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The Library, by Lori Nix

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Statement of Faith

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 A Christmas Carol, "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.

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:

“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

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.”

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.

Some of the things that are becoming clear to me...

• I am content for there to be mysteries of the faith, and don't feel the need to be obsessed with theology. 
• I don't need to be utterly sure about whether the Bible is to be taken literally or not.
• 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.
• 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.
• I don't get to judge the sins of others. (this is one I all too easily forget)
• God is big enough for evolution. I don't see how he couldn't use it as part of his creation process.
• 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.
• 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. 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.

There are 3 primary prayers that I find myself repeating often;

1. "Help me to be a good servant today... help me to serve others well,"
2. "Please don't let me be led astray... don't let me be deceived into thinking contrary to your will." 
3.  "Please teach me to love you more. I'm still scared of you most of the time. But I know you're good."

*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.

Is 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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

A Christmas Day Letter, 2012

Dear Friends and Family, 

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.

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 finally shut down the whole bloody mess.

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.

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 any of you ; that I had a lovely cup of coffee and homemade sausage-cheese balls for breakfast while watching Lord of the Rings 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 long 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.

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.

Bunny & Squeaky George, moments before
George stops licking and starts biting.

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 very 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.

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. ;) And 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.

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 again 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.

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!

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.

God bless and keep you and your families safe,

Love,

Susan

Litany of Excuses

I'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.

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.

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.

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.

Even this post is a way to avoid reading the chapter for my women's group in the morning.

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.

Rabbit-Trailers

As 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.

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.

Example
Primary point of tale: I go to visit my grandmother, and my car breaks down on the way back.

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...*

You get my point.

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.

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.

Steps to Reverse Rabbit-Trailing

1. Be aware that you are a Rabbit-Trailer.
2. Tell your friends about your problem.
3. Give them permission to stop you when you start Rabbit-Trailing.

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.

*story not based on real events; invented to make a point.

Rules for Guests at Seminole Lodge

During 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.

Rules for Guests at Seminole Lodge

• Don't cabbage unto yourself all the fish poles. This has been done by guests thereby incurring the grave disapproval of the entire family.
• Don't kill the black snakes under the porch. They are there for a purpose.
• If you don't think Seminole Lodge is the loveliest spot you ever wore your rubbers in - don't let on to Father.
• Don't fail to return to your room during part of each day - so that the family may squabble without embarrassment.
• Don't stop Madeleine if you see her start violently anywhere alone. She's only trying to work out her disposition.
• 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.
• Don't ask us anything about Palm Beach. We don't want to know.

Feeling 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.

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!

What's even worse is doing the wedding programs for kids that I USED TO BABYSIT. Just mortifying. Can you imagine?!

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.

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.

I do not hope for what I cannot have!
I do not cling to things I cannot keep!
The more you cling to things, the more you love them,
The more the pain you suffer when they're taken from you...

Ah, but if you have no expectations,
You can never have a disappointment.

Stephen Sondheim, Passion, "I Read"
source: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/soundtracks/p/passionlyrics/ireadlyrics.html

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. ;)

Why I'm Not Looking for My Lost Cat Anymore

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 nashvillepetfinders.com...

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.

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.

But I'm not actively looking for her anymore. I have several reasons:

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.
4. 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.

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.

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 created 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.

Christ's Ambassadors

I 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.

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...

2 Corinthians 5:20, 6:3-10 (NIV)

We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.

We put no stumbling block in anyone’s path, so that our ministry will not be discredited. Rather, as servants of God we commend 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, understanding, patience and kindness; 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; poor, yet making many rich; having nothing, and yet possessing everything.

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.

To brighten your day... Thanks, Matt!

In Which I Become a Mean Old Lady

I bullied some young men tonight.

Verona Dining Collection in Antique Honey

I was shopping at one of my favorite stores, World Market in West Nashville... looking at absolutely everything in the store, most of which I can't afford (oh I WANT that dining room set!) Soon after I entered, I heard some horrible screeching that eventually coalesced into some sort of rough accordion. It was soon joined by another indecipherable instrument, and it Kept. On. Going. World Market tries to carry everything, apparently, including decorative rustic musical instruments.

Fifteen minutes of this went on. It was evident that the players were attempting to actually coax some kind of melody from the instruments, and they occasionally succeeded, but rarely in key or tune with each other. I caught a glimpse of them and saw they were some college-aged guys. I began to formulate crushing, cruel put-downs to make them stop... "Could you guys go be douches somewhere else?" was my favorite.

Surely they would stop. But they didn't, and finally when I was crossing an aisle-way I saw them standing in a group about to add a third instrument to the mix. I stood and glared at them, and one glanced up and saw me, and I called out, "Could you guys go be annoying somewhere else? I mean, you have been playing FOREVER!" The sudden feeling of Old Lady Power rushed through me, as I realized I. Did. Not. Care. What. They. Thought. It was intoxicating.

As I walked on, after a brief pause one of them called out, "but, uh, we're musicians, ma'am!" I snapped back, "Well, you need to practice more, but not here!" Another lady an aisle over caught my eye and nodded with satisfaction, and I smiled and shook my head.

But as I wandered on looking with elaborate unconcern at chair slipcovers and china I didn't need, I started considering what had happened. The boys had looked ABASHED. They had looked genuinely surprised. And they were obviously enthusiastic about trying to make these things play music. They were just overgrown boys. And I began to feel sorry. Elliott would have TOTALLY done the same thing. To an instrumentalist, an instrument MUST be attempted!

I began to worry that they would go back to school and tell the story of a fat old bitch in the store who had yelled at them and been insulting, and it would become an anecdote for years to come. I would never be identified, but my spirit would be scorned and vilified for years to come. I would apologize; I would go up and be contrite and say I understood their enthusiasm, that my nephew would have been trying the same thing, and that I was being mean.

But it was too late. They were gone, and I had been bitchy for my own satisfaction and the pleasure of a well-placed zinger. So to the three young men in World Market in West Nashville on a Friday night, I am sorry. You saw me take the next step in my Crazy Cat Lady/Spinster Aunt/Old Maid aging process, and it was into the Mean Old Lady stage. I would have preferred it be the Sassy Old Lady, or the Sharp as Nails Old Lady, but unfortunately I took the Cranky exit. You meant well, and you weren't actually being douchey.

And to the little boy bashing around two cheaply made fans that I said rebukingly to that he "could actually BREAK those things by waving them so hard!" I hope you will... no, actually, that kid was being a little brat. I WANT him to think twice before he messes with things that aren't toys in a home interior store.

From our Crazed Family to Yours...

Merry Christmas, and fervent prayers for a
Sane and Happy New Year!

It's been a good year, really!  I've been happy this first full year in my condo, with a very, very slow decorating approach – I just hung most of my pictures 18 months after moving in! I think the kitties have been reasonably content; as long as I will not attempt to pick them up & squeeze them (corporal cuddling), yet will make my lap available when they want some cuddle time, they appear satisfied with the arrangement. Daisy has become a big chunky fuzzball, while Bunny is a sleek little girl. They both are good cuddlers. Bunny has an obsession with dunking stuff in their water bowl that utterly mystifies me, though. I come home and find wads of yarn (the preferred plaything at present) in the bowl and water everywhere; I put all the loose yarn in the back room, and in less than an hour, it’s been dragged back to the bowl. The little freak!

The Young Adult historical fiction books by Gladys Malvern that I have been editing to reprint are all done.  We managed to get 12 of her public domain titles back into print, and I think the books are beautiful! Sales are tepid but steady, and we hope the homeschool community will discover them soon. They are available at all the big online book retailers...

Work ebbs and flows, as always… It's been six years now since I started House Calls, and started at the AEA/Vandy. I still love working at both places. The variety of both jobs and switching back and forth keeps me from getting burned out. I had my first (minor) surgery on my right tear duct this summer, but apparently I was one of the 5% whose heals up wrongly, and so I am going back in to have it redone 2 days after Christmas. *sigh* I’m still singing with the Parish Choir and Chamber Singers at St. Bartholomew’s in Nashville, and still love it.

Hoping you and yours are well! God bless and keep you!

How Steve Jobs Made Me a Computer Geek

Well, HE didn't actually make me a geek... but his old beige toaster Macintosh did.

In 1987, I was a dyed-in-the-wool Luddite; a history/literature/musician/actress ARTISTE. I had managed to avoid computers all through high school (they were still in the punch-card phase and I saw absolutely no reason to bother with something so obviously dull). I was as right-brained as they come, and proud to be so.

Then I went to college at Belmont. Within my first month there, I realized that I was going to have to start typing papers, and I think my friend Suzy Life offered to show me where the computer lab was on campus. I have no memory of my first visit there, but I remember how the computers looked; so cozy, so simple and I approached them without any fear whatsoever. There were only 3 or 4 available for student use at that time.

This is the model they had - the operating system booted from a small 800K floppy. There was no hard drive yet! But I remember someone showing me the font choices they had like Times, Chicago and Venice, and I was all "ooh, pretty!" I started using it to write letters to pen pals and friends, and by the time I really did start using it to do papers, I was fairly comfortable with a Mac.

Of course, I was still under the illusion I was an artiste! I got my History degree with a minor in English. But as the years progressed I continued working with Macs, and by my senior year I was working as a lab monitor in the large, 20+ computer Mac lab across the hall from my mentor's office, the Dean of Humanities, Robert Simmons. He adored Macs, and typed up detailed critiques on student papers and essays, which he would print out on a noisy dot-matrix printer. It was he who decided the School of Humanities needed its own computer lab, and he established special freshman writing classes that were taught in the lab, so the students could get comfortable using computers for composition. He'd even let students in his classes go downstairs during a test to type their essays in the lab! I miss him terribly - he died a few years after I graduated.

I still didn't know that I liked computers. My use of them had been so organic, so thoughtless, that I had no notion that I had any particular affinity or skill. I've always said that things need to sneak up on me; I am so alert to potential scenarios that I can become crippled by expectations and behave quite stupidly. Well, computers snuck up on me! Almost every job I had from that point on, in various secretarial and office admin positions, had a Macintosh on hand, and I used all of them.

By the time I was working on my 2nd undergrad degree in Theater, I had gotten a student job working in sales for the campus "Computer Connection" store. They also took care of departmental support for the college; fixing, installing, and maintaining computers all over campus. But they were so short of tech guys, and the demand for user support was so great that one day I said "well, I could probably install RAM at least; why not show me how to do it?" I had never even looked inside a computer before. (My favorite anecdote is that memory was so vastly expensive at this time, that it was selling for $350 for an 8MB chip!)

The next thing I knew (really, I don't remember any learning curve) I was doing both jobs - support and sales. I was delivering computers (how I loved our delivery golf cart!) around campus and installing them, installing memory, making service calls, even giving tutorials to staff on software programs. Less than a year after I started at the Computer Connection, I was hired to work at the William Morris Agency, which was one of the rare businesses that primarily used Macs and they needed a Mac person. I'm still astonished that they hired me; I had no qualifications or education in computers!

But the Mac had taught me how to use itself, even in the days before the internet became really useful. Steve Jobs, Woz, and Apple Computer made a computer that I didn't need a college education in Computer Science to use and support. Since my years at WMA, I've moved on to Windows and PCs and that is what I primarily support now. But my affection and nostalgia for the Mac platform, for the beauty and ease and simplicity of the products made by Apple (with some notable exceptions, of course!) will always be with me, and I will always be grateful to the people who made a machine that took me out of my right brain, and eased me into using my left as well.

A Moment of Insight

OK, I've figured out what this presidential campaign season is actually all about... it's about New Toys.

We have this set of 8 or so action figures, and some of them are the cool ones that we like from the movies like Han Solo or Princess Leia... but others are characters we don't really remember from the movies like General Taggi* or Chall Bekan*. Those would be the Jon Huntsmans and the Gary Johnsons. We tend to leave them in the box.

But you know, we've been playing with our Michelle Bachman and Mitt Romney for a while, and they're getting a little boring... what this make-believe needs is some new action figures! Can we have a Rick Perry? Pleeeeeeese? I don't wanna play with Newt; his head keeps falling off! So Mom gets us a Rick Perry but after a week or so the novelty's worn off him and we'd really like a Chris Christie or a Sarah Palin to make the game fun again (although we had a Sarah Palin a while back until our dog chewed it up so it wasn't any good and mom threw it away).

We're treating these men and women like toys for our entertainment. We delight in every misspoken sentence, every ill-thought idea, and let the media mock and shred them for our entertainment. Is it any wonder Palin and Christie are reluctant to announce candidacy? How can any of them have anything approaching a substantive conversation about their stand on the issues, when they're continually required to be defending every word that comes out of their mouth, or attacking the last stupid thing another candidate said? It really is a blood sport.

You know, now that I think about it, it's more like a cat who's caught a mouse or a baby rabbit, and batted it around and gnawed on it until it lies motionless and dead... it's not fun anymore. So the cat goes hunting for another critter.

*I had to look these names up on IMDb; I'm a geek, but a diversified geek!

Lynching in Georgia

Troy Davis, a man convicted of murder in Georgia, is going to be executed tonight at 7pm. In the years since his initial conviction and sentence, the original case against him has fallen apart; multiple witnesses have recanted their testimony, one of the witnesses CONFESSED to the crime, etc. Any of this is sufficient to give an appeal legs... but four appeals have gone through and he is still slated for execution. WHY?

After lamenting the injustices of Nicaraguan "law"in regards to the wrongful arrests and convictions of my friend Eric Volz and now Jason Puracal, at least in their cases, I didn't have to worry that the state would have them put to death! Now a man is going to be killed under a dubious conviction in the democratic and supposedly "better" United States of America. I have always said that I would prefer for the guilty to go free than for the innocent to be locked up, which is why I wasn't too fussed about the Casey Anthony case.

Can you imagine how heavy the guilt of executing a potentially innocent man will lie on the heads of those who could have undone this injustice, and have not? Do they not think at all of the Golden Rule - treat others as you want to be treated? I don't know if this case is a result of discrimination, of laziness, of just plain bloody-mindedness... but it makes me feel about as safe with the American Justice System as a woman in 1690s Salem who has a lot of enemies in town!

God forgive those who are responsible for his incarceration and execution, and those who could undo it and yet have chosen not to err on the side of mercy.

So Sick, So Tired

Once again, Nicaraguan Injustice has prevailed.

I did so hope... although I don't know why I should have! The way they treated Eric Volz should have been lesson enough that reason, fairness, justice are absent from the Nicaraguan legal system. Now Jason Puracal, who has already spent almost 300 days in jail on no evidence, has been convicted of international drug trafficking, money laundering, and organized crime. This is despite the total lack of evidence, and with an illegal judge presiding.

Americans, leave Nicaragua. You've had 2 warnings now; the sweetness and light you think you are living in is all a facade. At any moment, you can be arrested, imprisoned and tortured on the flimsiest of pretexts. Hell, on no pretext at all! Maybe if you immediately bribe the officers who are arresting you... maybe then you will be able to escape with your life and your freedom. But trusting to the laws of that country (which may be just fine on paper) and your own innocence has been proven to be stupid and naive.

We think that because we have a reasonably fair legal system in the US that all legal systems are equally fair. THEY ARE NOT.

• Shane, Josh and Sarah arrested in Iran for the mistake of hiking near the border; Shane and Josh convicted and condemned to 8 years in prison.
• Amanda Knox, arrested and convicted of a murder she could not possibly have committed; 30 years in Italian prison
• Eric Volz, arrested and convicted of murder in Nicaragua despite airtight alibi and complete lack of forensic evidence. 30 years in prison, miraculously overturned on appeal.

Now add Jason Puracal to the list. These are just the ones I know about and have been following; God only knows how many cases like this exist that haven't got strong social media on their side.

I don't want to have to fight through another one of these cases, because they won't fight fair. Reason and logic serve no purpose. Justice is a word they shit upon.

I'm holding on to this; a friend happened to post this (I don't know why) just as I heard the news about Jason:

13 I would have lost heart, unless I had believed
That I would see the goodness of the LORD
In the land of the living.

14 Wait on the LORD;
Be of good courage,
And He shall strengthen your heart;
Wait, I say, on the LORD!

Psalm 27 (28)

freejasonp.com
freethehikers.org
injusticeinperugia.org

AVALANCHE Week to Free Jason Puracal!

Trial is scheduled to resume with Day Three this Tuesday, August 16. From the Court's rulings during the first two days of trial, it is clear the Judge is pushing for a conviction. He has crippled the defense case by throwing out the very evidence that proves Jason’s innocence, including a real estate expert, Jason’s accountant, and the letter from the DEA. The Judge has also prevented the defense from questioning the prosecution’s witnesses on key issues. It is time to make the State Department see the injustice in this case. They must step in and demand Jason’s release.

CALL to ACTION: This week is AVALANCHE Week. Senator Cantwell is the person that can force the State Department into action. We want to bombard her office with phone calls (not just letters and emails) to insist that she force the State Department to demand Jason’s release. Please everyone commit to making one phone call each day this week to Senator Cantwell’s office to let her know that we want action. The goal is for Senator Cantwell to receive at least one phone call about Jason every minute of every day this week.

Senator Maria Cantwell
202-224-3441 (Washington D.C. office)
206-220-6400 (Seattle Office)

In Which I Have Surgery

I am having a DCR procedure Friday morning - DCR stands for Dacryocystorhinostomy. They are basically creating a new tear drain for my right eye, which has had a lump around the tear duct since January. Apparently my tear ducts are much smaller than they should be (at least in my right eye) and nastiness has been building up from a blockage in that area. Plus my tears cannot drain down into my sinuses like they should, so I look like I'm perpetually crying and wiping away tears. I haven't been able to wear eye makeup in months!

So I'll be having an outpatient procedure under a general anesthetic (first time in my life!) around 8:30 am, and will hopefully be home by noon. My friend Rachel is staying with me for a while, and so she's going to take me and bring me home and make sure I don't collapse or starve or whatever; at least until I've fully recovered.

Unfortunately, on Tuesday my right eye started really swelling up, and now 3 days later my vision is partially impaired, and my eyelid is puffed out over the top. The whole area is very tender and I suspect, infected. My Dr. has me on antibiotics to try and get it back to normal in time for the surgery, but I am dubious that less than 2 days of meds is sufficient to turn it around. So it might have to be postponed.

So I would welcome prayers; that the swelling and infection would go down, and that I would be calm and relaxed throughout the process... and that I don't freak out when they come to give me the IV (I'm a needle-phobic)!

Why Casey Anthony Didn't Win

As angry as everyone following the Casey Anthony case may be, I actually think the Not Guilty verdict may be far worse for her than she or her family have imagined.

Look at it this way. If she had been judged Guilty, she would go to jail. I don't think she'd get the death penalty; she's young and obviously weak. Everyone would feel vindicated and jubilant, and in 20+ years when she was paroled, the worst of the anger and desire for vengeance would have subsided and there would be little interest. She could live quietly, and at least she would be regarded as having paid her debt to society.

But as a person perceived as guilty by the majority of society (I've not heard of anyone who believes she is innocent) who "got off scot-free", she will be rejected and shunned by society. I doubt anyone would ever hire her for a job again. The fact that even her parents have had death threats is an indicator of how strongly people hate her right now. No one will ever allow her around their children, I would be very surprised if she ever has another date in her life, and I can just imagine her showing up at one of the nightclubs she used to go to... the appalled hush that would fall over the room, the turned backs. And that's just the mild response... there are always people who take vigilante justice too far, and her life will doubtless be threatened for a while to come.

I'm not exactly surprised at the jury's decision. Although everything "gestures" to her, the actual, tangible evidence that proves she killed her baby just isn't there. And I am actually comforted that our legal system would rather err on the side of letting the guilty go free, rather than send the innocent to jail. That's one of the wonders of our legal system, and I am grateful that we can have a questionable Innocent verdict, as opposed to one based on popular opinion. When the Lindbergh baby was kidnapped, they executed a man who very possibly was innocent. This judgment 75 years later, with a similarly tragic case, I find encouraging and an indication of maturity.

Five years ago, I might not have thought this. I was inclined to believe that where there's smoke, there's fire, and that anyone who was in jail was genuinely guilty. But then I learned of Eric Volz, and the sham arrest, trial and conviction he suffered in Nicaragua for murder, and I realized that mistakes are made, and popular opinion allowed to influence trials. Eric was so patently innocent - and all evidence and witnesses to that innocence was discarded and ignored so that evil people could get revenge on America... or protect the real murderer... or score political points. Anything but justice was the goal.

So I don't mind so much that Casey Anthony is going to go free. Because I would rather the guilty go free than the innocent be imprisoned, and I believe that society will probably be far crueler to her than any prison cell could be.

I know, I know, these 2 opinions do not match up!