What Dante Has Learned & What I Had Forgotten

At the end of Dante's stay here, I'm always melancholy. I try very hard to reflect on the good and sweet things I've learned, and not, for instance, on the fact that I somehow bungled and destroyed 2 rolls of film that included his birthday pictures and the big weekend we had. ARGH! I so need a digital camera. ;) People need to tell me their suggestions on one, as I don't really know what I'm looking at.

Back to Dante. He's learned that he prefers cloth napkins to paper ones ("These feel great!!") and that there is something to be said for a well set table. ("the pretty plates"). I've learned that I have a willing dinner partner who appreciates that I made the experience more beautiful.

I had forgotten how messy little boys are. I got a reminder quite fast. He is a giggling, benevolent, Chaos Sprite who cut a swath through the house that you might as well not bother to clean up, it'll only be there 15 minutes later. I know which battles to pick.

He learned that kids from Massachusetts have funny accents. ("Whaddaya doin', ya bonehead??"), although I'm quite sure his southern accent had the other boy in stitches as well.

I learned not to judge a county by what I think are it's prejudices. I get sick and tired of Dante being some people's black experience. I'm sorry it sounds so harsh, but it's a lot to ask of a kid to change somebody's pre-existing notions just by being yourself. And he does frequently. He's tamed some pretty racist parents. He's opened little boys' eyes and educated them. Just by existing in their space. I almost didn't let him go. I'm glad I did. They're thrilled I did.

He learned that Momma's home cooking is still preferable to restaurants. I learned to never call Chicken Cacciatore by it's real name, but to continually refer to it as "Tomato Chicken". Oh, and that if he's eating fish and he thinks it's chicken, continue to let him have his illusion. It's more peaceful that way.

I learned that he thinks my birthday is more important than his. This surprised me greatly. I had to sit on pillows all day and have my back propped by pillows. I was Queen of the World for that day. If he could've carted me around in a wagon, he would've. It was overwhelming.

I also learned that he is convinced that purple is my favorite color and continues to buy me jewelry that is purple, and I'd best not disabuse him of that notion. Someone else's suggestion that my favorite color might really be blue sent him into a tailspin of thinking he'd picked out all the wrong jewelry (I haven't told you about my massive fake jewelry collection, have I?). Why he thinks I like jewelry is beyond me considering that I wear next to none of it. But he greatly abused his father when his father wanted to buy Victoria's Secret as a Christmas gift. "DA-AAD! You don't buy women underwear, you buy them jewelry!!" Where he picked this up is also beyond me.

He was reminded that it's painful to come back and have to leave again. I'm sorry for that, son. I'm reminded that I love you greater than everything on this planet, and that it rips a new hole in me to see you cry for me. Even if I do know that you'll be perfectly happy tomorrow. I love you, babe.

--Virgil

How Much Is Enough??

When or at what point do you say, "I've had my say X amount of times, and I'm not going to work at this anymore." ??

I know, I know, this comes after the negative tenacity thing, but I don't care. This is a more subtle shade of gray.

Negative Tenacity

A very important lesson that I'm proud to say it didn't take me long to learn is when to quit. When to quit on a lover, when to quit on a job, when to quit beating your head against a brick wall. There is a fine line between gritting your teeth and pushing through the pain to something better, and just causing yourself pain. Or making the situation even worse.

One thing I've never quite been able to understand is some people's capacity for negative tenacity. Let. It. Go. Already.

An example from the world in which I work: If one of the richest men in town puts together a little cohort of nouveau riche buddies and decides to come play at your little fundraiser for a while, you do NOT make him go the extra mile at the end. Especially if the man just topped of the best earnings you've ever made at said fundraiser with a hundred dollar bill just for the hell of it. Well, maybe I charmed him--I do try, you know. But they've been sweating outside, so don't you DARE go unroll that hose, hook everything back up, and make him wash one more car for a measly five or ten bucks in the hot, hot sun. And in the process kill all the goodwill we just set up with the rich people.

An example from my life: Mom, STOP acting like Sister is going to blab your secret facelift to the world. Every time you remind her to not tell anyone you make her think that YOU think she's going to tell everyone. Let. It. Go. Oh, and Sister, if you're checking, Mom wants me to tell you to be sure not to tell anybody, as she doesn't think it's any of their business. ::eyeroll::

Mom's capacity to persistantly think the worst would happen to me and Sister pretty much drove us away from her, if only to not have to listen to her run her mouth. Godless, I've gotten rid of men for less than running their mouths too much.

Things I Really Need To Get A Move On...

Here's a few things I really need to light a fire under my ass to get done. Hopefully by making it public knowledge, I'll feel more responsibility to complete the tasks. Feel free to flame me...

1) I really need to get on that ex-JW support group and pull it together.
I did some preliminary work on it, but it fell way behind on my to-do list. Part of what's holding me back is that support groups tend to take on the personality of their leader, and for people coming out of a cult, the last thing I want is them thinking that I have all the answers, even though I've thrived outside of the cult. Also, I don't want to lead the damn thing. But somebody has to set things up somehow. Plus, I'm an atheist, obviously, and a lot of JWs still need religion. There's some fantastic potential for conflict, and I've worked very hard to get conflict off of my to do list for years now. But ex-JW's need a place to go and talk about it. I would've loved to have had that when I was first kicked out.

2) I really need to get the last of those edits done on my short stories.
I currently collect rejection letters ::eyeroll:: and I'm due for another round of fixin' and sendin'. I write flash fiction, I guess you'd call it. Short stories that are under 4000 words. Something like that. I think true flash fiction is 2000 words or less, and I've got a couple of those. I currently have 22 stories in various stages of editing that I need to just force myself to sit down with. I need to do it before school starts back in August, otherwise there really will be no time to get it done.

3) I really need to get a move on asking other agencies to host our literacy materials at their sites.
I hesitate to ask them because we all have so much to do as nonprofits, and it involves a bit of extra work for them. All I want them to do is keep a stack of our training manuals there, let us use their building as a public place for tutors & students to meet, and ::whispering::recruit tutors from their population bases. This county has some isolated populations, and they won't drive into town to meet with tutors because most of them can't drive or don't have a vehicle. But they can get to that organization already established in their area. I've just been so busy with grant spending and fundraising and end of fiscal year reports that I've put it off.

4) And speaking of literacy, I really need to get my tutor monthly social meetings set up.
It was a great idea, I've just hesitated because that's yet one more chunk of my week devoted to growing the center. But it needs done. When we match them with their students, we pat them on the back and then we never talk to them unless there is a problem or an annual test or I have to collect volunteer hours or something. I want them to be proud of being with my nonprofit, and not go somewhere else. Yes, not very gracious, is it? I'm jealous of my people.

5) I really need to block out more time for meditation and contemplation.
This really ought to be the number one to-do on my list. When I have time to Zen, I do well. I work better, I stress less, I feel more peace and the world looks more beautiful. When I don't Zen, I go back to being the weak seams in a raggy quilt--barely holding it all together. I have a key problem with meditation, though. A real mind block, which I'll share soon. In the hopes of calling the Beast by it's name and slaying it.

It's My Birthday!

Whoo-hoo!

Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me!
I'm 29 years old...but I'll say I'm 23!

No, just kidding. I don't have aging issues, at least not yet.



I have several birthday wishes, but I'm told that if I tell them, they won't come true. ;)

OK, What The Hell Happened To My Blog???

I don't like it all stretchy like that!! I want my sidebar back where it was. Wah!

Obviously I've done something whilst adding a few things to my sidebar. I just have no idea what in the hell it was. If anybody's got any ideas, I'm all ears.

EDIT: Apparently with some cussing and snorting, I've managed to get my blog to not look like it's one giant run on sentence. But I had to change templates to do it. At least I was bright enough this time to save my links before I changed and keep myself from the trouble of rewriting the html code ALL OVER AGAIN. I'm still interested in knowing what would make a blog look like a giant run on sentence, if y'all know.

I Am Impotent

I am so incredibly worried and upset over the Israeli/Lebanon conflict right now. I'm not sure why this particular incident of violence is bothering me more than, oh, say all the OTHER incidents of violence going on all over the world.

I guess it's because when I really think about it, I just never can agree with the notion that lessons are best taught by bombing civilians and destroying children. I don't care about soldiers being kidnapped. I don't think one soldier is equivalent to dozens of innocent people. I get the position that Israel is in, but quite frankly, they're in that position because of force in the first place. I'm not saying I think Hamas and Hezbollah are right, because I don't.

I think both sides stink.

The fighting has me incredibly concerned right now. (And yes, I remain concerned about the violence my own country is perpetrating in Iraq right now--keep your self-righteousness to yourselves.)

After mulling it over, I've decided that there is a difference between violence that happens in Liberia, for instance, and this conflict. In situations like Liberia, many factors go into the spiral into war. There's generally a corrupt government, high unemployment & crime, kids don't have the luxury of going to school in peace. In Rwanda, for instance, nearly 80% of the adult population was illiterate. This made them easy prey to radio propaganda, and some reports of interpersonal violence bore out that some of the perpetrators were acting on what they had heard on the radio. Doesn't make it right. But there are some causes that you can point to with a clear finger. As a side tangent, that's one of the reasons I'm so into the illiteracy problem.

When your parents have been killed and you have no food and no money and you're 14 years old, it's understandable you'd run around with a Kalashnikov and point it at the food stand owner.

What's going on between Israel and Lebanon just seems like bald faced aggression. Levelling a city because of two soldiers? Targeting other cities until Hezbollah disbands? What saddens me is thinking of the children in Lebanon growing up now with devastation and death as an early memory, and the potential of carrying those feelings over onto their children and possibly even their grandchildren.

A news story about it

Eeep! Ack! Urgh!

Director just called to let me know I have to do a radio interview on Friday morning. We have two fundraisers coming up next week, and one of them is a read-a-thon. I had a woman email me saying she'd like to participate and I was kind of thinking--hey, that sounds like that lady who does the news on the AM station. So I asked her what the chances were of getting her workplace to sponsor her and I end up on the radio with one of the morning "talk" teams.

Don't think I'm not grateful. Awareness building is something that's very crucial to a little program like ours.

But, AAAACCCCKKKK!

I've been on the radio before. I do pretty well, but according to all witnesses, I turn white as a sheet, and I'm pretty pale as it is, so that should tell you something.

Holy Freaking Exit Strategies, Batman!

Holy Crap! I forgot completely about celebrating my exit from the cult of Jehovah's Witnesses last month. I believe that June the 10th is my official liberation day. Apparently, Real Life came and went, and I forgot to both ponder and pontificate on that eventful day.

The lead-up to dismissal was swift and surprising. I was pretty much drifting away in the first place, but the whole event was precipitated by an old ex-boyfriend who wanted to go out with me again. He was studying with the Witnesses at the time, and I had nearly finished my first year of college. We had been through for an entire year, but he wouldn't let it go. I have that effect on people. >:D

When I said I wasn't interested in going out on Friday, I got a call the following Tuesday from some elders who wanted to "clear up a little matter" of the relationship we'd had in the past. Turns out the fucker went in and got down on his knees for Jesus and turned over every piece of paper we'd ever exchanged. I was 17 years old when I wrote some of those things.

To sit across from three old men at 18 years old and watch them recite chapter and verse of your brain that you so considerately logged for all to exploit was...well, if I said it was Orwellian, that would be a gross understatement. One old codger was half deaf and slept through most of the event. He'd wake up and yell, "Do you know that in Matthew blah blah it says blah?!" To which I'd respond, "Yes, I do know that." "Oh, well,...snore." Which, that would've been grounds to get the case appealed, but I'd have had to care. I think I was secretly glad to be out, although at the time it hurt like hell. They took 30 minutes to deliberate and kick me out, on the grounds that I wasn't "repentant enough" and an "influence to the congregation." I can't in good concience say they were wrong.

Considering that my family was still reeling from my father's suicide, the local elders were unhelpful, to say the least. They never offered to rehab me or try in any way. One said of my behavior (my completely normal teenage behavior that at this point involved NO sex), "It's as if you're trying to put a band-aid over a gaping wound." So, instead of giving me to the ER, they kicked me out on the street. I guess they were hoping I'd bleed so badly that I'd beg them to sew me up.

WHOOPS. Guess I forgot to do that.

I ran into some girls who were kicked out after me a few years back. You look so good! They crowed. Yeah, honey, you don't turn into ashes when you go.

I can now proudly say that having come through the Vortex you fall through when your Official Rug is yanked from under your feet, that I am happier, braver, smarter and stronger than when I was in the cult. And if my 28-nearly-29 year old behind could go back in and say something to those crotchety SOBs, I would go (first in jeans, not a dress) and give them something to scribble in their little Elder Notes. I would make it Extremely Unpleasant. Fortunately, after 10 years of being out, I no longer have those fantasies (well, most of the time :P ), which just eat up the good in life. I let most of it go. I was raised in the cult, so I'll probably always have to grapple with it in the corners of my brain.

But, I'll accept that as the price of my ticket to the outside. Happy Liberated Anniversary, Me!

Let The Good Times Roll

We've been on a rampage this weekend, trying to pack as much as we can into the span of two days. It's hard work considering how incredibly hot & muggy it is here. Saturday was Kids Day and Ribfest, so of course we attended both events. Hopefully the pictures will come out; I've not been having much luck lately with my older camera.

Kids Day was a sweltering city block's worth of activities. Dante didn't seem to notice the heat. He made a sticker book of his four favorite things in life: sports, Spongebob, dinosaurs, and dogs. He was completely captivated by the Children's Theater, and turned down other events in favor of watching all their skits. Sound problems notwithstanding, they were pretty good. Dante certainly thought so, and even tried to sneak backstage to see what really goes on. So I just marched him up to the Director, and had him introduced. Dante's mouth was open when I marched him over, but sugar, that's what you have to do if you want to figure those kinds of things out. We also rode the PRT (Personal Rapid Transit) system, which Dante thought was sort of a mundane rollercoaster, and he's right. It's supposed to be a really big deal, being only one of five such things in the USA. But mostly people just think it's a big joke.

Ribfest was OK. Needed more ribs from mom & pop places rather than big chains. The BBQ was decent. Not great, but decent. Could've done without the God Rock and Bad Local Bands, but all in all, a pretty good time. Spent all of the fun money I took out courtesy of a bank account specifically for half.com transactions. But most of it went to good causes, so I feel pretty good about blowing it.

Today we were invited to a birthday of a friend of a friend, who was trying to get up enough kids to cover the minimum requirement for the group discount. The party was held in one of those giant Fun Places For Kids kind of thing. There was rock climbing--he did great and climbed all the way up twice--, bowling, games with tokens, indoor carnival rides, bumper cars, boats armed with water cannons, all kinds of manufactured fun. Oh, and Laser Tag.

I've never played Laser Tag before. Apparently, I'm pretty dang good at it. Must've been all those 1st person shooter games. Or maybe I was just the only one smart enough to find a position and snipe rather than run around like a chicken with my head cut off. At any rate, I had a heck of a lot of fun, and it makes me wonder how good I would be with paint ball. Probably not very, considering I had a laser to watch and adjust my aim.

Dante had a blast. And best of all, it was free. So you can't ask for much more than that. I'm sunburned, as usual. Small price to pay for his good time. I think he's still grinning from ear to ear.

--Virgil

He's Ba-aack!

My son is back with force. I got a fast reminder in both A) how crazy he is and B) how great I think he is.

He brought with him a whoopee cushion. I didn't know they still made such things. He has gotten so much mileage out of that thing, it's a wonder it doesn't have holes in it. Why on earth do little boys think that fart jokes/farting is so funny? It wouldn't have been too bad if he hadn't added his own special fart at the end of the fake ones. He thought that was hilarious.

We were listening to the band Kyuss--sort of heavy metal with a fuzzed out guitar instead of screaming ones--and somewhere around the third track, something struck a chord in his solar plexus, because he began thrashing around and changing the words:
Cereal and Milk, Cereal and Milk,
Cereal, Cereal Cereal and MIIIILLLLKKKKK
CEREALANDMILK!!!

??? But it was funny.

I had roasted a chicken and made garlic mashed potatoes, and we ate outside on the balcony (the kitchen is unbearably hot this time of year). After we ate--he had two plates--we told Yo Mama jokes, another specialty area of his:
Him: Yo mama so skinny she hula hoops with a cheerio.
Me: Yo mama so stupid she heard it was chilly outside so she got a bowl.
Him: Yo mama so poor I walked in the front door and fell out the back.
And while I was in stitches over that one, he added:
Yo mama so stupid she saw a bus full of white people and yelled, Hey, look at that Twinkie.
I thought I would cry laughing. Where the heck did he learn all these? My guess is Uncle Marcus, but he won't admit to it.

Come to think of it, I guess he was insulting Nana, and I was insulting myself?!

I'm so glad he's back, even if it's just for a few weeks.

Dining a la Office Depot

I was making myself a lovely trout dinner when I ran into a few snafus. I don't know whether this makes me a hillbilly or what, but I ended up cooking with some rather...unconventional methods.

The trout dish is a great recipe I cribbed from a famous restaurant in New Orleans. It involves blanching veggies (asparagus, carrots, potatoes) and wilting spinach and adding fresh tomato slices. There's a garlic/lemon olive oil combo to make (with fresh basil out of my little container garden!), and then you sort of layer everything and wrap it in parchment paper. :P ::drool::

Well, my first problem came trying to cut through the trout to separate the fillets. Apparently my knife is not sharp enough to cut through fish skin. I tried and tried, until it seemed like it was becoming a hack job. I was getting really pissed, so I grabbed the scissors. Do you know how easy it is to cut through fish with scissors? Well, it is. On to my next problem.

After layering and oiling everything, it was then time to wrap the parchment paper. Let me be the first to say that I suck at wrapping presents. When they invented the gift bag, I was the first in line to buy it. So naturally, somehow I managed to botch the wrapping of the parchment paper around the fish. All the loose ends were left up in the air. I couldn't flip it over, because then some of the items on the top would burn. I got some tape. The tape wouldn't stick. Because it's waxy paper, you dummy, I thought. So I got the stapler. And I stapled it together. I felt like a moron.

But you know what? The fish was great.

Happy Birthday, Dante!

Happy Birthday, boy! When we first met, I was scared to death and too stubborn to let anyone see it. We've both grown, haven't we? I can wear your shoes now (::shock::) and you can tell a good joke. We had a rough patch of a year, this past one. But you're so much happier now--present moping about the birthday party excluded. And I confess that I'm happier, too. Not because you're gone and living elsewhere. But because I always said that the only thing I ever wanted for you was to be happy. (And literate, but I don't say that part too loudly around you.)

You are turning into a very kind and strongwilled boy. I know where the stubborn gene comes from (sorry, about 400 years worth). I'm not really sure where the kind part came from, except that I was always kind to you and shared everything I had with you. But you are already more of a humanitarian than I am.

This past year you've played baseball for the first time--and helped your team make second place! You were in your first play (even though it was a church play, I didn't mind--you barely noticed). You finally made an "A" in spelling, for which Daddy gets a gold star. And you moved away from me.

But we made it, didn't we? We didn't come apart like I thought we would. My life didn't stop in its tracks, although I really wanted to for a few months. And you just got better and better. I can't wait to see what you do with this coming year.

I know your birthday wish was for Gameboy games, which I've granted. My birthday wish for you, which I made right before I left you with Daddy, was for you to be a happy boy, which you are. Oh, and that you'd want books for your birthday--and lo and behold, you finally asked me for a book for your birthday! Stop the presses, Dante actually wants to read!

Happy Birthday, Dante!
Love, Virgil

Decide. Or Don't, I Guess.

There is nothing that bugs me more than a sheeple. Where do you want to eat? I don't know, what do you think? Sometimes people are truly noncommittal, but you can always tell a sheeple when you run into one. They run around bah-bah-ing behind you, their little hoof prints always filling in your high heel marks.

What do you feel like doing? I don't know, what did you have in mind? I have experienced moments of indecision myself. Usually when I was completely bored with the subject or proposed activity. When I say, "I really don't care," it means just that.

The thing about sheeple, though, is that they can really get their wool in a snit sometimes.
We're going to X place. Would you like to go too?
Well...I guess so.
You don't have to come if you don't want to.
OK, I guess I don't want to.
Is there something else you'd like to do instead?
Long Pause...No. I don't guess so.
OK, see you soon.

Now, the sheeple isn't going. But that sure doesn't mean the sheeple isn't sitting there madder than hell and thinking about breaking things. So then the sheeple invents all kinds of possible scenarios that could've happened while the sheeple wasn't there to see it. And then the sheeple will usually demand an answer to these non-existant scenarios. To which a goat like me usually responds, Go fu-u-u-ck yourself (say it in your best Nanny Goat voice).

See, I'm not Mary. And no, you can't be my Little Lamb. So decide something, sheeple. Or don't. I really don't care.