Family Book Group

So last month, Sarah and I could not get to a book club we've joined; we held a book discussion on The Pearl by John Steinbeck at home, just we two. (I downloaded discussion questions.) We had so much fun together! Sarah suggested we have a family book study - some of our other people were game, so we chose a book and a date for the discussion and began reading.

The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester was our choice to read together...our discussion was last night. What a treat! Again, discussion questions were available on line (these just spur further talk about the book). There were four of us: Bill, Sarah, Christopher, and I. It generated sharing, and laughter, and philosophical ramblings.

In furthering a point, Bill read an excerpt from another book; Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. We enjoyed that snippet so much, we chose it for our next book. Then we set a discussion date for next month. Everyone is free to jump in or out at any time. It's a great reason to come together; to hear what our adult children think; to get more parental love into their tanks. A great idea - thank you Sarah!

The Providence of God

 Our car had to be in the shop three times in three successive months - and it was not cheap. As a result we got behind on other bills...we're still trying to catch up. Yet through it all we were reminded of God's providence, for we did not go hungry. Ate a lot of rice and pasta, but did not go hungry. We were able to have a modest Christmas. We were able to visit my parents in January. We learned the importance of margin; without a car we weren't able to go,go,go - a relief, actually. That part taught us to forgo good things in favor of better; time with each other. We were enabled to pay the internet bill so Bill could keep working. It prompted a reassessment of areas we could cut back even more or eliminate entirely. And we learned of resources available near us; so many more than we were aware of before our absolute poverty was set before us.

Only in America are we poor; three-fourths of the world dream of having what we have. Running water; heat in the coldest part of the year; an actual house with an actual roof which keeps out the rain; family to love and be loved. Riches beyond measure - the incomparable riches of God!

The Providence of God made us aware that in Him we live and move and have our being. From gravity holding us upon the Earth to the very air we breathe: everything is a gift from Him. His immeasurable love gives us everything, and we take it for granted! We don't deserve it, and we can't earn it, yet we have it all - everything - simply because He loves us! Loves us unreservedly, unconditionally, providentially. He asks only that we love Him in return. I can't come close to loving Him in the same way, yet I'm trying. In the meantime, I'm - we're relying on His providence and are so grateful.

Where I'm From: Dad

 We had Dad's birthday party almost a month ago. I decorated the Fellowship Hall of their church in green oak leaves and acorns. I purchased a beautiful print of an oak, based on a watercolor painting by a young man named Antony based in Kiev. Bill and I matted and framed it; after the party was over I gave it to Dad as a gift. I also wrote a poem for him. Ages ago a meme of sorts went around social media of free-form poetry titled "Where I'm From...". Earlier in my blog I wrote where I am from; two poems, each representing one side of my family. Here is the one I wrote for Dad:

I'm from Somerset, Kentucky and Columbus, Indiana. From the big house on Chestnut, from which I couldn't leave on my own.

I'm from a mule-riding sheriff and my maternal aunt also my paternal grandma.

I'm from an uncle for whom I was named, who died from a Kamikaze pilot.

I'm from a Dad who walked to the hospital to have a brain tumor removed; and from the miracle that removed the tumor first.

I'm from bluegrass and big noses and a near-replay of a family feud.

From iron skillets, outhouses,and a home bursting at the seams from my parents' generosity.

I'm from beans and cornbread, cherry pie, and a full table.

I'm from big gardens and garter snakes - wrapped around the doorknob for Mom's "pleasure".

I'm from drowned baby ducks, and a little brother who also drowned.

From a one-room school and skipping a grade, and putting one over on my physics teacher.

I'm from a pink Chrysler and dyeing my clothes to match; and a hayride where I met my future wife.

I'm from forgetting my dress shoes on my hotter-than-Hades wedding day.

From faith and hymns and singing in a quartet.

I'm from tending chickens and teaching my children not to be chicken.

From near-misses and miracles and the miraculous journey of life.

And now I'm from teaching my great-grandchildren about the miracles of the journey,just as I taught their parents, and their parents before them.

The blessing That is My Parents

Last week my self-loathing reached a high again. Again I was overwhelmed with everything there was to do and only me doing it. So, of course, the necessary changes around the house and yard come too slowly. I felt inadequate, insufficient, invalid. And angry. So angry! Until my rages were affecting my children. Until I was saying hateful, hurtful things. Until I couldn't function anymore. So, in tears, I called my Mom and asked if I could come to them. Was I worried I would treat them the same way? Of course. I also know they have thicker skin than my young adults.

So I've been at my parents' place. It hasn't all been sweetness and light. They bicker. Almost constantly. When I'm in a good place I can remind myself they've made this dynamic work for them for 60 years. When I'm not (and I'm not) I slide into my from-childhood attempts at peace-making. It's exhausting, unnecessary, and ineffective. Yesterday we were in my hometown. None of us has been there for about 25 years and we no longer know it well. It was easy to get turned around and wind up where you didn't wish to be. This frustrated my Dad, who got angry and loud; which in turn frustrated my Mom, who'd castigate him and give suggestions of how to get where we wanted to be in the same breath. I cringed in the back, occasionally putting in my opinion and wishing the noise would stop.

And texted Bill when I got in: "I should have just gone to hospital. There's no shelter from the storm here - there's just more storm."

Nonsense! Firstly, I never want to be in the psychiatric hospital again! Never. Secondly, since I've been an adult Mom and Dad have always been a safe haven for me. They just say, "Come ahead", and begrudge me nothing. I always leave with more than what I had when I arrived. They love me.

These are my parents. In two days, they'll celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary. In a week is my Dad's 80th birthday. (He's three years older than Mom.) We're having an 80th birthday party for him on Saturday; kids, grandkids, and the great-grandbaby. Then a drop-in time for his sisters and brother, and his church family. 

I won't be here for Dad's actual birthday; I was here for Father's Day, though. I wanted to get a picture of us in our Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes (we looked good!), and Mom's blood sugar dropped. She's an insulin-dependent, type 2 diabetic who didn't eat quite enough for breakfast. In our concern for her our picture was forgotten. There will be other opportunities, God willing.

Always a safe space. Everyone should have one.

What I wore

 

Tuesday, May 28, I was able to get cortisone shots in my poor, painful SI joints. Something comfortable and loose was in order. This outfit, given to me by my Mom, feel like pajamas. It's a bit big, even more of a plus for this occasion.

Normally, nautical/tropical/seashore is not my thing. And this is a very matchy-matchy garment (probably bought from QVC, knowing my mother). Yet it's comfortable; it will work wel as a bathing suit cover-up both at the gym and at the beach.

Mom felt it was too tight on her legs, which is why I ended up with it. I get other outfits for the same reason. Why doesn't she dress the body she has, rather than the one she used to have? You get used to buying a certain size and it becomes your default: you still see yourself in the mirror that younger size: hope springs eternal. What ever the reason, me and my girls are the lucky recipients of her hand-me-downs, 

I wore this to my therapist's appointment May 30th. It's actually a sleeveless, mock-wrap dress (wrap dresses are usually quite flattering on me, though this picture doesn't really reveal that).

I didn't feel in a good place at all that day; I dressed up hoping to improve my mood. You know, when you feel pretty, you're a little more confident, a little more loquacious, more inclined to smile. That day it was necessary.

The dress was purchased at Willow Tree Thrift Store in Monticello. All the proceeds from there go to their Domestic Violence Shelter. I believe the sweater came from ThredUp; an online consignment store. Fabulous site!

I've made a conscious decision, in the pursuit of frugality and sustainability, to ONLY buy pre-loved clothes. Helps our wallet - helps our planet ... win-win!

My husband once saw our daughter Monica in a lightweight, beige, swing-y skirt. She had paired it with a sky-blue, slim-fit tee and a pair of wedge sandals. Bill fell in love with the concept of that outfit. We've both been looking for pieces for me to make that look for over a year now.

The sandals came from Willow Tree; the tank from Goodwill. I don't shop at Goodwill often...more of their money goes to their CEO than to anything else. Sad. Yet sometimes between appointments I'll slink in there. It's been hard, though, to find a light-weight skirt with a twirl. Finally, ThredUp posted this beauty. I snapped it up.

The 6th of June I had an appointment with my bariatric nutritionist in Decatur followed by a date with Bill. Hence, "his" outfit for the first time. He approved.

There have, of course, been other outings. I'm still getting used to being in front of a camera. I don't do well either taking pictures or having my picture taken...and that leaves my children with no pictures of me. I'll be gone someday and a picture is all they'll have. They may as well actually have one, yes? May you leave a memory when you're gone.

Living the Good Life

 This Memorial Day weekend is a stay-home diy fest for us. After dropping beaucoup bucks to the plumber and the mechanic in the last three weeks, we discovered our toilet leaking. Maybe an easy fix, maybe not. Then yesterday, while we, the parental units, were heading home from Indiana, the son washing dishes to try to get the kitchen back to the way I left it used all the clean towels to stem the tide rushing out from under the sink. Needless to say, the kitchen in no way resembled the room I left!

Two leaks to deal with. I also have tomatoes, peppers, and strawberries waiting to be planted; a raised garden bed to assemble; a craft room to pull together (when the kids were little we had a centralized computer room. As they grew I thought I'd make that a craft/sewing room. Our dining room was smaller, well-lit, with not enough sturdy chairs to go around. Finally a lightbulb! We were able to procure a quite stable large dining table with eight wonderful chairs for $40 - WOW! The central room is now the dining room; the former dining room is now office/craft/sewing room. I am stoked!)

I also wish to put a bouquet on daughter Helen's grave...Monday we're committed to visiting Mom White to straighten her meds and her bank account. Busy, busy. I'd much rather be going camping, or at least a picnic. Sadly won't happen. Oh, a budget meeting has to be squeezed in there, too, since Friday was payday.

In other news, I've lost nearly 80 pounds. I am greatly enjoying playing around with a new (to me!) wardrobe. I think I'll begin a "What I Wore" feature in here. But not today. Strictly muck-about work clothes today, with a bandana on the head. I don't want to share that look!

In spite of the challenges, we're living the Good Life. Leaks mean we have running water. Gardening means we have access to fresh fruit and vegetables which many don't have. I'm organizing a craft room: we have a house large enough to have a room dedicated to creativity (we have a house!) and I have the leisure to pursue that creativity. Yes, I have a daughter in Heaven; and I know for a fact this innocent is in Heaven. Plus, I have 5 other young adults and we're blessed in that none have flown the nest yet. My mother-in-love has the beginning stages of dementia so that we need to provide some extra help; and we still have her. There's also a steady income and the determination to make the most of it. These are all benefits the vast majority of the world just don't have.

The Good Life, indeed. Hope your Memorial Day is more relaxing than ours!

Women in the Far-Right Movement

I recently subscribed to The Guardian, thinking a British news source would give more unbiased reporting of US news. I was vastly incorrect. Take this article, for example: it is implied in the first paragraph by MacKenzie Ryan, the author of this "unbiased" account of alt-right women which The Guardian chose to file under "US Politics", that she will be reporting information from people who track how the far right mobilizes, self-reports, and recruits. Yet nowhere in her article does she give actual qualifications in this area of the people she cites. We have a Professor of Media and Communications; an Assistant Professor of Philosophy; and a PhD student who is also a researcher (subject[s] researched is not shared with us). Nor does she include any interviews with actual women she considers to be far/alt-right.

"[Far-right women] have a lot more power than you think". That's Dr. Sandra Jeppesen, Prof of Media, etc. at Lakehead University in Ontario. Yep, Canada. At least she, presumably on the liberal side of things, recognizes that conservative women are not "held down" or "submissive". There's power there!

Ryan says alt-right women are mobilizing against inclusive education. I think she's been misinformed. Women (and men) of a more rational bent are not against inclusion, but against the forced infliction of a deeply flawed theory of education. 

We're told some women on the far-right are wealthy and in social media production, because, as Tracy Llanera (Assistant Prof of Philosohy, University of Connecticut) is quoted, they are "the acceptable faces of conservative propaganda". I'm sure there are no wealthy, social media producers on the far-left at all; least of all those that might be the faces of liberal propaganda. Or if there are, we're not told of them; perhaps the other side of the story comes in a following article? Although that hoped for balancing article isn't mentioned either.

Jeppesen claims alt-right women don't go into politics for altruistic reasons. Alt-left women do, I suppose. No hidden agendas with them. She says women, like men in the far-right "movement", believe there's a crisis and they have to commit to extraordinary action. Surely this is true of all people who see a crisis? And the action may be "extraordinary" in different ways. My husband and I saw several crises in the world. We responded by: remaining true to our faith; staying married through adversity; having more than 2.4 children; keeping one spouse at home with our children; homeschooling our children; teaching our sons how to respect women as something precious without denying their own masculinity; teaching our daughters how to be independent without ditching their own femininity; never using credit; living within our means; reducing, reusing, recycling; continuing to grow, do, and think for ourselves. In other words, when we saw the culture of the United States, we became "counter-cultural".  

Ashli Babbit was killed in the Jan 6th debacle on Capitol Hill (that would be the one in 2021, not the one that happens annually in the Capitol). Jeppesen says Babbit was promoted as a "martyr" to the conservative cause. "Women make better martyrs in 'the alt-right'." ?? Was Breonna Taylor a lesser martyr to the "alt-left"? And why are we quantifying martyrs? One person dead for any cause other than Christ is one person too many.

Ryan then begins to "discuss" Moms for Liberty; a group with "a fervent membership of conservative mothers". Llanera is quoted, "Mothers protect their offspring, out of the private sphere where they are most relevant." What?! Every woman is most relevant in their private sphere! Unless they don't have a private sphere. Emily Dickinson:

          How dreary - to be - Somebody!

          How public - like a Frog -

          To tell one's name - the livelong June -

          To an admiring Bog!

The Bog doesn't love you like a "private sphere" would. To the Bog, you are...irrelevant.

The PhD student Ryan cites, Iowyth Ulthiin, is working toward her doctorate at Toronto Metropolitan University and researches...something...at Lakehead University. Canada again; even the same institution. I don't understand how this article can be filed in US politics when two of her three sources are Canadian? I don't understand how this can be classified as US news at all. It's clearly an opinion piece. An editorial from someone who neither did any real research nor any active, clear reflection on her subject at all.

So long, Guardian! I'll have to keep searching for truly balanced articles about the US. It's a shame I can't get unbiased reporting about my country within my country.