Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Looks Like I Have The Guts

See what happens tomorrow on this tantalizing blog! Maybe I will see if I can get my abandoned photobucket account to work so I can post some pictures from our weekend's exploits in Lake Havasu! In the meantime here's one of me I think I took when I thought the camera was the other way around during a sunny snow blizzard I ran into during my daily walk.
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I still have an iphone 6 and I am not even ashamed. I do not however have an affinity for the Yankees it's just that I think Christopher found this hat somewhere and it's really warm.

Ok, time for preschool pick up.

Hopefully the next time I write it will not be to let fam know how things are going in the Sunset Senior Assisted Living Home in Orem.

 Lawds, how I hate Orem.

And Yet... I am pushing publish. Again. Just to see if I have the guts.


After I wrote the previous post (below) this post I decided I should probably stop writing all together. It was just so distinctly meh for me.

Thursday, January 11, 2018


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I like to follow fashion. I find it to be interesting of course. But also very satisfactory in that fashion is very fluid--always changing and circling back for reinvention and reimagination. I crave change just about more than I crave anything in my life. On Monday my living room will look entirely different than it does on Friday. My kids can so testify. They range from loathing this compulsion of mine, to being indifferent. All said, they mostly roll their eyes.

But my kids are always changing too. And so is my relationship to Christopher. In fact, just last night we sat in bed together and decided on some changes in our relationship. I don't get sick of people as much as I get tired when relationships don't move. If I could, I would live in a kaleidoscope and make all my favorite people move in with me. Together we'd experience a lifetime of moving colors and shapes and never ever get bored.

When my kids are born I assign them a color. I say assign because it's really my choice and it's really just for organization (we color code everything around here--towels, bowls, cups, utensils and it keeps things so orderly! Consider that a tip from me to all the parents of young kids!). When Iris was born she showed up at the same time as the sunrise so I gave her the color yellow. And when her curly hair grew in the color of straw I knew it was a perfect fit. Yellow tea cups, yellow mugs, yellow shoes. And as early as she could talk she went around asking folks what their favorite color was, "What's your favorite color? Mine is yellow."

But lately she's into red. Red dresses with sequins that shoot hundreds of reflections on to the wall when she dances in the light by the window. Red devil's horns on her head. Red lipstick stolen from Erin's "special drawer" (for special things). She spends her day digging into her siblings drawers to amass a greater collection of red clothing.

I want my children to change. I want them to change all their lives. Not just which colors they love the most, but what they believe about the world and what they want as they live in it. I try to prepare myself for the constant change of our relationships. Once they needed me to feed them and carry them. Now they need me to help them learn their times tables and give them screen time boundaries. But someday, I will need them to teach me about the world and help me change my light bulbs--if in fact at that point in time it's still a necessity. (I sorta hope it's not though! I love inventions!)

However, I suppose the tricky thing about being in love with change is that it becomes the anti-change. When you're predictably perpetual, are you really changing?

And one more thing, I also love to wear all red. Or all of one color at one time, really. Fashion taught me to be proud of my natural propensity to dress monochromatic. And now I have a daughter who does it too. So really, what exactly is changing around here? Kinda seems to me everything is more or less the same. In the end.
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Thursday, September 28, 2017

On Church & Zion

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A year ago this month I stopped going to church. I don't really want to write much about that. In some ways my life is much better and some ways it's the same, but for the most part it's not really remarkable. It's just a choice. I am still the same person and I am still happy sometimes and sad other times and whatever.


A couple months ago I turned 40 and it's been the best thing I have ever done for myself. I turned 40 and accepted that I am a gender justice warrior. That's who I am. That's my passion. My goal in life is to make this world better for women. Now when I meet someone I let them know that's pretty much the beginning and end of me. If you like sexism or misogyny you'll probably find I am not a fun hang. 

Sometimes I feel shame that I am so passionate this subject, because as it turns out, there are other subjects to be passionate about. I promise I will not passion shame you, please don't passion shame me.

I also sometimes feel shame for the boundaries I draw around my fight with misogyny. A lot of my friends who are just as passionate as I am about sexism still go to church. Not because they don't see it, but because they do see it and they feel they can do some good. As for me, it just makes me angry and I find myself glaring at men in Sunday School who make stupid comments. It's just best for all of us if I brunch out on Sundays. I am good with that. Hope you are too.

And even if you aren't good with that, whatever. That's your thing, and I will respect your devotion with space between us. Because that space is a sacred divide that keeps us both safe, let's be grateful for it.

Because in the end, the world will still spin and I will still carry on as a somewhat over-emphatic but always sincere gender justice warrior and the sun will set and the seasons will turn and slowly slowly slowly I think things will change and hopefully you'll get to see the day when your passion is realized, and I hope the same for me. When my daughters aren't tone-policed and my son understands that "fair" isn't about what people get, but about where people come from, and I will never have to apologize again for standing up for voiceless women even at my own peril--on that day I will enter into Zion.

Enter into Zion--not by church, but by passion. 

It feels good to write again.