte menu every evening? Will the dogs get fresh water each morning? Will appointments be kept? Will there be enough socks? Will the laundry pile finally grow teeth and eat anything living? And how about those bills I take care? The bank balances? The checks that need to be deposited? Any idea how many trips I had to make to the pharmacy to make sure all medications were refilled before I fly off on this adventure?

I'm not saying it's not worth the trouble, and I'm not complaining. It's just that I wasn't really prepared for this different kind of stress. People who travel a lot must have a system, but I don't, and if I ever get to do something this major again, the system I have created will be forgotten or outdated.

I remember when I was a teenager and wanted to take off for the weekend. I would throw a few things in a bag and be done with it. Then, after I was married, I would double check to make sure my husband hadn't forgotten anything. When I had kids, even getting out the door was an endurance test--bottles, diapers, changes of clothing, booties always being kicked off, spit up, blankets, car seats, strollers--it's a wonder I ever went anywhere. The one time I tried camping with the kids when they were babies was the last time. More current--pack for my husband and myself, pack for the animals, make sure the cats have food, water and fresh litter. Don't forget medications or the camera. But this trip, hands down, wins first place for logistical demands.

A few weeks after I turned 18, I moved out of my parents' house. I packed everything I owned in my 1966 Mustang and still had space left over. A few years later, when a boyfriend and I moved into an apartment together, we took two trips with both our small cars. Then, when I had to move with my kids, it took friends with pick-up trucks. When I moved with my husband and kids, it took a moving van. If we ever have to move out of this place...I don't even want to think about it.

I'm not sure how my life ever got this complex. It kind of snuck up on me. I feel like things should still be simple because I don't feel old and overly responsible, and often, I feel I am not productive enough. Probably I should give myself a big old hug for getting as much done as I do. And if I run out of underwear in Mexico, there's always soap and a sink.

Love You, David, Always!

2011-12-31T10:47:00.000-05:00

How I Welcome 2012

2011-12-31T09:12:00.001-05:00

I'm having a conversation with my inner Chaplain this morning. In the next novel I'm writing, the Chaplain is an unconventional hero. Since he's a blend of a real Christian teaching Bible study and my refusal to go all preacher-like, this exercise is similar to me having a conversation with myself. I'm not particularly Christian, but I think the Bible is a pretty cool book, and I like the idea of calling the universal, positive power "God," since that's the most common name we give to the cosmic all.

The fun part about writing the Chaplain's character is I ask questions and then answer them, kind of. It's an exploration of philosophy that doesn't trample on other religions and doesn't require self-flogging. The Chaplain (who works in a jail and is fondly nicknamed "Chap") isn't a hellfire and brimstone kind of guy. He makes his Bible study attendees really think beyond the obvious. I guess you could say he's a contemporary, liberal sort based on some priests I've listened to. But I don't like using the word "liberal" because it's got all kind of connotations associated with it. I prefer to think Chap has a unique perspective, one that respects the Bible and Christianity, one that doesn't trample on other religions and one that is really universal.

In my personal faith journey, I explore all different religions and try to find common ground. When there is no common ground, I find my own way, which usually matches some tenets of world religions. If you have to label me, you can call me interfaith, which probably best describes me but is offensive to many believers and non-believers. Since I offend some people anyway, I'm not too worried about it because I do respect their beliefs and their right to believe what they want or don't want.

There are times when I really slip back into my Catholic heritage, go for the traditional image of God, believe Mother Teresa was a saint, admire loving nuns and appreciate the ritual of things like mass. I grew up on these, and I no longer resent my upbringing. However, I also believe in reincarnation, evolution, ghosts and aliens.

I believe certain people really were incarnations of "God" in that they were way more highly evolved than we are. They are role models. We're creating some of our own right now, but we don't yet recognize them. They're like dead poets--we don't put them in the cannon of great literature until they're dead, which is kind of stupid, but I guess we want to see if they're going to slip up while they're still alive. We tend to like our role models human enough to relate to, divine enough to look up to.

In my job, I come across people who most need compassion. They are criminals, people most people wouldn't dream of giving compassion to, but having been a victim, I see the reasons why they've done what they have done, which is incredibly healing and empowering. I see the sickness they have been given, the same sickness they give to others. They have a disease, and until we find a vaccine, the virus will continue to spread. The virus is deadly to victims, perpetrators and society. The virus spreads pain, anger and hatred.

It's not that's I'm a saint in the making (not sure I want to be one). And it's not that I feel I have the magic elixir. I don't. All I can offer is my honesty and love, which are rooted in forgiveness and understanding.

Yesterday, a student said something that made me want to cry.

" Can I say something with all respect?" he asked.
"Of course."
"I learn because you teach with love."

How many times do you get that in a traditional classroom? And how do you respond to such an open admission of need and gratitude? I am quite sure mine was inadequate.

"Well, I am glad you are learning. I love being here. I belong here, as funny as that sounds. It's my mission."

Yikes. Let's move onto the next exercise, shall we? And let me take this instance home with me.

Happy New Year.

Creative Exercises

2011-12-30T20:54:00.000-05:00

These are my results from a creative writing exercise a writing friend suggested. Basically, you look at objects around you and make them transform into random things. Some of these don't make much sense, but the exercise was fun, anyway.

My spectacles turned to icicles and froze my wooden nose.
--Pinocchio

My headband was vicious as a letter opener.

The two-day old punch fermented into nail polish.

The water's depth and breadth were measured in pink flamingos.

The stone was as smooth as a stool softener gel tab.

That old Christmas card became a gnat.

Especially in the morning, my computer claims to be the Declaration of Independence.

The scrambled eggs soon became bad breath.

The literary magazines collected like retired guys in a coffee shop.

It was so fun the first time, let's do it again!

2011-12-29T18:07:00.000-05:00

I was checking my Blogger un-staggering-stats a few minutes ago and saw someone hit on an old post of mine called "Tag! You're It!" Since the new year is toddling in, I thought it would be fun to do this stupid exercise again, though I doubt I will tag 25 people (which I didn't do last time).

Here's the schtick: once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a list of 25 random things, facts, habits or goals related to you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you.

Have fun, be random and don't think too much about it. Just see what comes out.

1. I'm a Tenacious Poodle. Hence the name of my blog.
2. Things that bother me usually confuse me first.
3. Sometimes I wonder if I talk too much.
4. Sometimes I KNOW I talk too much.
5. If I could learn to be perfect, I doubt I would take the opportunity.
6. One of my favorite things is having the freedom to intellectually "meander."
7. My dog Shiba sheds in clumps.
8. I like searching for particular things on the internet.
9. eBay. Need I say more?
10. Recently, I'm into fancy headbands.
11. I hate when headbands are so tight, they give you a headache.
12. I get obsessed with my work.
13. My brain is bigger than a pea, smaller than a walnut. At least that's what I suspect.
14. My nails break a lot in the winter, probably because I don't get any vitamin-enriched sunshine.
15. When my younger daughter was about 2, she pooped on my husband's head and neck as he was carrying her on his shoulders.
16. Sometimes I think I live in la-la land.
17. Writers are weird. I'm weird. Therefore, I could be a writer.
18. I really wish I could draw or paint.
19. I really wish I had the time and motivation to better my art, but I am too busy doing other things (like writing, which is an art).
20. If I could visit El Salvador, I would.
21. If I could visit India, I would.
22. UTI's suck. I should know.
23. I hate my toenails.
24. My two front teeth have been very loose for about ten years now. I don't know how they haven't fallen out.
25. Blogging is like exposing yourself. Therefore, I must be some kind of flasher.

One of the most beautiful songs ever.

2011-12-28T15:50:00.001-05:00

Loreena McKennitt - Dante's prayer

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Chorus:
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Chorus

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Chorus

Please remember me
Please remember me, ...

Dante's Prayer was inspired by Dante's The Divine Comedy (a vernacular poem in 100 cantos), Loreena thinks about the human condition and how we all want to believe there is a place better than our own. An almost sorrowful and yet hopeful melody. Italian poet, Dante (1265-1321) gave an explanation of what happens after we die and this question is still just as controversial today.

Loreena McKennitt's haunting music combines a Russian Orthodox Easter hymn with her own music and imaginative lyrics about a prayer Dante might have uttered after he and Virgil had left Hell's icy center and were journeying close to the threshold between Hell and Purgatory.

Ima Geek

2011-12-27T09:49:00.005-05:00

Hello. My name is Ima Geek. Until my later adult years, I've not lived up to my name. So this morning, as a new year approaches, I thought I would examine how I've evolved and now more closely match my namesake.

The following list of "thing's I've done in my lifetime" is not a confession, nor is it a list of things I feel guilty about. I've learned a lot from these experiences. Some of them aren't even "bad." They are just un-geeky. And many of these, I've done more than once:

driven 105 miles an hour on a highway
refused to wear a seat belt even when wearing one became the law (shows you hold old I am)
raced strangers on a highway and in a city where I didn't know where I was going
smoked cigarettes
pierced my own ears
driven in a car with a felon possessing drugs and illegal guns
gone into a bar where cocaine was being served up in a back room
drank until I got drunk, puked and passed out
played drinking games
danced until my hair was soaked with sweat
had sex with strangers
planned to commit suicide
had an eating disorder
written filthy stories
fooled around in public places
mildly (accidentally) compromised national security
gotten a tattoo
had to collect food stamps and assistance from WIC
listened to screaming metal music
dyed my hair black
gone partially goth
skipped a lot of high school
put my report card through the wash so my parents wouldn't discover I'd skipped school
had a fake wedding and eventually married at a gas station (don't even ask)
gotten divorced
lived with a musician and acted as an unofficial roadie
stayed up all night
committed petty theft at work
sworn at my father
tried to run away from home
watched porn (was amazed, appalled and amused)
asked a stranger in front of a liquor store to buy alcohol for me when I was underage (he did)
gotten a "D" in history
dated dangerous men
been homeless and car-less
owned lizards, turtles and rats
lied about my age to get a hotel room with my boyfriend
gotten caught by my parents while I was staying at the hotel with my boyfriend
cussed worse than a gangsta
flipped people off in the car
gone "commando" while wearing a skirt
driven cross country and without guidance with my babies
walked out on jobs
explored dangerous places by myself
gone to nightclubs where I really wanted to pick up a guy (unsuccessful for the most part)
"cruised the strip" in a city, talking to strangers through open car windows

Over the past years, I've slowly rid myself of non-geek behavior. Many of the changes I attribute to raising kids who, thank God, turned out great in spite of me. And, since many of my stupid moves could be attributed to adolescence, it's safe to assume I simply grew out of idiocy through trial and error.

When I compare what I've done to others' choices, I don't look so bad, so long as I make the comparison to real trouble makers. After all, I've never tried drugs of any kind, have never been arrested and have never lost my license.

So let's examine the changes, first through the "don'ts." I no longer

drink
dance (unless I'm with kids)
stay up all night
compromise national security
plan to commit suicide
cuss as much
go commando
date or form friendships with dangerous men
dress goth
pierce myself
"cruise"
walk out of jobs
steal
go homeless or car-less
listen to screaming metal music (Nickelback doesn't count)
get below "B's" in classes
smoke
swear at my parents
flip people off in the car
drag race on highways
drive at dangerous speeds
explore dangerous places, especially by myself
have sex with strangers or anyone other than my husband
write filthy stories that are just plain filth
watch porn
fool around in public places
have to collect food stamps or use programs like WIC

Here's a list of what I do when I've got free time (other than being with family):

write
read
try to meditate
study
work
scrapbook
hike (not as much as I should)
"intellectually meander"
attend church
volunteer
go to writers' groups
work with the down and out
donate
daydream
explore safe places by myself

Here are some things I wish I would do but don't yet because I'm still a little hung up:

dance
sing in public
cease getting homesick after being away for three days
get fit and beautiful and believe I AM fit and beautiful

I stopped dancing when I stopped going to clubs where I mostly danced when drunk because when I drank, I didn't care what I looked like.

I gave up singing after I got pregnant and couldn't maintain my breathing (baby was sitting on my diaphragm). Now, I don't sing because I've had some hearing loss and can't hold a pitch unless I block my ear. I mostly sing in the car or at home but never in public.

Here are some things I'd like to do/do more of but haven't been able to because of life's circumstances:

travel to interesting, foreign places (not tourist traps--places where there are real people with real culture)
perfect a foreign language
study things I've forgotten (like world history, geography)
study more things in depth (like word origins)
improve my short-term memory, especially of things I study
keep my car clean (not a priority, but would be nice)
get another tattoo (probably some kind of peace sign on my other ankle)
get another ear piercing
throw away all my ripped underwear
own a floppy-eared goat

Essentially, I don't mind being a geek. Being a geek has helped me maintain a healthy family. Being a geek has increased the probability I won't die of my own stupidity. Being a geek has enabled me to learn new things.

But I don't want to stagnate as a geek. I don't want to give up my sense of adventure. I don't want to separate myself from the rest of the world which, unfortunately, really is a dangerous place.

So as 2012 births, I'm going to be thinking of ways to progress, not so much setting new year's resolutions as setting my sights. I think I'm already on my way.

Merry Christmas (with a new word for the day)

2011-12-25T07:49:00.000-05:00

Though it's not a White Christmas, it still feels pretty hiemal out there. Stay warm and enjoy this blessed holiday, everyone!

Word of the Day for Sunday, December 25, 2011

hiemal \HAHY-uh-muhl\, adjective:
Of or pertaining to winter; wintry.

Since snow and frost lasted from October well into April, no wonder the mean of my school memories is definitely hiemal.
-- Vladimir Nabokov, Speak, Memory

We took hours to make camp and hours to break camp, and in between tottered like children across the immensity of that bleak and hiemal playground.
-- Beryl Bainbridge, The Birthday Boys

All set with that.

2011-12-21T08:40:00.001-05:00

The other day at church, a young woman with three children between the ages of four and seven (I'm guessing), was trying to keep them from running amok through the fellowship hall which has all kinds of neat things that basements offer--like those support poles that we all swung around and tried to climb when we were that age. (Well, I know I did, anyway.) I just smiled that "I understand" smile I offer harried parents, to which she responded, "Free to good home!"

"No thanks, I'm all set with that," I laughed. And boy is it true.

As much fun as it is to hold a baby, look at my children's toddler pictures and read through their old schoolwork, I am glad they aren't kiddies any more. I have nil desire to give birth again, to wake up to cries for food, diaper changes and/or attention, to chase creatures that by right should not have the ability to run so fast at such a young age or to terrify myself trying to take a pre-schooler to a mall around Christmas. Accuse me of being heartless, if you will, but I speak the truth. I am happy to be where I am, which happens to be a place that allows me to be super-sentimental whenever I wish without being interrupted by the crash and burn of normal household items.

This doesn't mean I don't have to get up in the middle of the night, deal with puke, fret over those who require my care or assume the Christmas tree is safe. I do have two cats, two dogs and two fish, after all (though the two fish probably can't do anything worse than die). When my students, who seem to require a lot of mothering that I am more than willing to provide, ask if I have kids, I say, "I've got you and my pets. Isn't that enough?" I am not sure how they feel about being equated with the animals, but to me, it's all the same since my animals are my kids, too. No one has ever burst into tears over my response, so I guess they understand, think I am kidding or am once again proving I've lost my mind.

All this demonstrates that mothering isn't just hormonal, which our society already acknowledges. The drive and ability to mother come from other sources than the ovaries--they come from living in a mother-rich, nurturing environment.

My mother is the archetypal "mother of the world." She has spent years working with children, her own, those in the public school system and those in her religious education classes. She has worked with every level and age of child, but she has also mothered hundreds of adults. This is the woman who, in her second job as a Sam's Club greeter, hugs strangers no matter how much she loathes the way Sam's operates and treats its employees. My mother gives food to the hungry and necessities to anyone who needs them, even when she can't afford to do so--which is always. She is the consummate care-giver, and she talks about the people she meets.

When you are raised with someone like this, you might end up despising working with people or loathing people in general. But when you're me, you end up being drawn to work that requires caring for others. When my kids were young, I couldn't work much outside the home in that capacity. My kids had to come first, and that has its own kind of rewards, especially when I see how (usually) loving they themselves are now. And it's not that you ever stop caring for your kids. It's just that their needs change as they age. I fully expect I will be parenting for the rest of my life. I might even be grand-parenting at some point, but I'm not in a hurry for that in the least.

I have more time to give now, though, and I am thriving on it, loving others in a way that allows me to serve. My mother taught me the importance of serving and how dedicating a life to it makes living meaningful. She never had to come out and say that making the world a better place is important. I saw it in her actions. And while she is very Christian (Catholic, specifically) and believes in an afterlife that rewards or punishes, I know she would serve no matter what religion she was or was not because she grew up watching her father struggle to take care of five kids on his own when he was extremely poor. "He always provided for us," she says proudly.

My mother tells us the story of her father moving the family "by gig," which meant using a cart to carry all their belongings to the next tenement. He didn't have a car even though car ownership was common by then. She tells us how she picked up where her absent mother left off, caring for her four brothers, two of which have died now.

My mother doesn't live in the kind of poverty she did as a child, though she still lives far below the poverty line. She works two jobs just to make it, and as she nears the ability to retire, she worries about having to live on a fixed income. And she needs to slow down and better care for herself. I wish I could help her more.

I'm kind of rambling this morning, not paying too much attention to organization, but I will leave off with some semblance of having had a thesis. I believe we come back to the Earth we have created. I believe we literally reap what we sow. I believe we can love the world enough to heal it.

Mothering is in my blood, and while I'm all set with having little ones, I'm not all set with mothering. That's a good thing, because as it stands, there are not enough mothers to keep the world functioning. That's how needy we all are.

All Agape

2011-12-20T09:22:00.003-05:00

I'm thinking again about agape, the kind of love Christmas should evoke, the kind we should offer whenever we have the opportunity.

You know you've experienced agape when you have this incredible desire to serve as opposed to just feel. It's the kind of love I get when I help the needy, teach my students, smile at neighbors, volunteer, give money away to the disadvantaged, forgive. It's rewarding, too, because what I get back is an incredible sense of fulfilling a mission, even if that mission is challenging. Agape creates in me a sense of gratitude for all I have to offer and all I receive. It's an altruistic kind of love that sometimes brings pain, but short-term pain accompanied by compassion that carries with it a sense of well-being.

Dictionary definition of agape:

noun, plural -pae [-pahy, -pahy, -pee] Show IPA, -pai [-pahy, -pahy] Show IPA for 3.

1. the love of God or Christ for humankind.

2.the love of Christians for other persons, corresponding to the love of God for humankind.

3.unselfish love of one person for another without sexual implications; brotherly love.

4.love feast ( defs. 1, 2 ) .

People like me who have a "Mother Teresa complex" thrive on agape. It's what keeps us going even though most of us will never achieve what Mother Teresa did. I kiddingly call it a "complex" because sometimes that's how much of the world sees it: we altruists are masochistic idiots compelled to do things for people who don't deserve it. We live in la-la land, a dream world, John Lennon-ville. We think we're better than others. We're do-gooders, which is incredibly annoying, self-serving and hypocritical. "Look at all those bad things she does. Some brotherly love she is showing! Ha!"

I didn't say altruists were perfect or that people who offer agape always hit the mark. I didn't say we never lose our tempers, make mistakes, flip out, scream at our kids, pout at our spouses or turn up our noses at leftovers. We cuss, we throw apple cores into bushes, we have messy houses and filthy cars. We don't always recycle and we eat unhealthy food. Agape means love, not perfection.

Agape also means we should love and accept ourselves as we are now and as we strive to do better, realizing we are evolving and contributing to the growth of others. I have a hard time with self-love. At church this weekend, a speaker said we should try making a New Year's resolution to love the world a little more, maybe every other day. And we should do the same for ourselves.

Okay. I'll do it. I promise to give myself more agape as I give myself the gift of loving others.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

Christmas Present

2011-12-19T20:43:00.000-05:00

I'm watching a man
and a cat
trying to wrap themselves
in their diminishing skin.
Someone, please,
tape shut my eyes.

K.M. Gotthardt

Lost and Returned: Our Love, Cosmo Kitty

2011-12-19T09:23:00.001-05:00

I've got this morning off from teaching, which is bad but good--bad because my students need instruction, but good because our family has been having trauma and drama since this past Thursday when our elderly cat, Cosmo, decided to walk out the front door and not show up for catching until mid-morning on Saturday. He is so thin, he was freezing to death. He would not have survived another night out, never mind that he has no front claws and is 16 years old. Subsequently, he spent 30 hours in the animal hospital ($1000) and is home now being spoiled rotten as I try to get him to eat and drink about every hour. He has to go back to the doc because there is a problem with his liver or thyroid or something, which accounts for the weight loss. He's not out of the woods yet, but he's healthy enough to come home, sit by the fire and purr. And our family really connected as a loving team, one more demonstration of how strong we are.

If you don't own and love pets as if they were children, you probably will not understand the pain we have been experiencing. The kids were pretty hysterical, looking for him for hours with me. Friday, we spent four hours combined combing the woods and the muck down by our local run-off (called a pond). Two very kind neighbors and a daughter of one of the neighbors helped us, leading in the eventual return. Cosmo was wailing, dragging his back legs from weakness. We couldn't stop crying. Thank goodness my elder daughter wasn't home to see him this way because I don't think she would have been able to hold it together just at that moment. For some reason, my younger daughter was able to get herself under control. She held him all the way to the hospital.

I prepared myself for the worst and probably was the one who had done the most of that. This is ironic, considering my husband is usually the most negative/super realistic about these things. However, he got Cosmo when Cosmo was only three months old and feral. Cosmo just showed up at his front door one day. And suddenly, because of the kids needing his strength, he was able to communicate his spiritual leanings, something we rarely get to hear.

The girls and I have been with Cosmo since I met David a little over ten years ago, which means the girls were very young when they met both of them. Their attachment is particular to that little girls get with animals, which is something special and different from the way we adults connect. I am so grateful Cosmo is home in time for Christmas.

I hope whatever underlying issues Cosmo has can be treated with medication. There is nothing worse than seeing an animal in serious pain. Actually, there is nothing worse than seeing any living thing in serious pain. The worst thing with animals, though, is you can't explain pain to them. All they know is that they are hurting. I was so relieved just to have him in the hospital, warming under a hot water mat and not suffering.

We shall see what happens as time goes on. I know he is old and that we all die and go back to Mother Earth. I also know animals know when it's time and accept it better than we humans do. If it's time, it's time. I just hope he goes peacefully and painlessly, the same thing I would hope for anything alive.

Enigmatic Man

2011-12-14T08:33:00.006-05:00

About a hundred years ago, when I was an undergrad, a friend drew a cartoon of a superhero I believe he called "Enigmatic Man," a guy with a cape and a big question mark on his chest. I didn't appreciate this icon of confusion at the time, but the older I get, the more I wish I had a picture of the character to tape to my computer screen or forehead because even though I've aged a lot, men are still pretty much enigmatic to me and I want the reminder--kind of, but not really.

It's going to be difficult to write this post without stereotyping, generalizing and/or pissing off the heterosexual male population, but I will do my best. I promise that this entry is not meant as a man slam. And I assure you, I am not trying to prove women are superior to men. It's not about the man cave thing, the fix-it drive or the hunting instinct, all of which are researched kinds of stereotypes. It's more about men being undecipherable much of the time.

Now, most men I've met will deny this vehemently, swearing on their blessed mothers' souls that they say what they mean and mean what they say. Some of these guys are just liars, but some really believe it. Of the men who believe it, I've never known it to be true. Ask them what they are thinking about (a question gazillions of men hate), and they will tell you "nothing," when in fact, there is something, even if it's just, "Oh my God, there she goes again."

It is virtually impossible to think about nothing unless we are in a superior meditative state, and even then, I'm not convinced the mind is ever really shut off because if it were, we'd die. So on some level, all of us are thinking all the time. Tell this to a "nothing" guy and see what kind of response you get. I've actually done this to my husband, and some interesting conversations have ensued, but be careful how you approach it because many men are not as patient as my husband.

I also don't advise asking a question like this to men you don't know well because you can't predict what kind of response you might get, which is half the fun, I admit, but you don't want to bring out spiky armor or unwanted amore. Some men might offer interesting philosophical answers, but those, I imagine, are rarities. I stopped asking such questions to strangers when, somewhere along the line, I learned men sometimes think a woman who does this is hitting on them as opposed to studying them. But it took me decades to learn that lesson, even though I'm not confident enough to hit on anyone. I'm slow when it comes to men, which is really what this post is about.

Part of my problem with men (and I imagine it's the same for many women besides me) is that I grew up fearing them. As the only daughter in a family led by a Sicilian father, I was warned away from men whom, it was always assumed, wanted me, no matter what age I was, and being wanted was bad because men hurt women, especially young women. Part of this is true, since there are plenty of predators and messed up men in the world, but the warnings weren't all that helpful in terms of teaching the distinctions and certainly, as I got older, the assertions made me more curious but none the wiser. I might be a little smarter now, but probably not smart enough, and the curiosity factor has never abated. Men of all kinds, I find, are still rather interesting.

I don't mean to imply that I look at men like they are zoo animals or anything, but I confess I like to observe when possible and when I don't find the behavior offensive. I had my fill of witnessing cat calls and drooling in high school, and it only served to make me feel ugly and inferior, but more so, indignant and afraid. At my current age, when I witness men doing that kind of thing, I find it embarrassing, annoying and stupid, and I hope the women being whistled at have more sense than to believe it flattering. Some of these women like it, of course, which is their right and none of my business. I'm just glad that at these times, I am invisible.

Being invisible is kind of cool when all you want to do is scientifically assess men's behavior. At these times, it's most fun to be in a group of men and experience the energy and dynamics. I am not referring to men watching football games or playing on the computer, though occasionally, that group-think can be rather amusing, but only for short periods of time. I get bored with it, and I confess I still don't understand the appeal. I'm not into sports, which limits my opportunity to engage in customs common to both genders. Football, to me, is still a bunch of guys jumping on each other on a big ruler, which is interesting for about five minutes before the titlewave-like sounds of the crowd and blabbering of overly excited announcers get on my nerves.

Men at work are probably the most interesting because they belie the idea that men are always thinking about sex, another myth I was brought up to believe. It could be they are thinking about sex as they repair machinery or fill out reports or do whatever it is they do, but if so, it's not obvious. Since I'm generally invisible compared to most women, men at work pose little threat, if any. I'm still wary of those bad guys my father warned me about (because they are everywhere), but I'm pretty confident what's on the computer screen is a lot more attention grabbing than I am.

I guess it's when men start trying to communicate that I find them the most enigmatic. Half the time when they claim they are being direct, they aren't, probably because there's an educational and comprehension gap between men and me--he knows what he means, but it takes me a me a long time to figure it out, and even then, I often completely miss the subtleties. Sometimes this is good because I might want to miss the subtleties, want to remain ignorant because if I do, I can ignore any kind of discomfort the interaction might cause.

It has occurred to me that I block out some things I probably shouldn't, but it's too scary to start thinking about those things because I wouldn't know what to do in particular situations and besides, I like the comfort and expectation of invisibility. It feels safer to be the sweet, sometimes smart and funny middle-aged woman than anything else. Yet, it's annoying because I also want to feel attractive without drawing attention to myself. If men think I'm attractive--and that's a big "if"--I don't want to know on the conscious level. I operate on the assumption that men don't think of me in that way, and if they do, they've got a problem; i.e. they will look at anything with a vagina.

It is taking me a long time to write this, and now I find I am getting confused again. See what men do, I start asking myself? They get your head all messed up, which is what they claim women do, probably because it's easier to place the blame. I'm not saying some women don't play with men's heads, on purpose or otherwise, but in my opinion, men have really gotten that skill down to a science. So this is all I am going to devote to Enigmatic Man, the embodiment of mental chaos. You're good at it, okay? Now fly off.

Self Explanatory

2011-12-13T21:51:00.001-05:00

A Plug for Approaching Felonias Park

2011-12-10T20:56:00.007-05:00

Approaching Felonias Park

by Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt
www.approachingfeloniaspark.com

What Readers are Saying

“I just read Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt’s new book, Approaching Felonias Park. Excellent story…I highly recommend it. Easy to find on Amazon.”

“…can’t put it down!”

“…has a touch of reality that makes you stop and think about those who are less fortunate than you are.”

About the Book

This novel was born of NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. In 2006, after signing up late as a participant, I spat out the first draft of what is now known as Approaching Felonias Park. It was terrible, of course, and I didn’t bother with the book until somewhere around 2008, leaving it alone again until 2010, when a writer and editor friend of mine, Bette Hileman, told me I needed to do something with the manuscript. So my first thank-yous go to NaNoWriMo and Bette Hileman. I have many more thank-yous on the website, but here, I'd like to give you some basics about the novel.

Protagonist Jezabel McPhearson is stuck—stuck in poverty, stuck in abuse and stuck in the world of predatory lending. A processor for a payday loan company, Jezabel meets the poorest of the poor and begins to question her unethical employers. Reflection that leads her to a mystical experience helps direct Jezabel towards a better life, for herself and for the people who suffer at the hands of financial criminals.

Described as “an easy read,” “fast paced” and “gritty,” Approaching Felonias Park gives readers an intimate look into the lives of the needy, those people readers might have been or fear becoming.

Bette Hileman says the book “…is sprinkled with humor without trivializing the serious themes addressed. Jezabel is a real person with real problems…it is unusual for a novel to be written from the point of view of a young woman who’s living on the edge, emotionally and financially.”

Proceeds benefit emergency food pantries in the Manassas, VA, area.

________________________________________________

Approaching Felonias Park
Publisher: Aberdeen Bay
ISBN-13: 978-1-60830-068-6
ISBN-10: 1-60830-068-4
Cover Price: U.S. $14.95
Coming Soon on Kindle

Heaven, Hell and Politicians

2011-12-05T08:05:00.003-05:00

While walking down the street one day a Corrupt Senator(that may be redundant) was tragically hit by a car and died.

His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," says the Senator.

"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really?, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," says the Senator.

"I'm sorry, but we have our rules."

And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell.

The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course.

In the distance is a clubhouse and standing in front of it are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone is very happy and in evening dress. They run to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.

They played a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne.

Also present is the devil, who really is a very friendly guy who is having a good time dancing and telling jokes.

They are all having such a good time that before the Senator realizes it, it is time to go.

Everyone gives him a hearty farewell and waves while the elevator rises.

The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens in heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him, "Now it's time to visit heaven...”

So, 24 hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.

"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."

The Senator reflects for a minute, then he answers: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."

So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to hell...

Now the doors of the elevator open and he's in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage.

He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash falls to the ground.

The devil comes over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.

"I don't understand," stammers the Senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"

The devil smiles at him and says,

"Yesterday we were campaigning.

Today, you voted."

Stop, Drop and Roll

2011-11-26T09:08:00.004-05:00

I consistently seem to underestimate how much I do--which wouldn't be an issue if I paid attention to it as I went along instead of having a crash and burn days and myself for not being productive those days, worrying that I have too many of them. After all this time, you would think I could monitor my activities a little better and plan for some time out. The problem is, I have to do things when I am called to do them. Specifically, I mean I have to write.

Let's look at the month of November. Everyone knows November is the kickoff for winter holidays, right? Halloween ends and, boom! We're into Thanksgiving season and the stores are prepping us for Christmas. Meanwhile, those of us with K-12 kids continue monitoring their progress. Report cards come out around this time. School performances are revving up. Projects are due. Doctors' and other appointments must be kept. Kids need to be driven to friends' houses. Sleepovers must be had. Spouses must not be ignored. Family activities must be planned. Exercise, preferably outside, must take place. Pets must be cared for. Church must be attended. Clothes must be laundered and the house must be cleaned. Shopping must be done, prescriptions picked up. And those of us who work outside the home generally still do during most of November, assuming our job situations haven't changed.

Now enter Katherine Gotthardt, the woman who decides she wants to make over parts of the house before 13 people come to Thanksgiving dinner, write 50,000+ words of a second novel, plan book launchings for her first novel (which was not supposed to arrive until early December), market her work, create websites, maintain online venues, develop her non-profit venture, take part in community events, volunteer, study Spanish, start teaching another online course, teach her regular classes, keep up with the news, write an article for the newspaper and clean animal puke off the rug.

You'd think I'd have more sympathy for this woman, right? Well, I don't. I mean, she takes a nap every day. She takes at least two days off per month to vegetate (albeit out of necessity). She messes around on Facebook on and off throughout the day. She routinely watches stupid movies with her husband and kids (though admittedly, she exercises while doing so). This lady is busy, sure, but she should get a grip. It's not like she doesn't have free time, right? I mean, so what if she works on and off every day, at night and in her sleep? (Yes, I said in her sleep because she writes in her head and often has to get up to put it down on the computer because she doesn't want to lose the thought.) So what if she gets PMS or stuck in traffic? What's this lady's problem? Suck it up, Gotthardt!

I think I've said before somewhere on this blog that when I get scared I am not ever going to get off the couch, I make a list of everything I have done, and I usually feel better about myself. I did recently have a couch day, but I was able to enumerate the activities that have made November especially busy. This is a major step for me because usually I pooh-pooh it off and tell myself I've got no real right to a crash and burn. Fact is, I do have a right, and I know people who crash and burn, too, or who take much more leisure time than I do.

So there. I've admitted I have over-achiever's syndrome or a Type A personality or whatever you want to call it. I'm mission driven--but I am acknowledging I am not Super Woman. I used to assume I was, which is bad for the self esteem when you DO have a crash and burn because your expectations of yourself have been somewhat unrealistic, at least when it comes to pace.

I am making a vow to remind myself that my productivity should not be measured in days but in moments. If I work in spurts, so be it. If I work in segments, so be it. If I work when I am inspired, so be it. At the end of the month or year, my efforts will have added up to something I consider acceptable.

So now, let's look at 2011. I think I've done pretty well this year, especially considering my teaching duties changed this past January, I had to put the finishing touches on my novel, wrote more poetry (one piece on commission), started attending networking events, advocated wherever I could, went up north for a week with the kids, hosted my family here for a week, made cards for our soldiers, all in addition to the activities I described above.

I think I will plan on having a few crash and burn days in December. Except, if you plan them, they're not called crash and burn days. They're called days off. What a concept.

Día de acción de gracias

2011-11-24T05:30:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving

Somewhere,

someone is keeping your sneakers,

waiting for you

to come home.

Katherine Gotthardt

November 24, 2011

Cool Song

2011-11-15T08:13:00.000-05:00

Kind of makes me want to do aerobics for some reason.

Satellite
by OceanLab

My love is like footsteps in the snow, baby,
I follow you everywhere you go, baby.
The pain as light has come to wake you
But you will never realize
That I inspire the dreams that guide you baby.

You're a half a world away
But in my mind I whisper every single word you say.
And before you sleep at night
You pray to me, your lucky star, your singing satellite.

I follow the winds that bring the cold, baby,
I light a fire in your soul, baby.
The lightest touch of feathers falling
My love may be invisible
But I inspire the dreams that guide you, baby

You're a half a world away
But in my mind I whisper every single word you say.
And before you sleep at night
You pray to me, your lucky star, your singing satellite.

If I Were a Beautiful Woman

2011-11-07T15:52:00.000-05:00

If I Were a Beautiful Woman

If I were a beautiful woman,

I’d have enough black hair to wrap the wind,

eyes gray enough to catch the storm’s,

the grace of tides and gods,

and the will of a whirlpool

to pull you in.

Katherine Gotthardt

November 7, 2011

Pumped Up for NaNoWriMo

2011-11-06T10:41:00.000-05:00

National Novel Writing Month began November 1, and we novelists are challenged to write 50,000 in just 30 days. It is day six, and I have amazed myself by getting halfway through already.

The last time I took this challenge (and started two weeks late because I had never heard of NaNoWriMo) was in 2006, from which I produced my upcoming book Approaching Felonias Park, a novel that takes a close look at predatory lending, the poor and homeless and the abused. The book has a series of mystical elements and a clear message. I need to sell 500 copies in order to have it stay in print, so I am hoping to get help from lots of my friends and family members. Proceeds will help support local homeless shelters and food pantries.

However, this new, gritty book-in-progress (title withheld for now), though I am writing very fluidly and with higher quality than the first which had to be edited extensively, is proving to be much more difficult. The protagonist, a heroin addict who is eventually saved by a jail chaplain, is sucking a lot of emotion out of me. Not only is this gal's life hell, the chaplain asks her the bigger questions of life, the questions we should all ask ourselves no matter how difficult it is. I am finding that I have to explore my own answers as I write this book. Plus, having never taken drugs, I am also having to do some research. The novel is painfully realistic, and I don't want to compromise that.

I'm wondering if my books will be hard sells because of the realism. I tend not to write about well adjusted, lucky people. My characters are fighters and dirty. They live in the streets, on the edge and often in spiritual limbo. Their challenges are those too many will identify with. But those many who identify might not want to buy the book. These are difficult books to read, in spite of the light humor and victorious endings.

I write about the poor because I've been in tough situations. I write about abuse because I know about that, too. I write about messed up people who have landed themselves in places no one would really choose to be because I've known and loved people like that. There is a lot of sickness in this world--bodily, mentally and spiritually. I struggle with that every day, particularly because I long to be a healer. But there's only so much anyone can do. I learned the painful way that I'm not Jesus and that I can't do miracles. I can only work and pray hard for them.

Yesterday, my brain was screaming in pain. I couldn't control what was going on in my head and worked exceptionally hard to get the thoughts organized through writing, which is what I do when things get confusing in my gray matter. It was a tough day, but it's amazing what 24 hours of conscious care will do for the mind.

I am more myself this morning.

I sure missed me while I was gone.

Eva Obsession

2011-11-05T10:29:00.002-05:00

My obsession with Eva Peron continues. I have been trying to figure out exactly why and today, during a refreshing hike with my dog, I finally put my intellectual finger on it: Eva Peron loved her country unconditionally. She loved it enough to fight the politics to help the poor and the working class. She loved it enough to tell her people how much she loved it. And she did it before she died at the young age of 33.

My mother might say that's prophetic because that's the age Jesus died. And while I know the people of Argentina dubbed Eva Peron "Santa Evita," I realize she wasn't a saint. No one is. My husband said from what he knows, she was a woman who justified the means with the end. That probably means she knocked people off when they got in her way. But such were the times and the location. I'm not excusing the behavior, but I understand it.

Yesterday at work, there was a novel lying around, something about military action in Argentina. I thumbed through it but honestly, found it unreadable. It was far too technical and dry for me (strategies and all, as far as I could tell). I wondered what kind of CIA action we had going on in Eva's time, and I then wondered for a second if I loved my country enough to die for it, even if I couldn't stand to see what our country was doing. As I've mentioned several times, I've often contemplated being in the military. But what would I be fighting for?

In the woods this morning, I decided I would not be fighting for country but for people. There's a difference. When you fight for country, you could be fighting for government and its ideals. As far as I am concerned, though, my government has betrayed me. They didn't protect me against a federally funded student loan scam. They can't agree on a national budget. They wage partisan wars and encourage social unrest. No, I would not fight for my country if country is defined by government.

Over and over, I've listened to "Don't Cry for Me Argentina," and over and over, I am moved by this women and her love, not necessarily for abstract country but for human beings. I've spoken about this musical to my classes, have given them several handouts on Peron, and hope they get the chance to see the movie (the version with Madonna and Antonio Banderas isn't bad and it might appeal to them).

The message I received in the woods is that I hope I can love so greatly and be able to give so much as she did. That's a life worth living, no matter how brief.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T05:24:00.000-05:00

Celebrate nyctophobia.

Word of the Day for Monday, October 31, 2011

nyctophobia \nik-tuh-FOH-bee-uh\, noun:
An abnormal fear of night or darkness.

Hardly right for him to do that if you're here by yourself, Miss Laetitia—all alone with your nyctophobia—but if Miss Templeton were here as well, you could all chaperone one another.
-- Barbara Cleverly, A Darker God

For as long as she could remember, Jerry Gates had been terrified of the dark. The cause of this nyctophobia was beyond the reach of recollection: some early trauma at the top of the stairs, perhaps.
-- Christopher Fowler, Seventy-Seven Clocks

Nyctophobia stems from the Greek nyktos- meaning night and phobia meaning fear.

Read the full entry | See synonyms | Comment on today's word | Suggest tomorrow's word

Proposed Tuition Increases in VA

2011-10-26T06:02:00.000-05:00

Can someone explain this to me? The Virginia Higher Education Opportunity Act is supposed to "increase enrollment, the number of degrees earned and the pursuit of science, technology and healthrelated fields," but the "state would need $164.1 million in non-general fund revenue over the 2012-14 biennium, in the form of tuition increases of 3 percent to 5 percent annually."

So let me get this right--the state wants more students enrolling to pay higher costs for college. And, most of the current and future students will need to take out loans, unless Mommy and Daddy are rich or working five jobs.

Am I interpreting this article correctly?

____________________________

Higher-ed agency makes recommendations

The Associated Press

RICHMOND — A state agency is recommending that $363.5 million be spent over the next budget cycle to fund public colleges and universities as they phase in the Virginia Higher Education Opportunity Act. The State Council of Higher Education for Virginia also said Tuesday that the state would need $164.1 million in non-general fund revenue over the 2012-14 biennium, in the form of tuition increases of 3 percent to 5 percent annually.

The act includes efforts to increase enrollment, the number of degrees earned and the pursuit of science, technology and healthrelated fields to prepare Virginians for high-demand jobs and boost the state’s economy. The push was part of Gov. Bob McDonnell’s higher- education legislative agenda this year.

SCHEV recommends that the governor and the General Assembly appropriate $51.2 million from the general fund and $41 million from non-general funds in the 2013 fiscal year to cover the baseline cost of operations, enrollment growth, hiring faculty and other needs.

Evita

2011-10-17T14:50:00.000-05:00

I don't recall how this song came up in class today. I'm sure it was relevant somehow, other than that I'd been listening to it over and over this morning. What a gorgeous piece!

Don't Cry For Me Argentina

It won't be easy
You'll think it strange
When I try to explain how I feel
That I still need your love
After all that I've done.

You won't believe me
All you will see
Is a girl you once knew
Although she's dressed up to the nines
At sixes and sevens with you.

I had to let it happen
I had to change
Couldn't stay all my life down at heel
Looking out of the window
Staying out of the sun.

So I chose freedom
Running around trying everything new
But nothing impressed me at all
I never expected it too.

Don't cry for me Argentina.
The truth is I never left you
All through my wild days
My mad existence
I kept my promise
Don't keep your distance.

And as for fortune and as for fame
I never invited them in
Though it seemed to the world
They were all I desired.

They are illusions
They're not the solutions
They promise to be
The answer was here all the time
I love you and hope you love me.

Don't cry for me Argentina.
The truth is I never left you
All through my wild days
My mad existence
I kept my promise
Don't keep your distance.

Have I said to much?
There's nothing more

I can think of to say to you
But all you have to do
Is look at me to know
That every word is true.

Unreality Check

2011-10-15T07:20:00.000-05:00

Here's the reality.

I'm a middle aged, middle class, white, female writer and educator who loves her family, friends, animals, nature, learning, art, color and shiny things. I love my students and believe in them. I think babies and elderly people who have been in love with each other for decades are cute. I am intelligent, have minor physical and mental health issues and can't keep the house clean. I am emotional and expressive. I haven't had the money to visit international destinations as much as I would like. I've overcome some serious obstacles with the help of others. I cook healthy, basic meals, struggle with weight gain but exercise regularly. I often engage in body hatred. I can unconditionally love, even some of those whom many people would consider unlovable. With others, I have zero patience and that leaks into my communications. I am a pretty normal person. I lead a less than exciting life, though I consider it meaningful and somewhat successful. And especially when I get stressed or bored, I turn to my imagination.

It's something I've done since I was a kid. I've talked before about how I used to take long walks and narrate my life in my head. "She was cautious as she considered her mother's warnings that she should stay on the side of the street and never take rides from strangers." Even then, my life wasn't exactly thrilling and I had good reason to want to escape, but narrating made everything seem bigger than it was. As I got older, I learned to embellish. I was a model in beauty camp, out for my daily exercise. I was a dancer, preparing for the next ballet. I was a runaway, stealing apples from farmers' trees. I was a tough boy daring anyone to mess with him.

Press the skip ahead button. I'm a woods elf making an epic journey somewhere for some crucial purpose. I'm a man. I'm a mother fleeing with her children to the forest camp that the invaders have not yet discovered. I'm an unrequited lover pining away for a chance glimpse of my object de amor, a meeting of the eyes, a brush of the hand. I'm a pretty woman with a blackbelt and a gun. I'm a famous writer with enough money to save a goodly portion of the Eastern seaboard. I'm a whistleblower who brings down white collar criminals and saves the nation billions of dollars. I'm the one with endless energy and resources and a beautiful body, but I've never become disconnected with the poor and oppressed. I'm tough and gritty and people think I'm cool and that doesn't embarrass me in the least. The camera rolls to the tune of rock music and people are interested in my life's dramas.

There are some pretty hot sexual fantasies in there somewhere, too, but that's private.

The point is, I've not outgrown hanging out in unreality. I guess you could say that daydreaming is my drug of choice. Writing is often an expression, a fusion of what is and what is definitely not, the lines pretty indecipherable to readers who care to make Freudian passes at my work. And yes, I kind of stick my tongue out and say, "You don't really know what's in my head. My thoughts are mine and I share what I want to." And thank God there are no mind readers, because some of those thoughts are real doozies. I guess that's kind of normal, though. I would hate to be a mind reader. I have enough of a burden dealing with my own thoughts.

Some people escape into narcotics, some into partying, some into sex, some into gambling and others into even more risky business. Some people escape into exercise or making money. Some people escape into their work and/or creative efforts (I can be like that). Others, like my husband, escape into things like game playing. We all need to escape somehow, but the way we do it and the frequency with which we do it must be monitored. Are the escapes healthy? Are they too often? Are they taking over our lives?

As an imaginative writer, I have to be even more aware of potential imbalances, keeping one foot in reality, the other in imagination. If the foot in reality is not fully planted, I can easily become undone. And so I set my boundaries accordingly. There have been times in my life when I could not honor those boundaries, and those were bad times. Imagination stole into my real world, a dangerous threat to everything I have built and accomplished. The good news is, I have always gotten out of it. Drugs never allowed me to ruin my life completely, and I have the universal powers of spirit and love as well as earthly angels to thank for that.

I don't know how to end this entry. My thoughts continue their travels to unknown places. I guess that means I will continue to explore and share more on this topic later. In the meantime, here's to imagination and a real world that does indeed need it.

Out

2011-10-14T09:14:00.000-05:00

Out

I have a coat.

I take my hood off anyway.

K.M. Gotthardt

I see YOUR true colors, and that's why I love you.

2011-10-12T16:50:00.002-05:00

Cyndi Lauper

"True Colors"

You with the sad eyes
don't be discouraged
oh I realize
it's hard to take courage
in a world full of people
you can lose sight of it all
and the darkness inside you
can make you fell so small

But I see your true colors
shining through
I see your true colors
and that's why I love you
so don't be afraid to let them show
your true colors
true colors are beautiful
like a rainbow

Show me a smile then
don't be unhappy, can't remember
when I last saw you laughing
if this world makes you crazy
and you've taken all you can bear
you call me up
because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
shining through
I see your true colors
and that's why I love you
so don't be afraid to let them show
your true colors
true colors are beautiful
like a rainbow

What to say, what to say

2011-10-11T06:46:00.000-05:00

This Sunday, I am supposed to read a poem and talk about my work to the Washington Metro Philharmonic Association. I practiced the poem last night and will practice at least a few more times, mostly because I tend to trip over my own alliteration. In the meantime, I am processing what I will talk about in the ten minutes allotted to me (which is plenty of time, by the way).

My work is largely metaphorical and imaginative. In the case of my Battlefield and historic poems, I take on personas to gain a deeper understanding of the people and history of the era. It helps that I am in love with some of the philosophers and poets who had something to say on the Civil War. But what about the personal side of my poems?

In one talk, I found I was contradicting myself, telling the audience my poetry was purely persona when in fact, I can't honestly say that. I read a poem about my hiking in Manassas Battlefield, then looked up and said, "My poetry isn't literal, except when it is." I think the truth is, my poetry is mixed with metaphor and persona guided by experiences and perceptions. There is always a larger context because really, I think confessional poetry tends to be self serving and limited. If a poet doesn't connect his/her work with the larger world, I wonder what the long-lasting point is. Of course, many of these confessional poets who are famous will outlive my legacy, but I am sticking to my philosophy because...because.

In particular, I find my Haiku to be closest to the literal. And yet, they are not autobiographical even though they are inspired by memory. But because readers like to analyze authors' psyches, I get a lot of, "Did that really happen? What in your past made you write that?" The answers are generally, no, that didn't really happen per se and what provoked the expression has more to do with reflections on human nature and behavior than anything else. The emotions of the Haiku are mine in the sense that I am human and have indeed had experiences that provoked these emotions. But most human beings have experienced feelings similar to what I'm recording in the Haiku.

Some of my Haiku are more enigmatic. For example:

Acidic Haiku

Was that battery acid
you poured in my chicken soup?
Excuse me. The phone's ringing.

Katherine Gotthardt

September 28, 2011

This poem just kind of popped out. It didn't spawn from anything specific, though Agatha Christie was most likely lurking in the back of my head. Looking back, though, I see the poem has taken on a meaning of its own. Did someone really pour battery acid in my soup? Of course not. So why battery acid and why chicken soup?

On a metaphoric level, we could argue that chicken soup is supposed to be soothing, but the dinner date added something toxic. What does that say about the relationship? Then the speaker suddenly says the phone is ringing. S/he goes to answer the phone which might actually be ringing (in which case, s/he is lucky to have temporarily escaped) or makes an excuse, recognizing the relationship itself is toxic. The thing here is to look at what is happening or potentially happening in the poem itself and why it is happening, a process not so different from that used to analyze fiction and sometimes even visual art. The problem is, readers tend to want to discover the deep, dark secrets of authors' minds as opposed to looking for larger meaning. I assure you that while I have a deep and sometimes dark mind, my poetry isn't an exact reflection (and neither is my fiction). Those who take a purely literal approach are missing the point.

That said, the action of poetry and prose does stem from the author, so we can legitimately ask ourselves where that action might come from. The problem is, we can't know the answer and end up making assumptions. Really, if I wanted to write about my life, I would tackle memoir or autobiography, but I am not bent on mucking around for the most part. That's what my blogs and journals are for. I am a pretty open person, but when it comes to my private life, I will reveal what I want to when I want to and I thank all very much for neither making assumptions nor probing. Boundaries are to be respected. I cannot stop readers from doing what they wish to do, of course, but they do so at their own risk.

I think I've stepped into a good stream here, one with direction. I might actually know what I will talk about Sunday--unless I completely change my mind of course, which is very likely.

Grounded

2011-10-10T15:06:00.000-05:00

I'm in big trouble. My mom is dying to read my forthcoming novel. She is dying to show it to people. However, she did have a question. She wanted to know if there was anything "vulgar" in the book. (That's classic Mom..."Kathy, don't be vulgar!" She is one of the few people who can be forgiven for calling me Kathy.)

It's probably better that she asked this up front. I had sent her a copy of an anthology I helped put together, and there were some stories in there with foul language. She went to give it to a teacher friend of hers and at the last minute, withdrew the offer. I told her my novel is probably not something she wants to bring to school.

"Kathy, why do you write books like that?" she asked on the phone. "Why can't you write nice books?"

"Mom, it's about people who live on the streets," I said. "It has to be realistic."

Okay, the street thing isn't exactly accurate because the foul language doesn't really come from street people. And the sex scenes don't involve "people of the streets" either. But the novel is gritty. The lives these people lead aren't pretty. There's a lot of poverty, crime and abuse. It's mainly about predatory lenders and bad relationships. And I don't believe in sugar coating.

So Mom asked if the book would be rated X. I told her no, it would be more like R. In my writers' group, my editor friend agreed that the R rating would be accurate. A member of our group looked at me and said, "YOU wrote an R rated novel?" I guess he thought I had been aiming to be the Virgin Mary or something. Anyway, he writes some pretty randy stuff himself, so he will probably buy the book--or at least I hope he will.

I'm too old to be grounded, which is good. But I have another problem. I want to use the book to raise money for homeless shelters, food pantries and other services for the poor. Thing is, many of these places are pretty Christian and might not appreciate realism. Therefore, they might not want this book associated with their cause. Since I'm not always a tactful person, I am not sure how to approach this when the time comes.

Of course, when I do readings, I certainly won't choose the "bad" parts because I would be too embarrassed anyway. I have a partially rotten mind and sometimes a bad mouth, but even I am not about to read a sex scene in front of a group of people. I haven't even read those parts to my writers' group. The wonderful lady who edited my book is probably the only one who has read the thing through. She called those parts "shocking," an adjective I would not have used until I went through and edited the whole thing again this past weekend. She's right.

I guess I better figure this out because my next novel will be even worse than this one, smut wise, not because I want to write smut, but because my characters are not ready to be nominated for sainthood. Then again, neither am I.

Untitled Pseudo-Haiku

2011-10-07T07:23:00.000-05:00

I wish I had a picture of you
just to remind me
what is.

The longer I look at you
the more I recall
I shall surely turn to salt.

Tomorrow comes the cleaner.
What will she find
in the house of my heart?

The reality is
I wish to keep my clothes on.

Why We Write and Other Intellectual Meandering

2011-10-02T09:31:00.000-05:00

In between teaching, writing for the local print media, finishing up a contract, running a household and launching a non-profit, I've been thinking about my writing, particularly since the galley of my novel has been dropped in my inbox and I will start reviewing it this week to make sure everything looks the way I think I want it to look before it goes to print. I say "I think" because I know that no matter how many times I review a piece, upon print, I will look at it and say, "This could have been better if..." The reality is, though, that first, at some point an author has to put a piece away and call it "done," and that second, publishers don't care a whit about an author's neurotic compulsion to edit interminably. If you want to keep a publishing contract, you best not submit endless changes prior to the release. If you find yourself wanting to change your manuscript that much, your best bet is to withdraw the submission if possible and re-write. Your publisher is not there to hold your hand through the revision process. By the time your work reaches the galley point, you should be comfortable enough to say, "This is okay to go as it is. It's not perfect, but I will never be completely satisfied with my work because I'm an artist who understands communication, self expression and meaning are living things. Thus, what I write today will most likely prove lacking tomorrow." After five revisions or more, I say, let's just go with what I have today.

There's a practical reason for this approach as well--other than the fact that publishers won't put up with artistic vacillating. Making last minute changes is expensive, and making changes post publishing even more so. I've learned this the hard way, having had to make changes to my other two books through Amazon. Every change puts me more financially in the hole. The sooner you learn that, the sooner you learn why your editor has a fit every time you decide your book doesn't meet your own artistic standards. I say again--if you think you will have to make that many changes by the time your novel is approaching print, withdraw it. You clearly have not finished your own editing process and you do not have the right to inflict your process on anyone else's dime. That may sound harsh, but it's the reality of the biz and, while we authors live with at least one foot in imagination, we must keep the other foot firmly grounded if we want our work to be distributed to the public.

I'm not degrading the artistic process in the least. I began my novel draft in 2006 through National Novel Writers Month and didn't do much with it until 2008 when I added a bit to it. In 20009, I added a great deal to the plot and character development. From there, the novel again sat on my hard drive until an editor friend told me it had merit and deserved my attention. So in 2010, I gave it the additional, extensive attention it warranted, and she kindly edited the format, which was a mess. No credible publisher would have given my book a second glance had my friend not offered her professional services. When I get rich (or at least make some money), she will be the first to benefit. I figure I owe her at least $10,000.

My point is, I had to go through many revisions, many sessions of feedback and many mental processes before I decided the book was mostly where I wanted it to be and was, indeed, the most it could be. I have to edit some more during this galley phase, but I can tell you I won't be editing very much because if I start doing that, I will have to carry through all the changes which will cause me and the publisher great angst. I'm not into pain, and I sincerely doubt my publisher is, either.

Here's another reality--getting a book out to the public is hard work that often feels unrewarding, especially when you want to be writing and not marketing. But if you approach marketing in another way, you can make the experiencing meaningful. First, you have to challenge yourself--or find a publisher who will. My publisher expects me to sell at least 500 books, and I aim to meet that challenge. But that's not all I aim to do. Through my non-profit, I aim to raise money for charities by selling my books and highlighting the books of other authors who are also trying to raise money for charities. This venture is good for everyone--authors, charities and small publishers. I am focusing on authors who are still largely unknown because well known authors, while they may have more capital, aren't as needy as us newcomers. And while a well-known author might be able to contribute more to charities, there is something to be said for the widows' mite. A good, charitable organization will recognize that. The fundraising might be slow, but it can be long-term, which does add up.

I will not pretend my motives are completely altruistic, even though I know I won't earn much more than my overhead. I want my work out there. I think what I have to say through my writing is important, and I want people to get the message. While I try not to be too didactic in my creative writing, lessons certainly can be learned through the characters, plots and themes, but I believe any good piece of literature should leave the reader with something to think about. If my readers finish my books and toss them, I know I have partially failed, not because I think we should cater to the lowest common denominator, but because ultimately, we should be communicating through our self expressions. So that has become another mission for me, which makes marketing meaningful.

Another selfish motive I have is being given the opportunity to chat with writers and readers at public events--for free. There's nothing better than exchanging ideas in a dynamic setting while selling books. Writers can always learn from one another, and they should always listen to their readers, whether the readers are offering negative comments or not. How else will we know how we are being interpreted? Listening to negativity is not easy to stomach, and every writer feels to defend his/her own work, but that doesn't mean we should dismiss the reader. We have to sell books, after all. Readers are our customers. Back to reality--we can't forget who our customers are.

I don't think writers are inherently customer service oriented. We tend to be introverts who are proud of our efforts and who want to be respected for our talents. It's our beastly nature. Chatting with customers goes against our nature and puts us out of our comfort zone, but if we want to reach the public, we have to be able to relate to the public, or at least a portion of that public. It's good to find a niche, but don't we want to reach out even more? For example, an academic writes a book about anthropology. Other academics say "wow," and the book helps the author keep his/her job. Okay, but where does it go from there? Will the book reach an audience of students? Can the theories be explained in a way that makes sense and makes a difference to the rest of the world? We authors don't have to be immortal, but I think we should have higher goals than just selling or making ourselves feel good, especially since most of us will not end up rich or famous.

I am probably being very preachy in this post, but I am also driven by some higher motives. I don't like to waste my time with the superficial, and I do think patting myself on the back for publishing is mostly masturbatory. Look, if you want to have an orgasm, you should go all the way and make love, really connect. Life isn't about the quick and easy. At least that's what I think.

Just for Fun

2011-09-19T16:03:00.000-05:00

Pardon me, sir, but
that's my amor on the floor.
Would you mind picking it up?

Teaching Highs et al

2011-09-17T03:25:00.002-05:00

Alas, it is 3:32 a.m. according to my computer clock. I am here. I am awake. I can't sleep. My stomach hurts. My back hurts. My knee hurts. My hands hurt. Everything hurts. So why not write about teaching? Doesn't everyone do that at 3:32 in the morning when they feel like crapola?

I guess maybe they do if they are awake and have been thinking about a specific topic. And if they are writers. And if they are sitting in front of a computer. And if they are sipping a cup of hot milk with sweetener, vanilla and cinnamon in it. I mean, why not, right? No point in wasting the brain when it's just the rest of the body that's causing trouble.

So when I was in grad school earning my M.Ed. with a concentration in writing, I had this wonderful instructor who taught a class called "Drama and Improvisation in the Classroom." I thought, well, I am not sure how much I am going to use this class, but it sounds interesting. So I took it.

The lady who taught it had a strange and fascinating background. She had completed clown school. She had been a professional mime. She had taught. She had studied Japanese poetry and Buddhism, and she practiced Zen and meditation. And she wasn't a hippie. I had never met anyone like her. She was funky and smart and, in the world of academia, way off the beaten path.

This class--one of the first things the instructor taught us was how to be "present," how not being present when teaching was obvious to students, how being bored or distracted manifested itself in the group. Learning from a teacher who is not present is difficult. Controlling a class when the teacher is not present is next to impossible.

I had no idea what she meant by being "present." But I soon learned. It was being in the moment, plunging heart, soul, mind and body into the very cell of a second, putting everything else away so that the only thing that can be focused on is the exact here and now.

I will never forget how she taught us to do that.

She made us mime. To do this, we had to first turn our backs to the class, center ourselves and concentrate. Then, we had to turn around and act out whatever it was that had popped into our heads. We didn't really have time to think about what we wanted to do. It had to be improvisational and real.

In the moment when my back was turned, I recall becoming a man in a shabby hat, a disheveled man, a despondent man, a man in his mid 50's who had lost his job and, because of falling on hard times, wore more years on his face than in his body. I don't know why. I can just tell you that I turned around, looked at the floor, walked slowly towards the class, stopped, looked up with an I-don't-know-what kind of sad expression, shrugged my shoulders, looked down again, turned around and walked away.

The teacher said it gave her chills. She said I "got it."

I don't think I got it because I'm a great actress. Actually, I'm a lousy actress. I have a hard time memorizing anything, I get stage fright, I tighten up and can't get it out of my head that I am supposed to be someone I am not. But in this class, I wasn't someone I was not. Somewhere, I connected with this man who had lost his job. I connected with a person who had taken a financial fall, who had become socially marginalized and who held sadness in his very gut. And I think these connections had to do with empathy as well as the willingness to confront something painful in another, something in all of us.

When I teach (adult ed), I generally become animated, and I want to be that way because if I am not into what I am teaching, the class isn't going to be either. Especially if the class is in the morning, I can maintain that animation. I can be in the moment, be present, really connect with the ideas and the students I want to give those ideas to. In the afternoon, it gets a lot harder. I need a nap. I am really tired. And nights? If I have to, then, yes. I can usually get over the lags with a cup of coffee, but I don't like to drink so much coffee. It's bad for the stomach. I'm not about to try to kick the habit again, though, because it's a rough ride, and I've got too many other things to think about. Giving up coffee just isn't a priority, and it's not going to kill me to drink a cup or two a day.

Back to the topic. My friend and I sometimes talk about getting a "teaching high." In my opinion, teaching highs are some of the most pleasurable things on the planet. It happens when there's an energy in the classroom, an energy of learning, interest, creativity, fun, enthusiasm and understanding. It happens when I am really present and everyone is engaged and the lesson and the students are the only thing that matter. Some people might claim it's just adrenaline. It's not. There's really nothing like it, and if you haven't experienced it, what I am saying won't make much sense.

Conversely, teaching highs aren't something I like to get at night because I get revved and have difficulty falling asleep after--too many thoughts, too much excitement, too many lessons being planned, too much analyzing. "Go to sleep, Katherine. You can make that handout tomorrow." The morning after a teaching high can be like a hangover. I'm exhausted. I have a headache.

I don't know if K-12 teachers get teaching highs, because I've always taught adults. I doubt I could be present if I had to be reminding a bunch of little kids to sit still and stop eating crayons AND teach a lesson AND do all the paperwork, or if I had to reprimand Julie and Tommy who were trying to make out in the back of the class. Nope. Those skills are just not on my personal talent tree. I give K-12 teachers a lot of credit. I would lose my mind.

Which brings me back to thinking about my current state of mind and the fact that my computer now reads 4:14, which means I have been writing for about 45 minutes. How ridiculous is that? But I guess that's what I get for being a writer. And a teacher. And a sad, aging man in a beat up hat.

It's Not About You.

2011-09-11T07:28:00.000-05:00

Whenever I attend a writers' workshop, I am reminded how slippery words really are, how easily misinterpreted by the reader, how baffling for the writer and how amazing for both that the connections between text, eye and mind are so easily injured.

What I learned long ago was that readers think it's about them, not only literally as in the case of friends, family, colleagues and enemies, but subconsciously as an audience that processes words through lenses of personal experience, levels of understanding and long-held assumptions. In the end, it's amazing writers can get any message through at all.

The thing is this: it is a long held belief that the author should not explain his/her piece in a workshop, will not have the opportunity to do so in most books and will hardly ever be there to tell a reader, "You're way off, dude." In general, works are read without context. And while it is true that a piece should be able to stand on its own, in doing so, the writing stands without any buffers. And so the "it's all about me" myth continues, as do attempts to probe into the writer's mind when the writer isn't even present to discuss what he/she had in mind at the time of the writing, leaving the writer vulnerable to the weaknesses inherent to language and thought.

I often think of J.R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy in which good/versus evil and the various characters have been interpreted as a Christian teaching or allegory. And yet, in a 1971 interview, Tolkien said he did not intend the trilogy to be anything of the sort, nor did he intend his characters to represent Christ. Of Frodo's struggles carrying the ring of power, Tolkien said, "But that seems I suppose more like an allegory of the human race. I've always been impressed that we're here surviving because of the indomitable courage of quite small people against impossible odds: jungles, volcanoes, wild beasts...they struggle on, almost blindly in a way." (See here for more: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-G_v6-u3hg)

I cannot speak for most writers, but I can say that when I write and even when I read, I am constantly looking for the larger metaphor, for archetypal themes and universal context. Writing, I think, should transcend us and that looking at a piece of writing as simply a narrative of the writer's life or mind is superficial and misleading. No reader can possibly be in the mind of the writer, and to believe s/he can marks self-centeredness, hubris, ignorance or all three. Likewise, writers ought to know that readers will always take away what they will--which should leave us all humbled by our human limitations.

Thanks John from SALT for sending this out!

2011-09-05T14:14:00.001-05:00

Different Backgrounds

Msgr. Tom Cassidy’s Homily (August, 2011)
Rev. Msgr. Thomas J. Cassidy, Pastor Emeritus

St. Mark Catholic Church

9970 Vale Road

Vienna, Va 22181

My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. (Isaiah 56)

St. Matthew’s gospel (Mt 15:21-28) provides another illustration of how Jesus’ earthly mission of bringing grace and salvation was not limited to the people of Israel. Rather, it was extended to women and men of every nation and religious persuasion. We are familiar with other gospel narratives which confirm this reality – e.g., the Samaritan woman at the well; the Good Samaritan who cared for the man who had fallen prey to the viciousness of robbers.

In Matthew’s gospel account, it appears that Jesus and his disciples are irritated by the impertinence of the Canaanite woman, a pagan, who asks Jesus to heal her daughter. “Get rid of her,” the disciples urge, “she keeps shouting after us.” Jesus’ response seems to confirm the animosity which existed between the Israelites and Canaanites: “My mission is only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” (Mt 15) Jesus’ tense response was consistent with the division which clearly drew the lines of appropriate association within the culture of that day. But then Matthew went further, to show that Jesus was a person who was willing to “step over the line.”

When we seek to make practical application of Matthew’s gospel narrative, we can easily recognize that even in our day we still run into biases, prejudices and vilifications within the community of Faith. It is sometimes difficult, even for “good-living” Catholics, to be open and sharing with people who are of different ethnic, racial or religious backgrounds. I recall, for example, just several years ago when I was pastor of St. Anthony parish in Falls Church. It was difficult for the “old guard” there to accept the demographic fact that the Culmore area was fast becoming an enclave of Spanish-speaking Catholics. How often I heard the expression: “These people are coming in here and taking over our church!” Just think about that expression: “…taking over our church!” Excuse me!! That seems to run counter to what the Lord said through the prophet Isaiah: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples.” (Isaiah 56)

A decade ago terrorist attacks in New York, at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania took the lives of several thousand American citizens. Since then Arabs and other Muslims have been subjected to all sorts of vilification and mistrust. Even the condemnation of terrorism by devout Muslims has been viewed with skepticism.

Having grown up in Philadelphia, the so-called “City of Brotherly love,” I experienced the racial riots which racked the city. The National Guard was ordered to ride the trolley cars and elevated trains with rifles and fixed bayonets. Areas of the city were populated by separate groups of blacks and whites – segregation was rampant. When I was in the Seminary I thought that I had learned to cast-off racially negative fears and attitudes. I was shocked, years later, to discover that they were (and still are somewhat) part of my psychological conditioning which needs constant monitoring or correcting.

Your prejudices and biases may be somewhat different than mine. I suspect, however, that each of us has a few areas of concern relating to persons who are simply “different.” Racism, ethnic biases and cultural influences are frequently like “the worm that never dies.” (Mark 9:48) In our Eucharistic liturgies we often sing: “One bread, one body, one Lord of all. One cup of blessing which we bless; and we, though many, throughout the earth, we are one body in this one Lord.”

It isn’t always easy to accomplish such unity; but it is the Lord’s command that we keep trying.

Two Opportunities for Authors

2011-09-05T12:58:00.002-05:00

Two Opportunities for Authors

Collaboration with the Washington Metropolitan Philharmonic Association

Celebrating its 40^th Anniversary, WMPA is launching a campaign called “WMPA 360º,” inviting audience members to explore performances from multiple perspectives—not just through listening, but through enjoying visual art, wine and food inspired by some of the works in the program. WMPA would like to add a literary component.

WMPA would like to commission five works: an essay, short story or poem for each of the following concert series and pieces of music:

· October 16 and 23 – Bernstein’s Candide or Copland’s Lincoln Portrait (author’s choice)

· December 11 and 18 – Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Suite

· February 12 and 19 – Franck’s Symphony in D minor

· March 31 and April 1 – Debussy’s Nocturnes

· May 19 and 27 – Sibelius’s Violin Concerto or Dvorak’s Symphony No. 6 (author’s choice)

Authors may also write about music in a general sense without focusing on the pieces described above.

All music is available on YouTube.

Requirements:

• Works must be between 50 and 6,000 words.

• Submit a .pdf or Word version of logo and/or tagline (if there is one) for inclusion in WMPA marketing.

• Submit an emailed copy of the completed essays, short stories and/or poems by October 1^st.

• Complete a signed release giving WMPA ownership rights for the work (including the right to sell, publish, distribute, etc.).

• Authors will appear at the concert series in which their works will be featured (note that WMPA performs each concert in DC and Alexandria and would want the author to appear at both); WMPA would like the author to speak about the work as part of their pre-concert talk beginning at 2:15 p.m.

In exchange for this, WMPA will:

• Pay a $100 honorarium to each author.

• Print and distribute the work to WMPA donors.

• Publicize the author and author’s organization as collaborators with WMPA in this project.

• Publicize in WMPA print materials including their season brochure, pre-concert mailers, press releases and concert programs for each of WMPA’s three orchestras (Washington Metropolitan Philharmonic, Washington Metropolitan Youth Orchestra and Washington Metropolitan Concert Orchestra).

• Publicize in WMPA online materials including the website and e-newsletter.

Email submissions to Sheyna Nicole Burt, snburt.lawdiva@gmail.com.

Performance Opportunity with Old Bridge Chamber Orchestra.

Prince William-based Old Bridge Chamber Orchestra-- all volunteer and a member of the Arts Council—is introducing a program called “Fourth Saturdays with OBCO.” In addition to performing four orchestra concerts this season, OBCO is hosting small ensemble performances (solos, duets, trios, etc.), each performed on the fourth Saturday of the month during concert season. OBCO is inviting writers to submit proposals for one of OBCO’s small ensemble concert spots.

The Fourth Saturday performances will be held at 3:00 PM at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church located at 15695 Blackburn Road, Woodbridge, Virginia.

Interested spoken word performers should send by September 9^th a written proposal which includes: 1) the full names of all of the performer(s); 2) brief descriptions of the performance or writing experience of the performer(s); 3) the name(s) and author(s) of the work(s) that will be performed; 4) whether the writer would like half of a concert (35 minutes) or a whole concert (70 minutes – note there would be an intermission); and 5) the dates preferred (September 24^th, October 22^nd, November 26^th, January 28^th, March 24^th, May 26^th, and June 23^rd).

Email submissions to Sheyna Nicole Burt, snburt.lawdiva@gmail.com.

Start of some lyrics

2011-09-03T06:31:00.000-05:00

Been really listening to some lyrics lately (not that I don't always do that--I can't hear a song without trying to figure out what the singer is saying), and I had these running through my head. Don't know if I will bother revising. I don't have a reason to write lyrics. These just kind of came out. They're not very good, but whatever.

==================================

What you say comes out of murky water,

what lives beneath I do not want to know.

And when you talk, I'm listening very closely,

but my heart knows where to go.

Cause I've met you a hundred times now,

your face has changed, but so much is the same.

So I will give the things I'd give a stranger,

but I will never ask your name.

Just because I smile and nod

doesn't mean I believe you.

Just because I laugh with you

doesn't mean I trust you.

Just because I meet your eye

doesn't mean I want you.

Just because

just because

it's you.

You seemed to think so very deeply,

each word you said I thought meant something more,

but there's no safe place to walk 'round blindly.

So I've learned to lock the door.

Don't get me wrong--it's not that I don't like you.

Don't get me wrong--it's not that I don't care.

But when there's a million who are like you,

you just have to be aware that

just because I smile and nod

doesn't mean I believe you.

Just because I laugh with you

doesn't mean I trust you.

Just because I meet your eye

doesn't mean I want you.

Just because

just because

it's you.

I know I don't know what you're thinking,

and I've learned it's best I never ask.

So I'll keep the waves of conversation rolling

on the present, not the past.

Cause somewhere underneath your liqid surface

lives a thing that needs a cage,

but it's not my job to keep it for you,

so listen to me when I say,

just because I smile and nod

doesn't mean I believe you.

Just because I laugh with you

doesn't mean I trust you.

Just because I meet your eye

doesn't mean I want you.

Just because

just because

it's you.

Tenacious Poodle

Buying into Boobs

Turning Point for the Suffragists: A Memorial Planning

Perps, Pedophiles and Rapists

Valle de Bravo, Mexico, Part I: From the (edited) Hand-Written Journal of Me

Processing with Gratitude

What kind of nation are we? I know. I've asked that before.

My Mexico Journal--unedited from hand-written notebook, parts I and II

A Related Immigration Item

Emails to my family while I was in Mexico

What I Learned in Mexico

Runinng Away from Home? Not Even Possible.

Love You, David, Always!

How I Welcome 2012

Creative Exercises

It was so fun the first time, let's do it again!

One of the most beautiful songs ever.

Loreena McKennitt - Dante's prayer

Ima Geek

Merry Christmas (with a new word for the day)

Though it's not a White Christmas, it still feels pretty hiemal out there. Stay warm and enjoy this blessed holiday, everyone!

Word of the Day for Sunday, December 25, 2011

All set with that.

All Agape

a·ga·pe

Christmas Present

Lost and Returned: Our Love, Cosmo Kitty

Enigmatic Man

Self Explanatory

A Plug for Approaching Felonias Park

Heaven, Hell and Politicians

Stop, Drop and Roll

Día de acción de gracias

Cool Song

If I Were a Beautiful Woman

Pumped Up for NaNoWriMo

Eva Obsession

Happy Halloween!

Celebrate nyctophobia.

Word of the Day for Monday, October 31, 2011

Proposed Tuition Increases in VA

Evita

Unreality Check

Out

I see YOUR true colors, and that's why I love you.

Cyndi Lauper

"True Colors"

What to say, what to say

Grounded

Untitled Pseudo-Haiku

Why We Write and Other Intellectual Meandering

Just for Fun

Teaching Highs et al

It's Not About You.

Thanks John from SALT for sending this out!

Two Opportunities for Authors

Start of some lyrics