in the back corner of the storage room – up on the concrete ledge, behind the boiler and the hot water heater, in a bit of cobweb – sat this the metal wheel. next to it was a plastic exercise ball for small rodents and a water dispenser from a habitat used decades ago.
we took them off the shelf and i washed them all off, thinking i could give them away to someone who might have a gerbil or a hamster, saving them from purchasing these items.
but it had been decades since i’d used them – our children were little when we had these tiny pets.
so i decided i’d best do a little research to make sure these were still safe.
they are not.
come to find out that the plastic exercise balls don’t have enough airflow and the metal wheel has been the source of injury for these tiny creatures. into the trash they went.
that wheel, though.
both d and i looked at it and then at each other, rolling our eyes. the wheel – the subject of one of our flawed cartoons – a statement piece.
as artists we are used to less. it’s built in to our dna, it seems. we have stepped to the side of the wheel – choosing something different than the norm, different than the 9-5, with a different imperative, with different rules, different expectations, and with clearly different financial rewards as well. without the security of tenure in an institution or corporation and its advantages (particularly in remuneration, advancement, healthcare plans, retirement), we have forged a different path. we have avoided the faster-faster-faster of the wheel, but not without sacrifice.
most of the populace, however, have chosen more traditional routes and now we are watching the administration destroy those, destroy their stability, destroy the respect due each of them.
at the time of this cartoon’s drawing, my own interpretation of it was more of a boss-worker cynical take.
in these times, one quick look at it in the cartoon files and it took on a life of its own:
the oligarchy vs the people.
because – well – it’s obvious, isn’t it?
the haughty, condescending, inflated, pompous hubris – standing around in their opulent affluence – rolling in it – their plenty – while the rest of the people – the real people – work ever-ever faster to get nowhere – to have not-enough.
i’m glad the wheel went in the trash. it’s where it belongs.
the socks came packaged with soup mix and a ladle we use every single time we serve soup. “keep your head up ⬆⬆” was good advice. it still is. and every time i wear these – mostly as sleepynightnight socks to avoid dreaded leg and foot cramps – i think of margaret and ruth, who sent them to me.
we are going to need to stop reading our news app each morning. instead, i should sip coffee against my pillows and stare at my socked feet. it’s the only way to avoid having the day start in angst. headlines of corrupt politicians, the unconscionable politicization of the supreme court, compassionate human and equal rights being stripped right and left, the undermining and diminishment of LGBTQ, gun-toting individuals mowing down people at block parties and funerals and places inside and places outside. the smoke from the canadian wildfires wafts through our open windows and storms are predicted throughout the country as “severe” and “dangerous” with hail and wind and tornadoes and driving torrential rain, yet there are those who deny climate change. conspiracy theories rise like bile and individuals who bark the loudest are lauded, clowns representing constituents in this country. geeeeez.
like many, we were hopeful – though not expectant – of the supreme court siding with president biden about student loans and forgiveness. we have been dramatically affected by this crisis, by the predatory lending that took place/takes place: principalizing interest, forbearance steering, no transparency about income-based repayment plans. now, don’t get me started on transparency – for the lack thereof – opaque opacity, if you will – exists in organizations and communities where you would least expect it.
these student loans – deceptively pushing lendees further into debt – had no oversight; people are still struggling from these unfair practices, including us. nonetheless, the land of student loans is a misunderstood monster and many form rapid opinions about “free lunches” before understanding the perils of this skewed ogre. in striking down this forgiveness, the supreme court – once again – ignored the plight of real people. president biden’s words, “the hypocrisy of republican elected officials is stunning. they had no problem with billions in pandemic-related loans to businesses – including hundreds of thousands and in some cases millions of dollars for their own businesses. and those loans were forgiven. but when it came to providing relief to millions of hard-working americans, they did everything in their power to stop it.” and what about all those tax loopholes for the wealthy?
no, this is not people expecting something for “free”. this is the populace expecting the government to do something about profoundly unethical and predatory actions that have overwhelmed millions of people in this country for decades, that will continue to affect their lives and decisions and their way forward. including us.
once again, as with anything, i would suggest asking questions prior to forming highandmighty opinions. “the power to question is the basis of all human progress.” (indira gandhi)
i only have one pair of socks with words on them. d has a pair too. his say, “if you can read this, get me wine”.
maybe i need another pair – just to get through life…or at least the morning news.
i went to school for nineteen years. when i finished my master’s degree my sweet momma asked if i would – one day – work on a doctorate. i emphatically replied, “not a chance!”. i felt that i had reached my terminal degree, so to speak, and that all the rest – all that education, work experience, talent and intuition and tenacity and wisdom gained along the way – would serve me well.
i am 64 today. sixty-four. six decades plus four.
and i am a woman. woman. she/her/hers.
and this is the 21st century. the 2000’s.
yet, sitting on the couch the other day, watching new amsterdam – cast with actors in many female physicians’ and specialists’ roles – i stood up and cheered for the female character who firmly stated, “i didn’t go to school for twelve years [med school] to learn how to smile more.”
what – exactly – is the propensity for people to tell – specifically – women to “smile” or “smile more” or “just smile” or some similar iteration in answer to conflict, to agenda, to management riddled with prejudice? the question i ask – would you tell a man to “smile” or “smile more” or “just smile” or – truly – any iteration as such?
the continued thwarting, silencing, harassing of women is insidious. and forever. as in – forever.
“there is a pull, a fiercely ingrained pull, to mute a woman’s voice until it coos. to press it down until it is as small and sweet as a pastel after-dinner mint. to control it. to silence it.”
“and still, she speaks. she tries to be heard. but very—too often—her voice is ignored … or belittled, mocked, critiqued, or shouted down.”
“if a woman utilizes her voice in a powerful way, or shakes up systems that are firmly in place, she will be subject to an abysmal, hack, silencing-method known as punishment.”(fiona landers – we have always silenced women – damemagazine.com)
“learn how to smile more…” i put new amsterdam on pause and rolled my eyes.
smiling more and keeping silent…when is that appropriate action in one’s workplace? is it appropriate – palatable – with a minimal salary and no benefits? is it substantially more appropriate – indeed more palatable – with a substantial salary, full benefits and retirement? do leaps and bounds of higher financial reward translate to keeping-one’s-mouth-shut even in the face of maltreatment? is a silent smiler in the upwardly-mobile ranks helping those on the lower ladder rungs? where is the line (or is it a ladder rung?) between generative transparency and closed-lipped acquiescence? where is the respect?
my sweet momma – who died at almost 94, a woman before her time – was a smiler. i – like most people – love to smile. i can see her smile in mine, the thinning curve as she grins, the crinkling of her eyes and the crease just above her top lip. she was a promoter of joy and kindness and – as the basic tenets of all the work i do in the world – i would like to think i have brought those forward, from her.
i found a small pocket calendar she sent me. i had saved it in a drawer in my studio for fifteen years. there is a handwritten sticky note on the back in which she directs me to “read the motivations through these pages” and to “start with the cover”.
the cover quote reads, “you must be the change you wish to see in the world.” (mahatma gandhi)
smiling-on-demand – even being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” – does not get one anywhere. conversely, not smiling-on-demand, not being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” can get one destroyed. but, in fact, smiling-not-for-a-real-smile’s-sake and the act of being a “sweet pastel after-dinner mint” and staying quiet about any prejudicial wrongdoing or malfeasance is an abhorrent manipulation, a coercion, shutting down strong, smart, valuable women – employees – time after time. and for what purpose? is this not perpetuating the oppression? just what responsibility do we have to each other, to the next? are we the change or aren’t we?
rykä: a made for women movement, where our individuality is rightfully celebrated and actions speak louder than words. because women deserve better. better shoes, better rights, a better world.
i am a sexual assault survivor. this is not new news if you have been reading this blog. but it’s pertinent, as always, and, once again.
one in five women in these united states has been sexually assaulted. (cdc.gov)
one in thirty-eight men in these united states has been sexually assaulted. (cdc.gov)
of ten persons sexually assaulted, nine will be women and one will be a man. (rainn.org)
every 68 seconds an american is sexually assaulted. (rainn.org)
rape is not a walk in the park. it does not wash past you. it leaves lingering effects. it is a violation of everything free and sucks from you everything intimacy should represent.
i was fortunate. i have lived with – and dealt with – the ugly emotional reminders of this act of control over me for forty-four years. it has played into my relationships, my confidence, my physical health. but i was not impregnated by my attacker. and for that, i was fortunate.
there is no doubt in my mind – no matter how much i value life – every one’s life – what i would have done had i been left with a pregnancy as a result of this abuse. i would have exercised the choice i had as a free woman in a country that supported my freedom to do so, my responsible freedom-to-choose in any circumstance i may have found myself in, my voice. i know that, beyond anything, that choice would have been profound and would be something i would also live with forever. but i would have ended the pregnancy. period.
in an obviously warped, personally-agendized move of a fraternity of mostly-ridiculously-wealthy-less-statistically-likely-to-have-experienced-anything-remotely-like-this narrow-viewed clearly-politically-driven non-impartial-“impartial court” conservatives failing – failing this country – to apply equal justice equally, our country is poised to eliminate the choice women have over their own bodies. and we retrograde back in time in rapid motion, like someone falling into a mine shaft.
“whenever you see a successful woman, look out for three men who are going out of their way to try to block her.” (yulia tymoshenko)
i read this quote on instagram. i hesitated to use it and then wondered why. it stated truth. it is a fact of life. i have lived it – exactly it – just as many other women have. so why hesitate?
the answer seems obvious. because that kind of blocking still exists, that kind of dominance is still valued, that kind of discrimination still squelches lives and careers, that kind of smothering effort – particularly with leading roles by older white men – is still not – really – questioned, nonetheless challenged in a big, broad way. it’s asphyxiating and it’s way past its time. way, way past time.
“it’s 2021 and we are talking about THIS!” they rolled their eyes and so did i. it is beyond the scope of reasonableness that we are – still – dealing with the devastating blows that those who lean into … or out-and-out embrace … the prejudice of white supremacy, suffocating gender bias, ruinous economic inequity, insufficient healthcare, deficient educational options, the loss of multitudes of innocent lives at the barrel of unnecessary weapons, exclusive immigration…
but here we are. 2021.
we came upon the hot-pink lighted ball of yarn in the garden and laughed. then we followed the string, the yarn that was unrolled over the tree branches, under the bushes, along the sidewalk edge, up the fence, down off the fence, and ultimately, to the end of it, the frayed edges.
it occurs to me we can trace the strings back and back. we can see the frayed edges of injustices, the repeating pattern of silencing, of stifling, of deliberate lack, of unacceptable levels of violence, of obstructive intention.
what now?
we need be stewards of worth, of mending, of healing, of forward-movement, of equal opportunity. we need to find ways – now – to weave an inclusive, equitable, generous, safe, egalitarian story for all. ungrudgingly and with abundant kindness and good will. it is indeed way, way past time.
when i was little, going over bridges made me nervous. not because i was afraid of heights or because i was wary of infrastructure and thought it would fall down, but because i was nervous about not being able to get back. something about going over bridges made me feel like there was no way back, especially if we were heading in the wrong direction, taking a wrong turn. i did not like to feel lost.
texas is lost. they have traversed a bridge that appears to be a hellish dead end and, i fear, with no way back. the new abortion law in texas that the governor has touted is a despicable piece of legislation, currying to the favor of men and full-scale demeaning women. that the governor would couch this as concern for the “sanctity of life” elicits a visceral response, a sickened-gut feeling. that the governor would ignorantly speak to the six weeks of freedom-to-decide as plenty, as generous even, is a slap in the face of every woman in his state. that he would put a bounty on the heads of anyone helping in this situation is disgusting wild west gunfire into the crowd.
people have spoken since this decision with more eloquence than i might muster at this moment, but it would seem that every one every where needs to speak up. as more governors make moves to further control the rights of women, we need to – we must – speak up, speak out. the ironies stacking up are deplorable piles of dung as we sit and watch legislation and policy skewed against any kind of gender equality being written, being celebrated, being enacted. sanctity is not in the building.
i read an article about the use of words in statistics. number of girls and women raped. number of girls and women sexually assaulted. number of girls and women harassed. number of pregnant teenage girls. violence against women. the use of the passive construction – noting that these descriptors don’t state the number of boys and men who raped women or assaulted women or harassed women or impregnated women or were responsible for violence against women literally shifts the focus off the guilty parties, pretends that these things have simply happened to women.
it’s hard not to be hugely cynical, disenchanted, about a country that clearly measures women’s rights differently than it measures men’s, that cares about women differently than it cares about men. once again, that yardstick is two-headed and those wielding it speak out of both sides of their mouths.
cynical. disenchanted. yes. these words. from desiderata they seem so hopeful, yet… “neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.”
perennial. usually a positive word. perennial flowers. perennial love. yet, in the docket of these days, what is perennial is the absolute denial of respect and rights for women. it is tiresome to watch the constant lostness. instead of bridges to better times, better health, equality and respect for all, a lifting up of those oppressed, bridges are being built to places of continual control, to power unleashed over others, to inequity and doubletalking agenda – with no way back.
it’s no wonder why i didn’t like bridges when i was little. no-way-back is a terrifying place, for a little girl and for a country.
i passed by these words: “try being informed instead of just opinionated.” i laughed and then frowned, thinking it was a great mantra for these times. it doesn’t even need any additional blah-blah. it simply can stand on its own, shining a spotlight on, well, most of us at some point or another.
i was recently reading some writings of noam chomsky, a linguist and philosopher and so much more. he is “widely recognized as having helped to spark the cognitive revolution in the human sciences”. his work is interesting and profoundly thought-provoking. and, he is one of those scholars who have quotes galore attributed to him, smidges of wisdom, tomes prompting controversy, questions that parry ignorance.
“the general population doesn’t know what’s happening and it doesn’t even know that it doesn’t know” is one of these quotes. bracing.
any scroll through news media apps in these times is pretty scary. intense drought, raging wildfires, ferocious storms erupting, melting glaciers and rising oceans, a global pandemic morphing and morphing again but not going away, the rise of authoritarianism in the global world, the attack on democracy and fundamental truths, the support of lies and personal agenda by people in trusted positions, the new climate change report issued by the united nations…the doomsday list seems endless.
we stumbled into a short documentary the other evening about doomsday bunkers. people in south dakota and texas purchasing $35k bunkers and tricking them out into homes in which they live, preparing, prepared. it was kind of daunting to see – these underground homes with pantry rooms full of canned goods, homes with no windows, homes that are more-or-less safe – or at least removed – from all that goes on above ground. i expected to see wily extremists but that wasn’t the case in the short we viewed. these were people who wanted to be ready to go on if all else failed – leaving “all else” to your imagination, easily fed by the horrors we read and watch in the news. i personally cannot imagine living this way. though the bunkers are in a community, the premise is removing yourself from the rest of the world and i wonder what is left of value then. a little more googling and other bunkers emerge – bunkers for the super rich, bunkers that are more extreme. what is really going on here? the things we don’t know.
i used to teach in the state of florida, though i have not lived there now for over thirty years. in the mixed miracle of social media, some of my previous students are friends of mine on facebook and i am delighted to see them in their lives as adults. i am horrified to watch the governor of that state remove protections for the children attending school there, not to mention teachers and administrators and other valued employees of school systems. barring mask mandates, downplaying vaccinations, issuing warnings to remove funding, threatening the withholding of salaries – all power ploys for his own sick agenda, which clearly is not to protect or encourage protecting the residents of his state, his constituents. i don’t understand this. and yet, his actions are mostly undeterred and it is only now that there are some superintendents pushing back, placing lives over one man’s warped authority. i wonder why every parent in the state isn’t lined up, pushing back. had my children been little while we lived there, i would have been appalled by the cavalier attitude about their health and well-being. they – and every single other child in that state – are not expendable. what is really going on here? the things we don’t know.
we’ve all heard the expression “ignorance is bliss.” is it really? is not-knowing the best way to go about living? is getting all hooked-lined-and-sinkered into opinion-land responsible? is watching the circus networks opine and distill truth and hatch conspiracy communal? is it ok to not know what’s really happening and not know that you don’t know? is it prudent – without asking questions – to fetch every bone thrown igniting rhetoric, encouraging vitriol, spewing hate, forwarding inequality, ignoring climate peril, wreaking chaos? even dogdog can discern firestarter sticks from real branches.
and grimaced to see raging wildfires, upending people’s lives, destroying towns and homes and forests and tiny creatures racing to stay ahead of flames.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and wept at floods sweeping over land, drowning dreams and crops and families, sweeping away livestock and animals trying to escape mudslides.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and, wincing at the pain of what it saw, questioned why brilliant science could not prevail, why habitats were being destroyed, why climate change and global warming were not on the lips of all its people, why something so vital seemed so controversial.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and pondered its resources, its clean water, the fruits of its ecosystem, the sustainability of food and drink for each and every one of its beloved inhabitants on its crowded globe.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and grieved the ramifications of a raging pandemic, sickness and suffering, lives lost, security decimated, together slashed into separate and distant.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and wondered about the division of its people, wondered about deep disagreement, hatred and the brash spewing of vitriol, wondered where truth went.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and wondered about all manners of inequality, wondered about all manners of discrimination, wondered about ill treatment of its dear ones, wondered about cruelty.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and saw anxiety and angst and surging mental health challenges in its own, fear and instability, exhaustion, unassailable peace assailed.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and wished the most basic elements would rise to the top, tending the needs of clean air, food, clothing, shelter, education, healthcare, sanitation, protection, communication, belonging, caring about and for each person.
and the universe glanced down at planet earth.
and hoped for a better time, a better way, a resurgence of compassion, a renewing of a world commitment to collaboration, and a rebirth of what it had given each person: a heart.
“it actually doesn’t take much to be considered a difficult woman. that’s why there are so many of us.”(jane goodall)
and because of just exactly this, i will tread lightly as i write.
for the rules are still different in this world – the rules for men, the rules for women. the word “difficult” – and arriving at the word “difficult” – should present its own debate. how does one get this label, one would ask. does difficult mean speaking up, speaking out? does difficult mean raising the bar on expectations? does difficult equate with uncompromising? is agile adaptability difficult? does talent or education or expertise or experience make one difficult? is difficult attached to success? does difficult mean not accepting discriminatory treatment? is difficult shunning a lack of respect or other indignities? does difficult mean pointing out the lack of transparency in an organization, an institution, a company? does difficult mean urging truth? does difficult mean following process? does difficult mean requesting financial equity between genders, between races? does difficult mean asking to be rewarded on one’s merits? does difficult mean asking hard questions? does difficult mean – heavens forbid – talking back? does difficult mean suggesting change? does difficult describe “good trouble“?
do those things applied to a woman make her difficult? do those things applied to a man make him difficult? is the measuring stick different? might there be a double standard? just where is the dividing line and why is there one?
if indeed those define “difficult”, i’d further suggest that a difficult man is considered a powerhouse, a strong leader, a go-getter whereas a difficult woman is considered, well, difficult, out-of-line, disrespectful, even egregious.
jane goodall is right. it doesn’t take much to be considered a difficult woman. not back in the day. not now.
and for that, i would hope that all women would get mighty difficult.
i found an october 2017 edition of the magazine real simple in and amongst the catalogs in our magazine rack. paging through, i cringed when i saw an article about how to work from home, thinking how inadvertently prophetic that was. there were articles about kitchen makeovers, healthy habits, quick recipes and how to finance renovations. the second to last page was a faux program agenda for what was named by the author (ashley lefrak grider) the 32nd annual symposium of the american society for the investigation of contemporary fashion indignities. it made me laugh aloud, so i extracted two of the ‘session’ titles to share:
the morning ‘breakfast with the thought leaders’ was titled “low rise jeans: a plan to spread self-loathing among women who eat food.”
the ‘policy workshop’ held in the afternoon was titled “who bears the bulk of moral responsibility for pretorn jeans made of elastic and what is the appropriate punishment for this person?”
seriously, the experience of purchasing new jeans imperils most women’s senses of humor, not to mention self-image. styles change and jeans change and, each time, many of us are left wondering whose idea it was for women to wear skinny jeans or jeans that ride below a tummy that has had some serious childbirth adventures.
i detest the lighting in most store fitting rooms and the mirrors that surround you as you step out into the little hallway of curtains. were it to be my decision to make, i would provide soft lighting and beverages. a little asti/iced tea, perhaps. it’s painful. and jeans are my favorite thing to wear so you can bet that, once i have gone through this agony, through the oh-geez-these-make-my-butt-look-big-i’ll-just-wear-long-tunics-all-the-time enlightenment, i make jeans last a very long time and save them all in my overburdened closet. for years. it’s too anxiety-producing otherwise.
the worst is finding a new bathing suit. the hard plastic model mannequin wearing the darling suit in the swim, cruise and yachting department has not lived life and it is unfair to act like her little perfect shape is in any way relevant to the rest of us. ordering from a catalog is an option, but most of the same rules apply and make many of us wish that we could go back to the swimsuits of the 1920s, though these are also hardly ideal.
in the latest first-world news – just how does one keep up? – trends to follow include: luxe sweatsuits (named “almost-business-casual-take-you-from-the-couch-to-errands loungewear”), knit dresses and skirts (because who doesn’t want to wear form-fitting sweater-dresses!), leather coats pretending to be those oversized down coats, and, my personal favorite, puffy shoulders and sleeves, which makes me wonder why i gave away my bridesmaid dress from my niece’s wedding in the early 90s. what’s more, ultimate gray and illuminating yellow are the fashion pantone colors of the year, chosen for their “warmth and dependability”, but clearly not how they look on real people.
the tagline of real simple magazine is “life made easier”. and the heading on the page with the mock symposium agenda is “the struggle is real” with a sub-title of “clothes: we have a few complaints”. the closing session of the conference, with only an hour-long presentation – so little time, so much to say – was “to live is to suffer: was nietzsche wearing control-top pantyhose?” indeed.
women in our society have had an extraordinary and inordinate amount of pressure put on our ability to look fit, healthy, hydrated, well-rested, botulinum-toxin-injected and young. in the pickiest of picky new face-rules, lately i have noticed an emphasis on having eyelashes to end all eyelashes. as a blonde, eyelashes tend to be just laughable and definitely an investment in mascara. at a couple hundred dollars a lash extension application plus upkeep, costs seems like expenditures that would not fall under the ‘make a budget’ article guidelines, nevertheless it is a ‘thing’ and women everywhere are buying into it. at target yesterday, i wondered how the lovely young woman, waiting on us and trying unsuccessfully to type information into a device to locate our pickup order, functioned with her carefully manicured but insanely long fingernails. were these nails what she really wanted or were these nails a product of some sort of weird expectation that they were somehow elevating her already very natural beauty? the questions keep coming. so do the catalogs of new clothes, new swimsuits, new shoes, new products to trim your body, new trinkets, new dietary supplements. so much pressure.
too much pressure. good thing i don’t subscribe to cosmo.
i hear wide-leg-relaxed-fit-waist jeans are back. goodness and gosh, i can’t wait to go try some on. better yet, maybe there’s a pair in the back of my closet somewhere.
yes, friedrich, “that which does not kill us makes us stronger.”
reverse threading 