Vicarious Rising

Mothering the World

Happy Mother's Day everyone, to those who are mothers, need mothers, are surrogate mothers and love mothers.

My cute not-so-little boy made me a vase in school. I put it on my new bamboo shelves in my special porch, which may be my favorite place in my new house (although I love every place in my new house, but the porch is really awesome).

On a more somber note, I was really moved to write today because I am feeling really pissed off about the junta in Myanmar who are impeding the rescue efforts for their cyclone-devastated country. What a bunch of paranoid, power hungry fucks. Not that I have an opinion or anything. But grrrrrrrr. I hope they really don't turn out looking like heros to their people by being the ones to ultimately hand out the relief supplies, but their ironfisted control on how everything is passed out is just ridiculous and unproductive. God forbid their citizens get any outside ideas from foreigners. Some are calling the juntas use of U.N. supplies a propaganda exercise for the government, using it for only the more important and influential areas of Myanmar.

That is, if and when the aid even ends up with those in need and not lining the coffers of the ruling despots. I really hate bullies. A pet-peeve, if you will. It's one of those things as mom that is tought to teach, hard to protect your kid from and even more difficult to restrain myself from strangling the parents of the bullies and/or the bullies themselves as I deem appropriate.

Argh. I should send my mother out to glare at them. That should scare 'em straight. She's like a basilisk.

Happy Mother's Day, mom. I love you.

My Micro Valentine

Given all my intimacy issues and romance-deficiencies, it's not surprising I am not a fan of Valentine's Day. I probably ranted about it last year, so I'll skip my griping. I hate it when I get all negative anyway. It accomplishes nothing.

But my recent spate of good tidings has me feeling rather loving in a world peace goofy sort of way. I came across this little organization in, of all nincompoopish places, Cosmo magazine. It's called Kiva.org, and individuals like myself can make small business loans to the entrepreneur(s) of my choice in poor countries (with a $25 minimum). So far, about $19 million in loans have been made and over 99 percent have been paid back. Cosmo says that this is the first person-to-person microlending website.

I'm kind of in love with this idea, so I'm going to contribute.

Kumbayah, y'all.

The Yolk

Before I foray into any dissertation about my views on feminism, I feel I should state here that I haven't fully developed them. I've never wished that I were male, nor have I felt especially held back from doing what I really wished to in life because I was female.

But I would not say that my being a girl has been a non-issue in my life. Although I have tried very hard to imagine it so.

I received mixed messages about feminism from my parents. I suspect my mother wishes she had been born a boy. She has a rather vehement dislike for the Pope (any pope) and most obviously patriarchal structures, yet she flat out favored my younger brother and was quite vocal about how much easier boys were to raise than girls. I'm pretty sure she's got an apron string tied somewhere to my almost 30 year old brother. He lets her keep it there because he gets his own big benefits in other ways. It's not pretty. I really do not wish to perpetuate such a relationship with my son. I know I've got to let the boy grow up and out of my nest.

I was never a tomboy, but I often had as many male friends as female friends. Most of my friends were a motley crew of people from a diverse population. I didn't belong to any crowd. Things got murky for me around high school when my family moved down South and my mom became more paranoid and unpredictable. I had a steady boyfriend at the time, and once I left for college, he proposed and I used him as an escape from the looney bin. I didn't mean to use him, but he was a safe out and my parents thought marriage was an acceptable way for a young lady to leave her parents' home.

Clearly I was not busting out with feminist ideals in my early twenties. But then, I was also the main breadwinner in the household. Much to my then husband's disgruntlement. It was not a good match. We only lasted eight months of living together before I felt completely smothered.

It's interesting to me when femininism is brought up, a lot of men (those not rolling their eyes and clutching their guts) chime in that they like and support strong women. Mainly because who on earth would say the opposite? Or, taking it another direction, how often do you hear women saying they like and support strong men, as if this is something that needs to be clarified?

Honestly, what I am looking for, in some way, is a way to be who I am and comfortable and free to be however my "myselfness" manifests itself. I find it a little irksome to have to dither around saying I am in support of women to do this or that. For fuck's sake, I believe that all people should be supported to their greatest potential and treated equally. But somewhere a line has been drawn and even I can feel it. There's this thing called sexuality that matters. That matters to me, too, as it happens. I've tried to pretend it's not there, but I guess it is time for me to figure out this woman-ness of me because it feels important to preserve.

Damn if I know why. But this is where putting down that chardonnay has brought me. Hello, me.

Defining Innocence

Let's face it, the whole purpose of our existence is procreation, and to that ends, sex is the means. I can get all cerebral out my wazoo and at the end of the day it's still about whether people are still on the planet or not. Kind of basic and maybe a little depressing to look at it that way, but we're just creatures like everything else on earth.

But being human, we like to puff ourselves up with all sorts of importance, why we do this, I've no clue. I know I am plenty guilty of it. To a large degree we do control what lives and dies, where things flourish. We don't always make the best decisions, although whomever makes them believes they are doing the right thing. We like to have power.

This isn't really what I want to talk about, however. I've been thinking a lot about feminine sexuality, and human sexuality in general. My whole thoughts on it are hardly cohesive, so I am going to abuse this blog space to organize my thinking on it. I don't know whether this is a wise thing to do or not, but it feels like what I want to do, so I am.

My son just turned 13 and is experiencing the weird adolescent pangs and awkwardness that goes along with it. As his mother, I don't want to make things worse, but I am not a boy and we've got the whole wacky Oedipal thing going on. I'm constantly barraging my therapist with questions about how to handle my kid without making sex seem freaky or taboo. I wish my son felt more comfortable talking to his father about this stuff, but their relationship is a little hot/cold right now. And I think for my son to see women as sexual and to see mom as a female is weirding him out. It's all just.... yuck.

Of course, I saw how my mother handled all this with my younger brother, which was very, very badly. I will not go that route.

There is a huge part of me that wants to draw back and say "why does it have to be about male/female? why don't we see each other as just people?" I've had similar queasy feelings in the past about racial issues as well, this perplexed feeling about why everyone makes things so complicated when to me it seems like it ought to be easy. I'd just sit around looking at people, like, "I don't understand. Why are you so angry?" Does this resonate with anyone? It was just this strange sense I had that people had it all backwards. But then, I was the only one who seemed to see it that way, so I must've been the nutcase.

I like the things that make people different much in the same way I like what makes, say, a piece of granite interesting. The flaws or the variations are what makes it cool to look at and to find out more about. Maybe they shouldn't even be called flaws, just the inclusions of things that happened in a certain time and space. The things that make men and women different, too, should be revered and enjoyed. I can even buy into the ideas that some of our brain functions work differently, although I'd hold out a bit on that scientifically, just, well, just because.

But I do feel very much like there is something wrong with the world in regards to the status of women. I think we are still considered inferior to men, even in some of our own minds. I'm dismayed at the attitude of some men towards women in regards to sexuality. And one comment that keeps running through my head from the author Jessica Valenti of the Feministing blogsite is that the worst thing a man can call another man is a "girl." Or some other female body part slang starting with a c that ought to be appreciated rather than demeaned.

I'm troubled by these things. I don't understand how society's gone so awry. Well, yes I do. It's called fear. Humanity is rife with it. What's so frightening about a confident woman? Why can't everyone win?

Shit, I am so naive. I really, really am.

The World We Live In

Just a quick update on my nieces: my ex-brother-inlaw unexpectedly agreed to the change in jurisdiction for the custody hearing from Kentucky (where he lives) to Massachusetts (where my sister and the kids primarily live) and also to the Guardian ad Litem being put in place for the girls. He also agreed to the guardian of my sister (and, it should be said, my parents') choice, which is a woman and a psychiatrist and from what I hear, quite expensive.

So, all of these things were approved in court, which is very good for the children and my sister's lawyer says is in my sister's favor. Personally, I am rooting for the kids, whatever that ends up meaning. My therapist says these Guardian programs usually are quite effective at looking out for the needs of the children. I am praying this will be the case here.

Thank you to all who left comments and made kind thoughts and prayers for these little girls. They are sweethearts caught up in the middle of a clash they should be being protected from.

On another note, I feel like I have a bunch of huge blog posts inside me, but not the time to flesh them out. However, I would like to direct people to Slutty McWhore's blog (formerly The Judgemental Whore, which I was kind of partial to, but she can be Slutty if she wants). Part of what's been going through my own head lately is what is feminism. In part, I've been trying to come to grips about what it is to be a woman, which is partly tied in to my romantic and sexual needs and how it relates to my marriage and even how it related to my failed friendship and the politics of my relationship with my parents. I shied away from my feminine side for most of my life, and I am trying to understand this better also within the context of society.

For those of you who have not met Slutty, she is a Scottish woman living in the US working on getting her master's degree and supporting herself as a erotic masseuse. She is a wonderful writer and quite outspoken, and I consider her a strong feminist voice, maybe not because of or despite of her job. Frankly, I haven't decided which. Maybe I just think she breaks the mould. And, perhaps, maybe that's what I think feminism should be about.

The Sunny Side of the Street

I love words and their etymology. I have a silly little secret: I have a terrible time pronouncing a good deal of the fancy words I know. Being isolated like Rapunzel with my books as a kid with no one to test my geeky vocabulary did that to me. It would be a cute quirk if it weren't kind of embarrassing. My 12-year-old really loves this about me. Lucky for me not every occasion calls for a word I can't say without sounding like English is not my primary language.

I also love nuances in the right word. I'm not sure why I get a kick out of this. Maybe because words form pictures, feelings, sounds, a whole sensation for me, not just a one dimensional function. I hope you'll forgive my indulgence with being stuck on acceptance and resignation. The comments left for yesterday's post really helped me sort through some of my thoughts. For me, it's not just a matter of semantics, as you probably could tell. It's more me trying to come to an understanding with the world, if that makes any sense.

Therefore, I want to add another word to my list for your consideration.

com·pla·cen·cy - a feeling of quiet pleasure or security, often while unaware of some potential danger, defect, or the like; self-satisfaction or smug satisfaction with an existing situation, condition, etc.

I've been feeling troubled about the majority of long time AAers' lackadaisical response to the Washington DC Midtown group news story. While I recognize that bad groups have always existed and will continue to be in existence, I feel like they are portraying themselves as one of us, and that the GSO is allowing them to do so. This implies our endorsement or at least that we simply do not care what happens so long as it does not personally affect us. People don't want to touch the status quo because they are happy with how things have worked out for them, thank you very much. It may be taking a hyperbolic leap, but it makes me think of Hitler and the Jews and "oh well, jerks like him will always run around taking advantage of someone."

One more definition. I promise I am not on a crusade. By my conscience is pricking me. I don't know yet what I think I need to do with it, but it doesn't want to leave me alone either.

re·spon·si·bil·i·ty 1. the social force that binds you to the courses of action demanded by that force; "we must instill a sense of duty in our children"; "every right implies a responsibility; every opportunity, an obligation; every possession, a duty"- John D.Rockefeller Jr [syn: duty] 2. the proper sphere or extent of your activities; "it was his province to take care of himself" [syn: province] 3. a form of trustworthiness; the trait of being answerable to someone for something or being responsible for one's conduct; "he holds a position of great responsibility" [ant: irresponsibility]

Vital Signs of Life

Newsweek has a story this week about a fringe group of AA that is involved in what I would call shifty practices. You can check out the article A Struggle Inside AA by clicking on the link. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I went to breakfast with some women in my home group this morning and the general consensus was that this group was a blight on the nose of AA. My personal opinion is that this group is the manifestation of some of my worst fears about AA sucking out my free will. All that talk about not doing my own thinking run riot by bad group think. But that's just me and my powerlessness issues speaking again.

It seems my mother is doing well after her surgery. My sister reported that Mom was complaining immediately from waking from the procedure. Upon returning home yesterday, her perpetual headache returned, but she can't take anything for it due to blood thinners. My mother has had a headache for the past 50 years give or take, but refuses to see a doctor about it. One would think chronic headaches, most of which she calls migraines, would send her to a specialist with some concern over a disorder. A possible brain tumor. A space alien taking residence. Something. Unless, of course, attention is what one is after. Her hypochondria is enough to give me a headache, and I rarely get them. Of course, I could have a brain tumor and I would deny the symptoms until my gray matter was splattered on the sidewalk... just to prove I was not my mother.

As far as I can tell, I am still equipped of most of my mental facilities, although the neural firings are a little disjointed. I have a post about obsessions that I have partially written that I have been postponing for about two weeks now. Because I am avoiding some things that are bothering me. I pile up activities and obsess about things, both good and bad, when I am troubled. My mother's surgery is stirring up some uncomfortable emotions about my family, and I'm finding myself throwing all kinds of distractions in the way of these unpleasant thoughts. I'm very glad I have people to talk to and places to go that are safe and healthy for me, to direct my anxious energy, until the fear passes and I am better able to handle these situations that continue to baffle me.

Alas, I am afraid I remain too shy to share my obsessions at this time. Maybe if the proper spring day hits me and my good sense runs amok, we can play a bit of show and tell.