Saturday Speaks: Happy Halloween!

(from http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/ap081031.html)

Friday Sabbath: What's scarier than Halloween?

It's people who use Halloween during your innocent childhood to scare you into believing what they believe...

I was raised in a quiet Lutheran church among questioning, thinking intellectuals. The church used to host these fantastic Halloween parties. I'm sure this was simply to guarantee any families without good neighborhoods a safe environment in which their children can dress up and get candy. Older kids would also put on costumes and pass out candy downstairs where there were classrooms to stand in as the doors of houses. We'd knock. "TRICK OR TREAT!" The compliments would flow and the candy would be fairly distributed among our bags. Move on the the next door. And so on.

We also did all the fun goofy fall stuff... bob for apples, play word games, make crafts, pretend to be the character we came dressed as in a skit, etc. It was pure, imaginative fun.

Halloween had always been my favorite holiday. There are oodles of pictures of me with my pumpkins, in my costumes... I dressed up for the first time during Halloween as a clown. From there I went on to witches, ice princesses, unicorns (that was an amazing costume Mom made for me back when I was obsessed with The Last Unicorn), Cleopatra, Queen Guinevere, The Living Dead, etc. I liked the opportunity to be someone else. To drop my problems, my worries, my growing pains, and be someone with new problems, new situations, new powers, etc.

Halloween was an extension of the therapy that theater provided for me... but that's another story...

One year, I think I was about eight years old, I visited with my father for one of our regular weekends and went to his church on Sunday before returning to my mother. These people were Fundamentalist Southern Baptists (Please note: This church might have different views from other Southern Baptist congregations... within any denomination, each community consciousness changes.) I went to Sunday School without a clue of what was about to happen.

I heard things that had never been discussed in my Lutheran classes. They brought up the devil and how he tempts people on Halloween... how he manifests himself to hurt you. He comes in the form of nice neighbor ladies who put needles in your candy that tear up your insides as you swallow them... it will most likely kill you. That's what would make the devil happy. To wipe you out.

That scared me to death. I was pale with sad disbelief as I looked at the teacher, asked questions to calm the situation (All we do is dress up, is that so bad?... apparently, there is no good whatsoever about the holiday of pretending). She shook her head at me and sighed with every inquiry (I could tell she was thinking I was "one of those people" as she huffed and puffed and rolled her eyes back into her ignorant head). I was thinking of all the questions I would have for my mom when I went home... I don't remember if we ever talked about that day, but I know I settled into thinking that the Baptist teacher took it too far.

We didn't talk much about the devil where I was raised. You inevitably hear of the devil during certain readings from the New Testament, but he (or she) was never presented as some sort of Boogie Man who is out to get you, to kill you if he/she can.

This is a concept for which I have no tolerance. My experiences have led me to believe that mankind has enough evil within it that there's no need to blame it on some winged demon whispering in our ears. There are "good" and "bad" influences everywhere. The choice, at the end of the day, is our own. I don't need to live in fear of some invisible bad guy to keep me in line. I know what I consider to be "right" and "wrong" and I do my best to uphold my own high standards. When I do something "wrong," the devil most certainly did not make me do it. I did it myself. I would never be willing to trade my personal integrity, my responsibility for myself, and settle for the lame excuse that, if I don't behave, the devil will hire a sniper to gun me down.

Admittedly, some terrible things have happened to people participating in the community celebration of Halloween... but I blame that on evil-minded people, not some cigar-chomping, mustached Italian man in red pajamas carrying a pitch fork. Communities have changed greatly over the decades and, sadly, it's getting harder and harder to trust our actual neighbors.

That doesn't mean there's any point in not celebrating the fun of frivolity and make-believe. While carelessness can lead to trouble, that's true no matter what day it is. Even Jesus kicked back a few with the members of his community. We just need to be mindful of strangers and find safer ways to play (Hmmm... like in a church or within a big family or a group of friends). I don't think there's any service delivered to children when you cause them to fear having a good time... when you back them into a Crime and Punishment sort of corner. Want to lecture parents? I'm sure they can handle it. But using fear as a method to turn children to Gd... well, how pure is that faith when you're just running away from the enemy?

So, I hope to see plenty of goblins and ghosties and Harry Potters and Wild Things and what have you. Halloween is my time to mend my church scars in the chilly moonlight and dance among the other masked revelers enjoying the freeing power of pretending, of creating some fantasy and excitement.

Thursday Kitchen: Foodie Blues

Everyone is sick. I mean everyone!

Every time I turn around someone else is coming down with something icky. I'm not quite 100% myself, but just as I emerge out of the bad part of my own illness, three people I know are knocked down. I have a feeling it's like this for everyone. For every person you know, I bet three more people are coming down with something...

...and at a time like this, who can think of food?

I don't know about the rest of you, but this past week I just haven't wanted anything near my mouth. I think one day I was so frustrated with silverware and gooey stuff touching my lips that I actually ate oven fries for breakfast. Bland, finger food that's easy to pop into the mouth. I've used straws in all beverages (which makes coffee a weird experience). I've just eaten enough to keep going... rice, potatoes, cheese, crackers, a vegetable or two.

My bad sleep habits have also persisted. You'd think that, feeling sick, I'd just sleep all the time. Oh, no. I've perpetuated this weird cycle someone has coined as "night and day inversion." I can't sleep, whether I'm in bed or on the couch reading, until 2 or 3 AM and then I'm not up until about 12 PM. It doesn't feel right, so, during my incubation, I decided to give melatonin a try. It's not like I had anywhere to be, so two nights I tried two different doses...

...and melatonin is not my friend. I felt so much heavier... still couldn't sleep before 1 but I couldn't wake up the next day until about 2 in the afternoon. Even then, I felt like there were rocks in my head, my limbs, my eyelids. This experiment did not help me see the light at the end of the tunnel.

So, other than failed attempts to help our ailments, we're stuck. At home. On the couch. Not in the mood to eat. Music and reading only helps those of you without headaches or grogginess. TV works for almost everyone... except that you feel like your brains are rotting from the inside-out and you're turning into a couch cushion. Everyone tells you to take in plenty of liquids, but the cup is all the way on the table next to you and you just aren't in the mood to lift a limb.

I played lots of Spider Solitaire. Kept my brain gently awake so I didn't feel like a complete blob while the TV was going. I just liked having the noise in the empty apartment. Minerva sat with me most of the bad days trying to keep me company.

But, even as she stared up at me, moved towards her food bowl and looked back at me, as if to say, "Shouldn't you eat something, too?" I couldn't convince myself that eating was a good idea. Food has been the last thing on my mind lately...

...and apparently, countless sets of threes are also having trouble wanting to eat.

I can't imagine craving anything again, though obviously my day will come. This morning I did really want a Pumpkin Spice (1 pump) double tall breve... and I got it. And it was warm. Smelled colorful. And it blocked out, in sips through another stupid straw, these harsh, reflective clouds. I still need shades on these days shrouded in bright, blinding grey whether or not I feel sick.

I'm sure you threes are suffering from your own sensitivities... to movement, light, sound, smell, etc. So, for today, I'll leave you in peace with hopes that your own relieving Pumpkin Spice morning is just around the corner leading you down a path of wanting food again...

Here's a cute little song I hear on The Dean Martin Show that might cheer you threes up:

Listen, big boy,

Now that you got me made,

Goodness, but I'm afraid,

Somethin's gonna happen to you!

Listen, big boy,

You gotta be hooked, and how,

I would die if I should lose you now!

Button up your overcoat,

When the wind is free,

Take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Eat an apple every day,

Get to bed by three,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Be careful crossing streets, ooh-ooh,

Cut out sweets, ooh-ooh,

Lay off meat, ooh-ooh,

You'll get a pain and ruin your tum-tum!

Wear your flannel underwear,

When you climb a tree,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Button up your overcoat,

When the wind is free,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!Boop-boop-a-doop!

When you sass a traffic cop,

Use diplomacy;

Just take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Beware of frozen ponds, ooh-ooh,

Stocks and bonds, ooh-ooh,

Peroxide blondes, ooh-ooh,

You'll get a pain and ruin your bankroll!

Keep the spoon out of your cup,

When you're drinking tea,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Don't sit on hornet's tails, ooh-ooh!

Or on nails, ooh-ooh!

Or third rails, ooh-ooh!

You'll get a pain and ruin your tum-tum!

Keep away from bootleg hooch

When you're on a spree,

Oh, take good care of yourself,

You belong to me!

Wednesday Valuables: When "He said, She said," is the best part of the day

Today on Gchat:

TvT: Hey, thought you might like to know some of the nice stuff our friend said about you:
from Mary: btw I'm glad I met Geneviève... She's great and always listens to my constant complaining haha. thanks for introducing us.

Me: Thanks for sharing! I know you're busy, so, it's
awfully kind of you. She and I definitely have an understanding.

Exchanges like this don't come every day... and I'm not really referring to the kind things our mutual friend said about me. I mean when we remind each other that we are significant... even if it's not our own words.

Well, it reminds me of a common issue. How often has someone asked you to, "Say, 'Hi,' for me!" and you didn't actually do it. Now, okay, some of that is "Say, 'Hi,' to your Mama for me," when you know good and well that person will call that night and do it herself. But, sometimes, it's your friend sending good wishes to your family, your spouse, your mutual friends. Those are good feelings and kind thoughts that are entrusted to you to pass along.

I bring this up because I am very guilty of leaving good wishes in the dust of my consciousness. Particularly the wishes of my mother. While my mother is kind and giving, she's not the most social bumble bee, so the chances of her seeing any of my friends are slim. However, she is one of my closest friends and hears everything, the good and the bad. And yet, whenever I bring up your birthday, you anniversary, your new job, etc, my mother almost always passes along her greetings and congratulations and care.

So, those of you who are friends, for every major occasion this past year, my mother said, "Hi! Good Luck! Congratulations! and I'm thinking of you!"

Shame on me, I know.

And she's not the only one. That's the one statement for me that goes in one ear and out the other. Unless it's concrete advice or a question, I rarely ever pass along the love of others.

I knew someone, someone who is currently close but far away, who made a point to pass along good feelings. It was a consistent, regular, life philosophy. Anytime someone said something kind about someone else this person knew, this kind soul would pass it along. There are all sorts of wonderful, uplifting things I would not have known had this person not told me... and whether or not that's a crucial piece of information or not, it certainly put sparkle back into any day (and I think that was the mission all along... This was one of those people whose motto reminds me of something storyteller Donald Davis said, "Church is everywhere and every time you do something that makes another person's life a little better.").

So, I'm just as grateful for what our mutual friend told me as much as the fact that Tristan bothered to pass it along. He's at work, doing big lawyer-y chores... but he took time out to send me this thought of friendship. The exchange took barely a minute of his life to deliver, but how many of us fall short of being mindful enough to share that one minute with the people we love? (Of course, some of us don't even take that minute ourselves just to tell people we love that we, ourselves, care, but that's another story buried under the laziness of believing that they should just know.)

Anya has demonstrated this kindness with exemplary style as well. I was sick for a family gathering this past weekend and she was naturally diligent about reassuring me and wishing me well. But, how many of us forget even the next day that chances are good our friend is still sick? How many of us are quick at the initial news and then let the rest of the days that follow go into ignorant bliss? I always feel guilty about not contacting families who have suffered the death of a loved one a month or two after the fact. Yes, life goes on, but we feel that sting for some time after. I know I would have appreciated that understanding in the days following many difficult deaths...

...but, let's not delve into all that saddness. In Anya's case, I was just sick. The next morning, she sent me this text:

we wont come over but i thought you
would like to know that lilia asked to
go to gigi's house this morning.
it was very sweet.

It is very sweet. My gdchild calls me Gigi (Geneviève is undoubtedly difficult for a two year old). Anya didn't have to tell me that... but it made the moments of that sick day a little less heavy. It's one thing to earn the love of your peers... but the love of a child is awe-inspiring and reminds you you're alive. Anya has always been one of the champion's of follow-up and passing along goodness.

So, if you hear a client or the boss say something nice about your co-worker, or a friend listens to a story about your mom and offers compassionate sentiments, take a minute out of your life to tell your co-worker, to call your mother. You never know how long its been since they received a compliment or if it's been a really lousy day. It costs you nothing, save only that one minute, to change the course of someone's day.

Perhaps that's kind of Hallmark-y, but, really, would it hurt to try? If karma holds, that goodness ought to come back to you eventually... and it's a small price to put a spring back in the step of someone who was slipping... and a lot of people start to get that wobbly gait as the weather turns cold, people get sick, holidays loom around the corner with their stress, memories, and loneliness for many...

So, have a heart.

(Speaking of good things, I have had a dear friend from my past contact me recently, reminding me of similar things and demanding I feel less alone. I could not write a friendship entry without mentioning her and the starlight she has shone into another miserable week of feeling sick and having troubles with sleep. She and I have been friends, long-lost sisters, despite the silence and she reminded me of that this week. "Georgia! Georgia, no peace can I find. Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind...")

(And dear Beth! Thank you for giving me something to look forward to this summer no matter where I end up moving!)

(Thank you, too, Stacy, for... well, you know.)

Tuesday Favorites: Reflections + My new favorite star

My love affair with all things celestial and astronomical started in 9th grade. I'm pretty sure that's when the film adaptation of Carl Sagan's devastatingly gorgeous novel arrived in theaters. Contact.

I can't remember the details about the actual screening. I know I went to see it more than once. Like Carl, the film captures this beautiful tension between the unexplainable and mystical qualities of life with the security of objective science. I remember enjoying this concept of science and mathematics being the only true universal language... the language that would quite likely bridge the difference between us and an alien race.

I received good grades in science... but not because I was a natural scientist. I knew the system. I knew how to play the game of "the good student" and succeed. I struggled in Chemistry with the numbers and ions and such. I had a pretty rotten teacher (to explain this, I'll just say that we actually drew up a petition signed by students and their parents to have this woman fired... it didn't happen, but there was a lot of dissatisfaction with her method of teaching). Aside from that, numbers have never been my strong suit.

It was the work of Carl Sagan that made me mourn this fact. A couple years after Contact, Daddy introduced me to Sagan's television mini-series Cosmos.

Daddy recorded so many programs from the 70s through the 90s (the last program we taped on VHS pretty devoutly was The Dinosaurs, but he recorded all my educational programs, Fraggle Rock, Brain Games, etc.). The house in which I was raised has a closet full of our bizarre VHS collection which is virtually all recorded television rather than cassettes bought in the store. Daddy also had one of those 20 pound rocks of a video camera with which he captured countless family golden moments and classic nightmares. His collection is a valuable treasure trove of resources and memorabilia. Cosmos, though, was the one program during my turbulent adolescence that gave us a space in which to bond, to have some interest in common.

Seeing as how Sagan wrote and narrated Cosmos, I had the chance to really experience the way he worked. Sagan has one of the most distinctly amazing talents that I've ever witnessed in an intelligent person. While Sagan had obvious gifts for mathematics and science, he simultaneously wielded the power of words with such compassionate mastery. He managed not to demean, but he made things that would be dizzying and confusing in science class crystal clear. I remember kicking myself at moments while watching that I hadn't done so sooner... might have helped me with my Chemistry issues.

There is a poetry to Sagan's science that enchants me. He paints Astronomy as the Father Science of all other sciences... this led to my desire to study the subject. I could learn about all other sciences if I start here... and perhaps Sagan could lead me.

So, on to my new favorite star!

Though we have left the time of Libra in terms of the zodiac calendar, I was curious lately about the actual stars that make up the constellation. The star set that make up the scales of Libra look a little like this:

(from www.scienceandart.com)

Now, it was in the Middle East that the constellation was identified as a balancing scale measuring out the details of the universe high in the sky. The Greeks, on the other hand, saw a chariot for Pluto (All the better to steal your daughters with, my dear). They also saw the claws of the following sign in the zodiac, the Scorpion.

Either way, there are individual stars that make up this constellation. I'm sure I'll talk about them all at one point or another, but for now, I'm rather enamored with Gliese 581.

(from www.calacademy.org)

Named for Wilhelm Gliese and his Catalogue of Nearby Stars, Gliese 581 is red dwarf (spectral type M3V) and approximately 20.3 light years away from Earth. Its mass is measured to be about a third of that of the sun. It is located about two degrees north of the brightest star in the Libra constellation known as Beta Librae.

What's really fascinating about this star is the ruckus is caused recently in astronomical news. This star has about four planets orbiting it light. Gliese c. was discovered in 2007 and exists well within the habitable zone of its parent star. It makes a complete orbit in 13 days. Gliese is now considered to be the most Earth-like exoplanet about which we currently know (this is a mass issue, not a livability topic). It is believed that this planet is rocky with a mass approximately five times that of Earth. However, it also exhibits evidence of having a runaway greenhouse effect similar to what we can observe on Venus. The chances of anything living there at the moment are slim...

Gliese c. has a brother, Gliese d., that also exists within the habitable zone and might be the best candidate to support life. Its orbit around Gliese takes about 66.8 Earth days with a mass roughly the same as half of the mass of Uranus. There is little else to know about it at this point as we are still studying what surrounds Gliese. We only just discovered in April of this year yet another planet, Gliese e., orbiting Gliese outside the habitable zone.

The mere concept excites me... In the constellation of my birth sign, there exists a star that strives for something extraordinary. It burns and gazes upon the rocks that orbit it as though it alone believes in their potential. Aside from the obvious, wanting to think we could either contact the life currently on the third planet or observe the life that might evolve from it, I think of it as a potential home for future generations if we do the unthinkable but seemingly inevitable and blow this precious planet of ours to kingdom come. May we not be so foolish on Gliese d. should this day ever come...

(from www.daviddarling.info)

Monday Review: The Beauty Academy of Kabul

Do you, or does a woman you know, own a make-up bag? How about blush? Eye-shadow? Do you, or does she, have a favorite salon? Someplace where there's a favorite hairdresser or a beautiful salon or shampoo that smells like heaven?

If you can answer, "Yes," to even two of these questions, you are far ahead of the women in Afghanistan.

I watched The Beauty Academy of Kabul (2004) this evening. You've probably seen the book, KABUL BEAUTY SCHOOL, that I believe was published after the documentary was filmed. Most popular bookstores pull this title out every other month or so for the "Buy One, Get One Free" table. Whether or not any of the employees has ever read it, the book has a pretty green cover with a girl in the center whose face is covered with a thin, dark veil. Good marketing. The film and the book are divided between the women involved and, for once, it sounds like the more accurate story is to be found in the film (the author of the book caused much anger among the other women involved in the project with exaggerations and stretched truths concerning the situation in this country as well as her own significance: NYT Article on book issues).

A program was organized to bring American hairdressers to Afghanistan to open up a beauty school for the local women. This American group arrived at a time of dubious security. One of the teachers, in attempt to describe the situation in Afghanistan told her personal story. She said that she had been raised here but left for America during a time of great violence. She missed the hell of the Soviet daily bombings, the oppression of the Taliban, etc. She returns after 23 years to participate in the Beauty Academy. She says that, before she left, Kabul was a pretty contemporary place with many buildings, many schools, many places. She said that now, after that time of modernity, Afghanistan has fallen back more than one hundred years.

There are several shots in the film of daily life in the city of Kabul. It's nothing like anything we're used to around here. Most of the buildings are ruins, ghosts of better times. Rather than being repaired or replaced, they lie there, these stone corpses of civilization, rotting in the streets. People walk around them (and the various pods of armed men) to get to work, to school, and to the hairdresser's...

A salon in Afghanistan is not like what we have here. Here you see many chairs, many products, and several people either having their hair cut or sitting in a waiting area on a couch or chair. Women sipping coffee and reading a magazine as they wait. In Afghanistan, there is typically one room in some woman's house in which there is one chair for the current client. The rest of the people waiting sit on the floor or stand outside waiting their turn. The hairdresser, if she's fortunate, has a closet of her supplies. The film interviews about four of these women who run in-home salons and cut or style hair in between house chores, cooking, caring for small children, etc. It's really quite remarkable what these women have been bred to do...

They are machines. So much is expected of them and they definitely rise to the occasion. This is a culture in which women are expected to obey the will of their husbands. Should a woman have her own opinion or disobey, she is considered a whore and thrown out of her home. They live in constant fear of husbands, of the men. When asked how things might be different if women were in charge, these conditioned soldier-ladies cannot even imagine. "I don't think women can run things. The men would never let that happen," one woman answers with a commonplace smile on her face as if she were saying, "That's just life."

In one exchange, the teachers of the school have a chance to talk to girls about marriage and love in this country. Largely, marriages are arranged. Love matches are looked down upon. Most women would never even admit that they loved some boy. Instead, they accept the fate of their parents' decisions and marry cousins or distant relations (and at young ages... as young as 14). One woman scoffed at the notion that anyone would even want to marry for love. "If he can fall in love with you, he can just as easily fall in love with someone else," she explained.

Yet, with all these differences, the idea of individuality and honing visual talents into making women look a little lovelier unite all nationalities of women. The Afghan women envy the American woman's ability to go out at night alone, to wear short skirts, short sleeves, and to wear make-up whenever they want. In the regressive wasteland of Afghanistan, women dare not incur the jealousy and wrath of their men. Only for weddings, it seems, do the women wear full make-up or have their hair styled (and yet, they'll still be expected to wear the head-dresses that cover all that creativity). Men have convinced women that they will ruin their skin if they wear make-up, so, most of these women only wear a little lipstick or gloss on any kind of regular basis.

So, what's the point? Aren't these people behind enough without getting a load of Afghan women in trouble with their husbands, uncles, brothers, and fathers? There was definitely one teacher who I felt pushed a little too hard with no consideration for the cultural issues at stake for women who tried to drive a car or walk around with a short, short haircut. These women deserve these rights, but they're still working on being comfortable with mascara for crying out loud...

I can't even explain the joy and freedom these women seemed to feel when this school opened up. The walls were lined with women on opening day. Some had to be turned away and asked to return three months later for the next session. I assume I don't get it because I take for granted the liberty I have to create my own style knowing that it's the men in this country who live in fear of what we women will do if they say the wrong thing. It's truly an irritating Sandra Bullock moment for me-- at the end of Miss Congeniality, after all the crap she gives these typical beauty queens about their silly emotions, she starts to tear up as she describes her experience in their high heels. This is how I feel about this documentary. I went into it wondering what exactly I was supposed to get out of it. By the end, I couldn't help but feel moved...

...because Afghanistan is the perfect place to bring a beauty school. For what else do these women have the time and space to be happy? For the first few trial days when the students of the school gave free cuts and perms to the public to help them practice, women left crying because they were happy. That's the word that was used. They were happy because of their hair. Maybe they'll have to cover it on the streets, but they know they have their own look underneath the veil.

I would have to be able to imagine a life where I was not allowed to choose... well, anything... to see how a new haircut could change my world. It already has the power to alter a bad mood and I can choose a style every month. I can do what I want, when I want... I don't have to settle for my imperfections. I have the luxury of vanity. These women are happy just for a change of scenery once in a great while.

There's not much to the story. It's really just a portrait of womanhood in a very different, foreign part of the world. It shows you our differences, it shows you how we're the same. Like a good film, it does not spell everything out for you. It just takes you on the journey and lets the characters speak for themselves. These are voices worthy of our attention... if for nothing else, to remind us how good we have it here.

(Images from popmatters.com, www.film-forward.com, and http://citypaper.net)

Sunday Reflections: Old News

If you're tired of hearing that I'm feeling ill, so am I. I tried going away with my folks to the mountains for my mother's birthday, but conditions were not favorable. The weather was dreadful... I haven't heard wind and rain stronger since Hurricane Isabel. The low pressure and cold might have encouraged some of my current symptoms. I even called into work... which I won't do unless I feel absolutely incapable (I am just like Daddy... there are very few lines that define "Pushing it," for us).

I'll attempt to return to my normal posts tomorrow.