Confessions of a Blogger

I woke up this morning after an awful dream which left me with a painful stomach ache.  It was one of those vivid dreams, and all the feelings that had occurred in the dream were affecting me as I lay there.  I felt angry and powerless and frustrated and then I burst out crying.  Uncontrollably.

The intensity of my feelings in the dream, the ache in my gut and the fact that clearly I have been stuffing down these feelings all washed over me.  Everything was so tangible, I needed to dissect the situation in order to best understand it.

Before I discuss the dream itself, I want to give a little background.  While I have alluded to the fact that something happened that made me feel less comfortable about expressing myself freely in this blog, I haven't come right out and said what it was.  This very act itself, I believe, the act of suppressing my creativity in order to protect myself, is, well, it's killing me.  Not immediately, of course.  But bit by bit the cells of my body are in revolt.  My back has been aching, I haven't felt like myself, I have been short-tempered and I have been trying to figure out why.

This morning, I have.  While I have been busy being politically correct and writing about movies, things that I want to say, things that should be said, have been jammed down, because we wouldn't want my words used against me in a court of law now, would we?  Then I thought, this is MY GFB, and NOBODY PUTS BABY IN A CORNER.

Nobody.

Fear of litigation.  One should live in no fear at all.  The purpose of my blog is to write what I am feeling (if that is what I choose) mostly because it is a wonderful outlet for me.  I can say things that I might not want to have a conversation about, but are still fragments of my life that affect me in one way or another, or that have an impact on me.  Whether it be politics, nutrition, the environment or relationships or whatever.

The fact that it is "public," has never bothered me, and I think this is because as a person who reads other people's blogs on a regular basis, I get it.  The sharing of ourselves in this manner allows a window into a world we would otherwise never get to see.  I have read about people's personal pain over the death of a loved one, their journey with cancer, living with a child with a scary disease; many, many different things.  Sometimes I comment and create a dialogue, and sometimes I don't.  But whatever the case, I often learn things, or I am able to understand that we are all dealing with something.

So, if one person, just one person stumbles across this entry and it resonates with them, or it helps them to understand that they are not alone, then it is worth it.  It is worth the threat of being thrown into the pokey for the misperception of my words.  It is worth remaining true to myself, despite any type of threat, and knowing that shutting up and being good has NEVER been, and hopefully never will be, my style.

So what the hell am I talking about?  

Charlie started to exhibit his frustrations in such a manner that I knew something was really up late in November.  And ironically, I posted my own frustrations about his frustration in an entry:

Yesterday Charlie was in rare form. That translates into he was being the biggest jerk on the planet. Rude, obnoxious, nasty ... he felt toxic. I wanted nothing to do with him -- and of course he knew that, so he started pushing buttons. In most cases he hits dead buttons -- I have long since figured him out, but there are times when I'm not prepared. And that would be after a long stretch of him being nothing but sweet, helpful and easy to get along with. I can't remember the last time he was the biggest jerk on the planet -- so -- I guess a part of me had forgotten that he can indeed be just that.

I didn't engage when he started mouthing off. I ignored him when he said he wasn't going to go shopping with me (a pre-planned event that he was trying to get out of at the last minute) but when I was driving out of the driveway and he came running after me, and then acted like he was going to slam the car window and then swore at me, I felt like killing him.

A deep primal urge to smash his head against the pavement, or even better, drive over him.

It's not like I had to keep myself from doing either of those things. I wasn't shaking with anger or had my foot poised over the gas pedal. But it's just so sad that I even have such thoughts. That he can evoke such anger out of me.

But why am I surprised? He's done it a million times before.

Because I am always (stupidly it seems) hopeful that the change he has exhibited for months and months has taken permanent hold and that he is no longer capable of being such a ... a... creep.

So what I did that day, instead of anything to him, was write about it and vent my frustrations, and then afterward I asked myself what had changed with him?  Was it puberty?  Having a bad week?  As I had stated, he felt toxic.  Kind of like I felt this morning.

Anyway, he started to come home with comments about what was going on in school.  He had never gotten along with his chorus teacher, and he would talk about how he was always in trouble, and I told him to just drop the class.  It made no sense to me that a child with a beautiful voice should be experiencing anything negative in regards to music.  I'd already seen him develop an intense hatred toward reading because he didn't know how to read when he entered first grade.  It became the first of many things he would see that he couldn't do "properly."

But he didn't want to drop chorus, and so when his mood didn't improve, I questioned him further.  What else was bothering him?  Then he told me that one of his teachers had told him that she was going to write him a bad recommendation for prep school because she said that she never lied on them.  He was beside himself, very upset, crying, and saying that he was having a horrible time with school, that he was always getting in trouble and this other child never did, and that he went to the office and the principal said he would do something, but never seemed to, and on and on it went.

Had I heard a word from the school?  No.

But I did regularly vent my frustrations about this in the blog, because I just couldn't believe that we were back here again.  I had to pull him out of school in 5th grade because the teacher had been so mean to him in front of me, I just couldn't fathom what she was like when another adult wasn't around.  It scared me.  I mean, enough so that I made a snap decision and told him to gather his things, he wasn't going to go back.

I had already had experience with teacher's being very unprofessional and downright mean.  And now it seemed as though he was experiencing this same thing in droves.  I tried my best to give him coping skills.  I told him to ignore this other kid, to not engage when the teachers yelled at him or blamed him.  I told him that if HE knew the truth, then that was all that mattered.  But here I am, 45-years-old, and I can't ignore it either.  How can anyone expect a 13-year-old pubescent child to figure out how to navigate a world that he perceives he is the bad guy NO MATTER WHAT?

Well, you can't.  That is why there are adults trained as teachers, and guidance counselors trained as counselors and countless programs set up so that all of our children receive an equal and fair education.

So, Charlie was coming home and telling me tale after tale.  I didn't take them all at face value, but I continued to tell him to IGNORE this kid and I assumed that he was just blowing things out of proportion, because obviously if things were as bad as Charlie was portraying, I would have heard from the school ... right?

Wrong.

He came home panicked and said that he was sure that he was going to be moved into the other cluster.  He cried and said that he didn't want to move, that he liked his classes and the friends he had in them, and he said that it wasn't fair.  He also talked about being yelled at by several teachers in the course of one day and how they all hated him, one said he was the worst student they had ever had in their entire teaching career, and I thought, what the hell is going on?

I sent an email to the principal, vice principal and guidance counselor seeking some type of dialogue, initiated by me, to figure this situation out.  There was a meeting set up for the following week, but that morning Charlie called upset and said that they had moved him.  I had told him to call me if they did this, and so Peter and I went to the school without an appointment to meet with the principal and vice principal.

They were very insistent that this was definitely all Charlie's fault.  The vice principal had spoken to kids in the class who had all corroborated on the fact that Charlie is the only one that instigates things with this other child.  The fact that he had been moved without anyone notifying us, "was unfortunate," but the principal never had the time to let us know.  I did ask why we weren't notified about any of this, and was told that they had hoped that the situation would resolve itself.  (It had been months, with an escalation taking place, not a resolution.)

The principal did make some comment about how I had told them to visit my blog, but my mind was working a million thoughts a second, as I tried to parse through the information and figure out what was true and what wasn't, so it didn't really register.  We left with the knowledge that we had our "big meeting" the following week, and the hope that we would find answers there.

The meeting consisted of the principal and all of Charlie's teachers with the exception of his english teacher, who was absent.  I noted the hostility the moment I sat down, but thought maybe it was because they were just mad that they had to take the time to meet.  The meeting started out well enough, with the principal reading a letter from the physical education teacher, who had good things to say, then followed up by his FACS teacher and art teacher, both who said he did fine, though the art teacher did have the other child in the class and commented that it was a bad situation.

Then the teachers all basically stated their feelings about how it was absolutely Charlie instigating everything with this other child, but the thing that pinged in my head was the comment, "... (the other child) ... is fragile."  So one child is fragile and the other is the monster.  It was pretty cut and dried.  Fine.  But then what to do about it?

But oh, wait, we weren't really there for solutions.  Because then the blog came up.  And then I realized that the papers in front of the principal weren't papers that had something to do with a solution of any sort, but were print-out's of my blog, with little sticky notes obviously showing the places where I had said certain things.

Okay, I see.  So this isn't about how can we help Charlie be all that we can be.  When the principal brought up my blog, and how I had instructed them to read it, it became quite clear:  At the end of my emails I have an automatic signature that says "Hey, check out my blog," with the address.  I put this in quite some time ago because friends were asking me how to find it, and it was just easier to give them a link via my email.  I quickly assured them that I did not MEAN to specifically have them read my blog, and that while my opinions might be extreme, they were not necessarily Charlie's -- and that Charlie absolutely did not read my blog.  (Heck, I can hardly get him to read a book, much less words from a long-winded mother!)

Then the principal commented on how he was happy to hear that, because that they are legally obligated to contact the necessary officials if they feel a child is in danger, and he referenced the above portion that I pasted where I'd mentioned wanting to kill Charlie.

Unbelievable.  So there I was, totally stunned.  And in total recognition at that point of the hostility in the room, because hey, I'd said I would kill my child in my blog.  I must be a mad, psycho, crazy fruitcake mother, and OF COURSE my son would be a monster.

Unbelievable.

And then again, maybe not.

So, they changed all of Charlie's classes so he doesn't have any more with the fragile child, and it is anyone's guess how things are going, because no one bothers to let me know.  Charlie doesn't say much, but his grades suck, so that pretty much indicates that things are not going well.  And I began to examine the fact that someone had read through my blog, searching for negative things that I had written, and then printing them out to have them ready to use as some ammunition of some sort?  To protect my child?  Yeah.  The un-fragile one.  FROM HIS MOTHER?

But it all became crystal clear to me this morning, as a result of the dream, and the way I have been feeling, and the fact that I blog with less freedom because of my fear my words will be used against me in a court of law, so help me god.  I am being stifled.  As Charlie is, in the public school system.

He isn't permitted to learn the way he is most comfortable because it is not set up for that.  He apparently does not do well sitting at a desk.  Well yes, I know this.  He can listen better if he is laying on the floor playing Legos and humming then he can without distractions.  Is this wrong?  Or is it just the way it is?  Does this make Charlie imperfect?

Despite the fact that he runs through the same channels, seeking out the principal for help in a situation, the end results are not the same.  Because of this other child's fragile status, the situation is inequitable right from the get-go.  But does Charlie understand this?  Oh sure, he does.  Because what he sees is a kid who gets good grades because he has an aide who helps him do his work, and a kid who will not get in trouble despite whatever Charlie tries (this is my theory, that Charlie in crazy frustration, is trying to push the envelope beyond recognition to see if ANYTHING would get this kid in trouble). The fact that only HE gets in trouble, and all the teachers are quite sure it is ONLY him, doesn't quite resonate with him.  I told him, go bang your head against a wall over and over, and then tell the wall to stop.  And when it doesn't listen, try it again, and then tell the wall to stop.  Doesn't make much sense, does it?  (I don't think he got that either!)

I think it is the injustice of the situation that just rankles him beyond sane reasoning.  So then my thought is, let's get him on an equal playing field.  Let's have Charlie tested, coded, etc. etc. but then again, why?  It's not going to change anything now.  I should have played the system a long time ago, but nope.  I stupidly believed that I could change things, when now all I know for sure is that the only person I can NOT let be changed is myself.

Hence this blog.

So in the dream I dropped Charlie off at school and he saw all of his teachers talking and pointing at him.  He started sobbing, and I stopped, got out of my car and went up to him.  He said that the teachers were making fun of him, and I looked, and all of them had turned away, except for one.

I went over to her and I told her that she was hurting Charlie's feelings, and she threw her head back and laughed loudly and told me so what, he deserved it.  I again asked her nicely to please understand that Charlie was not the monster she thought he was, and she used a taunting voice and repeated my words.  

(I add the following disclaimer before I write the following words:  This was a dream, this was only a dream.  I do not now and never have any intent to do any of the actions my dreams portrayed.)

I was filled with an unbelievable feeling of rage and frustration and I started to yell at her.  Another teacher, who seemed very uncomfortable by this teacher's words, said something like, "this isn't good, this isn't good."  I said no, it's not, and then the "bad" teacher started laughing at me, taunting me.  And I started screaming at her, and swearing, and then I wanted to choke her, but then I woke up.

And my stomach was in absolute total knots, I could hardly stand the pain.  And then, I started crying, which helped to alleviate some of the pain.  But as I lay there, I knew.  I knew that I had to write this all down.  That this was a very important part of my life, for whatever reason, and I needed to document it.  That the way I felt in that dream is the way that Charlie feels every day, and that is why I cried.  Because it is a horrible, awful, inhumane way to feel.  And it makes me very angry and upset that the only coping skills I give him are to IGNORE IT.

Well.  Look what happens when I ignore my need to vent my frustrations (via my blog).  I make myself sick.  When you stuff something down, it doesn't dissipate into the ether.  It doesn't go away.  It festers.

The situation with Charlie grew to a point where the truth is no longer visible.  What is true now for all involved at that school, is that Charlie is the problem.  I can't believe that this is so, and MY GUT tells me otherwise.  MY GUT was screaming at me, do not, DO NOT, doubt your child.  You have had bad experiences in this school with your smart, quiet, daughter.  DO NOT FORGET THE LESSONS OF THE PAST.

And most importantly, my gut told me that what they did to me is exactly what they do to Charlie.  They took one of my most creative venues -- a catalog of words that depict countless things: funny; irreverrent; sad; informative and true -- and nitpicked out only the negative and painted me with that brush.  Charlie and I are BOTH monsters!

Wow.

WOW, WOW, WOW.  Think about it.  In that paragraph where I said I wanted to kill Charlie, I said, only words away from that statement, that they were only thoughts:  

It's not like I had to keep myself from doing either of those things. I wasn't shaking with anger or had my foot poised over the gas pedal. But it's just so sad that I even have such thoughts. That he can evoke such anger out of me.

But the focus was on the negative things I had said.

And how did that make me feel?  It infuriated me that the focus of the entire situation had somehow been diverted toward that.  All those people could see in their heads were my words.  We weren't there to discuss a positive action plan for Charlie.  We weren't there to discuss anything positive at all.

I still don't know what to do, though my gut is pretty damn sure.  The bottom line is, as long as the focus is on the negative things that Charlie does, that is what will ensue.  And he is just awful now -- just awful.  I write this in full recognition that it is my job to protect my child and that calling him awful probably isn't the way to go about it.  But it's affecting him to his very core -- and that core is being steeped in a negative stew that might just erode it forever.

When you can't do anything right, then why do anything right at all?

OR ... when you can't do anything WRITE, then why WRITE anything at all.

I will NEVER STOP WRITING.  Not even to protect myself.

 

OMG, can I relate or what!

When asked to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up, second-grader "Sarah" turned in the lovely drawing shown below.  Needless to say, the teacher was a bit surprised -- Mrs. Smith had always seemed like such a conservative woman.  So she sent a note home to the girl's mother asking for clarification as to the picture's meaning.  (read Mom's reply below the picture) 

It says When I grow up, I want to be like MOMMY!

(Here's the reply the teacher received the following day) 
Dear Mrs. Jones, 
I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer.   
I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit.  I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it.    Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole.  It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot. 
From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in. 
Sincerely, 
Mrs.  Smith 

This is priceless!

Revolutionary Road

Saturday night we went to see the movie, Revolutionary Road.  I didn't expect it to be what it was.  I am not sure what my expectations were, exactly, but not that.  It was so ... sad.

The two main characters are played by Kate Winslet and Leonardo DeCaprio. Frank and April Wheeler fall in love and end up in suburbia.  But her dreams run deeper than that, and she believes that so do his. And he's not happy in his job, commuting on the train to NYC and sitting at a desk and not really doing anything of any importance ... and the general apathy of the entire workforce is felt as a sea of hat-topped men flood through Grand Central Station on their way to and from work. (It takes place I would guess in the 60's.)

They are both deeply unhappy and he has an affair and she realizes that something needs to be done.  So she does something, which I won't say because I don't want to give away the movie on the off-chance you want to go see it and be depressed!

But it made me think ... I feel the same way the woman did, now, and my life is a cazamillionbajillion times better than hers was.  How did so many women survive that time period intact?  Or did they!????

The way she felt is that there had to be more.  More than keeping a house clean, shopping, cooking and all the mundane chores that made up her daily life.  Her children were older and she wanted more.  She wanted the same hope for the future she had felt when she was younger, and she believed that it could be obtained as long as they didn't fall for the "American Dream," which was really no more, no less than a total nightmare.

And Frank discovered that the life he had was what he wanted all along. Which of course is a huge betrayal to April, because the one thing that had returned them to their original closeness was their mutual discontent.

There are all types of people in the world, but I identified with this character very deeply, because I wouldn't have been able to live that life either.  I am not saying that there weren't women during that time period (and today) who were perfectly happy keeping a house clean and meeting her man at the door with a fresh martini and making sure his dinner is served promptly.  And I'm not saying that you can't find deeply fulfilling work and spend each day in total bliss anywhere, including suburbia.

What am I saying?

There are plenty of people in the world who don't live a "typical" and accepted lifestyle, and yet, we perceive them as somehow being a little off.  Unless you have a job and a house and a few cars and other material possessions to prove your success, then it is just naturally assumed that you're not smart or successful.  But which is it?  

April and Frank were going to "have it all" in the eyes of the world.  But she felt as though she didn't have anything.  At. All.  She felt empty, devoid of hope, all she could see in the future was more of the same.  More of the same she couldn't stand.  I don't feel like that, but I do feel trapped within the constraints of stuff.  I do feel as though I am surrounded by so many things I thought were necessary for a happy and fruitful life -- but really all they do is suffocate me!

And just the same way this stuff accumulates and doesn't have a place, it affects you, in your life, and makes you feel jumbled and out of place.

For example, my office is a mess.  It is a very small room and yet every nook, cranny and corner has something in it.  To the left of my desk is a fan.  It is there because in August it was a hundred degrees in my office, and I needed it.  It is covered in dust and could easily be moved back to the basement where I found it.  But there it stays.  On my actual desk are piles of things that are very "important."  Things I need to address sooner rather than later and stuff that has absolutely no business at all being there, like the pictures Maddie printed out to show me, but did not return to her room.

On the other side of my desk are two low tables that have everything imaginable stacked on them.  Books, magazines, cameras, pocketbooks, knapsacks, oh look, there's an umbrella, paints, canvases, assorted cords to computers and other gadgets, a tin box I have no idea where it came from, but there it is perched on the top of the highest pile, and on the floor surrounding the table is more junk.  

Some of the books I have already read, some I have not.  There are quite a few raw food books, but not in any particular order, so when I am looking for one, I have to move stacks to see what is behind them.  Then there is a chair, which is normally open for sitting.  But now it has the manuscript I am working on piled on it, as well as several photo albums someone was looking at recently.  To the left of the chair is the ottoman, or I think it is an ottoman, but it is completely covered, with a laptop, mail, more magazines, a hat, more pocketbooks, and then on the floor next to that is a backpack, another bag I use, and a bag of recyclable shopping bags.

This is a nightmare.  And when I look at it, I have no idea where to put it all.  I have no bookshelves that have even an inch of space on them, and yet I have loads of homeless books.  So what do I want to do?  Run away!  The clutter of it all is stifling.

I don't know what a messy office has to do with anything.  I guess it's because even if I do clean it, somehow it will return to this state.  Just like the kitchen, which no matter what I do accumulates crap.  And the pantry.  Clean it out, and sure enough, the next thing you know every surface is covered with something.

I HATE IT!  It makes me absolutely bonkers, and I dream about a cabin in the woods (secluded and yet completely wired for internet!) with clean curtains blowing in the breeze and a few sticks of crazy comfortable furniture and no clutter.  NO CLUTTER.  Perhaps a bowl of fresh, colorful fruit on the stark table, but nothing else.  NOTHING ELSE!

I must be free of the constraints of crap.  I must!

But I think it is human nature, because I am sure in my little cabin I would be sure to realize that I NEEEEEED something.  A throw rug on the floor.  A pillow for the couch.  And so it would begin again.  

::::::::::::sigh::::::::::::::::::::

I guess I should clean the office, huh?

What is it about movies, anyway?

Last night I was all jacked up on cacoa -- I had my super smoothie in the morning and then popped an energy bar later, followed with a bowl of chocolate mousse with maca in it.

Why?  I am not sure!  I know better than to ingest that many superfoods that late in the day, but I was craving chocolate, and the cravings beat out my better judgement.

So. At about midnight I began watching Dirty Dancing, and I figured that since I've seen it a million times, it wouldn't draw me in and I'd hopefully get tired along the way.

But no.  I was COMPLETELY absorbed by the movie, I was totally drawn in and felt as though I was watching it for the first time.  I also noticed that the other night when I ended up watching Eyes Wide Shut (umm, I think I was on a superfood high that night too!) with Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.  The first time I saw that movie, I absolutely hated it.  But the second time around, many years later, I actually enjoyed it.  I took so much more from it than I had the first time, or maybe I have just changed, who knows.

So that made me realize that I should watch all of my favorite old movies again, because who knows, I might enjoy them even more than I did the first time!  I have probably seen Pretty Woman a cazillion times, and yet I always get drawn back into the fairy tale. Dirty Dancing had a different message, or at least it did to me last night, for all I kept thinking was how one young girl can change a man's life forever. Could literally change the path of his life by altering his perception of the world just a little.  Just a smidge.

I recalled the first time I saw the movie, at the movie theatre in Hanover in the early 80's.  I know this because I went with my first boyfriend, and we dated my junior and senior year of high school.  We actually went to see a different movie, but it was sold out, so we went to Dirty Dancing, which we hadn't heard of.  It wasn't a big movie at that time -- I mean, it didn't get a lot of press.  It was what you would call a sleeper.  That was also the first time I ever heard that term, because as we were walking out of the theatre, my boyfriend commented that he'd liked it, and that it was a sleeper.  I asked what that meant, I thought he was being funny, and we never really discussed the movie any further.  (I wracked my brain, and all I can picture is us walking out the door, I remember looking at the movie poster in the glassed in thing and commenting about how lucky it was that we'd gone to see it, because I'd never heard of it, and then he called it a sleeper.  My memory goes blank there.)

What I thought was fun last night was that I was Baby's age at the time I first saw the movie, and I know I felt exactly as she did, and it was neat to be able to return to that time, if only briefly, and try to remember who I was, what I felt, etc.  I have to suspect that the movie hit me as a one million percent love story, whereas last night I was more tuned into the way the mother was treated by the father, or how the rich boys get respect no matter how nasty they are, or how when you have been beat down and put down, you start to believe that you don't matter.

Instead of looking at Patrick Swayze as a love interest, I looked at him from a mother's perspective.  Because of course I know exactly what it is like to have a son who believes he is as other's see him.  And I thought, what one event, what one person, what tiny miracle will it take to change the course of Charlie's life forever?

We are so often always thinking the wrong thing.  While Baby thinks that Johnnie would never be interested in her, Johnnie is so down on himself it never even occurs to him how Baby perceives him.  Even at the moment she bares her soul to him, he is still confused, still not sure why a girl like her would want anything to do with a guy like him.

It's really all about power.  If you give your power away, then you are powerless.  Powerless to understand what is going on in your life, powerless to believe in yourself.  Power. Less.

By the time many of us begin our spiritual journey's (and this is an assumption that everyone actually does), we have let so many things pass us by in our lives and we never had a clue. I look back and think, OH!  If only ... but it doesn't work that way. Youth is not necessarily lost on the young, but it certainly isn't used strategically!

But how can it be?  Life, like anything else, is something we participate in with very little training.  We have parents, but we also have our own personalities, which conflict with the guidance of our parent's right from the get-go.  Does this make any sense?  None!  Think if our course in life was like a game of Monopoly, where the rules of the game were given to us at birth, and we went around the board, over and over and over and over and over and over and over, and wherever we land dictates the path of our future.  That would suck!  Because you would know whoever got Boardwalk and Park Place would have it made in the shade, while you have to suffer through years of cheap properties with pathetic rents.

So I guess that life without such constrictive boundaries and boring rules is a much better option, even if it takes us half our life to figure out a teeny part of the purpose of our existence on the planet!

And ... I would have to make a blog entry that makes sense, or at the very least kept within the boundaries of my title!

AND THAT WOULD BE WRONG!

It was all ... just right

What a day!

I woke up having that expectation you feel when you are a little kid waking up on Christmas morning.  That, Oh! Something good happens today! feeling that makes it a different day, indeed.

It was beautiful and sunny out and I met my sister and husband at Mt. Sunapee for a day of skiing.  We were in the flow ... we skied over slopes that were in great condition, it wasn't too cold, it wasn't too hot ... it was just right.  We skied and we skied, and then just a little before noon we went up to the Pub to catch the swearing in of our first black president of the United States.

And, as we were in the flow, we walked, (well clonked, with our big ski boots) into a room that was as quiet as a library.  Everyone was sitting with their bodies turned towards the large-screen TV in the corner, and no one was uttering a word.  It was so cool!  Oh, we were in the flow, because there was a table, a big table big enough for us and all our friends, right there, the only one empty, perfect, right in front of the tube.

Excellent.  And it was magical, I swear!  I mentioned energy earlier, and you could definitely feel that it was a special time.  After he was sworn in, we all broke out into applause, and then we quieted down to hear his speech.  It wasn't that long and there was one comment he made that made us look at each other ... and nothing he said was surprising.  It felt right, it wasn't something to get that incredible crowd going, it wasn't too long and it wasn't too short ... it was just right!

It was fun to then return to the slopes for another round, and then return to the pub where the ceremonies were still going on.  We watched the parade and we watched as the Obama's walked down the street, waving, walking, walking, waving.

And now, we are home, and those poor people are still keeping it going on.  Wow.  I am so happy not to be the POTUS right now!

What a job.

But I still remember that I am part of the process.  I won't let him down.

It's all ... just right!

Going to the mall takes on new meaning tomorrow

I just saw on the news that if there are one million people standing on the mall to see the great event, there will be as much space per person as an open newspaper.  If there are two million, then it will be the space of a closed newspaper. 

Can you imagine?

I am all for seeing history being made, but quite frankly, all a lot of people are going to see are the people standing next to them.  I know that you don't experience the energy of the actual event if you are sitting in front of a television, but if it's going to be anything like the election, I am not sure I could take any more emotion -- there was plenty going around without actually being there, thank you very much!

When Maddie said to me this evening in a totally disgusted tone of voice that she "had to watch the inauguration tomorrow," I wanted to smack her. Here I was trying to figure out how not to miss it (I was going to DVR it, but the inauguration starts at 9:30 in the morning and goes all day, I don't have that much space!) and here she is moaning about her bad luck at being forced to watch it at school.  It is for her history class, and I said to her that here she was, LIVING history, being a part of one of the most amazing things this country had done in a REAL long time, certainly in her lifetime, and she thinks it's no big deal?

FOR SHAME!

SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME SHAME. Then once she was over being a typical teenager, she went on to explain to Charlie and I about the speaker at school today, a black man who said that when he gave the speech two years ago, a child asked him if he thought there would ever be a black man in the White House, and he said no.

I asked her how that made her feel?  And she said that she hadn't really thought about it.  Which makes me wonder, what exactly do our children think about?

Seriously!

What touches them?  What evokes strong emotions?  What could happen in the world today that would be meaningful?

I was watching the Oprah show and she is of course pulling out all the stops, and the show began with a marriage between Martin Luther's King's speech and Obama's election night speech.  I literally felt all the cells in my body riggle around, it was sort of like getting the chills, except that I could seriously feel each cell, from head to toe do a dance.  To listen to MLK scream that he has a dream, then to see that dream turn into reality ... it's just beyond words, it really is.

Maddie then said that "all the kids at school say that Obama is going to get shot."  I have been hearing this for years.  Years.  And what is the purpose?  If you say you want a boy when you are the pregnant mother of five boys, do you really believe that by NOT stating you want a girl, it makes any difference?  Is this some kind of superstition, if people keep saying it, then it won't happen? 

Because I like to believe that we have come a long way since shooting the people who stood for things some people didn't was in vogue.  There have been so many presidents in my lifetime that would seem perfect targets in my mind, but what?  We only shoot the good ones?  Come on, that's silly, and I think that people shouldn't even allow it into the collective consciousness of the universe.  It should be mandatory (not that I believe in taking away anyone's rights of course or imposing mandates) but it should be MANDATORY that we all get behind this guy and we should all intend to not let this country slip further into the deep hole it's been mired in for the last least eight years, if not longer.

There is a call in the wind for people to take action -- and I think it could potentially be the most amazing thing that America has seen yet.  Even if it is small, each person's act will make a significant difference. I have already begun this myself, in just being more aware of the fact that if I purchase something, then I am the one responsible for its lifetime on the planet.  I turn off lights that aren't needed, I don't waste water. Yes, these are small, but what I think is so interesting is how aware I am.  I was cleaning out a chest and there were all these old games the kids are too old for, most without all their parts.  And they were constructed of this hard plastic, and I thought, "Oh no!  This will end up in the ocean in that big mass of plastic and will never go away."  I didn't know what to do!  What do I do?

I can't just throw something away and forget about it.  I have attached myself with the responsibility of it, and it is kind of overwhelming. I don't think this is good, I think the attachment of anything that affects you negatively is definitely something you want to avoid.  But it really has struck home the fact that everything we bring into our lives should be examined carefully and thoughtfully, with the understanding that it will take up space in your life, perhaps forever.

I know this is all a little random and off-topic from the start of this blog, but then again, I'm not so sure.  I suspect that tomorrow's speech will hold in it many requests for American's to understand that the only way we can move on is to help.  This is not just one man's job, this is everyone's job.

Tomorrow we start anew.  Yahoo.

A snippet on bathrooms and a Gran Torino

What is it about public bathrooms and the inconsistency of what you will find?  Tonight we went to Hanover to see a movie and then out to dinner.  At the movie theatre bathroom I really, really had to go.  The movie was fabulous and not for one second was I going to run out and miss anything just to take care of business.

So by the time I was third deep in line waiting for my turn at the toilet, I was hopping up and down.  Gritting my teeth.  Groaning inside. Hoping I hadn't developed a weak bladder all of a sudden.

At last!  My turn.  I flew into the stall, figured out how to latch the door and then looked for the hook to hang my pocketbook.  Oh, there were the holes where the hooks should be, how nice.  At least I knew not to look further.  I managed to loop the strap of my pocketbook in the narrow space between the door and the wall and then I hopped up and down a few more times and went to the next step of my public bathroom routine, which is wiping off the seat. 

I don't hover.

I have had far too many episodes in the past where it resulted in wet items of clothing.  I'd rather wipe off the seat and take my chances, thank you very much.  But this particular role of toilet paper was like so many you encounter in the stalls: feather thin and weak, so when you tugged it, it ripped.  And then you have to spin the roll around a few times to find the end again, all the while about ready to pass out -- because it's a matter of so close, so close and yet so far.

Okay, so then the entire time you are relieving yourself, instead of basking in the moment of glory, it's all about wrestling with that stupid role of toilet paper.  I swear to gawd, I am nixing the chic small purse and hauling around a carpet bag with my own toilet paper and a box of Depends so that I won't have to run into these monumental horror shows.

OK.  That's one down, off we go to dinner, and yet another stall of mystery.  This one again had no place to hang my pocketbook.  How difficult is this?  How many women do you know that DO NOT have a pocketbook?  This is not rocket science, this is pee-ology.  FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!  And there were the two holes, MOCKING ME, and the entire time instead of fighting with the toilet paper, because wonders of all joy this toilet paper gave out, no problem, I sat there and stared at the two holes and tried to determine if there was ever a hook there, or if it is actually just astronomically cheaper to purchase bathroom stall doors without hooks.

Whatever.

So this bathroom was very, very small, and when I squished into the small area by the sink, I noticed that the paper towel dispenser was really high, at the same level as my head, and that hanging down was a long strip of paper towels.  After I washed my hands, I leaned down to rip off a small piece at the bottom, because I certainly didn't need 5 feet of towel to do the job.  And my movement caused the automatic thingy to shoot out more paper towel.  And my next movement to avoid any movement caused even more to shoot out. 

I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head.  Seriously?

No hooks, stingy toilet paper, tons of toilet paper, an abundance of paper towels whereas at the first bathroom I had to wave my hand three times in front of the red dot to get even four inches of paper to wipe my wet hands.

And men wonder why it takes you forever!  Oh, to walk in, unzip, do it and zip up.

How hard is that?  

Hell, just give me a clean toilet and a hook above it and I'll forego the stall experience.  I just wanna pee for crying out loud!

***

So we went to see the movie Gran Torino -- which was FABULOUS.  Oh, Clint Eastwood is just beyond amazing and I can't think of one single negative comment to make about it.  I enjoyed every second of it -- despite the fact that we were in the third row from the front!  Yikes.

We also went to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button not too long ago, and that too was just fabulous.  These character-driven movies are such a refreshing departure from the action-packed, bang, bang, end of the world, screaming and yelling and guns, car crashes, guns, car crashes and more guns movies that have been so prevalent the past few years.

I just love to come out of a movie and discuss the plot, and how it tied together, and the subtle messages and how it evoked this emotion or that one.  Movies with intelligent plots and story lines.

Now, can I just get me a hook on the back of my stall?

It's not the same

I can't do it.  At least not for now.  I keep seeing people poring over my words, trying to find something to use against me and it makes my blood run cold.

It is the greatest violation I have ever come up against, I think.  I don't think that anyone who is not a writer could ever quite grasp what it feels like to have your words taken out of context, twisted and strung out and used as a weapon against you.  It is very painful.  Probably even more painful than reading something about yourself that is hurtful.

What is most interesting to me is that "normally" this would be something that I would rail against -- oh, the injustice!  But I don't feel that way at all, because the threat is a machine that I have fought my entire life and gotten absolutely nowhere.  The threat is a world that is cloaked in words like "harassment," and "protection," and "perceived harassment," and I am just so glad that I didn't grow up in such a world.  I am glad that I stood out on the playground and when a boy hurled an insult at me, I turned around and hurled one right back.  I didn't even know words like harassment, perceived harassment or that I could get that kid in really big trouble if I wanted to.

Because who cared.  Who the hell cared?  But these lessons will take them far, because these kids can take these explanations of harassment, blech blah spit choke, and take that right into their grown up world, and when a co-worker says they look nice that day, they can sue them!  

Whatever.

I remember once when a woman at work said that so-and-so was harassing her.  I told her he did that to everybody, tell him to stop.  But I don't have to tell him to stop, she said, I can sue him!  Or, I pointed out, you could tell him to stop, like the rest of us did, and he will.   And if he doesn't, smack him!  Oh.  Wait.  You can get sued for that.

I hate such a world, I really do.  I want no part of it.

The other thing I hate is when people say that life isn't fair.

Hey, life is what we make it.  It really only matters to you whether or not it is fair.

Do I think it is "fair" that I have a son that challenges me from time to time?

I think it just is.  That is how people grow -- they challenge and push and hey, I went to school and hated every single minute of it and the only bummer to me is that I didn't figure out a better solution for my children!

Hee hee, guess I couldn't go silently into the night.  Well, we'll see.  Because the whole damn point of this blog from the get-go was for just this very reason, to just start typing and see where it takes me.

This has happened to other bloggers -- their blogs are compromised (which means whatever the blog owner wants it to mean!) and they don't know what to do.  I guess you have to decide what matters most to you.

I remember a long time ago the newspaper I worked for was being sued because one of the writer's "slandered" another writer of the largest daily newspaper in the state, or maybe not, I'll be vague, and my job was to go to the library and look through every article this person had written (editorials) and highlight slanderous and libelous words that he had used towards others.  I pored through microfiche after microfiche, the man was prolific in his abuse towards others, and we had plenty of material -- which I guess makes you feel all powerful, I was certainly pleased to have discovered such a wealth of evidence.

But did it matter?  Of course not.  No one wins in a lawsuit (except of course the lawyers, who are clearly smarter than the rest of the general populace because people keep paying them to make their lives miserable!)

I have a long history of being who I am.

I probably shouldn't change that now.

We'll see.

Off with her head!

What is censorship, exactly?

It is the suppression of speech or deletion of communicative material which may be considered objectionable, harmful or sensitive, as determined by a censor.  

What is a blog?

A blog is a personal diary.  A daily pulpit.  A collaborative space.  A political soapbox.  A breaking-news outlet.  A collection of links.  Your own private thoughts.  Memos to the world.

A blog is whatever you want it to be.  There are millions of them, in all shapes and sizes, and there are NO real rules.

Since blogs have soared in popularity in the past ten years, they have reshaped the web, impacted politics, shaken up journalism and enabled millions of people to have a voice and connect with others.

It is a media where the author expresses their opinion or simply talks about something.

I have thrown my heart and soul into finding that one voice that will represent my blog, only to discover that I have many voices.  I have also found it to be a wonderful place to vent -- whether it be about the absurdity of placing an inexperienced person into the office of vice president, or

how certain events and situations affect me.

It is a place where I write the articles that inspire me.  It is a place where I dream of things to be.  It is a place where I say things I probably shouldn't -- but I do anyway, because for the most part, if you are reading this you know me, or, because you have found a voice that resonates with yours and you continue to visit that blog on a daily basis because you enjoy that person's thoughts.

I bring up censorship because a certain situation took place that I found quite unsettling.   I have an automatic signature at the end of every email that I send out that says "hey, check out my blog at ..." and for well over a year I haven't thought a thing about it.  Despite the fact that many of the things that I blog about are somewhat personal, I am well aware that it is firmly rooted in the public domain -- and like any writer, you write because you want your voice to be heard.  That is just a fact.

But I never considered a situation where I WOULDN'T want my voice to be heard.  Which seems incredibly naive and foolish, but alas, it is the case.

Anyway, the situation has suddenly made me self-conscious of my words.  Which isn't a good thing -- because a writer cannot be self-conscious and afraid to offend, because the thing that makes my writing different from someone else's is that I write it like it is.  Or the way I perceive it to be.  And isn't that my right?

Yes, I suppose it is.  But in the quest of being a kind and peaceful person (which I have been saying for months is just so not me!) it would be remiss of me not to take into account that perhaps the use of vague generalizations will not completely skew the point I am trying to make.  I have no desire to hurt anyone, or to pick on anyone or to make people think I am a crazy psycho lunatic.  (Well, the latter I might have to reconsider ... I have NEVER wanted to be normal after all!)

By accident, people that were represented in my blog in not such a favorable light were inadvertently pointed to my blog by ... me.  Via my automatic signature, I invited a whole contingent of people who in normal circumstances would never have arrived there on their own. 

I think many of us have made the mistake of forwarding an email, or responding to one, that had the entire history at the bottom.  Perhaps the email said something like "I am so sick of Toodles (hopefully NO ONE on the planet has that name!) and next time I see her I am going to pretend I don't know her."  And then without thinking, you realize that Toodles has to bring the cookies to the next sunflower planting session so you include her in the email with all of the other sunflower planters ... and she starts reading the stuff below ... and well.  It's the type of thing that makes your stomach turn.

The type of thing that makes you wish you could take it all back.

But you can't, so you have to move on and learn from the experience and realize that when you throw your words out into the world, ANYONE can read them and ANYONE can interpret them the way they want to.

So with that knowledge, I will continue to blog in my usual fashion, only with a little more finesse.

Private Practice of scare mongering

I was watching the show Private Practice the other night with my daughter, and one of the story lines was about a woman with three children who had chosen not to immunize the younger two after her oldest contracted autism after receiving a shot.

Her middle child had picked up measles somewhere, and was very ill from it.  The pediatrician in the show, who up until this point had been respectful of her wishes not to immunize her other children, had turned rabid in the face of this situation, and was adamantly insisting that she protect her third child by giving him the shot.

The mother was beside herself with worry and grief, but the one thing she knew for sure was that her child had been happy and full of life, received the shot and was never the same again.  She knew, as only mothers can, what happened to that child, and she was damned if she was going to let it happen to her other two.

The one theme running throughout the show was the repeated statement by the actor doctors that immunizations do not cause autism.  They said this in such a scornful manner, that I was a little taken aback by this.  Because the truth of the matter is, there is no solid proof EITHER WAY that immunizations cause autism.  The only thing that there is are countless children with autism -- an epidemic of it, really -- and no answer as to why they have it now and not before now.  There are definitely parents who believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that their "normal" children changed after they had their shots.  

Of course this is not proof.  Parents are not experts, they certainly have no say in any of this.  Why should they?  They know nothing.  But doctors, well, if a doctor says that a shot won't cause autism, then so be it.

Has anyone ever read the fine print on a release form?  These immunizations can cause a whole host of reactions -- though they haven't and won't put autism on there.  The reasoning is that for every kid who has an adverse reaction to a shot, there are hundreds who do not.  Therefore, it is "safe."

As the show went on, I thought to myself that they better not have that kid die of measles.  Yes, I know you can die of measles, but you can die of flu, a sore throat and any host of things, depending on the state of your immune system.  My point is that there are people watching this show and getting a real dose of skewed information!  Despite the mother's pathetic (as they were portrayed) wailings about the state of her autistic son, the doctor was adamant that she was KILLING this one son, and could kill the other.  Did he use these words?  No.  But he had to take the situation into his own hands, and he walked right past the mother and gave her child a shot.

Are you kidding me?  You have to sign release forms for a reason!  Oh, but this is television, right?

So, my daughter, who is 15 and knows she will never be an experiment for the HPV (Gardisal) vaccine against cervical cancer, was confused.  And I was disgusted.  Since when do we use mainstream TV to promote agendas?  Even Boston Legal, which spoofed on current issues, did so in such an extreme manner that there was very little one could get upset about, no matter which side of the fence they sat.

But to kill a child on TV to make a point, all the while having the doctors scorn the mother's decision, making brazen comments like "vaccines are safe," without any facts whatsoever.  And then killing off the child to make the mother look like a monster?

Back in the day, the Partridge Family wouldn't have killed off anyone just to promote an agenda.  The Brady's were a happy, healthy lot.  Heck, we don't know if they even went to the doctor.  But now all we can watch on TV are medical-based shows, lawyer-based shows and that last scourge upon society:  REALITY Tv.

One can only hope that people are intelligent enough to realize that the corporate-driven television stations who are sleeping with big pharma are creating story lines to get into your head and create a whole new vision for you.

Just spit it out -- it leaves a bad taste in the mouth -- kind of like thermerosol -- you know, the preservative in vaccines that doesn't affect infants.  Hell, we were born to store mercury in our cells.

A meme about 2008

What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?  Wow, hmmm, this is a tough one.  I started to eat a diet centered around raw food.

Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more this year?   I don't really do that ... I mean, I of course want to lose weight, exercise more and become all that I can be.  The usual.

Did anyone close to you give birth?  No, I am in that stage where my friends and myself are done having babies and we're in no hurry to become grandmothers.

What countries did you visit?   Well none!  That isn't right.  We'll have to fix that this year.

What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?  More knowledge about the things that I don't know.  More patience.  The end of the public school system.

What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?  November 4, 2008 -- the day that Barack Obama was thankfully elected to become the next President of the United States.  I cried.  A lot.  

And October17-20, 2008 when we rented the same house in Chappaquiddick that we did 30 years ago to celebrate my father's 80th birthday. 

What was your biggest achievement of the year?  Gosh, I didn't win the Nobel Prize this year, so I can't claim that.  Nor did I scale a really tall mountain.  I did lose 20 pounds and learned the secret of losing even more.    I don't like this question.

Did you suffer illness or injury?  No.  In fact, I don't think I was sick at all, nothing memorable anyway.

What was the best thing that you bought?   Oh, this one is easy!  My JEEEEEEP!  The car I've always wanted.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?  Charlie's teachers.  The way they treat him (and probably the rest of the student population) disgusts me beyond belief.  Even if he is the WORST student they have ever had (and believe me, they tell him this) then so what?  I'm sorry, but aren't they adults with "training" to teach children?  Or did I miss something?

Where did most of your money go?  Towards organic food.  Seriously.

What did you get really, really, really excited about?  I know this sounds ridiculous, but the first time I drove around in the Jeep with the top down and the music blaring, I couldn't stop smiling.  I love my Jeep.  (And it's not like I've given birth recently or anything!!!)

What song will always remind you of 2008?  Anything from the Mama Mia soundtrack.  Screaming it at the top of my lungs ... ummm, in the Jeep.

Compared to this time last year, are you a) happier or sadder?  b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?  I am definitely happier because I am thinner and I am always rich.

What do you wish you had done less of?     Less getting caught up in stuff like Peak Oil, corporate greed, conspiracy theories and the like.  I'd just rather focus on the good stuff.  Positive.  Flow.  Peace.

Did you fall in love in 2008?  If I say with my Jeep, does that make me shallow?  LOL

How many one-night stands?  The Jeep isn't talking, and neither am I!

What was your favorite TV program?  One Tree Hill

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?  I don't hate anyone.  Except for ... well no.  I hate no one.

What was the best book you read?  In terms of total reading satisfaction, I would have to say Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Series and her other book, The Host.

What was your greatest musical discovery?  Secondhand Serenade and Joshua Radin.

What did you want and get?  Whatever I intended.

What was your favorite film of the year?  A tie between Mama Mia and Twilight.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?  I turned 45 and I was busy traveling so it was hard to do something "special," since life was being special!

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?  To have Charlie in a school situation that was tolerable to both of us.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?  Hiker chic.

What kept you sane?  Blogging.

What political issue stirred you the most?  Sarah Palin and the thought that she could have been voted into office.  My hair still stands on end at the thought.

Who did you miss?  Hallie, because she lives in Chicago.  But not so much because we keep in close touch.

Who was the best new person you met?  All the people I became close to at my raw food class.

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.   You can't change people.  Period.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.  You Light Up My Life (as sung to the Jeep.)  BAHAHAHAHAHAHA.