tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-224551292024-03-06T22:20:08.159-06:00The Grand Duchy of Susania, Wherein Various Vicissitudes Waft ForthSusaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.comBlogger370125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-79903840981878722622023-12-13T13:05:00.004-06:002023-12-13T13:13:36.325-06:002023 Christmas LetterDear Friends and Family,<p>Another year has been survived, and I am glad the weather has cooled off and the holidays are half-done. Looking back over the past 11 months, I cannot think of anything particular that I can drape as a blanket description over 2023. People have come and gone (I'm still ticked off, Beth!), travel has been.... travelled, and I have watched much television and done much crafting.<br /><br />I guess the biggest unavoidable story is that my mom has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. As I write this letter, she has had two rounds of chemo with the hope that it will buy her some more time, even though we know it is no actual cure; pancreatic cancer + stage 4 = you're done. I'm really proud of her calm attitude towards the whole thing (the cancer is also in her liver). The outpouring of support and concern for her has been amazing, to say the least; from phone calls to delivered meals to unexpected yard work from neighbors, fellow parishioners, and friends. She is feeling grateful and at this stage, reasonably comfortable. The diagnosis came in the first week of October, and the average lifespan is 2-4 months without chemo. So me and my sisters (who are all fortunately here in Nashville) are trying to pack in all of the conversations and tie up all of the loose ends. <br /><br />As some readers may know, my father died from leukemia when I was three, so I think I have always considered that THAT was the one and only big medical illness that would affect our family; sort of like a law of averages. When I ran into a deer with my car when I was 30, I referred to it as having hit MY deer – I think you only ever hit one deer in a lifetime. So having both parents with extreme cancer is the kind of thing that makes me go "so why couldn't I win the lottery instead of this?"<br /><br />In August, me and my mom and sisters went to Quebec for almost a week to celebrate her 80th birthday, and had a really great experience. We had no clue this was on the horizon, but looking back she was having some aches and symptoms that were almost certainly related to the cancer. But there were beautiful cities and scenery and meals, and we all really liked Quebec. The six months I spent daily on Duolingo trying to refresh my French in preparation was almost completely worthless, as I could never come up with the right sentences as quickly as needed, and it really wasn't necessary 99% of the time. I recommend both Quebec City and Montreal if you like walking up VERY STEEP hills.<br /><br />This past January I returned to my yearly work convention (this time in New Orleans) for the first time since covid started in 2020; for two years we did virtual meetings, which meant around 95% of what I typically do to prepare was unnecessary. So last December was stressful, as I added back all of my previous tasks and some new ones as well. My nieces Emma and Ginny got to come work with us this year for the first time, and I must say, I love having the opportunity to spend this much quality time with them as young adults. They are joining us again in January for our meeting in San Antonio, which makes me very happy! <br /><br /><b>Hobby Updates</b> I resumed singing in my church choir this year after being very erratic about it for the last few years. You really can get burned out on almost anything you like, wouldn't you say? So I needed some time away before I could return with any enthusiasm. For a while there I was afraid I had really lost a lot of my upper vocal range, and would only be good for weakly singing with the bass section. I had even gone so far as to look up doctors at the Voice Clinic here at Vanderbilt. Then one day a few weeks ago I realized I was able to sing almost back in my normal range, so that was a relief! Apparently covid has caused some loss of vocal range for many singers.<br /><br />As many of you know I am a knitter/crocheter/embroiderer, and have been since my childhood. Back in September I discovered Beading as a craft, and am completely enamored with it. I'm pretty much just making stars with beads at the moment (LOTS of Christmas ornaments), but the way you zip and weave the beads together is very satisfying, and I highly recommend it for a therapeutic exercise, and very suitable for people with OCD since it has to all fit together perfectly to work. The name of the kind of bead-weaving I am doing is called Peyote, which cracks me up. It looks like a fabric woven from beads.<br /><br />I am still obsessively watching Chinese television dramas. I've discovered that the good ones can be rather hard to find, and so I have re-watched a half-dozen or so of the best ones multiple times while I dig frantically for worthwhile series, and wait for new shows to be aired; apparently 2023 has been a bad year for good Cdrama. If you spend any time around me, you know that I am apt to bring the topic of Chinese culture and societal norms into almost any conversation, but I usually preface it with an apology before rambling off on the subject.<br /><br />I have started reading translations of some of the novels these series are based upon, and found a strange new world... they are mostly what are called web novels, which means they were self-published online in Dickensian-style installments, and once they gain a large readership or any significant popularity, they might be optioned and made into a series. One of the tropes that is apparently SUPER popular is spontaneous time-travel from the present to the ancient past, wherein the traveler is stuffed into the body of someone (often quite younger) who has just died, and gets to carry with them all of their modern knowledge and confidence, and merge it with the original memories of the person whose life they have taken over. However, the censorship for television in China is pretty strict, and for some reason they have decided in recent years that historical dramas with fantasy elements like this as a plot point are “not good” for China, so the time traveler aspect of these stories is usually removed altogether, so the hero/heroine is just extremely smart/talented. They LOVE to send back doctors, engineers, scientists, or anyone with a skill set that would give them a significant advantage when introduced into a pre-modern society. It's a strange and fascinating world. If you want to sit and listen to me go on about the differences in cultural morality, I will be happy to oblige you! While I recognize that popular TV shows are not necessarily an accurate portrayal of a society's moral code, it is hard to avoid seeing their attachment to portraying certain habits.<br /><br />There are a lot of series that are basically Chinese mythology combined with fairy tales, and not just for kids. But bear in mind that their mythology has reincarnation built in, which is a convenient way to fix problems or stretch out a story. Immortality, magic pills and medicines, and martial arts are juxtaposed with high school bullying techniques. My word, they love to bully people in these stories! Very much a "might makes right" world.<br /><br />Recommendations from 2023:<br /><br /><b>A Dream of Splendor</b> (Chinese drama, available on Amazon Prime). This one actually came out last year, but I didn't want to put two Chinese shows in last year's letter! This show is one of the best in terms of story, script, acting, themes, etc. It's more realistic and subtle, and I believe more historically accurate. It's the story of a woman named Zhao Pan'er and two of her friends, who struggle as single women to live a good life in a society that resists women trying to do business or be self-sufficient. It's very satisfying; they are all smart and talented, and there's a happy ending and a good love story. It's visually beautiful, and the costumes are a treat to look at. This is NOT a simple watch; there are subtitles, all the names seem the same, and there's a learning curve to understand how that world works. But if you've enjoyed watching Game of Thrones or Lord of the Rings, then you'll be fine; it's just a different world than ours.</p><p><b>The Boys</b> by Ron and Clint Howard. This autobiography by the Howard brothers (one famous, one less so) is unique in the history of Hollywood biographies, in that these two kids grew up in show business in a healthy, balanced home. Their parents were simply amazing; as good actors themselves that never really made it, they did bit parts when they could, and the rest of the time managed their sons' careers. They raised their children to be excellent human beings, and apart from some addiction issues for Clint, their lives have turned out well, with little of the tragedy and traumas of other child stars.</p><p><b>CROWD-PLEASER</b> by Maria Bamford (comedy album). I've recommended her albums before; on this one she talks about mental health, 12 step programs, cults, and her family. I think she's hysterical, and can really hit the nail on the head, especially when she talks about being brought up in the church. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6MneIczDLq4&t=20s" target="_blank">Youtube link</a></p><p>I'd say that's plenty long enough, wouldn't you? I hope you are having a lovely holiday season, with just enough ordinariness that life doesn't feel like you have to eat chocolate for every meal. A party atmosphere every day is EXHAUSTING!<br /><br />Love,<br /><br />Susan<br /><br /></p>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-42018084683421473832023-06-28T18:39:00.000-05:002023-06-28T18:39:22.784-05:00Tribulation Trauma <p><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Facebook comment, October 6, 2015</span></p><div style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); font-family: -apple-system, HelveticaNeue; font-size: 17px;"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><span dir="auto" lang="en"><div><div dir="auto">Hi Don... this post showed up in my Facebook news feed, and I thought I'd read your blog. I wanted to tell you that while I find it entirely believable that we may be on the edge of a great societal upheaval, I am dubious about it being necessarily the End Times. In part, because I have heard you and my other pastors give their congregations these same warnings, with almost identical phrases, for over 40 years. As a 12-year-old at Belmont Church, I was so completely convinced that the Seven Last Years would come at any moment, I did not believe that I would live to be an adult. Let that sink in - I was certain I would not live to be twenty. I had no hope for the future, beyond going to heaven when I was executed for being a Christian, if I was strong enough to not deny Christ. Which, after all, is what those Chick Tracts at Koinonia Bookstore told me would happen. I knew enough to know that we couldn't be certain when the rapture would take place, and so it was best to prepare for the worst-case scenario.</div></div><div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">We were prepared to be right with God and prepared to die in the End Times because scriptural prophecies were all pointing to it happening soon... in the 70s. In the 80s. In the 90s. And now in the 21st Century. Our family looked into buying a farm way out in the country to hide away, and my mom read up on edible plants. And I tried day after day to find peace instead of fear that I would be tortured for being a Christian. Even now if I wake at 3 am, I will stay awake thinking about what I will do when our world begins to collapse. Will I literally run into the hills, taking nothing with me?</div></div><div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">It's not that I disbelieve scripture in regards to the End Times. But I do question spiritual leaders saying that they KNOW something is about to happen. Because to this day I bear the trauma of fear and anxiety of believing I would not live to grow up, because you told me I wouldn't. Not to my face... not to me personally. But to the congregation of adults I sat within, and my parents who believed you too, and then reinforced those teachings at home. Now decades have passed, and it hasn't happened, and I have to wonder what value there is for us as Christians in being perpetually on high alert. Because all it served to do to me was make me terrified, and more focused on how I could achieve a godly death, rather than loving God and my neighbors and living out the Gospel.</div></div><div><div dir="auto"><br /></div><div dir="auto">You are, and always have been, a beloved spiritual leader to me. I will never cease to respect you. You married my parents, you led my dad's memorial service. But I can't help but wonder if I might have ended up leading a less fearful life if I hadn't been led to believe that I would die soon in the Tribulation.</div><div dir="auto">______________________________<wbr></wbr>_______<br /></div></div></span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I don't remember when I first became conscious of the fascination our church had for the End Times/Tribulation/Second Coming/Seven Last Years/Rapture. The visual memory of my personal fear was contained in a Chick Tract from the stack the church had available beside the Christian comic books in the Koinonia Bookstore. I could read Spire Comics' "The Hiding Place" and "Tom Landry and the Dallas Cowboys," then follow it up with a Chick tract on the end times, which for maximum terror had a memorable picture of a man being taken in handcuffs to a portable guillotine on the back of a police motorcycle. <br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I remember my mom reading books on end times prophecy, and sharing the information with us. I remember sermons on The New Age Movement at church, which taught us that unicorns and rainbows, transcendental meditation, some guy called Lord Maitreya, and anything about Eastern religions were part of the beginning of the end. The Rapture was the hoped-for ticket out of the impending horror, but that wasn't a guarantee, since biblical prophecy wasn't entirely clear if it would come at the beginning, middle, or end of the seven years. Nor was it clear if all Christians would be included; it might just be 144,000 of the BEST Christians. I was fairly sure I wasn't one of them. I was terrified that I would break under torture and deny Christ, thereby guaranteeing that I would go to hell.<br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I remember one morning mom sharing a colorful dream she had with us; that all of us and other church friends were hanging by our fingers from the edge of a fiery pit, and one by one we were falling into the abyss. Apparently we were all scared in the dream as we fell one by one into the fire, but it was still a good thing because we would get special credit as martyrs.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I was around 10 years old.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">Since we couldn't count on an early exit with the rapture from the coming hell on earth, my parents started thinking about making preparations to get us off the grid. One Saturday we and another family went out to look at a piece of property about an hour away, with the idea of making it into a farm and building houses. I'm not sure what kept us from following through with this; perhaps the fact that it was going to be an expensive and uncomfortable project. Instead, my mom got a book on edible plants, and I remember us going around the yard trying to identify some of them. I remember Queen Anne's Lace being mentioned as good when dipped in batter and deep-fried, although where we would be getting oil, flour and eggs to accomplish this when on the run from death squads was less clear.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">When I turned 12, I remember doing the very basic math and coming to the conclusion that even if I managed to survive the entire seven years of tribulation, that I wouldn't live to be 20. The fact that my parents had kind of given up on making any sort of preparations (that I was aware of) didn't keep me from grieving that I wouldn't live to grow up. I wouldn't get to be married or have kids, I couldn't be certain that I would come out on the other side of it in heaven, and whenever I might manage to forget for a while the doom hanging over my head, there was sure to be the occasional sermon where our loving pastor Don would put down his Bible and depart from the sermon briefly to remind us that he was absolutely certain that the end times were coming in the next few years.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">In my teen years, I would read the occasional religious novel about the Tribulation and try to mentally prepare myself for the worst, even though in retrospect there wasn't anything else going on in the world that indicated that my life was on a shortened trajectory. The End-Times sermons and prophecies slowly diminished, and my mom stopped reading books by Constance Cumbey. I graduated high school, and I half-heartedly applied to a couple of colleges and was accepted at the one that I could (fortunately) afford. I got my degree, and a job as a secretary on campus for a few years. It was about this time that I realized that I had in fact lived past 20, and I could see no likelihood that the end times were anywhere on the horizon. By this time I was going to Christ Presbyterian Church, where the pastor would carry on the proud religious tradition of occasionally stating with all spiritual and prophetic confidence that we were, in fact, in the End Times right now.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" dir="auto" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">Fear of Tribulation never really left me, even if I stopped being actively afraid of the worst case scenario. When Y2K was on the horizon and everyone started wigging out that computers and power might go out everywhere, I fell into a severe depression that almost made me suicidal; this sort of disaster was always how the End Times started in fiction. I was lucky that I happened to share my fear with my tech guru brother-in-law, who said he'd done some investigating, and that the power grid would not be going down on December 31. In the years before and since, dreams of living rough and trying to hide would happen occasionally, and even now I am tempted to buy camping gear although I hate camping. But on a gut level I still wanted to be prepared, even though I finally came to believe that there would be no tribulation on earth.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" dir="auto" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">About a decade ago, a friend of mine talked on a Facebook post about the dozens of surgeries he had endured since childhood (he had multiple birth defects) and how he wasn't supposed to live to grow up. And he mentioned the traumatic toll that knowledge can have on a life. I understood what he meant. Even now as a woman old enough to be a grandmother, I feel like I haven't really made many significant choices in my life, nor had any dreams I tried to accomplish. I can't remember having had any dreams for my life, beyond just wishing I lived with a different set of circumstances and a different personality. I never dated, never married, never had sex, never fell in love. I feel like I have lived a half-life; I have friends and a job I like and enough money to own a small place of my own and a car. I have hobbies. But my sisters both married and had children, as did my college friends, and so I look on to their lives, not with envy, but with shame that I have failed to live a complete life. Even though I don't feel that marriage and children would have necessarily suited me.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" dir="auto" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I can't blame my condition entirely on End-Times teaching. Both of my sisters got the same dosage of fear and prophecy as I did, yet it seems to have left them untouched. I suspect I am neurodivergent because I was always eccentric, (even though in my adulthood I learned how to hide it better) and that as a result I was more susceptible to coalescing all of this trauma into a burden that made a normal life difficult. But I do blame the church for not taking the hearts and minds of young children into account when teaching this sort of thing. I know I am not the only one to be traumatized by Tribulation teaching.</div></div></div>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-84190388454175735862023-02-10T10:20:00.001-06:002023-02-10T10:25:32.369-06:00I don't like Mr. Darcy<div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">I've been watching a LOT of Chinese historical television dramas (cdrama) in the past year, and after picking up on the stereotypical heroes for these shows, I have decided to say the unthinkable: I don't like Mr. Darcy. And I never have.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu793Vstd02yddL0VwyrNh_kGcPxcVUUfcbSFONBKNLe1GipqZXktJAmXGhKZvYjNEUfJ-I94fGXHHn54Lzj1aRCazJjlvUOXzkJuRysAuH-W51u33xRPbA2x97cfgDT4hLB4h1YVaq60NDQD8raA2a6nvrPzS8bC36zHKwTk06i09i4w0A/s264/eY0Kx8_3f.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="230" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu793Vstd02yddL0VwyrNh_kGcPxcVUUfcbSFONBKNLe1GipqZXktJAmXGhKZvYjNEUfJ-I94fGXHHn54Lzj1aRCazJjlvUOXzkJuRysAuH-W51u33xRPbA2x97cfgDT4hLB4h1YVaq60NDQD8raA2a6nvrPzS8bC36zHKwTk06i09i4w0A/w174-h200/eY0Kx8_3f.jpg" width="174" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Darcy: Li Hong Yi, <br />"Wulin Heroes"</span></td></tr></tbody></table>I know this is controversial; I adore Jane Austen's novels, and most of the film and TV shows made about them. But I do not understand the allure of the strong, silent, SULLEN, UNCOOPERATIVE, JUDGMENTAL hero that has developed in popular culture as a result. Chinese TV is riddled with this sort of hero, and I do not find it attractive; I find it infuriating. Yes, they silently love the heroine, and are "technically" good men underneath their impassive and cold facade. But dear me, they are MISERABLE to be around! It's their way or the highway. They don't like other people, except for their handful of loyal friends or servants, and the heroine. Nobody is good enough for them. But who wants to be with someone like that? Who wants to spend their time with that sort of person?</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VELIU88TiT7_nSnhlKZJF-2I21EZTFoErGNCHOgh4jiHomveOukYTRW_IQOlIzAjqub4DZ15KN7DF_8QRPM344fpPRkMQ2ohSkEa_2SZDgehAxDLNDiqNO1xKSySiYmjGTZOxmc5JlB-a66UK56hOvsKCj0Es53eWExejhO5JcyF2y5HiA/s264/Zhang%20Linghe.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="230" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VELIU88TiT7_nSnhlKZJF-2I21EZTFoErGNCHOgh4jiHomveOukYTRW_IQOlIzAjqub4DZ15KN7DF_8QRPM344fpPRkMQ2ohSkEa_2SZDgehAxDLNDiqNO1xKSySiYmjGTZOxmc5JlB-a66UK56hOvsKCj0Es53eWExejhO5JcyF2y5HiA/w174-h200/Zhang%20Linghe.jpg" width="174" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Not Darcy: Zhang Linghe, <br />"Maiden Holmes"</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I can't help but think of them at family gatherings and parties. Standing beside them, knowing that they hate all these people, and have no interest in being friendly. It would not be fun to do anything with them that involved other people, and that would result in social isolation and diminishing friendships. That, my friends, is a red flag for an abusive partner.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;">So why am I writing about Darcy in the context of Chinese TV dramas? Because he is EVERYWHERE. It is rare for him to not be the hero of their historical dramedies, so when they actually have a cheerful, outgoing and friendly hero, you really feel the difference. The men that smile, that laugh, that happily spend time with new acquaintances and people in general just elevate the mood on these shows, and make me so much happier when I watch them. I do suspect that the Darcy-hero model is a convenient character for casting handsome yet mediocre actors. If all you have to do is stand around and look pretty, impassive, and annoyed the majority of the time, you don't have to be particularly good as an actor.</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdGFB6EPDEkXdQ5Y6ktTHocB4SGlp6Tn9AwqnMLdBzpKkMPZOsawHkBWcljIba9XBOM9L8BtiIaMvzib-7twwcHBUhRpTu8uxTJmvvRkk3Wj50czM_39wGVJypxl_dswXgQWiGoTrtEdY9MsP78ld8jeMgJZ4HERUoIvE6ofpI04zPwSkgA/s163/xing.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="131" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIdGFB6EPDEkXdQ5Y6ktTHocB4SGlp6Tn9AwqnMLdBzpKkMPZOsawHkBWcljIba9XBOM9L8BtiIaMvzib-7twwcHBUhRpTu8uxTJmvvRkk3Wj50czM_39wGVJypxl_dswXgQWiGoTrtEdY9MsP78ld8jeMgJZ4HERUoIvE6ofpI04zPwSkgA/s1600/xing.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Darcy: Xing Zhao Lin, <br />"Choice Husband<br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr></tbody></table>I've known for a while that I didn't particularly care about Darcy when watching various versions of Pride and Prejudice. I should infinitely prefer someone like Bingley, even though he isn't particularly bright. Actually, my favorite Austen hero is Henry Tilney from Northanger Abbey. He is smart, funny, cheerful, and understands human frailty. When the heroine behaves foolishly, he scolds her in a reasonable way, then forgives her. He is more realistic as a balanced human being. Yes, he teases her a lot, and she doesn't always understand him, but he is kind and cheerful. Never underestimate the value of cheerfulness in life!</div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: tahoma, sans-serif;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxWOuGCDrSJMz1Q6Ez0gFyI_fpevG2eAS1TjvM64T28kuQvNkhbVl3JsEIPN_DWbucjX9jxFaZoKCYGuz0ksJl-tFsUAr2ydHtWUUbFNdWPD5nfY-Af_RZWM5S9uFYklsb5vuQjITfn5zWHykQNXg_bDNSVSJTVkQn4YSUoIYBYk8jzpyTA/s163/riley.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="131" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHxWOuGCDrSJMz1Q6Ez0gFyI_fpevG2eAS1TjvM64T28kuQvNkhbVl3JsEIPN_DWbucjX9jxFaZoKCYGuz0ksJl-tFsUAr2ydHtWUUbFNdWPD5nfY-Af_RZWM5S9uFYklsb5vuQjITfn5zWHykQNXg_bDNSVSJTVkQn4YSUoIYBYk8jzpyTA/s1600/riley.jpg" width="131" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Not Darcy: Riley Wang, <br />"Choice Husband"<br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>This realization was brought home to me while watching clips from a new cdrama series called "Choice Husband" (I have watched a few episodes; I don't actually recommend this one). The two male leads in the love triangle at the center of this story really bring out this contrast; the main hero is everything I have described as typical Darcy, the other is cheerful, affectionate, and a joy to be around. The main hero looks like a cold statue most of the time, but the almost perpetually joyful face of the second male lead made him far more enjoyable to watch. I rooted for him to win in every scene he was in.</div>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-28456374157439152452016-02-24T13:24:00.001-06:002016-02-24T13:24:14.787-06:00When "What if..." Becomes a RealitySo as the primaries start ticking off, one by one, and the results are leaning towards Sanders and Trump, over and over again, the impossible is starting to look like it could come to pass. Clinton is still performing extremely well, but when the base (women) that should obviously be supporting her is enamored of an old white guy, she's not the shoo-in we all thought a year ago. And Jeb! is gone now. I knew the Republican field was open this time, but everyone assumed he'd be one of the top players.<br />
<br />
And the most unbelievable one of all is Trump. And yet he's doing so well, despite a slew of contradictory statements that are alternately hateful or a 90-degree turn around from past comments. I don't know anyone who is voting for him. But he keeps winning! If this were an episode of Doctor Who, I would say he was using some sort of mind-control device to sway voters. Oh wait, that WAS an actual episode!<br />
<br />
So "What If" it turns out to be Sanders, the Impossible Socialist, and Trump, the Uncontrollable Narcissist on the 2016 ballot... how might this play out? You could not find two such widely divergent candidates. And neither seems to be in keeping with their own parties. Neither is behaving in a way that indicates that they can be managed by their party leadership. Neither is taking money from corporations (so far).<br />
<br />
What this indicates to me is that as a nation we are EXHAUSTED by politics as usual. And we desperately want a change, even if that change might be counter to our own wishes. We want the banks and corporations to stop buying candidates. We want to hear authentic voices, not ones controlled by money.<br />
<br />
If it goes this way (and I'd prepare for it to!) then there's going to be an absolutely ridiculous choice before Conservatives. Vote for racism, narcissism, political ignorance and childish behavior... or vote for someone who will do everything in his power to continue along the same lines as the despised Obama administration, and even further. How will issues like abortion and same-sex marriage and global warming and welfare weigh against a petulant, undisciplined man-child in the White House?Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-65545613306678503372015-10-16T11:53:00.000-05:002015-10-16T11:53:37.470-05:00How to Articulate This...I SO don't want this to be yet another screed on being single and the value thereof and defining roles and all that bullshit. I really don't. But I feel the need to try and purge some of the frustration I feel about how society subconsciously believes that you've only succeeded in life if you get married.<br />
<br />
I'm the only single person in my family, including cousins. I'm in my 40s, have never been in a relationship, and it seems unlikely to change anytime soon. I'm an introvert who is happiest when working a regular job every day, socializing with friends and family... and then going home to be alone and recharge.<br />
<br />
I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian household, and grew up believing that no matter what else might come to me, that marriage and children would be inevitable and desirable. What I didn't consider was the fact that some minor childhood traumas and fears might make me avoid dating and building relationships with men, as much as I desperately wanted to be in love and be loved in return.<br />
<br />
I had no illusions about who I might end up with; I knew I wasn't pretty or popular or fun enough to be sought by anyone handsome and popular and fun. The best I hoped for was a Mr. Bhaer or a guy who wasn't a Looker but was funny and smart. None of that materialized, because I wouldn't let it. Anyone who seemed interested was immediately rebuffed by me, to my own dismay. I couldn't help it. It wasn't latent lesbianism; having carefully contemplated both paths, I knew where my sexual inclinations most definitely lay.<br />
<br />
But that is not the point of this, although it is it's own boulder of baggage that I still struggle with - avoidance through fear. Years passed, and I lived with roommates and then alone, and for the most part have been happy, barring those 5% of situations when I longed for a mate. And when I reached my 40s and knew that even if I married, I'd probably be unable to have children, I began to contemplate what my future might look like as a permanent old maid.<br />
<br />
Society is not kind to the single, even as it occasionally envies it's freedoms. It completely forgets you, more often than not. You are automatically left out of Family-themed events, or Couples events, or vacationing groups. You might be included in a gender-specific weekend or vacation if you have built those kinds of relationships with others or belonged to a fraternity in college. You're not invited to dinner parties when everyone else is in a couple; you throw off the numbers around the table. At work, you must compensate for those with family emergencies or sick children or spouses, because you are free of such constraints. <br />
<br />
And you are definitely not going to be encouraged to socialize with the opposite sex after a certain point. Close friendships between men and women are fraught with potential misinterpretation by others. I thrive in the company of men. I bloom. I used to love to go to lunch with my male colleagues and college guy friends (back when I saw them daily). This past spring I was temporarily transferred to the Tenor section of my church choir, and I have never enjoyed myself more in a choral setting. I gave myself the title of Lady Tenoress. I'm still mourning being moved back to the Alto section this past fall.<br />
<br />
But I digress. My point is, society wants everyone to be tidily paired off. But it just doesn't work out that way. And when you can't march nicely into Noah's Ark with your mate, it would much rather pretend you don't exist, or reserve you for situations where it doesn't interfere with the flow.<br />
<br />
Smashcut to this past Wednesday night, and another choir practice. A friend in the soprano section in her late 30s has just become engaged, and everyone is over-the-moon happy for her. She's the most deserving, sweet and worthwhile person who ever wanted to be married who got her wish. And yet... and yet... the subconscious relief that everyone feels that another stray member of the pack has been neatly paired off with a mate was almost palpable in the room, as folks talked about how they had found one another so much later than everyone else (how miraculous!), and that people had been praying for her to find someone, and how blissfully happy they were (she wasn't at practice that night so we were free to discuss to our heart's content). And I thought about the Bridal Shower I'd attended some weeks back, and how happy everyone was for her to be married and there were Bible verses and poetry and we were asked to write down wishes and prayers for the happy couple to be put into a box and read later... and I wanted to go out in the hall and fling my music folder against the wall and destroy it. I wanted to scream.<br />
<br />
Because as much as I want a mate sometimes... and as much as I want to be left alone sometimes... I knew in that moment that she had been elevated to the status of a Completed Person. Validated. And that I was not, and would not be, until I was married. It's a validation that no longer is necessary in our Western society; women are no longer chattel, they own homes and cars and are able to live alone in relative safety and peace. But by God, we cannot seem to let go of it yet. My sisters and cousins are all married/have been married, and I could be the most wonderful sister, aunt, daughter, cousin... but I don't really count in quite the same way as them.<br />
<br />
In just over a week she will be married, and I will move on in my mind to other besetting concerns like whether I should get hardwood floors (and how much trouble it will be to shift furniture during the process) or whether to put up a Christmas tree this year (what might the cats do to it?). But in the back of my subconscious I will still regard myself, like the rest of society, as not quite the thing.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-28637022276570420882015-10-06T20:06:00.000-05:002015-10-06T20:07:00.017-05:00In Response to a "Blood Moon = End Times Warning" Post From My Childhood PastorHere's his original post: <a href="https://donfinto.wordpress.com/2015/10/06/what-about-those-blood-moons-2/">https://donfinto.wordpress.com/2015/10/06/what-about-those-blood-moons-2/</a><br />
<br />
Hi Don... this post showed up in my Facebook news feed, and I thought I'd read your blog. I wanted to tell you that while I find it entirely believable that we may be on the edge of a great societal upheaval, I am dubious about it being necessarily the End Times. In part, because I have heard you and my other pastors give their congregations these same warnings, with almost identical phrases, for over 40 years. As a 12-year-old at Belmont Church, I was so completely convinced that the Seven Last Years would come at any moment, I did not believe that I would live to be an adult. Let that sink in - I was certain I would not live to be twenty. I had no hope for the future, beyond going to heaven when I was executed for being a Christian, if I was strong enough to not deny Christ. Which, after all, is what those Chick Tracts at Koinonia Bookstore told me would happen. I knew enough to know that we couldn't be certain when the rapture would take place, and so it was best to prepare for the worst-case scenario.<br />
<br />
We were prepared to be right with God and prepared to die in the End Times because scriptural prophecies were all pointing to it happening soon... in the 70s. In the 80s. In the 90s. And now in the 21st Century. Our family looked into buying a farm way out in the country to hide away, and my mom read up on edible plants. And I tried day after day to find peace instead of fear that I would be tortured for being a Christian. Even now if I wake at 3 am, I will stay awake thinking about what I will do when our world begins to collapse. Will I literally run into the hills, taking nothing with me?<br />
<br />
It's not that I disbelieve scripture in regards to the End Times. But I do question spiritual leaders saying that they KNOW something is about to happen. Because to this day I bear the trauma of fear and anxiety of believing I would not live to grow up, because you told me I wouldn't. Not to my face... not to me personally. But to the congregation of adults I sat within, and my parents who believed you too, and then reinforced those teachings at home. Now decades have passed, and it hasn't happened, and I have to wonder what value there is for us as Christians in being perpetually on high alert. Because all it served to do to me was make me terrified, and more focused on how I could achieve a godly death, rather than loving God and my neighbors and living out the Gospel.<br />
<br />
You are, and always have been, a beloved spiritual leader to me. I will never cease to respect you. You married my parents, you led my dad's memorial service. But I can't help but wonder if I might have ended up leading a less fearful life if I hadn't been led to believe that I would die soon in the Tribulation.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-12852125397391743972015-05-21T10:06:00.000-05:002015-05-21T10:23:00.662-05:00Grrrr...So I had my penultimate radiation treatment this morning, and everything was sailing along as usual; I was on the table, My web mask had my head latched down, the machine was all up in my grill, and the technicians left the room and I waited for the beam to start up. I've mentioned before that when the beam comes on, it's as though my
eye fills with blue light, even with the eyelid closed and a cotton pad
over it. Well, it hiccuped this time. The light stopped, then came back on and resumed radiating.<br />
<br />
When the assistant came in to set me free, I said, "So what was that?" and she stared at me blankly. "That pause in the light?" "There was no break in the light," she said, and I tried to explain that there had been a pause where "the light went away" and then resumed. She didn't understand, and said there had been nothing at all different. But there was a blip in the treatment! I protested, and she condescendingly explained about the superficial red lights that were over my face to help the machine position itself correctly. "No, not that light; I know that's different." "The radiation beam doesn't have a light; you can't see one."<br />
<br />
This went back and forth for a while, where she was dismissing my description, saying none of the equipment registered any blip or glitch, and I was put on the defensive, saying that yes, there WAS something different, and I was just letting her know in case there was something wrong in the machinery that needed to be checked, which she also dismissed. An amazing combination of low-grade passive aggression, condescension, and defensiveness.<br />
<br />
I gave up, and was walking out when I saw the other tech, and asked her. "Oh, that was just the Whatsis resetting; it does that every time."<br />
"No, this was different; there's a blue light that..."<br />
"There's no light."<br />
"I understand there's no visible light. But when the beam comes on, there a blue light that fills my eyeball. It came on and then went off. That has never happened before."<br />
<br />
More back and forth that implied I was being nit-picking for mentioning it, and still not comprehending why I was bringing it up. I simply wanted to let them know there was a blip, and I was interested in why and wanted to let them know in case something needed checking... but they were alternating between claiming that I was wrong, that there was no harm to me (which I knew!) and implying that I was being unnecessarily cautious. It was utterly infuriating.<br />
<br />
So here's what I wished I had said back:<br />
<br />
"Have you ever had external beam radiation in your eye? I THOUGHT NOT. So when I tell you that a blue light fills your eye, you should believe that I know what I'm talking about! I have had 24 of these treatments, and not one of them has ever had a skip in that light until this morning. I'm not complaining, I'm just letting you know in case something needs to be checked. We good? That's all."<br />
<br />
This is not the first time that I have encountered this strange, low-grade defensive impatience. I don't know if it is just the fields of radiation and oncology, but when I bring up concerns or questions, I can get a strange, almost subconscious level of it. Almost an air of "Don't question me," or "You're being high-maintenance." Everyone is SUPER nice and friendly in general, when everything is going along ordinarily. But when I bring up a personal concern, like the fact that my right eye is even more problematic because of the clogged tear duct, and so the skin around that eye is particularly inflamed and painful because I have to continually wipe tears away, I am somehow being whiny. It's like they are inwardly sighing with frustration at me.<br />
<br />
WHY WON'T ANYONE GIVE ME A RECOMMENDATION OF A FACIAL SKIN CARE PRODUCT FOR THIS PROBLEM I CANNOT BE THE FIRST PERSON WITH A QUESTION LIKE THAT IN THE HISTORY OF RADIATION THERAPY?!?! is what I'm beginning to feel like shouting. (By the way, they finally did give me a product recommendation and a sample; it was ordinary Curel Daily Moisture lotion. After asking three times, and being passed off from the radiation oncologist to the oncologist to the eye doctor back to the radiation oncologist. But again, quite passive-defensively. Barely detectable.)Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-18803517010540633112015-05-03T17:05:00.002-05:002015-05-03T17:12:38.210-05:00The Uncertainty of Freedom<h3>
One Long Confession Posting</h3>
When I closed my computer side-business, I did so because I was tired of it and had finally realized that after nine years, I was basically doing nothing much beside working. So many projects contemplated but not begun, so many books unread, cleaning and tidying and organizing simply never even started. The most I ever managed was knitting and crocheting and embroidery in the evenings in front of the TV, and dinners with friends. All of them perfectly pleasant, but not enough to make life worthwhile in themselves.<br />
<br />
Now I have free time, and am so unaccustomed to beginning anything ("I just don't have time...") that I cannot seem to move forward. I feel like I am waking to a different existence where the possibilities are endless, but that my mind and ambition have atrophied. I'm not depressed, but I feel that anxiety I have felt in seasons of depression long ago, of knowing that I should be doing something worthwhile, but either I'm not interested enough in it, or too lazy, to actually begin.<br />
<br />
I should play more with my cats<br />
I should re-organize my kitchen<br />
I should read my books<br />
I should scrub and dust and thoroughly clean my apartment<br />
I should get hardwood floors installed<br />
I should get rid of unnecessary possessions<br />
I should volunteer and help people<br />
I should exercise more frequently<br />
<br />
And as usual, I am shoulding all over myself. But once I've come to that awareness, and rejected it... I cannot shake the uncertainty of what I could be doing with my life and gifts. I know what I long for, but have either dismissed it as something I have no power to achieve, or I am too lazy to make the effort.<br />
<br />
<span class="_c24 _50f4">Anais Nin once said that </span>"l<span class="_c24 _50f4">ife shinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." Well, I am fairly cowardly, and sometimes when I try and step back and gain perspective of my life, I can barely take a step back at all, it's such a small, pitiful space. For example... my fridge and pantry are full of nothing much. Crackers, baking ingredients, beverages, spices, yogurt, hummus, condiments, cereal. That's about it. I stopped buying practically anything that was perishable (I switched to skim milk because it will last AGES) because I was either too lazy or self-indulgent to cook. And so as a result, that area of my life has atrophied, and I never think about cooking anything unless it's something I'm baking for an event. I'm really ashamed of this. Part of it was because I only want to eat things I am in the mood for, and I don't like leftovers. So food went to waste, until I finally decided to stop trying. And when you're cooking for one, there's no-one else to feed. SO many wasted, rotting vegetables!</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_c24 _50f4">I have my hobbies, I have my choir and church and friendships and shared meals and my beloved Sunday naps. But I could be SO much more useful to my world. And my #1 dream is a little house in the country on a hidden back road with a garden and a beehive and a shed... none of which I can afford without moving somewhere alien or ridiculously far away. (See how quickly I claimed it was too hard to accomplish?!)</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_c24 _50f4">On top of this, I worry that I have become too insular, too unwilling to be heartbroken, and that I am turning away from people and situations to avoid heartbreak or boredom or weariness... all of which are pretty much a given in relationships. I'd like to go back into therapy, but Lordy, it is EXPENSIVE! And now that my extra income from the computer business is gone, it's even more difficult.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="_c24 _50f4">I would like to be a much better and more worthwhile person, is what I'm saying... </span><span class="_c24 _50f4"></span>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-44992500229437149012015-01-22T13:07:00.002-06:002015-01-22T13:07:59.972-06:00Grrrr... Ralph Lauren!Sooooo... a rather silly little request, but... does anyone know what the hell this pattern is called? I can find neither hide nor hair of it anywhere! Plenty of people selling it on eBay, and I bought it just a week ago at Marshalls... but no trace of it on Ralph Lauren's website or anywhere else!<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJtEbMyD8KiGE-kf1nHSX62IB8y8NJfDbWvoYBYWuqDtuqzQaFvRAesyJoZE5QS4AVpn0eEprsrU2EJmmSAVMJes_MNGtXkVFaNfiE3wa_5nkEFEa2_mj-tq39x8PrefsjatR/s1600/paisley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBJtEbMyD8KiGE-kf1nHSX62IB8y8NJfDbWvoYBYWuqDtuqzQaFvRAesyJoZE5QS4AVpn0eEprsrU2EJmmSAVMJes_MNGtXkVFaNfiE3wa_5nkEFEa2_mj-tq39x8PrefsjatR/s1600/paisley.jpg" height="250" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I really just want one Queen or King-sized flat sheet, so I can make a duvet cover for my bed! It seems wasteful to buy a whole set (which is the only way they seem to sell it) because I only use full-sized sheets (which I have just bought), and so a too-big fitted sheet plus two pillowcases is wasted.<br />
<br />
But it has become a bigger obsession for me, because although I can find PLENTY of named patterns on ralphlauren.com and throughout the web, this one is unnamed. Nothing on the packaging or tags, and on eBay (where several of them are listed) they can only describe it by appearance, even though there are plenty of other RL sheets being sold with the pattern name included. It just doesn't make sense! It's like a red-headed stepchild that RL dumped on the world and can barely bring himself to acknowledge (although it is packaged with his name).<br />
<br />
Anyone who can help me?Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-89553056869124976892015-01-12T12:08:00.000-06:002015-01-12T12:08:33.319-06:00Dear Elizabeth WarrenPlease don't run for President... in 2016. You can run in 2020 or later, but not this time. We've seen what happened when a bright and engaging up-and-comer took advantage of the buzz and jumped in the race too early with Barack Obama. I think he wasn't ready. Another term or two in Congress would have given him more savvy, more experience and more equipment to do the job, and he has badly needed it.<br />
<br />
You have the wit and the intelligence and the drive to fix problems that we desperately need, but I want you to not have a half-baked presidency; I want you to go in with the skills and preparation to fight a four or eight year battle against Big Money and not fall short. We need someone like you in the worst way... but a fully matured politician (as much as I hate that term) and not a beginner. I want you to survive and thrive in the office.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-22045230090059544212014-12-18T14:42:00.000-06:002014-12-18T14:44:30.302-06:00Christmas Letter 2014<!--[if !mso]>
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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Christmas
2014</span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Dear Family and Friends,<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Christmas
Letter, as per the usual. Let's see, news...</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoydb2_VIGYGqyPaBNcww12yiKkxeuLygY0cmEy9Mw0P_LmxiWc-qoy4iHq6daFwC5DGy-GvpvvCzG1J-UjuLLEPSaK3UsCYesKU7LQgo4DjJUqIj6oxZeHqKUZOa1vHPuJX-/s1600/Biscuit+8-26-14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoydb2_VIGYGqyPaBNcww12yiKkxeuLygY0cmEy9Mw0P_LmxiWc-qoy4iHq6daFwC5DGy-GvpvvCzG1J-UjuLLEPSaK3UsCYesKU7LQgo4DjJUqIj6oxZeHqKUZOa1vHPuJX-/s1600/Biscuit+8-26-14.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">A Biscuit in a basket</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Added a Cat.</b> I acquired a gorgeous white-and-biscuit-colored kitten in late
Summer named, appropriately, Biscuit. He is exceedingly floofy (his tail looks
like a vast pouf of cotton candy), and bids fair to be bigger than either Bunny
or Squeaky George. He is already large and in charge, and indifferent to things
like other kitties' Personal Space. Very much an Alpha kitty, and he chases both
his older siblings up and down the hall, especially George. George is still
rather hissy about this addition to the household, and yet his affinity for
licking cannot keep him from occasionally giving Biscuit a bath. It usually
goes like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">1)
*hiss*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">2)
*lick-lick-lick-lick*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">3)
George remembers he doesn't like Biscuit</span>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">4)
*hiss*</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">5)
George runs away</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEetEChwh1sQaN7ommAgWgfYWRtBd-WuGE8osgULGl42U2HcHtefjivyXAQcwCd7GgxXsI7weR2nUg4k7HEUQfEPMIzUskT-cr_QBiYdaQzPyGVX6ABJ1O03MJGx-BlgWxLkM/s1600/IMG_0563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsEetEChwh1sQaN7ommAgWgfYWRtBd-WuGE8osgULGl42U2HcHtefjivyXAQcwCd7GgxXsI7weR2nUg4k7HEUQfEPMIzUskT-cr_QBiYdaQzPyGVX6ABJ1O03MJGx-BlgWxLkM/s1600/IMG_0563.jpg" height="320" width="287" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I should mention that George
is a big old coward. Bunny is beautifully dignified, as always, although she
has been annoyed into reminding Biscuit of his place with an occasional *whap*
of her paw. Her regular response is to simply go away when he gets all up in
her grill. When he is full grown, I suspect he will prove to be either be a
Maine Coon or part Ragdoll, and MUCH bigger than either of them. Hopefully he
won't be a bully. But he is far more affectionate and cuddly with me than
either of them, so in the "Who does Mommy love best?" contest, he's
pretty much already won. But I make sure the others get equal time. Although
Biscuit's determined attempts to drape himself over my keyboard while napping
in my lap is a nuisance. As is the curtain-climbing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Discovered my Specific
Allergies.</b> I
had pinkeye twice this Fall, and the second bout was so bad that my eye doctor
got a little freaked out. The attending doctor insisted I go get my allergies
checked (it was allergy-based conjunctivitis) and it turns out that I am
allergic to dust mites, cockroaches, and dog hair. Thank God, not my cats! But
I am starting to take steps to reduce the dust mites in particular, with
special bedding, more aggressive cleaning, and eventually putting in hardwood
floors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Resumed Choir.</b> I went back to singing alto
with the Chamber Singers and Parish Choir at St. Bartholomew. I took a choral
sabbatical in the Fall of 2013, and so when it started up again this year I
jumped back in, and was relieved that the burnout I was feeling 12 months
earlier was completely gone. I do seem to spend a lot of time singing... more
in the last 5-10 years than in all the years prior to that! I genuinely prefer
singing backup or harmonizing with other singers -- I have very little wish to
be a soloist.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Pining for a Farm.</b> This year I really began to
long for a property out in the country, or at least remote enough that I could
keep some livestock without bothering my neighbors. My dream situation is a few
acres (conveniently located near interstate exits so I can be on the road to
clients frequently) south of Nashville, a smallish house, and space for
beehives, and eventually maybe even chicken and goats. I want to garden and
putter about and have a project shed. I want to have barn cats. I am
technically "looking," but with full knowledge that it will be an Act
of God if such a property were to come available in my limited price range and
location.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Acquired Furniture.</b> I finally got the last two
pieces I have wanted to get for some time; a china cupboard and a good dining
room table and chairs. Both were bought secondhand from dear friends, and I
cannot express the satisfaction I get every time I look across the room at
them. It makes me feel like I’m FINALLY a grownup! However, the floor around
them is usually covered in cat toys, so it is rarely as tidy as I would like.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ran Out of Updates.</b> Seriously, I am sitting here
racking my brain for anything new to tell about events of the past year, and I
am drawing a blank! Things happened; I worked, I had appointments with computer
clients, I spent time with friends and family... but nothing particularly
notable! So I shall leave it there. 2014: A quiet year for me; not necessarily
for the rest of the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">God
bless you and your family in 2015. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Let
there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Love,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Susan</span></div>
Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-20675705331294499292014-11-10T14:38:00.001-06:002014-11-10T14:38:22.979-06:00Character Flaw or Characteristic?Read this article on Introverts first: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/07/physical-behavior-of-introverts_n_6069438.html" target="_blank">http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/11/07/physical-behavior-of-introverts_n_6069438.html</a><br />
<br />
I felt relieved reading this... some of the points made are about things I've always felt somewhat guilty about; I feared I was selfish and a navel-gazer. I don't like trivial small talk. If I ask you how you are, I actually want to know, and if <i>you </i>ask me, it never occurs to me that you don't actually want to know!<br />
<br />
I hate answering the phone unless I am actively waiting for a call. The majority of calls I get make me pick up the phone to see who it is, and sigh and mutter "please just leave me alone!" unless it is friends or family. This is why I have come to prefer texting and email; it gives me time to consider my response, which apparently is what I need. In addition, I don't like in-depth phone calls, because I am missing a lot of visual cues that I need to gauge my response. They're fine for a brief exchange of information without all the "How are you?" preludes.<br />
<br />
I don't tend to think of myself as being overstimulated when I get stressed out; but the distractions of people in conversation nearby makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes at work. I can't tune them out, and so I feel fragmented, and I can feel my energy draining out of me.<br />
<br />
I have no problem being on stage. It's never frightened me, even when I was doing improv. I was mediocre at best, but it never made me nervous. I can stand in front of a group of people and talk to them at any time about anything.<br />
<br />
When in a large group setting, like choral singing, or a classroom, I move to the periphery if at all possible. So for me it's not the aisle seat, which is worthless once you're in the air since you can't leave; I pick the window seat. If it's choir practice, I sit on the far right on the outer seat of the altos if I can. I have a rather low-grade claustrophobia, but I can manage it fairly well. I can sit in the middle... but it will take energy.<br />
<br />
When it is night and time for bed, even in my own home I always feel relieved that I can go in my bedroom and shut the door; moreso if I am in company. Heck, I'm even relieved to shut the kitties out! They are distracting and wakeful. So you can imagine when I am at my yearly work convention with 12,000 attendees, and I'm running the General Information booth! So many times co-workers or friends want to go out and do something in the evenings... I just want to go home and recharge.<br />
<br />
Conversely, once I've recharged, I need to expend some of that energy. I do need to be around people on an almost daily basis, but for much less time than everyone else, it seems. This is one reason I suspect I'm meant to stay single. I simply can't imagine what it would be like to have a husband who was always around!Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-49702020439236860172014-05-09T11:05:00.000-05:002014-05-09T11:05:09.629-05:00Singleness vs. Long-Term Projects<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41SCzwVVXdTFgIA4G8cJUKTb3Zl-eA-AkGmtXmqq3Ye5ShF0wO8UivWXYq63LVJSsnPdqvqRKTBKx1Gxvv_qsT7sqNFiy21CECTjRUmCWcU-Vks0U37xRV8nqR6haQHkKyFtc/s1600/faro_and_doris_caudill_homesteaders._pie_town_new_mexico._1940_oct.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41SCzwVVXdTFgIA4G8cJUKTb3Zl-eA-AkGmtXmqq3Ye5ShF0wO8UivWXYq63LVJSsnPdqvqRKTBKx1Gxvv_qsT7sqNFiy21CECTjRUmCWcU-Vks0U37xRV8nqR6haQHkKyFtc/s1600/faro_and_doris_caudill_homesteaders._pie_town_new_mexico._1940_oct.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homesteaders: Pie Town, New Mexico 1940 October<br />Photo by Russell Lee</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So... of late I have been newly aware of the limitations in being Single. For years, 95% of the time I have enjoyed my freedom and independence... leaving parties when I liked, only hanging out with people I like, doing nothing much when I come home from work except sit down and watch TV, eating food straight from the container, scheduling whatever I wish whenever I wish. Come and go as I bloody well please. When you live alone, there's no-one to annoy you, to compromise with, to take into consideration of when you make noise late at night or fart or don't feel like sharing food.<br />
<br />
But there's also no-one to do Big Things with. My friendships tend to be primarily social, and don't generally extend into the nitty-gritty parts of daily life. If I have something in the car that is too heavy for me to bring up the stairs safely, too bad. If there is a spider to be killed, I have to do it. If the car is on the fritz, I have to find my own ride to and from the shop. If Squeaky George throws up his dinner in various places around the condo, I have to clean it up. If I want to go on vacation, there's no-one guaranteed available to go with me. There's no-one to feed the cats if I'm working late. If I have an accident, I have to drive myself to the hospital if I'm not incapacitated, or ride alone in the ambulance. This is part of the 5% of dissatisfaction I have with Single Life; fortunately it usually takes the shape of minor inconveniences. And I do have friends and family I can call for emergencies; they just aren't on-call, exactly!<br />
<br />
However, lately I have been wishing for someone to team up with on projects. I need help doing those things I am too lazy to do, or need accountability to help follow through with worthwhile things. For example:<br />
<ul>
<li>I wish I had someone to exercise with regularly, to go on walks with or to go to the gym with several times a week. I'd like someone who'd help me, as I would help him. A teammate.</li>
<li>I wish I had a partner to buy a piece of property and build a house together; like one of those Not-Too-Big Houses that is cosy and charming and well-designed.</li>
<li>I wish I had someone who wanted to plan & carry out home improvements; the kind of things I think would be nice in my house, but then I consider what it will entail, and that I will have to do it all on my own, and I sigh and forget about it.</li>
<li>I wish I had someone to do yard work with, in <i>our </i>own yard. I want to garden, to keep bees, and maybe someday even chickens and goats. </li>
<li>I wish I had someone to travel with. I really don't like the discomforts of travel, but if I can settle into a place for a week or more, I'd love to go back to England or Japan or Europe... but not on my own again. I need help.</li>
<li>I wish I had someone whose strengths complemented my weaknesses, and vice-versa.</li>
</ul>
And no, these are not tasks for a Friend, to my way of thinking. I have had dozens of friends leave town over the years, or marry and have children, or have other occupations that, because they aren't bound to me, they will want to do instead. Please don't make recommendations of That Nice Girl You Met That Time Who Is Single Too or That Guy at Our Church Who Is Always Available. I have plenty of folks like that around me already. I'm not lonely; I just need someone who isn't going anywhere, who is bound to me for a lifetime. And I'm spoiled enough by 40+ years of freedom to not just want SOMEONE; I'd like a husband who I'd enjoy the process with.<br />
<br />
I'm afraid I have lost my romantic streak. I discovered recently that I found myself unexpectedly annoyed when watching Franco Zeffirelli's <i>Romeo & Juliet.</i> It doesn't feel romantic, it feels stupidly unnecessary. Romance fiction, rom-coms, etc. - no more enjoyment. Romantic love seems inconceivable. I've seen too many failed love affairs and too many horrific divorces. Since we all know that the spark of romantic love dies out eventually, and the best you can hope for is affection and mutual respect and friendship, I don't think this is necessarily a bad state of thought for me to arrive at... Although I kind of miss it; it's a nice world to visit and fantasize about being in love myself. But now I feel like someone living on a homestead in the wilderness who just needs someone to help bring in the crops.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-86187334740812059082014-03-07T14:26:00.001-06:002014-03-07T14:30:08.151-06:00Why I Hate TravelIt's that time of year again... time to plan for a trip to the beach for Spring Break or Summer vacation... or a trip to some lake or city or country... and once again I find myself in this unpleasant valley of no-where I actually want to go and with no-one to actually travel with. And yet, I pine for some kind of vacation.<br />
<br />
I am actually happiest when I take off a week for vacation and actually stay home...<br />
<ul>
<li>No need to pack</li>
<li>No need to travel</li>
<li>No need to spend money on an overpriced condo or hotel</li>
<li>No need to find someone to feed my cats</li>
<li>No need to worry about the fact that I have so few friends who want to/are available to vacation with me, or that <i><b>I</b></i> want to vacation with</li>
<li>No need to travel alone (which I used to enjoy, but now find boring and depressing)</li>
<li>I can get things done around the condo, like repairs and procrastinated decor ideas</li>
<li>I can hang out with friends for lunch and dinner, as opposed to being in a strange city where there's no-one to eat with</li>
</ul>
And yet... and yet, I feel this lack, this loss of some indefinable <i>something</i>. I haven't ever really enjoyed taking a trip, except for a handful of occasions that are difficult to duplicate, or were delightful for just one season in my life, and have failed when tried again (the aforementioned travelling alone). But I still feel this loss of <i>something </i>that everyone else I know seems to enjoy and expects to do, year after year.<br />
<br />
There are circumstances under which I can imagine a vacation would be fun... the right group of people, the right location, that perfect balance of companionship and alone-time. But at this stage of my life, that all seems as likely as winning the lottery.<br />
<br />
Why must this be so difficult a thing to accomplish?! Why does it seem so impossible? My cowardice and laziness are partly to blame, I know... my need for solitude is another. My limited relationships is another still. And I post this online, knowing that it will be seen by friends who would travel with me and are hurt and bewildered that I don't want to travel with them. It's nothing to do with them; it's to do with this strange block I seem to have, feeling smothered or claustrophobic with them in another city.<br />
<br />
My family is not really an option either. We're not cold to each other, but we don't ever seem to think of each other as travelling companions. Probably because when we were growing up, we went on so few vacations.<br />
<br />
Let me emphasize that I'm not writing this looking for ideas - I think I've heard them all. I've considered them all. I guess I'm writing it out, looking for some kind of inner acceptance that I am NOT a vacationer. I'd like to go to the beach... but literally the physical beach itself is all I care for. I'd like to be in London... but don't want to spend the money or take the flight. I'd like travelling companions... but want to be alone most of the time.<br />
<br />
Is it possible to just be a Homebody, and be ok with it? To <i>not </i>feel some sense of loss or disappointment that I don't like travelling? To give up this fruitless and depressing battle every year to find some kind of holiday getaway? I don't know. I'm in my mid-40s and I've yet to find peace with it.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-59797199531997377682013-10-21T14:30:00.002-05:002013-10-21T14:31:00.216-05:00Free Marissa Alexander NOWThank goodness, they threw out the ludicrous guilty verdict... but they have to choose whether to re-try the case. Please read up on this, and write a letter. Copy-paste away!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://freemarissanow.tumblr.com/post/63774813232/dropthecase">http://freemarissanow.tumblr.com/post/63774813232/dropthecase</a>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-36951202051554694532013-07-19T12:47:00.000-05:002013-07-19T12:47:47.650-05:00Read<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5B1oexWCJzqiggilJ3q8HBLgcwTEg5_OoCiFkK9bS5JjGXtXEYTNZfOqwTbY9es9gWqHlww1F0ElMTFJ7dHE29tNWrGwWZ-XGEEyaKw3Xvdq9GpTjDwkMyT9-GCuBgm0zKIm/s1600/The+Library+-+Lori+Nix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO5B1oexWCJzqiggilJ3q8HBLgcwTEg5_OoCiFkK9bS5JjGXtXEYTNZfOqwTbY9es9gWqHlww1F0ElMTFJ7dHE29tNWrGwWZ-XGEEyaKw3Xvdq9GpTjDwkMyT9-GCuBgm0zKIm/s320/The+Library+-+Lori+Nix.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Library, by Lori Nix</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I used to be a reader. And I'm ashamed now to say that I'm not any longer. It was a slow, gradual process; college took time from it, then full-time work, then TV became more reliable a source of entertainment, then doing needlework or crafts while I watched TV made picking up a book even less likely. I never stopped buying books, though. I have an entire wall of bookshelves, floor to ceiling, full of books. Most of them I have actually read, but an alarming majority I've bought and never even opened. I find it tremendously difficult to get rid of them; I was always so proud of my reputation as a reader, and I felt a great deal of my value was dependent on how many books I owned and read. A library or a bookstore was what made any location worthwhile to me.<br />
<br />
So how to change that habit? Part of the problem comes from the fact that in the last 15-20 years I have become far less interested in fiction than in fact; history, pop culture, biographies, and sociology are more reliably interesting to me now than fiction. I used to inhale novels, picking up and reading SO many books that now I have no interest in. I read questionable fluff too; romance novels for a long stretch there, graphic novels, etc. But now I crave information more than being swept away by a story. That's one reason historical fiction has always been a good match for me; fact combined with fiction. But that means all of the novels and books I collected over the first 2 decades of my life were no longer of interest to me.<br />
<br />
On Monday I had 2 hours to kill between work and an appointment, and I was too far from home to make going there an option. So I decided to go to the Franklin library and find a book and just sit and read. And it was WONDERFUL. I picked up a novel by Phillipa Gregory (reasonably decent historical fiction writer) and read for ages. I did it again on Wednesday after work - I knew if I went home when I got off at 4, I would probably take a nap or sit down at the computer... so I went to the library across the street and read for about 90 minutes. This time I checked out a book and brought it home and finished it that same night.<br />
<br />
I wish I still had the ability to read until I was sleepy and then just turn out the light and go to sleep, but I seem to have lost that disposition. A book at bedtime makes me very wakeful, and when I read one, I inevitably take an hour or more to actually fall asleep. <br />
<br />
I don't like the person I am now who prefers TV to books... I feel like I'm succumbing to more mental laziness and have lost something precious. I've found an author I like right now, so I'm good for a while. But when that's all gone, what will keep me motivated to keep reading? Beyond getting rid of the TV alltogether? AND the ability to watch media online? Not sure.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-52721996531181869692013-02-12T15:19:00.002-06:002013-02-12T15:19:26.184-06:00Statement of FaithI feel very keenly that my personal pursuit of God has taken a significant turn in the past decade... I grew up in what was ostensibly a charismatic, fundamentalist church, with a puritanistic stepfather who sought to maintain order and limited what we were allowed to do socially. And like most little girls raised within a more restricted environment (and being fairly lazy and unadventurous), I did not think to question the validity of what we were taught and what was modeled for us. The books we read, the teachings of the church, the commands of our father... all of these constructed the building of our faith in Christ. I was baptized in a river at a youth retreat (like you do!), I was intimidated into REALLY receiving the Holy Spirit (which involved digging through my past life and getting all worked up and weeping copiously, which was VERY therapeutic!), and so forth.<br />
<br />
Time moved on. I dealt with a series of bouts of depression every few years or so, which led me to seek comfort from a God that I realized I had built more or less in the image of my father; restrictive, punishing, cold, judgmental. I got counseling from a Christian family counseling ministry, which gently showed me that I could let go of all of those restrictions. I moved to another church, much like the first, but less hippy-dippy. Hands did not need to be raised during songs and prayers to prove you were a valid Christian.<br />
<br />
Depressions and personal growth came and went. I started attending an Episcopalian church, which initially drew me because of the reverence and liturgy, but ultimately kept me because of the community and the realization that this church would thrive, almost regardless of who was in the pulpit. This, after 30 years of attending 2 churches formed by charismatic preachers, that declined when those pastors left, and which had their share of abuses.<br />
<br />
Right before turning 30, I went through a nuclear explosion of anxiety and came out on the other side stronger and more self-aware than I could have ever expected. One of the lasting mantras I emerged with was that "God loves me too much to leave me as I am," which made every difficulty, every personal struggle into a big step forward in my maturity. Then in 2001, I woke up to the world around me. I think a lot of Americans did. I started paying attention to what was going on, in politics and world affairs.<br />
<br />
In 2007, I joined a campaign to free a young man from unjust imprisonment in Central America. The entire year was taken up with the fight. And I woke up to the cruelty and reality of the world outside my comfortable existence, and I mourned our losses and the utterly irrational hate directed at this man. Finally in December of that year his sentence was overturned and he was commanded to be let go... and Evil fought to keep him there. He would likely be killed if he was not removed from that country. The evening I realized that we might not get him out of there, that Evil might win, was a tiny taste of Gethsemane for me, and I cried for hours.<br />
<br />
I could no longer excuse or ignore the evil of the world, nor could I avoid the realization that the energy of the Church*, my community of faith, was being spent on fighting abortion, gay marriage, and evolution. To paraphrase the words of Marley in <i>A Christmas Carol</i>, "Mankind should have been our business," and it was not. We were more worried about these issues than we were about the suffering out there in the larger world. Our efforts to control our society and our supposedly virtuous way of life was more important than the tears of millions. Evil was slaughtering lives left and right, metaphorical blood pooling at our feet as feeble children cried and clutched at our legs, while the members of the Church fixated on a tiny box on the floor and argued over whether we were allowed to open it.<br />
<br />
That night left me changed. The right and wrong, the sinfulness or virtue of those particular battles became a minor issue to me. My disappointment in my Church, although never enough to make me doubt the goodness and might of my God, did make me less and less inclined to spend my time within the structure we had built. The almost arbitrary rules and regulations of what Christian life should be began to crumble around me. But I knew God was real, and Jesus, and the Bible... so what guidelines should I live by? I focused on those specific things Jesus said (the red letter words), and in particular Matthew 22:36-40:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”</blockquote>
While my innate laziness and fearfulness has kept me from flinging myself out into the world to do what I can to serve (particularly because I don't have an idea of what I should be doing specifically, and because I am still waaaaay too selfish and addicted to my own comfort), I trust that God is continuing to change me and mature me, so that one day I will be spending all my time and efforts in helping mankind in true service. Someday, I won't be afraid. I don't know what it will look like... but I am hoping I am ready when the time comes.<br />
<br />
Some of the things that are becoming clear to me...<br />
<ul>
<li>I am content for there to be mysteries of the faith, and don't feel the need to be obsessed with theology. </li>
<li>I don't need to be utterly sure about whether the Bible is to be taken literally or not.</li>
<li>I need to stay within the community of the Church. I am part of a larger body, so I cannot go off and function by myself as, say, a little toe.</li>
<li>I am more interested in the truth than in preserving the Church with lies. If a congregation or denomination depends on lies to remain standing, then it needs to fall.</li>
<li>I don't get to judge the sins of others. (this is one I all too easily forget)</li>
<li>God is big enough for evolution. I don't see how he couldn't use it as part of his creation process.</li>
<li>While I think abortion is wrong, I also think that the life of an unborn soul is perfectly safe in God's hands, and he would prefer we take care of the mothers to-be who are already here and need our help.</li>
<li>Homosexuality is... too big for me. I am pragmatic and I like a tidy world, and homosexuality doesn't neatly fit within that from a biological standpoint. But I also think that God doesn't care. <silliness>Plus that I like shrimp and scallops, and since God told Peter to start eating them, then by the transitive process, homosexuality is ok. The completion of Mosaic Law through Jesus' sacrifice, ya'll.</silliness></li>
</ul>
There are 3 primary prayers that I find myself repeating often;<br />
<ol>
<li>"Help me to be a good servant today... help me to serve others well,"</li>
<li>"Please don't let me be led astray... don't let me be deceived into thinking contrary to your will." </li>
<li> "Please teach me to love you more. I'm still scared of you most of the time. But I know you're good."</li>
</ol>
*The Church: the entirety of Christians - not just one church building and the people within it, but all followers of Christ across the world. Although now that I say that, I realize this essay is about the American Church primarily.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-33635809274060438932013-01-11T15:48:00.001-06:002013-01-11T15:48:37.827-06:00Is It Possible...Is it possible to be an old spinster and not continually weep about it? While my life has gotten happier with each decade, I find I am approaching a particular wall that has broken more hearts than we will ever know. I am 44 now, and my window for childbearing is about to snap shut, never to open again. Don't get me wrong - I don't pine to have my own child; there are aspects to motherhood I would love to have, but I think I treasure little things like sleep and free time much, much more.<br />
<br />
How do you live a life on the other side of this wall without becoming one of THOSE women? The ones that live alone or with a roommate and work in the nursery at church or on the hospitality committee and stand out as the Familiar Old Single at parties and gatherings, and presumably live lives of quiet desperation? They don't go around weeping, but they must cry, right? At the death of family, with only the fervent hope that their nieces and nephews (if they are fortunate enough to have them) or their savings will be enough to carry them safely through to the end of their lives...<br />
<br />
Because the friends won't be there for it. They change too much. I'm in my 4th or 5th generation of friendships, because people change or people move away. If I lived in a town where people stayed for generations, that would be a comfort, but we don't live in that world anymore. And so when I'm in my 60s and later, I'll probably have an entirely new set of friends, and I don't care who says that your friends become your family, they don't, not really. Because there's always a new job or a new boyfriend or spouse to take them somewhere else, and a new set of circumstances to make them less compatible or even friendly. We are all in that inevitable circuit.<br />
<br />
So when I win the lottery (if I would only remember to buy a ticket occasionally!) I'm starting a commune. I've dreamed of this since college, but it has changed shape a few times along the way (originally it was an apartment building). It can be like a little town of sorts, on 10+ acres, with 3-6 houses (depending on how many want to join), but a blend of the young and old, single and married, fertile and childless. There would be a massive garden, and acreage for livestock if we wanted. People who knew basic car maintenance, and people who knew how to sew on buttons and hem pants. Babysitters for the young families, and someone to give you a ride when you needed to go to the hospital. A car to borrow when yours is in the shop. Dinners with a family for the singles, especially on holidays. People to help fill in the gaps.<br />
<br />
If people wanted to move on, then the commune would buy back their house, and wait to fill it with someone who could help balance out the community. Maybe do a rent-to-own arrangement, where people could be vetted for a year before being allowed to buy! Everyone owns their own property; but lives there with the understanding that we all need something from each other, and we try and take care of one another. Perhaps there would be a clubhouse of sorts, where everyone could come for movie nights and dinners. Freedom with support. Needs being met, and people being needed.<br />
<br />
But apart from that utopia, is it possible to make your single self into someone who isn't an invitation for pity? To become someone enviable and delightful and welcomed wherever you go? And how on earth do you make that transition from someone on the verge of a empty future to someone wonderful? Preferably with a minimum of fuss or effort.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-33378182906489846282012-12-26T11:26:00.003-06:002012-12-26T11:32:46.546-06:00A Christmas Day Letter, 2012<span style="font-size: small;">Dear Friends and Family,<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: windowtext;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">I do not think I have ever been so very late with my yearly Christmas card. Part of it has been a typically overbusy December, but it has also been equal parts "I don't feel like doing it this year!" and "Why do I have to send it out BEFORE Christmas?" I don't know about you, but every year it seems I get a little more bored, or tired, or disappointed with aspects of the Holiday Battering Ram that begins at Halloween and ends on New Year's Day.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">I am trying to come up with a modified approach; keeping the things I like, discarding the things I don't, and above all, remembering WHY we even started going through this all in the first place. Halloween-Thanksgiving-Christmas... all of them have good and enjoyable components; All Hallows-eve before All Saints Day on November 1st (and costumes! and candy!), Thanksgiving for our blessings (with food! and pie!), Christmas for the birth of Jesus (and presents! and food! and trees! and food! and music! and food!), and finally New Year's Eve to<i> finally shut down the whole bloody mess</i>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">So I put up a tree and a wreath, but no ornaments or swag. I gave gifts, but as many as possible were homemade. I baked, but most was given away. And even then, I feel a sense of disappointment because some unknown anticipation wasn't met. Partially because for me, Christmas as a single person is naturally difficult. I will go to my sister's house today for a big-ass dinner and presents, so I'm not completely alone... but yet, it's simply not possible to avoid the realization that the older singles of this world are inevitably Secondary and Tertiary in the pecking order of the modern Christmas.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">Lest you worry that I am falling into a Victorian spinster decline, let me assure you that I have had a splendid morning sleeping in later than <i>any </i>of you ; that I had a lovely cup of coffee and homemade sausage-cheese balls for breakfast while watching <i>Lord of the Rings</i> DVDs, had Bunny curled up in my lap for a longer spell than Squeaky George will usually allow (interfering little booger that he is) and did some housecleaning that is <i>long </i>overdue (and barely scratches the surface of the Mess That Is My Home). This is the 95% of my life that doesn't actually mind the singleness. It's a sweet life.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">It's a pretty busy life, too. Same as last year, more or less; I still work for the American Economic Association at Vanderbilt, I still have my House Calls computer repair business on the side, I still sing regularly with the Music Ministry at St. Bartholomew's Church, and I still have two cats. But there is a new couch.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJl7e5btyNFUkIAtNTfwBmU7kUAqAjkpkcz-WygLl1x8mHRoU4EsNwsgJrK9lAv3I-zZOG3Scz9osQiLC4G6-PACctrKDPlyGMdOFgNXWG7robaSeTUx2yiT5r8g9HYyQuNuv/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxJl7e5btyNFUkIAtNTfwBmU7kUAqAjkpkcz-WygLl1x8mHRoU4EsNwsgJrK9lAv3I-zZOG3Scz9osQiLC4G6-PACctrKDPlyGMdOFgNXWG7robaSeTUx2yiT5r8g9HYyQuNuv/s320/photo(1).JPG" width="240" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bunny & Squeaky George, moments before<br />
George stops licking and starts biting.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: auto; mso-pagination: widow-orphan; punctuation-wrap: hanging; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric ideograph-other;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">You may have noticed that there is a new kitty-name. Daisy (Bunny's twin sister) decided this past spring to hop off my second floor balcony and go on an extended Walkabout. At the time I was devastated, but after a couple of months I decided Bunny needed a companion to keep her from getting too lonesome, and so Squeaky George, orange tabby kitten, was added to the family. He is energetic, cheerful, very vocal (and <i>very</i> squeaky) and plagues the life out of Bunny. She has become a very quiet, wistful cat (with a reproachful expression of “why did you bring that bitey kitten into this house?”), and George refuses to respect her boundaries. He regularly chases her around or pesters her so she'll get out of my lap so he can sit there. If he weren't such a purry, entertaining and cuddly kitty, he would be intolerable. As it is, I suspect he's good for her. He provides occasional aerobic activity, in between bouts of enthusiastically shredding Kleenex and chewing labels off of power cords.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">My nieces and nephews are all growing exponentially, it seems—naturally, the girls are all lovely, the boys all handsome, with varying personalities that are more interesting every year. Elliott is the first to go off to college this past fall, and I miss him more than I thought I would. More for the convenience of having him with a car, in town, available to help me lift heavy things. ;) <i>And </i>because I have been pressed into frequent service to chauffeur his younger siblings hither and yon, since he is no longer there to split the load with his mom. He’s also got a serious girlfriend relationship, which I am watching over via social media. God bless Facebook, and a generation incapable of filtering what they post therein.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">The second tear-duct surgery (Dacrocystorhinostomy, or DCR) I had last December has ALSO failed to fix the problem of a chronically clogged tear-duct, and so we’re trying it <i>again</i> in February and this time adding rhinoplasty with an ENT surgeon, to make sure there’s plenty of room in my nasal cavities for the tears to flow down into my sinuses. (Don’t worry, I did get a second opinion!) I am very, very tired of this, but I remind myself that a drippy right eye is small potatoes on the scale of chronic health issues.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">I still do an excessive amount of needlework and crochet, and to add to my pile of Intended Projects That I Will Get To Someday, I have begun to knit socks. There’s something exhilarating about making an actual practical, functional piece of clothing; in fact, I am going to frame my first sock the same way as I would frame a cross-stitch sampler, I’m so proud of it!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">I shall leave matters there so I can get this sucker printed out and mailed before I go on my annual AEA work-trip to another far-flung city on New Year’s Day. This year we get to go to San Diego, where I will eat lavish meals, will work 10-12 hours/day, and see very little of the city. But at least I’ll be able to add it to my list of Cities That I’ve Been To But Couldn’t Really Describe Very Well.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">God bless and keep you and your families safe,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">Love,</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><span style="color: windowtext;">Susan</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-37762177174213020112012-11-15T21:16:00.002-06:002012-11-15T21:17:24.167-06:00Litany of ExcusesI'm feeling rather disheartened today... it's been a busy week with more work than usual, which I am grateful for. But it also means that I have neglected the exercise I am trying to add to my schedule. And that makes me feel guilty and a certain degree of failure.<br />
<br />
See, I know if I WANTED to exercise, I would find the time - ballroom dance is a perfect example; I would dance 8+ hours a day, gladly. But when exercise is the absolute last thing you want to do, then it is easy to find excuses and blame other factors. I could get up and run at 6 am... but I hate early-morning exercise the most; it combines two bad things instead of just one. OK, so then go at night; I do well with evening exercise! But at night it is dark, and my complex is poorly lit, and it makes me nervous.<br />
<br />
And so it goes. I need to play with my cats so they don't get bored and attack each other. I haven't drunk enough water today. That burrito is doing a number on my digestion. I need to finish crocheting this present for my friend. I deserve a rest. I need to watch DWTS before I find out the results somewhere else. My right hip is hurting. My left hip is hurting. My right knee is acting weird. My arches are killing me.<br />
<br />
And then there's the "why do I have to do as much as my trainer wants? why can't I just do 3 days instead of 5? Why do I have to do 3 miles, why can't I just do 2?" It's ugly and I'm ashamed and yet I don't know how to not give up so easily and give in so quickly. I'm over 40, and I now realize the consequences of taking the easy path my whole life. I lack discipline for any activity or study I don't like or don't do well. I don't know how to respond to the natural stress and strain of exercise, as opposed to legitimate pain; I am inclined to quit both.<br />
<br />
Even this post is a way to avoid reading the chapter for my women's group in the morning.<br />
<br />
I wish there was some kind of therapy system whereby I could unlearn these lazy habits of mine, and learn some persistence and self-discipline. I lack the willpower to do it on my own. I will say this - when I was unemployed and had loads of time, I had no problem adding workouts to my schedule! But when my day and night are full of work and appointments, exercise is the last thing I want to do.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-86188082694767128202012-07-12T14:42:00.003-05:002012-07-12T14:42:55.075-05:00Rabbit-TrailersAs I get older and more aware of the world around me (really; I look back on my 20s and I feel like I was completely oblivious!) I have started detecting patterns of behavior that drive me crazy. I'm sure they are different for everyone. But there is one tendency I see in aging people that I think we can all agree is unpleasant to everyone.<br />
<br />
I speak of Rabbit-Trailing in Storytelling. You may have a different term for it, but the basic structure is this: a speaker is sharing a story or anecdote. From the beginning, they tack on details and information unnecessary for the story to be comprehended, but that in fact are extremely boring and often completely derail the primary point of the narration.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzv0dCd84UZ7XB2mZ17KogOCsdotLyaggTWISbkaepprl789GcMaF0NLG-mnGwNKIneA7dhwJr8u9F2qL-otgnRXvdgezEfTONRrbl6onMEhobDd7N5DyxTClF98uhizAgChQ/s1600/01-31-11_rabbit-trails.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzv0dCd84UZ7XB2mZ17KogOCsdotLyaggTWISbkaepprl789GcMaF0NLG-mnGwNKIneA7dhwJr8u9F2qL-otgnRXvdgezEfTONRrbl6onMEhobDd7N5DyxTClF98uhizAgChQ/s320/01-31-11_rabbit-trails.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Example</b><br /><i>Primary point of tale: I go to visit my grandmother, and my car breaks down on the way back.</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
So I was going to visit my Grandmother in Batesville, and of course I had to pass through Memphis on my way; my cousin Rachel lives on the south side of the city in the suburb called... dang, what is that area called? I can never remember, it's Williamsburg or Williamsport or Williamson or something like that, I can never remember when I am telling someone about that part of Memphis, but anyway I stopped to see Rachel on my way; she's not been feeling well since she had a kidney taken out and has been unable to go back to work, and we had a nice lunch at a restaurant in the downtown area near the river, a seafood place called Martindale's or something like that, I had the most amazing grilled salmon there with a pesto glaze that I really want to try and recreate for myself at home; I talked to the NICEST server who was able to tell me some of the ingredients and would you believe it, one of them is lemon pepper? I have never thought to add that to a pesto! Anyway, I had the nicest visit with Rachel and we just talked and talked for hours until I realized that I needed to get back on the road if I was going to make it to Batesville before it got dark, because whenever I drive in the dark Grandmother and Mom both get so anxious and keep calling me and asking me where I am, you would think I was still a college student, with how little opinion they have of my navigation skills! So I'm on the road and as I pass through this tiny town called Wynne, I spot on the left side of the street a little car repair shop that I have never noticed before, but it looks so incredibly bedraggled and positively TRASHED that it looks over 50 years old, and I remember thinking to myself, Boy I hope I never have to go to that shop, I might never come back out of it, it looks so creepy! But I finally make it to Batesville and have a really good visit with my Grandmother, and we drive her car the entire time I'm there because it is just SO much easier for her to get in and out of it, because the seats are higher and so she doesn't have to bend her knees and swivel as much to get in, and I tell you, I don't know how she manages on her own because it really seems very uncomfortable for her to get in and out of her car, it's one of those old Mercury Marquis sedans the size of a BOAT, but it's in really nice shape because she drives it so little and...*</blockquote>
You get my point.<br />
<br />
I think this is the sort of habit that everyone can agree is extremely annoying; but I also think it is the sort of habit that can be curbed, if we can only find a way to make the speaker aware of what they are doing. A great deal of tedium can be avoided and society will be the better for it. I think it is more prevalent in the aged (and I suspect) women, which means a certain amount of politeness and consideration must be employed so that they don't become offended. Because really, we have all encountered Rabbit-Trailers in our lives, and I suspect most of us have thought to ourselves, "I will NEVER get to be like that!" so it stands to reason that if we realize we are doing it, we will try hard to stop.<br />
<br />
So spread this post among your friends and family. It doesn't need to be specifically to the ones who are doing it; but it needs to be posted on FB and various social media so that hopefully, the Rabbit-Trailers will stumble across it and make the connection to themselves.<br />
<br />
<b>Steps to Reverse Rabbit-Trailing</b><br />
<ol>
<li>Be aware that you are a Rabbit-Trailer.</li>
<li>Tell your friends about your problem.</li>
<li>Give them permission to stop you when you start Rabbit-Trailing.</li>
</ol>
If we can spread the word about this pernicious disease, we will all be a great deal happier with our friends, and the aged will be far less likely to be avoided out of boredom or annoyance.<br />
<br />
<i>*story not based on real events; invented to make a point.</i>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-68282825447531180112012-06-25T11:56:00.002-05:002012-06-25T11:56:26.807-05:00Rules for Guests at Seminole LodgeDuring my recent trip to Ft. Lauderdale, we went to Edison's Summer Home - great tour and property! Anyway, my sister Amy and I were much taken by the "Rules for Guests" they had posted, written by Edison's daughter, Madeleine.<br />
<br />
<b>Rules for Guests at Seminole Lodge</b><br />
<ul>
<li>Don't cabbage unto yourself all the fish poles. This has been done by guests thereby incurring the grave disapproval of the entire family.</li>
<li>Don't kill the black snakes under the porch. They are there for a purpose.</li>
<li>If you don't think Seminole Lodge is the loveliest spot you ever wore your rubbers in - don't let on to Father.</li>
<li>Don't fail to return to your room during part of each day - so that the family may squabble without embarrassment.</li>
<li>Don't stop Madeleine if you see her start violently anywhere alone. She's only trying to work out her disposition.</li>
<li>Don't capsize in the sailboat if you can help it. Remember there isn't any man to rescue you in 750 miles. And besides there are the sharks.</li>
<li>Don't ask us anything about Palm Beach. We don't want to know.</li>
</ul>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-22885315402263412592012-06-06T14:56:00.001-05:002012-07-30T11:11:33.869-05:00Feeling Bitter, How About You?I don't want to be married. Not now, anyway. But the inconveniences of spinsterhood are becoming more noticeable as I get older. I think my primary reasons at present for possibly acquiring a husband are 1) having someone to vacation and dine with, 2) having someone else bring the heavy stuff up from the car for a change, and 3) not having to be one of the handful of women in my church and social circle who have no anniversaries or birth announcements to make on Facebook.<br />
<br />
Tired, tired, tired of it all, I say! I'm getting more and more cranky with every wedding program that I make at my church; the 20-somethings getting married with so much optimism and joy, and knowing that by the time they are my age they will be almost done with producing and raising their children and preparing to send them to college... and I will not even have begun the process at all!<br />
<br />
What's even worse is doing the wedding programs for kids that I USED TO BABYSIT. Just mortifying. Can you imagine?!<br />
<br />
Sorry, it's a 5% kind of week. I have accompanied my sister and her family to the beach, and am awkward in the energy and flow of a family with several kids. I have little patience, and have patently become the kind of spinster aunt I never thought possible - I scold the kids for ordinary bickering, and make them make their beds (or do it myself when they don't move fast enough for my liking!), and wipe up the smallest of messes because it sets my teeth on edge to see bits of food scattered on a table, just waiting to be smeared on a careless sleeve.<br />
<br />
I guess I should be looking forward to the day when I am old enough that people stop asking me if I am married or have kids; they'll just assume it because I look Mom-ish and move on to more interesting topics. When the steadily burning and shortening fuse to the menopause bomb has finally exploded, and I don't have the tantalizing possibility of pregnancy and children hanging over me. The loss of expectations will make life easier.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I do not hope for what I cannot have!
<br />
I do not cling to things I cannot keep!
<br />
The more you cling to things, the more you love them,
<br />
The more the pain you suffer when they're taken from you...
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Ah, but if you have no expectations,
<br />
You can never have a disappointment.
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Stephen Sondheim, <i>Passion</i>, "I Read"<br />
source: <a href="http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/p/passionlyrics/ireadlyrics.html">http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/p/passionlyrics/ireadlyrics.html</a></div>
<br />
Easy to get a trifle weepy over it all... but if I draw back and look at the life I lead; the satisfaction in my work, the freedom to come and go as I please... I don't miss marriage and children at all. And it would be stupid and unfair to expect people to be silent about their spouses and children just to spare me! 95% of the time I am happy as I am. This is no small thing! I do prize my independence, Married Folk; I assure you that I am enjoying it enough for BOTH of us. ;)Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-56871960305157730262012-04-20T11:17:00.000-05:002012-04-20T11:17:03.973-05:00Why I'm Not Looking for My Lost Cat Anymore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last week (Wednesday) my cat Daisy fell off the balcony of my 2nd floor condo, and ran away. I immediately started looking for her, but to no avail. Friends came and helped me search, by day and by night... I put out signs all over my complex as well as the one next door... I put out her carrier with my nightgown in it under my balcony with some food and water... I opened the screen door so Bunny could meow for her sister... I listed her as Lost with her picture on <a href="http://nashvillepetfinders.com/">nashvillepetfinders.com</a>...<br />
<br />
It's been over a week now, and although I've had a couple of calls from the complex next door from people who saw her, and gone over and looked around for a few hours, I still can't find Daisy. It's like saying, "I know exactly where she is... she's somewhere in Metro Nashville!" It feels impossible to search out every nook and cranny where she may be hiding.<br />
<br />
That first 24 hours was the worst. The temperature plummeted below freezing for the first time in weeks at night, and I was haunted by the idea of her being scared or hungry. She had never set foot outside, and has no survival skills although I knew she could hunt and she has her claws. I cried a lot that first day. Everyone has been so kind and concerned for me, and I am very grateful for the friends on Facebook who responded with suggestions and help.<br />
<br />
But I'm not actively looking for her anymore. I have several reasons:<br />
<ol>
<li>I have always felt guilty for keeping my cats exclusively indoors. Yes, it's safer and they'll live longer and not bring in bugs and disease etc., etc... but it feels like I'm imprisoning them. I've always planned that when I get my own house with a yard, that I want my cats to be indoor/outdoor kitties if they like. My complex is not a good place for that, especially with so many dogs! I want them to be able to hunt and be real cats, not some animal restricted to what is convenient for me.</li>
<li>Every time Daisy is spotted, she is further away from my condo. This means she's traveling away. To me this feels like she is on a walkabout vacation, and is in no hurry to return.</li>
<li>Bunny is a different cat now! I had not realized how much Daisy had monopolized my time. I just thought that Daisy liked cuddling more, and Bunny was more independent. But ever since Daisy has gone, Bunny has "talked" non-stop... she is more of a growly cat than a meower, and she is utterly delightful - she's cuddly and affectionate and playful. I get the feeling that Daisy has been bullying Bunny all this time; if Bunny is in my lap, Daisy would sometimes hop up on the arm of the chair, meow a bit, and Bunny will immediately hop down whereupon Daisy will get into my lap! Daisy has always been something of a skittish coward; well, apparently she's a bully too. I don't want her to return, only to resume treating Bunny as second-class! They never did get on particularly well together; they had a polite but disinterested relationship, it always seemed to me. They would take turns when it was String Playtime, they occasionally fought, but they never cuddled together, which seemed very sad to me.</li>
<li>Daisy suffers from Feline Urological Syndrome. This means that crystals tend to form in her bladder, cutting into the lining and giving her bloody urine and scar tissue, making urination difficult. She has been on a prescription diet to treat this for over a year now after drugs failed to fix it, but truth be told, she still has bloody urine even though she seems to be in no discomfort and her litterbox behavior seems normal. I have begun to wonder what her future would be... would the slow deterioration continue and in a year or so I would have to take her to the vet to be put down? This is not something I would want for her. If her days are numbered, then I am much happier for her to be out in nature, and not terrified on a cold metal table at the vet's.</li>
</ol>
I've been saying for a while that all I had to do to get Daisy to return was to replace her - if I get a kitten to keep Bunny company, I bet you anything Daisy will be at my door within a week. So in June after my vacation I will start looking for a little male kitten for Bunny to (hopefully!) love. I think I'd like a ginger.<br />
<br />
It may seem that I am unnaturally calm and dispassionate about this... perhaps I am. I worry that it means I'm not very affectionate! That first day as I wandered around the treeline for the Nth time, calling for her, and continually wiping away the tears, the idea that she might not return was a nightmare. But I'm accustomed to being left behind; I have had many, many friends leave Nashville over the years, and although I used to get really upset about it, I had to find a way to live with abandonment on a regular basis. I don't feel like Daisy has abandoned me, precisely, but my hard-won pragmatism has kicked in and I've found a way to think of her and her future apart from me. I think I've mentally invented a different future for her that is happier and more like she was <i>created </i>to live. I don't want to think of her being unhappy and starving, and although I know she will have a learning curve, I am hopeful that she will adapt, or at least, find a new family who will love her well.Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22455129.post-90919503467986656752012-02-23T11:08:00.001-06:002012-02-23T11:08:14.036-06:00Christ's AmbassadorsI want to make it clear that I am NOT one of those people who quotes scripture as a matter of course, and that in general I am bored senseless by blog posts that discuss passages as in a sermon.<br />
<br />
But I heard this one last night at Ash Wednesday services, and it completely sums up the way I have been feeling about the failure of the monolith of modern American Christianity to do practically any of these things... we are called to be so much more than what we are at present, and we are instead being a stumbling block; judging everyone else, lacking compassion, more concerned with protecting our religious and political rights than being a blessing and loving others who need our help...<br />
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<b><span style="color: windowtext; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">2
Corinthians 5:20, 6:3-10 </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: windowtext; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">(NIV)</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: windowtext; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;">We
are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal
through us. <br />
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<span style="color: windowtext; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Sans"; mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;"><i>We
put no stumbling block in anyone’s path</i>, so that our ministry will not be
discredited. Rather, as servants of God we <i>commend </i>ourselves in every way: in
great endurance; in troubles, hardships and distresses; in beatings,
imprisonments and riots; in hard work, sleepless nights and hunger; in purity,
<i>understanding, patience and kindness</i>; in the Holy Spirit and in sincere love;
in truthful speech and in the power of God; with weapons of righteousness in the
right hand and in the left; through glory and dishonor, bad report and good
report; genuine, yet regarded as impostors; known, yet regarded as unknown;
dying, and yet we live on; beaten, and yet not killed; sorrowful, yet always
rejoicing; <i>poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing
everything.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: windowtext;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I know there are exceptions; there always are. Plenty of missions are doing just what we've been called to do; like Magdalene House/Thistle Farms, or Room in the Inn - but these are the exception, not the rule. It may be that we must lose everything before we can become what we were intended.</span></span></div>Susaniahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04977938723351021767noreply@blogger.com3