Warning

A teen I greatly respect sent a warning today about Halloween costumes.  He urged his friends to be careful in their choice of holiday dress, lest their selection offend someone.

Sadly, I fear many will have to be naked- Wait, no, that too will offend someone.

Look, I understand that we should be sensitive to the feelings of others.  Causing deliberate harm is always wrong.  My question is this:  why must we be offended?  When did we forget how to laugh at ourselves?

I am of Irish descent and my husband is Colombian.  We often jokingly refer to our offspring as Irish Coffee.  I cannot tell you how often I have heard jokes about drunken Irishmen or Colombian drug dealers.  They did not make me curl into a corner and die of embarrassment.  They were funny.

Why do we take everything so personally these days?  Humor is based in the outrageous. Costuming is playing dress-up, a form of pretend.  Sure, we can make a statement through how we dress, but on Halloween most are dressing for fun.  Yes, someone might mock the current political agenda but so what?  Laughing is sometimes more effective therapy than crying.  It helps us keep perspective.

Outrage is currently fashionable.  Breathing can offend someone.  To stop breathing however would not be in your best interest.

Know who you are and what you believe in.  As long as you know yourself you are not threatened by the expressions of others.  They are allowed to think as they like. Their viewpoint is opposed to yours. So? It doesn’t mean that you need to explode in a cloud of angst.  There have always been jerks in the community.  Choose not to associate with those you find hurtful. Accept difference and move on.

Choose not to be offended.  Welcome a moment of humor.  As humans there are so many qualities and situations that we can make light of.  Costumes, if taken in the spirit of fun intended by Halloween, are nothing to get our knickers in a twist over.  It is not as if someone has entered your workplace with a picket sign – these are people dancing, at a party, and collecting candy.  If they are enjoying a moment of revelry, let them!

“I would simply never wear such a thing.  The message they are sending is inappropriate.”  Could be.  The good news?  You never have to wear that or send that message, so how is their choice directly impacting you?  You disagree with their choice?  Walk away.

It is highly unlikely that someone chose their dress with you specifically in mind.  “Ooh, wonder what I could wear that would really get Karen’s goat?  Aha!  I know how to offend her.”  Few are truly that diabolical.  Understand that this moment, their choice, is not intended to be about you.  It is an opportunity for someone else to dress as they wish in that moment, a free pass to enjoy creative expression.  The rest of the year is restricted by social boundary. On this night it is acceptable to stroll outside of the expected.

As a kid I loved Halloween because it let me be someone else for a few hours.  Oh, that freedom, excitedly exploring a different way of dress, inhabiting a character, showing off a different side of yourself.  It was such fun!

No one is perfect. Perhaps you are overweight, have buck teeth or did poorly in school. Perhaps your ancestry is different from most of your friends.  Your religion might be unique or you hate macaroni and cheese.  You loathe birthdays.  There is always some quality we undervalue in ourselves, something we wish we could change, a vulnerability. We all have weaknesses. Some of yours may be exploited through another’s choice of dress.

Don’t take it to heart. Choose to accept it in the spirit of fun. Share a laugh. An understanding of who we are and a solid sense of humor are among our greatest strengths.  Halloween is not about judging.  It is a holiday.  Dress up, be free and celebrate!

Vacation Anywhere

Man, I would love to go to the Bahamas.  Or cruise off the coast of Greece.  Maybe travel through Italy.  If only my budget agreed.  Nope, my budget says things like “What a nice hometown you have” and “Don’t worry, you will be able to retire someday.”

Who wants to wait for some day?  I refuse to allow my finances tell me I can’t vacation. What do I do?  Several things.

I staycation.  Yup.  Stay put.  But while I am in the same location, I occupy myself with things I enjoy: reading, hiking, finding a new mini-series to watch, go for a nature walk. I treat myself to extra time in the shower and drink my coffee outside in a lawn chair, appreciating the breeze.  I ignore the phone and light candles, build a campfire or pull out a board game. I bring flowers home and cook something out of the ordinary. I create, sing, draw, drink coffee and write.  Housework is strictly forbidden as is paying bills.  If you wish to tidy up do it because it is a source of personal pleasure.  If something is an abhorrent chore to you, resolve to tackle it when your chosen vacation has come to an end.

I take day trips.  There are so many great sites and places to visit within traveling distance of your home.  I have found locations I never knew existed simply by paying closer attention.  Swim and study the stars.  Hunt for salamanders and capture minnows.  Pop a tent, indoors or out. Spend time experiencing local history.  Grab lunch with a friend.

A break does not have to be a week long.  A relaxing swim or soak in a jacuzzi can be a conscious escape from daily worries and stress. My favorite moments often come from activities like reading, which place me mentally in another place. My mind travels as my body relaxes. Sitting by a fire in the evening with a beverage , even for fifteen or twenty minutes can do a body good. You can choose the timing and length of your vacation, but for it to be successful you need to accomplish a few things.

First of all, recognize this is special time that just belongs to you.  Consciously allow worry to recede and focus on whatever your activity or new location is. Be mindful, actively present in the moment. Take time to be grateful for all the positives in your life. Vacation attitude is key.  You decide that this time is unique and special , something to be savored and appreciated. Understand that this is necessary time for you to recharge your battery, so no guilt is allowed.  You deserve happiness.  Create it in your life.

I am returning to work this week after a summer break.  This does not mean I am done with vacationing.  In fact I am already looking forward to my oases of dedicated time. Some of my getaways will be on the weekend, others simply between professional and personal commitments.  Nope.  Won’t be in Disney or Australia, but I don’t need to be.  I can choose to be happy wherever and whenever I wish.

 

Motherhood is Fierce

The Vikings had nothing on mothers.

There is an innate protective instinct to guard our young.  It is instantaneous reaction. Fears and inhibitions instantly retreat, subservient to the driving need to shelter from harm.  It is not something we ponder over or deliberately choose.  This ferocity simply is.

An enormous dog once threatened my son.  I launched myself at that animal without a second thought.  I have witnessed moms foaming at the mouth in PTA meetings.  We regularly take on other mothers, husbands, neighbors and the domestic elements.  We are a driven population.  Nothing will stand in the way of our child’s wellbeing.

My husband refers to my sons as my cubs. It is an apt description.  Do I recognize their faults?  Oh yes.  However, you had best be careful if you are attempting to belittle one of them in any way.  These are my chosen, my beloved, my responsibility to guard. Like every mom, I will rabidly defend my children to the death if necessary. If you choose to threaten I will roar, gnash teeth and unleash the beast within.

You may fail to recognize the smallest signs of my dedication: the food I select, the clothing I purchase, the recreational activities I arrange. I have constructed a zone of safety wherein my child may flourish.  This is not a function of age or helplessness.  Yes we wrap our newborns in the softest of blankets, nursing them to growth.This is but a launching point, the veriest beginning of lifelong effort. We actively continue on, encouraging and nurturing at every stage.  Long after adulthood has been reached we are still there, our metaphorical blankets ready to enfold.  The empirical demands of motherhood never cease.

Heroes of legend have been born of women who struggled, sacrificed and endured. Endless stories abound of mothers who wrought miracles, who gave life and shaped it against all odds.  We bear witness for those who gave their very lives to ensure their offspring knew survival.  It is not a choice we make.  It is instinct.  It is who we are.

We are warriors.  Our battles range from the smallest of mundane things to acts of great courage. We go through labor to achieve our state and continue our labors for our time on earth.  It is our honor to do so. We listen with open hearts.  We take time to talk out our issues. We cook, clean, argue and defend.  We are present, half of an eternal bond, a sacred trust.  We ensure our children know security. We battle. We endure. We protect. We love. Motherhood is fierce.

 

Novel Confession

Okay, okay, so I admit it.  I love a well written romance novel.  Even more I love a great fantasy series, one that creates an exciting new world packed with colorful beings. Elves, faeries, wizards and mystical creatures are my jam.  Paranormal romances?  Oh yeah. Vampires, magic wielders, ghosts and grave minders…I devour every page.

Do I have a degree in English?  Yes, I do.  I have analyzed multiple poets, scrutinized Shakespeare and visited Milton’s Paradise Lost. I have written essays, hundreds of them, on what makes a certain piece unique or memorable. Yes, I really do understand what makes a literary piece withstand the test of time. I even went to grad school. I am an educated adult. So?  I like to indulge my appetites.

Lust is an entertaining concept.  Who doesn’t like to fantasize or exercise their imagination?  My mind travels to new kingdoms and I vicariously live through characters whose world experience is vastly different from my own, yet whose emotional rollercoaster rides are relatable. Obstacles are faced, dragons vanquished or in many cases unexpectedly prove to be the hero. I love surprise and excitement. Don’t you?

These books are trite, you argue.  Stereotypical sometimes.  Shallow, lacking true artistic flair or literary depth.  Yes, some books fit this criteria.  Others are like undiscovered treasures simply waiting for you to unearth the wonder.  George RR Martin has been busy proving that such adventures can be vastly entertaining , just as JRR Tolkien did in the past.  How fortunate we are to live in a time when endless reading choices are available to all.  There are so many amazing authors, teeming with originality, vision and literary talent.

If however, you are too full of your own importance and are busy being a literary snob, you will never experience them. I still revere Shakespeare and Poe.  I am not cheating on the classics.  My education only enhances my appreciation. I can love Geoffrey Chaucer and J.R. Ward at the same time. The Bronte Sisters were but a beginning.  Sherrilynn Kenyon, Nora Roberts, JK Rowling and Laurel K Hamilton… the list and scope is endless!  The best part?  They all bring pleasure. More than you can imagine. Shocking. I know.

Though they suffer the slings and arrows of educational misfortune, the fact is popular books are popular for a reason.  Be adventurous.  Dip your toe in the scandal pool. Indulge. Cater to your whimsical side.  Read, and read whatever you want without fear of judgement. Adventure, imagine, explore, escape but go…entire worlds await.

The Penis, Mightiest Sword

Being born female I never formed a true understanding of Penile Importance. Yes, the penis is a male physical organ that exists for procreation. But there is so much more, a whole world of situations and opportunities that only a penis seems to satisfy.

I am not writing about sexuality, though it would be remiss of me not to mention it. Yes gentlemen, we are overwhelmed by your swordsmanship.  You and your organ have brought smiles to millions,  satisfying us as only you could.  Many a girl appreciates her erection connection.  Romantic novels, erotic photography and adult movies showcase your hidden talents.  Books from The Kama Sutra to Lady Chatterley’s Lover have made sure that your gifts will not be overlooked.

No, I am concentrating on penis as an object of entertainment.  Most men have granted their appendages names.  Some are sly references to efficiency, others boast of physical size and some are just silly.  Boys find their penises at a very early age.  I was astounded at how entertained my toddlers were.  By early childhood their organs seemed to take on personas of their own.  Perhaps this is due to the external dangle.  The girls I know were far less fascinated by their subtler more hidden parts.

Boys draw penises.  Why?  I never figured it out. Whatever the motivation behind the art such drawings were met with laughter and approval.  I heard friends chortle “That’s hilarious!”  I was not personally amused but fascinated with the male bonding that occurred as a direct result of the well-rendered drawing. I frequently wondered how often teachers encountered these masterpieces in a school environment.  Frequently, I imagine.

There are universal fears among growing boys, one of which is injury to the private parts. Every male I know has at least one story in his arsenal about heroic recovery from testicular assault. Then there are zipper adventures. Shrinkage due to cold water exposure becomes a topic of discussion.  The left or right side packing of the package is another consideration. Width versus length. Can a boy effectively write his name in a snowbank?  I tell you, these are serious issues.

On the lighter side exists the penis joke.  I refer to it in the singular though there are indeed millions of variations.  Women are not the tellers of these anecdotes, unless of course someone dares them to write a blog on the topic.  Men revel in making fun of, threatening, and extolling the virtues of the penis.  Just the topic of size alone fuels enough jibes to fill volumes.  Failure to launch or inappropriate penile behavior inspires more humor.  To men, penises are funny.

Now, they do not want you to find penises funny, unless of course the man generates the mockery himself and invites you to share in the moment.  If however you mock without permission you have committed the most heinous of offenses.  Even the most heartfelt apology does little to repair damage inflicted.  A direct hit upon the penis involves pride, heart and ego.  Tread carefully.

Being born female, I had no idea.  There is etiquette and sensitivity involved, humor and understanding.  My husband and sons have educated me.  A penis does aid in procreation, but also has a personality, history and life of its own. It stands at attention and demands our respect.  You may call it a variety of names, and acknowledge its importance.  It is more than a simple biological organ. Ask any man. It is legend.

Talk Dirty to Me

Dishes piled high and towels on the floor…a puppy frolicking in bits of paper that she just spewed all over the carpet…a vacuum standing like a lonely sentinel in the corner. Housework is boring.  It is aggravating and repetitive. I hate it.  Like death and taxes it is unavoidable.

Hire a maid you say?  No way!  Not only do I not have the money, but my dirt is personal.  I don’t want some stranger sifting through my family’s carnage.  I will take care of it in my own way and in my own time.

I try to put a positive spin on it…after all I have read the memes.  Be thankful for your sink of dishes for it means you have a family to feed.  Be thankful for the mud decorating the rugs for all pets and kids are welcome in your home.  There is truth to this and I am grateful.  I am also really sick of cleaning up. So I get neglectful sometimes.  I rebel.

I have consulted other homemakers and heard their helpful advice.  Make each member of your family responsible for anything they have moved out of place.  Only keep the bare minimum of what you need in your home so there is less to maintain.  Dedicate certain hours of the day to meet your cleaning responsibilities. Rubbish!

I have a life and so does my family. We work and we play. I treasure the times we share, laughing over movies and partaking in deep or silly discussions.  I happily indulge all appetites, cooking meals and sharing coffee.  I like to see the sun sometimes and not be a dusting mole, burrowing and straightening out my digs.  Please do not misunderstand. I am willing to clean when the mood takes me. I never let the house get past an acceptable cleanliness threshold.  I am not an advocate for filth.

I am a believer in happy living and moderation in all things.  If I want to ignore washing my floor in favor of stomping through mud puddles with my kids then that is time well spent.  No regrets.  I have witnessed immaculate houses.  They look beautiful but I often find them sterile and cold.  All that polish and shine- for what?  So guests must remove their shoes and children must sit politely and admire furnishings from afar?

Your choice.  My kids bounced on the couch and still sprawl across the living room with bowls of Doritos. I have puppies and dogs and card games and dust. I used to worry when people showed up at the door and still feel sheepish on occasion.  My house is not a showplace by any stretch of the imagination.  But it is a home, and a gathering place for friends. Our door is always open.  That has to count for something.

I will never win the title of Ms. Immaculate.  If you are coming to see me or one of my family, you are always welcome.  If you are coming to evaluate the state of my house, save yourself some time.  And (insert big sigh here) now that I have finished my rant, I suppose I should go clean the kitchen.

You Fool

Have you ever walked two blocks on a crowded city street with your skirt up in the back? Ever tripped onto a stage while making a theatrical entrance?  Wet your pants at an inconvenient moment?  Dropped a tray of drinks and heard the bar cheer?  I have.

Embarrassment stories are fun to share.  I am sure you have a few of your own.  Have you ever given someone else a laugh by admitting your unsavory moments?

We all fear public ridicule.  Yes, we can get embarrassed when we are alone but the true indignity always comes when someone else witnesses our foolishness.  We are taught from a young age that there are certain behaviors expected of us.  Stepping outside of accepted boundaries is frowned upon. Yet circumstances conspire so that we don’t always live up to expectation.  No one is immune from embarrassment.

That is why it is important to laugh, especially at ourselves.  Laughter keeps perspective. The truth is that embarrassment is usually a short-lived experience.  It proves that you are human and make mistakes.  It also proves that the moment passes. Survival is possible. Yes, the unthinkable happened but now it is a memory, one that might considered from a certain perspective even be funny.  Why weigh yourself down with angst and negativity? So you colored outside the lines, had a momentary lapse of judgement, embarrassed yourself.  Don’t we all?

How boring life would be if every moment were ordinary.  Embarrassing moments are like the fluorescent threads in the tapestry of our lives.  I like being extraordinary.  I am frequently serious and sober minded. Yet sometimes I am utterly silly and suffer profound lapses in momentary judgement. Admitting such brings freedom.  I am not ashamed.  I revel in the heights and depths of my existence, marveling that I am often successful. I can also fail, and that is perfectly okay.

We are frequently our own worst critics.  Moments of embarrassment looming large in our memories are forgettable to others- well, most of the time.  So you lost your bikini top in the pool.  At least it is a memory that brings smiles for others if not yourself.  Life as you know it did not end.  The sun will rise tomorrow.  Could have been worse. At least you were wearing bottoms. Now you have a story a share. You are gloriously human.  Enjoy the experience.

 

Case of the Sillies

Lofty thoughts are great to share.  Politics are intriguing.  Seriousness has its place. But we need to remember the truly important value of being silly.

Yes, downright silly.  A good belly laugh lightens the soul and makes you remember why you should treasure every moment.  Kids are great at this.  They know how to let their cares drift and enjoy the absurdity of the moment.  Bathroom humor? Hilarious!  Tickle fights? The best!  The worse the joke, the better!  Kids will let their hair down, get dirty and just enjoy being alive.  We lose this ability sometimes as we age, giving worry too much power over our day to day life.  Spend time with a child, and it will all come back to you.

We need to stop being offended and learn to laugh at ourselves.  Why obey social rules 24/7?  Go splash in a mud puddle. Wear something funny.  Scream for the joy of it. Climb a tree. Why?  Because you can.  Because you want to.  And because there doesn’t always need to be a why.

I love my community theater group because I get to play pretend.  I can do outrageous things and have a good laugh. The stranger the character the better the experience. I have been people nothing like myself doing things I would never dare.  It is freeing. I tackle comedic feats with panache in front of full houses, not caring if I embarrass myself .  I count on being silly and love every moment of it. Theater may not be for you.  So go build a crazy fort or have a snowball fight.

Fun is underrated.  Offset your woes with a good time and balance comes back to your life. Of course it doesn’t make problems go away.   Yet you will feel so much better for giving yourself room to breathe that problems seem less soul-sucking and more manageable.

Stop worrying all the time. Why care what other people think? Take a moment that is fun for you. Being an adult has  its perks, but acting like a child brings a special joy.  Don’t be an old stick in the mud.  Get out there and laugh!

Holy Moly

I once was saved in a Baptist Church completely by accident.  The congregation was instructed to close their eyes, and if there was the slightest doubt whether you would end up in heaven or in hell you were supposed to raise your hand.  Being a thoughtful twenty-something with afterlife questions I raised my hand. I only opened my eyes as an enthusiastic preacher hustled me up onto the altar in front of my boyfriend’s very large family. I had no opportunity to interrupt or demur. Caught like a deer in the headlights, I was saved.

At the time I was attending a Catholic college, and being raised Catholic you would think I might have fared better at the mass I recognized.  One fateful day, however, a friend of mine and I brought the gifts up to the altar about five minutes too early into the proceedings.  When the priest saw us, he held us in front of the packed house, hurrying through the prayers until it was the appropriate moment for the gifts to be received. When I realized what we had done I muttered “Jesus Christ” under my breath without thinking.  The horrified Father shot me such a shocked look that any composure I once had completely fled.  My Protestant friend, panicked at my side, frantically whispered “What do we do now?”  I meant to say “Genuflect”.  I really did.  But instead my brain, saturated with adrenaline, came up with the unfortunate response “crucify yourself”.  I knelt, slunk back to my seat in abject embarrassment and prayed for my very soul.

You might think me lacking in faith.  Not true. In my youth I attended every type of religious ceremony I could, seeking enlightenment.  I went to Temple and  invited Mormons in for discussions. I read the Bible cover to cover. I have friends of various religious persuasions. I have always been spiritual. I sincerely wish to understand the similarities and differences between faiths.

My parents divorced when I was twelve and my mother, who was raised strict traditional Catholic, used to pretend for her mother’s sake that we had attended mass.  Whether that was a moral choice, who can say?  In our personal “mass time” we would stroll through the woods and talk, both of important things and day to day minutiae. I do know that this made my relationship with God feel very personal and that this shared contemplative time reinforced my faith. Mom would say God can be felt in nature as strong as in any house that man constructs.  To this day, many religions and buildings later, I still feel the truth in that statement.

I have had meaningful encounters with clergy. I have experienced signs.  I know God exists.  What my experience has taught me is that Buddhist or Christian, Muslim or Jew, we are more alike than different.  Most faiths share similar humanistic principles and encourage us to conduct ourselves within a moral framework. There is no right and wrong definitive religious view.  Understanding is a very personal issue.  I have brought my sons to mass, and shared my own perspectives and faith with them.  I have encouraged them to seek truth, confident that God will reveal Himself in a way that holds meaning for each of them.

I am not the Catholic that my grandmother might wish.  I am, however, a person whose principles and faith she would admire.  I am at peace with myself.  I pray daily and contemplate the beauty of the existence we have been given. I am thankful for every moment that has taught me something, whether sad, embarrassing or joyful. I am sure God has a most excellent sense of humor. For that reason I even still make an occasional appearance in church.

 

 

 

Dental Damn

Auschwitz survivors.  To me they are the epitome of human determination.  I cannot comprehend the agony of their experience.  But I deeply admire their will to triumph, to persevere in the face of all obstacles.  When I am feeling wimpy,  facing the unknown or have a personal obstacle to overcome, I challenge myself.  I will not buckle.  I will not fail.  If people survived years of abuse and deprivation, surely I can accomplish anything for one hour, even sitting in a dentist chair.

You have heard of Captain America and Iron Man.  I am busy competing for the title of Silver Woman, The Caped Cavity, or perhaps The Dental Dame.  I was not blessed with strong pearly whites, never had braces and have always hated my smile.  My fifteenth year was particularly heinous dentist-wise, with several cavities followed by wisdom tooth extraction and subsequent infections.  I was in that chair so often I jokingly greeted my dentist with “Hi Dad, I’m home.”  Perhaps that was the year that scarred me.

I do follow protocol, brush and floss. Yet I am filled with shame when the hygienist sighs and starts rambling on about fruit juices and soda, neither of which I drink.  I am not a child but certainly feel like one.  I have a small palate and lots of teeth on a small jaw.  I know people have much worse circumstances than mine, but when I see that rubber dam coming that they want to put in the back of my mouth I feel like throwing a tantrum.  I hate feeling like I am choking, or that I can’t swallow or breathe properly.  It brings me back to my childhood asthmatic days, before inhalers were a thing.

I scold myself, school my expression and make jokes.  I appear completely comfortable and relaxed.  My interior monologue allows no outward show of nerves or cowardice. I will not give in to displaying fear.  I will do what has to be done and emerge a conqueror. So I keep my appointments and suffer through one afternoon.  Humans in this world have tolerated situations unimaginably worse. Whining or cringing brings deeper shame than any diagnosis could.  I have dignity.  I am a grown-up.

Granted I am a grown-up who feels like she got slugged in the jaw with a baseball bat but my yearly trials are complete.  I have no shame.  I gracefully survived.