Motherhood - Be Quiet

This was posted by Meg on Facebook a while ago and it really hit home. The things that people have said to me when I mention wanting to only have one child are frequently appaling and often hurtful, and my plans are all in the hypothetical. It would be so much worse if any of the situations below were my current reality.

With our wedding approaching I thought it was a good time to post this - these types of events tend to lend themselves to people asking invasive questions and sharing upsetting comments (with good intentions but hurtful just the same.)

The original piece is entitled Mind Your Own Womb and was written by Nadirah Angail. I have adapted it considerably so please go read her version as well. The main thing that neither address is the possibility that the women doesn't want children at all. Both versions are based around a female experience but this isn't a gender thing, it is a family thing. Man can hurt just as much from inappropriate questions about parenthood.

Be Quiet

Somewhere there is a woman: 36, no children. 
People ask her, “Still no kids?” Her response varies from day to day, but it usually includes forced smiles and restraint. “Nope, not yet,” she says with a chuckle, muffling her frustration. “Well, don’t wait forever. That clock is ticking, ya know,” they say before departing, happy for imparting such erudite wisdom. They leave and the woman stops holding her smile. Why couldn't they be quiet. They don't know her pain, they don't understand her reality. She is hurt and frustrated and this conversation doesn't address the truth that...
- she’s been pregnant 4 times and miscarried every one
- she started trying for a baby on her wedding night, and that was 5 years ago
- her husband has an ex-wife and she has given him children
- she wants desperately to try invitro but can’t even afford the deposit
- she’s done multiple types of fertility testing and treatments and still has no children
- this issue causes friction in her marriage
- all her sisters have children and one of them didn’t even want children
- her best friend is pregnant and she just got invited to another baby shower
- her mother keeps asking
- her in-laws want to be grandparents
- her neighbor has twins and treats them like shit
- 16-year-olds get pregnant without trying
- she’s already picked out names
- there’s an empty room in her house
- there is an empty space in her body
- she has so much to offer
- her husband would be a great dad
- she would be a great mother, but isn’t. 

Somewhere else is another woman: 35, one child. 
People say to her, “Only one? You never wanted any more?” “I’m happy with my one,” she says calmly, a rehearsed response she’s given more times than she can count. Quite believable but she wishes they had just stayed quiet. No one would ever suspect that the question cuts through her normally happy life. That just a simple comment can bring back the dark reality that this is the very thing keeping her up at night. It is difficult reminder because...
- her one pregnancy was a miracle
- her son still asks for a brother or sister
- she always wanted at least three
- her second pregnancy had to be terminated to save her life 
- her doctor says it would be “high-risk” 
- she’s struggling to care for the one she has
- sometimes one feels like two
- her husband won’t even entertain the thought of another
- her family thinks one is enough and wouldn't support more 
- she’s deep into her career and can’t step away
- she feels selfish
- her postpartum depression was so intense
- she can’t imagine going through everything again
- she has body issues and pregnancy only exacerbates it
- she had to have a hysterectomy
- she wants another baby, but can’t have it.

Another woman: 34, five children. 
People say to her, “Five? Good lord, I hope you’re done!” And then they laugh… because those types of comments are funny. The woman laughs too, but not in earnest. She would have preferred them to be quiet. She changes the subject, as she always does, and gives the disrespect a pass. Just another encounter with this frustrating attitude towards her family. It hurts her because...
- she’s pregnant with another and feels like she has to hide the joy
- she always wanted a big family and doesn’t see why people seem so disturbed by it
- she has no siblings and felt profoundly lonely as a child
- her Granny had 12 and she’d love to be just like her
- she couldn’t imagine life without her children, but people treat her like they’re a punishment
- she doesn’t want to be pitied
- people assume this isn’t what she wanted
- they assume she’s just irresponsible
- they believe she has no say
- she feels misunderstood
- she’s tired of defending her private choices
- she and her husband are perfectly capable of supporting their family but that doesn’t seem to matter
- she’s tired of the “funny” comments
- she minds her own business and wishes others would mind theirs
- sometimes she doubts herself and wonders if she should have stopped two kids ago
- others are quick to offer criticism and slow to offer help
- she’s sick of the scrutiny
- she’s not a side show
- people are rude and so many seem to have opinions on her private life
- all she wants to do is live in peace

These women are everywhere. They are our neighbors, our friends, our sisters, our co-workers, our cousins. They have no use for our advice or opinions. Their reproductive lives are their own. You probably don't know the truth behind the simple reality of 5 or 4 or 3 or 2 or 1 or no children in someone's life. Let them share if they want to. Don't ask, don't comment. Just. Be. Quiet.

Waiting To Make It

By Christine Sweeton
- Part 1:

Patia rushed down the back staircase of Carving and past the plastic bags filled with clean linens. She found Krista, in the tiny staff bathroom, leaning over the sink, slowly filling in a perfect red pout. "Out! Out. Out." shooing away the tall, champagne-glass blond and closing the door behind her. When Patia emerged in her tight, black, tank-dress, Krista was waiting. Standing with her hand on what passed as a hip LA. Practically tapping her toe with impatience, her moss-green eyes glared down at Patia with exasperation.

"Y'all gone done in-dare?" she asked in a soft southern drawl that, 8 months in, Patia was still skeptical about. Narrowing her eyes to meet Krista's stare, Patia pulled a make-up bag out of her small duffel. "Well, ya'gonna hafta share da mirror dare," the cotton-candy voice did not match the daggers in her eyes.

Tay's loud clear voice rang out from the doorway of the break room in the back of the basement space, "They just installed a big one in here." Patia grunted in question. "A mirror. They just put a big mirror and counter back here." Patia raised an eyebrow at Krista, grabbed her bags, and went to see.

What Tay described as a counter turned out to be a 6'x2' sheet of plywood affixed to the wall with mismatched IKEA brackets. Above it was a sizable mirror reflecting back the rest of the depressing furniture in the break room: an old red futon mattress roughly folded into a couch shape was slumped against the back wall, the bulletin board filled with various notices hung at an angle above that, the stained table sat in the center of the room, the 5 plush dining-chairs brought down from the restaurant upstairs seem out of place until you notice the many tears in their upholstery, and lastly across from the mirror was a cube-style bookcase, slightly slanted and held together with duct-tape. Patia paused to inspect the bookcase using the mirrors reflection. Slowly pulling out her make-up, she counted the number of cubicles in use. Based on how many had been filled with bags, backpacks, drinks, and cell phones, Patia knew she was probably the last person to show up for the dinner shift - again.

Something Wrong With My Face

I watch as the water pools in my hands. It is a little too cold, but that will help wake me up on this groggy morning. Bringing my head down and my face into the clear water; I never splash water on my face in the mornings, just slowly swirl and bath and rub my face with the water. It is always a slow process, and while probably fairly useless in terms of cleansing the skin - it is absolutely key in making me feel awake. But this morning it feels different.

My cheeks feel like they are sagging down to touch the palms of my hands and I can feel a thick, papery, leather substance, which seems to float. I keep my head down and fill my hands again, this time working to clean the sleep out of my eyes, which is taking more rubbing and hand refilling than usual. I bring water down across my skin again, and I can't feel the pressure of my fingers pressing the skin on my unresponsive chin and forehead. I start to wonder, "Are the muscles in my face numb? How did the skin get so detached from the structure of my face? And why does it feel so disgusting?" It doesn't feel disgusting in a dirty or greasy way, just thick and dead.

I grab the towel from the rack and start patting my face dry as I lift my head to look in the mirror. Slowly I am revealed to myself as I move the towel, systematically drying from top to bottom. I recognize my reflection but the colour is off. My skin has turned the shade of a freshly painted, new construction, suburban home - Builder's Grey, or is it Pale Beige? All of my pores are large to the point that they form dark shadows, pock-marked across my face, especially on my nose and along my cheek bones. There are probably dark circles under my eyes too but right now I am trying to understand, "Can you get bags under your ... pores?"

The two or three martinis consumed leisurely at the bar the night before spring to my mind. Actually, it is slower than a spring, more of a gradual uncurl of thought, "This is what alcohol does to you. This is why so many alcoholics have such terrible skin as they age." There wasn't much time left before I needed to be out the door and on my way to the bus stop. I didn't have a second to consider make-up or moisturizer - or any type of magical tonic or cream. Just time enough to glance quickly back at my reflection and notice that my eyes are terribly blood shot too.

Waiting at the bus stop the chilly wind can be felt on my hands but not my face, "What, has it switched? Is the skin-part of my face numb now?" I bring my cold hands up to my forehead and the sides of my face - they feel cool against my warm skin. I start to press my fingers into different places around my face - temples, hairline, forehead, under the chin, apples of my cheeks - not worrying what this might look like to my fellow transit commuters.

I am slightly relieved to discover that it feels as thought my skin had attached itself more firmly against the fat, bone, and muscles of my face, and I can feel the pressure of my prodding fingers. The relief is short lived since each poke hurts like it is touching a fresh bruise. "How did I bruise my entire face? What is going on here!?!" I think. While boarding the bus, I show my transit pass with one hand and rub my face with the other. I sat down to figure out this strange second stage of my quiet hangover. I slowly evaluate the situation, turning thoughts over in my mind like fat fluffy pancakes, "My skin is again affixed to my face but now it seem as though I have a full-face bruise beneath it?" This might be a slow morning.

--- Christine Sweeton, 2013 (I guess this piece could be illustrated with this photo from a few years ago. The physical reaction was slightly different, though I am 6 years older.)

We Are Not Friends

I previously posted a long porn spam email that I had gotten. (So long in fact that in the comments my mom wished I had just included excerpts, but the whole thing was just so impressive I wanted to post it all.) Anyway, this Adriana person won't give up! I got another one from her:

------------- from an Email 

 Hey sexy!

I missed you friday night at the club :( 
 I was hoping to chat with you today while i work :) 
That is if you don't mind seeing me playing with myself on cam hehe ;)
Yah I am still doing the same job for now while paying for school. I made like $800 the other night and got to cum twice lol . I know I am sooo bad..Anyways please keep me company and chat with me in private while I work today and I promise to show you a little something something. I think I have this free access link in my member section.. 

 OK here it is! DO NOT GIVE THIS TO ANYONE ELSE PLEASE! Gotta start work now, cum see me so i am not jsut getting naked for strangers! (She then provides the link again) 

talk soon 
xoxoxoxox 
Adrianna

As I mentioned last time, she seriously has the wrong email. And I don't remember her mentioning that she was paying for school - I thought she was looking for some restaurant gig or something and was moving 'right effing near' me. Was I supposed to meet her at a club on Friday, I really don't remember her tell me that. I am hooked into the character though - obviously not enough to reply to the email or visit the link - but I almost am looking forward to more messages from her!

Wrong Email I Think

This poor girl, I think she got the wrong email. She is obviously looking for some friend she used to talk to over facebook, but that isn't me - I also think the friend was male. I can understand how she may have gotten confused, because judging from her typing, spelling, grammar, etc. I don't think she is very bright.

------ from an Email

BABE... i guess your not getting any of my email huh? ive been tryign to email u so many times but this dam laptop is such a piece of garbage and keeps freezing.. anyways how u been?

In case u dont know who this is its ME Adriana.. we used to chat a bit on facebook and then I think u deleted me :( haha.. anyways guess what... I got 2 things to tell u.. both good news.. 1) im single now.. yup me and my bf broke up about 3 months ago... and 2) guess where im moving? RIGHT EFFING NEAR
U.. lol... ur actually the only person im gonna know there.. well 3 cousins too but i cant chill with them lol..

I remember when we chatted u told me u thought i was cute and u wanted to chill so now we finally can HAHA! im kinda scared to move.. im hoping this email addy is still the one you use and u can chat with me ebfore i get there.. maybe even help me move my shit in...are u still on facebook? i cudnt find ui was
soo confused...anyways im gonna need someone to show me the town and take me out so u better be around bebe...

we only chatted a couple times but i remember thinking to myself i wanted to get ot know u better when i was single..a nd i thoguth u were cute too but cudnt tell u cause i wasnt single lol...ok so more info about me.. well im 23.. virgo.. love the outdoors and love to socialize, go out for drinks, restaurants, movies etc.. travel.. i have a lil kitty named BOO and i luv her to death... uhhh oh im a super horny gurl too but
every gurl is they just wont admit it. so ilove watching p0rn and all that.. love sex etc blah blah blah...who doesnt..

I really hope we get a chance to chat for a bit either online or on the fone before i get there enxt week.. i hope u remmeber me and still wanna chill and arent married yet lol.. OH YA also.. i need to find a job when i get there..

do u have any hookups or know anybody hiring? id LOVE to work in a bar or osmehting like that...really anythgin cause my current job is fun and all.. and technically i CUD keep doign it but i want a change.. i
currently work from home and well thats cool but i need ot be out meeting people.. oh wait. i dont think i ever actually told u what i did? hmm shud i......???? ok WELLLL... and dont get all weirded out
on me.. i work on a webcam chat community site and i get paid to chat with people and get naked HHAHA... BOMB right :)? I KNOW.. like i figure iim horny anyways why not get paid to chat with people and play with myself heheh...anyways i hope u dont look down on that and NO THATS NOT WHY IM CONTACTING U RELAX URSELF lol... i actually need help once i move and i remembered u live there so im reaching out....like i said before this computer is a complete piece of CRAP and freezes NON
STOP.. ive tried ot send this email to u maybe 3 times already and im hopign this time i can hit SEND before i run into trouble lol..

ANYWAYS.. heres the deal....every month natalie (my boss) gives each of us 3 VIP codes to give out to whoever we want.. so with this code u can lgoin to watch me at work for free and dont have to pay like
everyone else... the only way i can give u one of the codes (so we can chat) is if you absolutey DO NOT give it out to anyone else and u ONLY USE IT FOR URSELF... i only get 3 a month and she gets pissed if more than 3 people use them so DONT SHARE IT MISTER... i figured u cud always email me back instead but my email account doesnt even let me login half the time.. so the bets palce ot chat me is my chat room...

if theres anyone else logged in when u sign in ill boot them out.. but remember DONT SHARE THIS PASSWORD PLEASE BABE IM BEGGING U.. I TRUST U... im online most of the day now to try and save money for my move.. also since im in such a huge debt already form my student loan :( I really thingk we need to chat before i get there and make sure u evern remember me hahha.. anyways ive rambled on and on now and ur probably soooo annnoyed with me so ill stop now.. im gonna go start work.. i really hope u come chat me. it wud make my day and releive a lot of my stress about the move... REALLY i mean that....anyways once i see u in insdie ill shoot u myc ell number and u can gimme yours.. if u dont wanna come chat i understand but its really the only palce to find me now days.. if u email me abck ill probably get it once i get there after my internet is setup so about 2-3 weeks fomr now.. but im hopign to see u in my chat room.. rmemeber its 100% free with this code im gonna give u.. just DONT GIVE IT OUT OR ILL KICK U IN THE BALLS INSTEAD OF LICK U IN THE BALLS WHEN IS EE U hahahahha...k babe im out
for now... chat ya soon.. kisses xoxo Adriana

(She then provided a link)

I have gotten the occasional porn spam or other sex related spam but I have to admit this one is done nicely. She just wants the recipient to be able to get a hold of her! She is moving nearby, they are going to start hanging out. Before she moves he might as well talk with her through her porn-website-job, how nice of her manager to provide a code to let friends into the chat room. Especially since her laptop has been giving her toubles.

Honest Toddler Stories

Last week I wrote about The Honest Toddler. It is so funny I thought it deserved a second post. These are collections of Tweets that seem to tell little stories. I don't have kids, hang out with many kids, or even remember very well what it was like to be a kid. But I know that these are funny because they are true:

----- from @HonestToddler Twitter 

Scones

Just tried scones for the first time. I don't get it. Generous triangles of terrible cake. 

Scones look like a legitimate pastry but once you taste them you know they just slipped through the cracks in the system. 

Why would you eat scones when doughnuts are a thing. You're just trying to feel rich. Adults, stop. 

You think flour says "I want to be a scone when I grow up?" No. They dream of greatness. Churros. Frozen waffles. Oreo cookies. 

Pouring out some red juice for all the flour that died only to be made into scones. So sad. 

Grownups, if you find out a friend likes scones maybe it's time to say goodbye? I don't know just throwing out ideas. 

A lot of you keep saying that you love scones with jam and cream. I love paper with jam and cream. Real pastries don't need condiments. 

And stop saying "clotted" cream. You're making up words now and you sound ridikilus. 

It's time for you to stop making excuses and start getting help for your scone addiction. 

Do it before the toddler in your life walks out on you. They might need help with the top door latch, but they will leave. 

The Bathroom
 
"May I have some bathroom privacy?" Sure. I mean I thought we were family but nevermind. :( 

"I need more privacy than that." Sitting at your feet instead of your lap isn't enough? Why don't I just catch the next rover to the moon. 

"I need you to leave and shut the door." What if I just shut the door. With me in here. 

"I don't need you in here with me." What if I told you I prepared a song? 

I can tell when I'm not wanted I just try not to let it stop me. 

Apples

Asked for an apple. Was handed a piece of fruit with a soft patch reminiscent of the top of an infant's head. No. 

"Eat around it." This is why you have so few friends. This attitude right here. 

Second apple looks like it just walked out of the ICU. Is it too much to ask for fruit that looks somewhat illustrated? 

Was just handed a whole apple. What am I four? An arctic wolf? I can still feel where my molars came in. Cut up, please. smh. [shaking my head] 

Too angry to eat these apples. I'll just have some crackers.

The Balloon

Thinking about all of the toddlers affected by balloons that flew away while also wishing I could have all of those balloons. 

All those balloons....who do you think you are....going around leaving scars, collecting your jar of hearts. I need a minute. 

"Why didn't you let me tie it to your wrist?" So we're going to blame the victims. I can't. I can't with this.

Guess we both made mistakes. I forgot I was holding it. Balloon forgot the meaning of friendship.

A Hot Toddy On A Cold Day

Sometimes you wake up on Monday and just aren't feeling it...

 ---

You check the news and find out that Toronto has a freezing rain warning...

---

And that means wearing those winter boots you don't really like...

---

Better just grab a snack from the fridge...

---

Curl up with a blanket on your favourite chair...

---

Have a stretch and go back to sleep!!

---

All photos courtesy of Erin AH 

Featuring Tod 'The Black Peril' Armstrong when he was a kitten

I Hate Them A Little

My mom has started up a blog to share her travel stories and pictures. It is called 'vicarious travelling' and at the moment she is posting about the recent trip her and Dad took to go sailing in the Bahama's. There are pictures of beaches and blue water and dolphins and sting rays and lobsters that they ate and it is all just so beautiful and amazing. It would be so nice to escape winter for a little while and go south.

Fairy Dust

Ava slowly rolled over to the other side of the bed. It was a delicate but deliberate maneuver to unwind her limbs from Will and leave his arms to find her own stretch of mattress space. She closed her eyes and felt the light sheen of sweat cool as it dried; relishing the deep breaths of cold night air drawn into her lungs from the dimly lit space above her. Her space. Her air. Cool, cold air. It wasn't long before the sweat had dissipated from her skin and drifted into the corners of the room.

Ava's body felt still and her breath settled and slowed into long lasting streams of air. She was calm. Her mind was clear, or maybe her mind was gone. The thought didn't make her panic, the inner empty feeling was not a hollow or a fog or any other type of frightening mental existence. It was stillness, pure perfection. Then it slowly came to her like the sun rising inch by inch at a clear sharp dawn - she wasn't empty. Her mind and limbs and every inch of her felt full of fairy dust. Not heavy like sand  but similar in form. Lighter than sand, it glowed, each piece of magic rich and golden. She wondered if it would blow away into the cool air above her.

Ava's eyes closed and gradually sleep came, stealing each piece of dust from her body, one by one, moment by moment, slowly taking her stillness

The True Story of Rudolph

-------- from Facebook

A man name Bob May, depressed and brokenhearted, stared out his drafty apartment window into the chilling December night. His 4-year-old daughter Barbara sat on his lap quietly sobbing. Bob's wife, Evelyn, was dying of cancer. Little Barbara couldn't understand why her mommy could never come home. Barbara looked up into her dad's eyes and asked, "Why isn't Mommy just like everybody else's Mommy?" Bob's jaw tightened and his eyes welled with tears. Her question brought waves of grief, but also of anger. It had been the story of Bob's life.

Life always had to be different for Bob. Small when he was a kid, Bob was often bullied by other boys. He was too little at the time to compete in sports. He was often called names he'd rather not remember. From childhood, Bob was different and never seemed to fit in. Bob did complete college, married his loving wife and was grateful to get his job as a copywriter at Montgomery Ward during the Great Depression. Then he was blessed with his little girl. But it was all short-lived. Evelyn's bout with cancer stripped them of all their savings and now Bob and his daughter were forced to live in a two-room apartment in the Chicago slums. Evelyn died just days before Christmas in 1938.

Bob struggled to give hope to his child, for whom he couldn't even afford to buy a Christmas gift.But if he couldn't buy a gift, he was determined to make one - a storybook! Bob had created an animal character in his own mind and told the animal's story to little Barbara to give her comfort and hope. Again and again Bob told the story, embellishing it more with each telling. Who was the character? What was the story all about? The story Bob May created was his own autobiography in fable form. The character he created was a misfit outcast like he was. The name of the character? A little reindeer named Rudolph, with a big shiny nose. Bob finished the book just in time to give it to his little girl on Christmas Day.

But the story doesn't end there…

The general manager of Montgomery Ward caught wind of the little storybook and offered Bob May a nominal fee to purchase the rights to print the book. Wards went on to print, “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and distribute it to children visiting Santa Claus in their stores. By 1946 Wards had printed and distributed more than six million copies of Rudolph. That same year, a major publisher wanted to purchase the rights from Wards to print an updated version of the book. In an unprecedented gesture of kindness, the CEO of Wards returned all rights back to Bob May. The book became a best seller. Many toy and marketing deals followed and Bob May, now remarried with a growing family, became wealthy from the story he created to comfort his grieving daughter.

But the story doesn't end there either…

Bob's brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, made a song adaptation to Rudolph. Though the song was turned down by such popular vocalists as Bing Crosby and Dinah Shore , it was recorded by the singing cowboy, Gene Autry. "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer" was released in 1949 and became a phenomenal success, selling more records than any other Christmas song, with the exception of "White Christmas."

The gift of love that Bob May created for his daughter so long ago kept on returning back to bless him again and again. And Bob May learned the lesson, just like his dear friend Rudolph, that being different isn't so bad. In fact, being different can be a blessing. MERRY CHRISTMAS

No Night Bus

I stare at the computer screen. Sober. With the knowledge that for the last 4 years writing has only come after drinking. But I want to tell the story of The Night Bus.

Or should I say - The No Night Bus

----

1:25am and the streetcar arrives as I check my phone for its schedule

A paper sign on a station pole details the final route before the switch to night blue. Municipal taxes for computer paper and a depressing 1:34am when my cell reads 1:39

I say that there is a 24 hour night bus and the others say that it picks up on the street a couple of blocks away so I walk towards home enjoying the cool night air and soon find the strip of metal with 24hr on top and a strip of blue on the bottom

Pull down the sleeves of my thin shirt

Look for a ledge to lean but find a wall

Sharp pains in my stomach that I can't figure out

Stand while moving digital images with my fingers to make other digital images in the hopes of getting another digital image. (I play a game on my cell.)

Watch cars and lights and cabs

Listen to conversations from open windows

Walk to the edge to look into the distance

An exit from the cell phone game shows 2:09am and that the battery is dying.

It has become a case of wills. Too much time. Pride and the need to triumph. Watching others give in to taxis or turn swiftly and start walking away - fun to see at first but now upsets me - I will not give up. There is no snow. The weather is perfect for waiting. (I try to pull my sleeves down further and stuff my hands into my pockets. Goosebumps formed ages ago.) This is a city of transit and I grew up in a town with none.

-Slowly lower body down the wall
-Sit in a clear patch of concrete
-Bend legs in front

Find my book in my purse and read.
Time stops for a while.

When the 312 pulls up it is full. The door is not opening, though there is movement inside leading to the hope of space. The number of people gathered at my corner has grown considerably and even if the doors open I am now standing behind them all.

Two more turn on their heel and walk away.

I watch the bus leave and wait to cross the street
The walk is nicer then the waiting.
Clothes on mannequins. Chairs on top of tables.

For a brief moment as I pass, I see a man lean over to peer into a mirror inside a darkened barber shop.
-- I move to the curb
-- Raise my hand
-- And hail a cab

Spending my last $10 at 2:59am

A Farewell In Photos

The Toy's final moments...
(A 1997 pale purple Toyota Corolla. Bought new by my Grandma. Later owned and driven alternating between my father and I. Made it until over 308,000km before my latest accident took too much of a toll. The repair costs were too high so I had to let it die. Sold for parts to a towing company.)

I Did The Front Ones!
Noah helping me take off the plates from the back
before the tow truck came
to haul The Toy away for parts.

The Worst Of The Two Smashed Headlights
Even though this headlight is totally smashed,
it still worked, right to the end.

Strange Square Chunk

Why is there a strange square chunk
missing from the bumper? You ask,
just as Kristen did. Well, that is where
the trailer hitch from the Range Rover hit.

Me, Sad To Be Again Without A Car
Goodbye to The Toy
You were loved...

Sadly True

A friend of mine sent me the following link:

Reasonably Ludicrous!

The link above goes to the first post from a new blog. The post, entitled "Oops, I Got an English Degree," is brilliant. I don't know if it takes a fellow English Major to enjoy the humour of the piece and the clean prose of the writer or if it is funny across the board. Have a read and let me know!

Besides a small "About" section, this is the only post up, and it was just posted yesterday. The author promises a new post every Tuesday, so we will have to wait a week to see what is next. I feel very much on the cusp of wherever this writer is going. (It could be great and it could be one of the millions and millions of blogs that falls into obscurity everyday as writers stop posting and people drift away - a fate I am worry about for Always Standing.)

The post just calls out to me to write a detailed response, "Oops, I Decided to do an English Masters." However, sadly the aforementioned Masters program eats up all my writing time and all I'm left with is the occasional chance to throw out a quick post alerting you all to a great writer. One day, maybe I could be said great writer... one day...

A Story For My Second Draft

I have a terrible time with introductions. After the first draft of my MRP, my supervisor suggested that I work on a more exciting opening. I decided to tell a little story:

**100 Years of Egypt as Reflected in Two Baedeker Guidebooks**

You are visiting the Egyptian site of Memphis, the capital of Ancient Egypt, 22 kilometres North of Cairo and 11,231 kilometres from your home in Memphis, Texas. You wander around admiring the “well preserved alabaster Sphinx,” “a colossal figure of Ramesses II,” and “tombs belonging to High Priests of the 22nd Dynasty.” You have rented a camel, who is tied up in a nearby “palm-grove.” In the late afternoon, you decide to leave the camel sitting in the shade and take a walk yourself down the road towards Saqqara. You know that you probably will not be able to reach Saqqara but as a tourist, the journey is part of the fun.

It grows late, the normally hot air begins to cool, and you realise that you are lost. You are passed by the occasional local Egyptian but do not feel comfortable asking them for directions. As a tourist looking for a relaxing vacation, you have left your cell phone at home and begin to panic, realizing that you do not have access to it or its GPS function. You frantically search your backpack, which results in the discovery of a red guidebook – Baedeker’s Egypt. A guidebook, with maps and directions, could save you! But what if this very guidebook is the reason you feel uncomfortable with the idea of asking the locals for help? The language used in the 1885 version of Baedeker’s Egypt unabashedly belittles the Egyptian people, showing a strong colonial discourse throughout. But you are lost in Egypt a century later, with a newer 1983 edition – could this still be the case?

Racial Discourse in Baedeker’s Egypt

A significant change in racial discourse is evident through the study of two editions of Baedeker’s Egypt, one published in 1885 and the other in 1983. By using a close reading of these ...

The above section and the rest of the essay has proper MLA citations, I have removed them for ease of reading. So, after the intro I then have pages and pages of a research paper that is obviously academic. Since I struggle with conclusions as well I had no idea how to end the paper. Last night I had Steph, Justain, and Dave help me edit the essay; at the end of it Dave asked, "So, did I get out of the desert?" I figured it would be a cool idea to mirror the story again at the end of the paper. So it finishes with the story again:

... the more recent guidebook claim that the country “will never be overrun by tourists.” The fact that 1,438,000 people visited Egypt in 1982 suggests that it had become an extremely popular tourist location.

In Conclusion

So popular in fact that you chose to vacation there! You are immensely relieved to have found your guidebook, as you shiver in the Egyptian night, lost in the outskirts of Cairo. Flipping through Baedeker’s Egypt, you search for a map that will help you find your way back to the camel you left near the site of Memphis.

You pause to appreciate that the guidebook starts so poetically: “From the time immemorial Egypt, that land of ancient civilization on the Nile, has exerted an irresistible fascination.” As you continue to turn the pages, another section catches your eye, “Manners and Customs.” It is not the various points of advice given about cultural differences that draw your attention but instead the opening sentences: "Visitors to Islamic countries who want to understand the behaviour and attitudes of the inhabitants and to avoid unnecessary difficulties in dealing with them should take care to regulate their own conduct in such a way as to avoid offending local susceptibilities. Muslims have a different way of life and different modes of thought from those to which the Western visitor is accustomed. They have different values and different habits, which tourists should avoid disregarding or disparaging." This strangely conflicted message of courteously and discredit seems to summarize the entire guidebook; it is at the same time both an attempt at racial respect yet suggests a colonial influence. The use of the term “Western visitor” ensures the continued distinction between the Occident and Orient; the text also explains that a key benefit of adjusting behaviour in a respectful way is to avoid any unnecessary difficulties when dealing with Egyptians. The words “difficulties” and “dealing” are not overly negative but they do not represent the Egyptian people and interactions with them in a kind or considerate fashion. However, the underlying message is one of racial sensitivity and generous understanding.

The 1885 text does not contain a similar sentiment to the one found in the “Manners and Customs” section of the 1983 book. The shift towards the inclusion of these types of messages occurs much later. Edward Mendelson identifies a significant moment in the history of Baedeker travel guides: "It was marked by the publication of a few sentences whose significance probably went unrecognized at the time. In the revised handbooks to Italy that appeared between 1928 and 1932, Baedeker wrote: The traveller in a foreign country should do his best to win its respect and friendship for the nation which he represents, by his tact and reserve and by refraining from noisy behaviour and contemptuous remarks (in public buildings, hotels, etc.) and especially from airing his political views." This was the first time that a Baedeker guidebook reflected the relationship of respect between the visitor and locals. Upon review of the 1983 text, similar adjustments in racial discourse are evident. However, some imperialistic attitudes and practices remain. Unfortunately, much of the fascination in Egyptian culture stems from colonial interest in the country during the nineteenth century and the 1983 edition of Baedeker’s Egypt is far from being a guidebook which presents an attitude of complete racial equality.

Fortunately for you though, Baedeker’s Egypt does have a helpful map that guides you back to Memphis. After a brisk walk through the chilly air, you arrive at your waiting camel. Moments later you are riding happily back toward Cairo, dreading end of your vacation and the inevitable return to another Memphis.

How We Think

----from an email forward

HER STORY:

He was in an odd mood when I got to the bar, I thought it might have been because I was a bit late but he didn’t say anything much about it. The conversation was quite slow going so I thought we should go off somewhere more intimate so we could talk more privately. So we went to this restaurant and he’s STILL acting a bit funny and I’m trying to cheer him up and start to wonder whether it’s me or something else.

I ask him, and he says no. But you know I’m not really sure. So anyway, in the cab back to his house, I say that I love him and he just puts his arm around me. I don’t know what the hell this means because you know he doesn’t say it back or anything. We finally get back to his place and I’m wondering if he’s going to dump me!

So I try to ask him about it but he just switches on the TV. Reluctantly, I say I’m going to go to sleep. Then, after about 10 minutes, he joins me and we have sex. But, he still seemed really distracted, so afterwards I just wanted to leave. I dunno, I just don’t know, what he thinks anymore. I mean, do you think he’s met someone else?

HIS STORY:

Lousy day at work. Tired. Got laid though.

A Tiger Photo Series

And so the story goes...

Some tigers are in the water. Ya know, just chillin'.

-

Then an SUV arrives...

-

The tigers are intrigued...

-

They throw a duck into the water with the tigers.
People pay for this, $30 US for a duck. ($200 US for a full cow.)
I did not pay for it, but someone did, so I got to watch.

-

So, the duck gets attacked.
One tiger doesn't really care, he already has a duck.

-

He got the duck. Now there are two tigers with ducks!

-

But wait. Oh, oh, Duck is getting away!!

-

Duck doesn't stand a chance, everyone is coming over!

-

There is a tussle...

-

And a tiger grabs the duck and runs up the hill away from the others.

-

The remaining tigers look inquisitively at the SUV.
"More duck? Why no duck? Maybe little duck?"

-

End it off with a sleeping baby tiger...

--All photos by Christine Sweeton
Siberian Tiger Preserve, Harbin, China
July 30, 2010

It Just Isn't Important

The first time she heard the song she asked the room who sang it, they all glared at her. She never knew music, it just had never been important to her, never crossed her mind in day to day life. Trained in Ballet and often found on the dance floor of any club or bar, you would think that music would have had a more lasting effect on her life. She didn’t own an iPod or any mp3 player, before that she hadn’t had a portable CD player, walkman or diskman. Walking to school or sitting on a bus you would never see headphones in her ears. The only CD’s she owned were gifts from distant relatives or ill advised new boyfriends. It isn’t that she doesn’t like music, it just isn’t something she does. It is something that is done for her. Someone else will put it on, someone else will pick the track, someone else will make the playlist, someone else will choose the station. She knows words to songs and can sing along, just from hearing the overplayed ones off and on around town, but she never knows their titles or the artist. It really just isn’t important to her, it isn’t a part of who she is. People find it shocking, they never understand it. She always has a hard time explaining this strange relationship with the thing that means so much in everyone else’s life. The real oddity is that there isn’t a single song on her computer. Her 4 year old laptop is completely pure, clean, free from any music. She asked again who sang the song, then sheepishly asked what it was called. Maybe, just maybe this one would make it onto her hardrive.

A Fiction Workshop Jump Start: Write a Memoir "The first time I/She/He heard the song ….. by …..” While the above is fairly accurate in my life, I did take slight poetic license of course.

A Sweet Story

I took the book "No One Cares What You Had For Lunch: 100 Ideas For Your Blog" out of the library a little while ago and this was in it. It is written by Margaret Mason and was featured on her blog Mighty Girl.

Apr 17 2006

Social Indicators

This couple is crossing the street on a cold Sunday morning. He’s wearing a baggy sweatshirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. She’s wearing a black halter top, dangling earrings, tight jeans, and high heels.

-Wow. He’s walking her home from last night.
-They had a good night last night.
-That’s why he’s walking her home.
-She’s extra cute. That’s why he’s walking her home.
-He’d like for that to maybe happen again sometime, please.
-Why didn’t he offer her a sweatshirt or something?
-He did. She’s fine. Thanks though.
-Look at how he’s looking at her, he wants to keep her around.
-If he were on his game, he would have dressed up a little so she wouldn’t look so Saturday-night next to him.
-That’s why, when you shrink a sweater in the wash, you should keep it around.
-For the tramps?
-She’s not a tramp. Tramps walk home alone.

The Recipes Of Depression

Prepare any recipe well ahead of time
Don`t pre-heat the oven
Hide the knives
**
2 Celexa
4 Welbutrin
3 Effexor
Toss together and serve over a generous helping of Crown and Coke
*
3 Balanced meals a day
8 Hours of sleep at night
Regular exercise
Bake for 6 hours with a well greased Hash Pipe
*
Prozac 3 times daily
Weekly group therapy
Individual counselling
Stir with Incessant Gambling and Unprotected Sex
**
Combining all three recipes makes for a delicious late night meal

But the next morning can be killer!

-C.S

A Fiction Workshop Jump Start: "Recipes to Cure Depression"

Skylon-4

The attack squadron was now in orbit over Skylon-4. This would mean that Toby would be quiet for at least 15 minutes. Carol went into the living room, away from the TV. “Bless television,” she thought. “Bless bad children’s shows selling toys, candy, and fast food chains to my captivated 4 year old. Bless animated aliens and their annoying ramblings on Skylon-4.” Carol closed her eyes slowly as she sunk into the quiet comfort of the overstuffed designer couch. She tried to ignore the nagging voice in her head that reminding her that years ago she hadn’t even wanted a TV in the house while she was raising her kids.

-C.S

A Fiction Workshop Jump Start: "The attack squadron was now in orbit over Skylon-4…"