Made in China November 6, 2009

I’ve long been teased for appearing to be of Oriental descent. I fit the (often wrong) stereotype: tiny, dark hair, and eyes that disappear into slits when I laugh.

 

The other day we were talking about iPods and I got to thinking about Josh’s that Pat and Jan gave me…and how it refuses to function. It keeps showing me a picture on the iPod of an iPod with a frowning face.

 

So, what does my iPod have to do with China? It’s the fact that a broken iPod is disposable. The only thing separating me from another one is a scant 2 or 300 dollars; NOT the fact that there are no more iPods being produced. The fact that this generation can easily run out and replace whatever is broken is a departure from the generations before us. Back then there were limited quantities. Now we are in an over-saturated market with very little concern of exhausting our resources, and we are losing our ability to place value on things.

 

And that idea made me think about people. Since when did we start buying into the notion that the people in our lives are disposable? The idea that we can use them, manipulate them, change the original way they came to us to fit our likes and dislikes, and can toss them aside when we’re done with them (should we lose them, break them, or just flat wear them out)? I’m afraid that the notion that everything we want in a person can be found in an Oriental Trading catalog – to fit our mood, our season, in a plethora of colors and more of them than we could ever want – has seeped in.

 

Do we REALLY value the people in our lives? I’m pretty sure there are no other Tina’s like me. I didn’t have a twin (even if I did, we’d have different personalities), there’s not a robot-version of me (I’m not a craaaazy Stepford wife) and I’m pretty sure if you got rid of me, there’d be a Tina-shaped hole in your life that no one, no matter how much better or worse then me they are, will fill.

 

This idea goes both ways. For example. I will forever have an Aaron shaped hole in my life. Even if and when I move on and find another relationship, he came into my life and changed the landscape of it – and his departure will leave a mark.

 

I occasionally feel non-existent or replaceable in other people’s lives, and I feel like my friendship is of so little value to some people that it and I can be tossed aside whenever I’m not performing right or being right or fitting their ideal; but what really saddens me is that I did those same things to him.

 

PAUSE

& HEAR ME NOW: I do not want him back. We didn’t work and that’s ok. What’s not ok is that I had this unrealistic man in mind. I was broken and even though I said I didn’t, I expected him to be the ideal. He couldn’t. I wanted to take the man and change him, beyond the line of what is normal. I wanted to tailor him to the catalog specifications. However, I couldn’t, and there’s only one of him.

 

Now. This too goes both ways. He replaced me in his life. When he was done with me he would move on to the next thing (and trust me, that list was lengthy).  The little plastic toy that our relationship had become, the one that was picked up and put down with ease, is also the one that will leave a memory or two; hopefully some of them fond. I was remarkably dispensable but still left a hole because he allowed me into his life for relationship with him.

 

And so, I look at our broken relationship in which we each bear responsibility and at the other relationships in my life. How many more people am I doing the catalog search on, in which I order them as the product and then insist on changing them, instead of valuing their normalcy, their flaws, and their brokenness? How many people will I see as replaceable, and how many will leave a hole that I won’t even realize the size of until they are gone?

 

What in society has caused us to think this way? Why can’t we [all just get along] all just accept the people in our lives for who they are – even when they don’t know who they are? Why play games and try to change everyone and then toss them aside when they aren’t meeting our standards?

 

Why not do the following: give them room for their bad moods, their stress, their hurt and pain? Why not treat them like they are the only one (because they are) and cherish that while we have it? Why not cherish each relationship at whatever stage it’s at – because some will grow, but some will disappear? Why not stop looking at everyone as use for our selfish gain, our play-thing, our person to create and mold and instead simply commit to relationships, even when they SUCK?

 

If we are Christians, isn’t that what we’re taught to do anyways (in kinder, gentler words and with scripture notation)?

 

Why not embrace the real and the limited and value it like we know we should?

 

Maybe no one else in society thinks this way, and I’m just engaging in the classical game of transference. But maybe not.

 

 

 

You Can’t Go Home Again October 30, 2009

“All things on earth point home in old October”

Thomas Wolfe, Of Time and the River

It’s hard going home.  You’re not the same person you were when you left, and you’re not sure if the whole enterprise will work better if home hasn’t changed a bit or if it’s changed right along with you.

To make an all-too-common-these-days story short:  after a year of setbacks so relentless that every time another one rolled us over, we’d look at each other and say “It’s gotta get better now.  Right?  I mean we couldn’t get any lower, could we?”  (Ahh…hope really does spring eternal, doesn’t it?), we’ve decided a change is essential.  So the kids and I are headed for the sanctuary of home.  Galax, to be exact.  Home.

Eric & I both have a severe case of stiff upper lip, steady as she goes, keep calm and carry on syndrome.  I would bet that a lot of pragmatic British blood flows through our veins.  While this mindset means we usually just get on with the business at hand, it also feeds our shared (and admittedly overgrown) sense of stubborn pride.  It took us about four months longer than it should have to admit that this move to Chesterfield just wasn’t working.  But once we did, things clicked.  A plan that seemed absurd when I impetuously blurted it out actually made sense once we considered it.  Since Eric just got his warning orders for another year of active duty (Wisconsin?), the timing was impeccable.  And while it pains me to take my kids out of schools where they are thriving, I am shockingly okay with this idea.

A year or two ago, I would never have considered living in a small town again.  But if I’m honest, there is a huge part of me that, in spite of all my progressive notions, aches for home.   A Norman Rockwellian existence of mid-century solidity.  I know I am (momentarily) idealizing small town life.  But those old Rockwell paintings have rough edges: the house needs a fresh coat of paint, the kitchen table is a hand-me-down, the carpet is a little shabby, and the factory outside the diner window is shut down.  Things aren’t so perfect, but it doesn’t make me love that vision of life any less.  Rough edges I can manage.  Perfection I can’t.  After all this time, we’re taking a chance that maybe home isn’t such a bad place to be right now.

So away we go.

Window Shopping October 28, 2009

I’m a pretty silly girl, most of the time. But when I get stressed out – boy do I get stressed out! Stressed to the point of almost insanity. Shopping is often one of my stress releasers, but seeing as how one of the things I’m trying to do is save some green, be it paper or digitally, shopping is out of the question.

In an effort to self-medicate, I indulged in some literal window shopping, and looked at ModCloth online. The following are things I’d be carrying around the digital store, trying to figure out places and times to wear them:

Fairy Godmother’s Favorite Gown

WHY be Cinderella when you can wear THIS and grant wishes??

It’s all the prettiness and none of the cleaning – and more importantly? None of the drama from the mama.

It’s frou-frouy and yet subtle and yet demands a pair of wings in that shame shade of blue.

What it really needs?

ME and a pair of black shoes – and a place to wear it!

 

 

Styled to a T!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This skirt SCREAMS:

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

The name of it is “styled to a T”

T for Tina…or Tyson. Either.

 

 

Dance Hall Blitz Dress

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SIGH.

I need a ball….or a dance hall.

And dancing lessons.

And a man. I don’t think 3 cats and a dog will be accepted anywhere that this dress would be…

 

 

The Lindsay Dress

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IF Camp Meeting were still the prominent “it’s-not-about-me-it’s-all-about-Him-but-LOOK-at-my-adorable-dress” church meeting that it used to be…

And IF I had a job that demanded that I dress like an adult…

And IF I lived in a bigger city and could wear this in normal everyday life, I would.

It’s black (it harkens to my “dark side”) and yet has a rainbow trim!! You know, the cute kind of rainbow trim that makes you look fun and like you can handle being around children but aren’t one playing “dress up” in mom’s closet.

 

 

AND…

Last but not least, THE dress of the century:

The Chest-ire Cat Maxi Dress

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you morphed my three kitties into one, this is pretty much what they would look like.

If I wore this dress I wouldn’t have to keep pulling out my cell to show strangers pictures of the kids – this way, you could see them AND me coming! Since they love to sit on my newly washed clothes, I could just leave this out (and earn myself the title of ‘best mom ever’) and wouldn’t bother lint rolling the cat hair off. I’d leave it for dramatic effect.

Anybody want to go shopping with me???

Come Sit Next To Me October 16, 2009

In keeping with Alice Roosevelt’s seminal (eewwww on the alternate definition of this word) quote of “if you haven’t got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me”, here is a gorgeous bit of prose discovered in Cornelia Read’s The Crazy School.

We couldn’t stand each other, but I hated her more.  She was so shallow she couldn’t even dislike people properly.

In a decidedly listless week, these simple lines has brought me untold joy. I could absolutely buy Nora Charles tossing them off while consuming martinis in The Thin Man (If you haven’t seen The Thin Man, well shame on you, and I hope we can still be friends.  It is the bee’s knees.)  How Hemingwayesque is the structure here?  Two sentences-straight, colloquial, to the point.  Not bad for an ex-debutante with only two strange little thrillers under her belt.

And apropos of nothing, here are some of the best gin-soaked moments from Nick & Nora.  Enjoy & happy Friday!

Grow Up! October 12, 2009

In my pursuit of my master’s degree (Master of Arts in Human Services, Communication Studies Specialization; and yes, sometimes I like to say it just because it sounds fancy) my first class centered on human development across the lifespan.

Best. Class. Ever. I should be writing a 20 page research paper on divorce for said class right this minute, but, I’m 11 pages in and need a break.

This class shows the timeline of human life and discusses the various physical and mental changes. I’ve learned that there are attachment theories that can screw up a kid’s relationships in life based on holding him or her (“it”, as I used to say) too much in infanthood, that babies are on a schedule of their own – and one block of their day is just crying… Crying for no reason at all….I’ve learned that teenagers are missing a substantial part of the thought process, convincing them they are invincible, and learned that apparently all smart life starts at 40.

While all of that is fascinating, I’ve learned one thing that has rocked my world, academically and theologically.

The mental step from childhood to adulthood is comprised of one key fact: children (infant to age 13) tend to think in black and white. Adolescence (13-19) begins not so much at an age (the ones mentioned are guidelines) but at a breaking away from the black and white thought – when they begin to think abstractly. It’s here where their constant questioning begins, and while some of it can sound disrespectful (and sometimes is), in reality, it’s often innocent. Adults should be encouraged – it’s this stage of cognitive development in teens that the foundations of their lives are built on.

PARENTS, I HAVE A TIP FOR YOU!!

(Side note: I know I don’t have kids (I have one dog and three cats – and yes I know they don’t count) but I have read a lot.)

It has been proven that parenting techniques that allow for the questions and the abstract thoughts are the most beneficial. Answering a teen’s question of “Why can’t I…” with “Because I said so!” does not engage the thought process; it shuts it off. Engaging them is not necessarily encouraging a disrespectful attitude as much as it’s engaging cognitive growth.

(The above paragraph is key to this post. If you quit reading because I mentioned parenting and that I have 4 pets, go back and read it.)

It hit me while studying that my religious background didn’t allow for abstract questioning of Jesus or my parents. Because of that, I have spiritually thought like a child for 28 years. My view of life was black and white. “This is right. That is wrong. Don’t go there. Read this. Don’t wear that. Do this. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare think that.” Our religious To Do list is written on white paper in black ink. It is firm. No bending! No thinking! No questioning!

I was recently asked if my religious background hampered me. While it has given me gifts too numerous to count, I do have to admit it somewhat hindered my thinking. I didn’t dare question the parents, the elders, the Bible, the Church or God.

I have remained a child, married to black and white thought; in a world full of divorceable, grey questions.

The Bible clearly states in certain passages (my mother graciously wrote them up for me) that divorce is wrong. However. What do you do, church, when someone else in life divorces you? Or when life brings you to a point where you either stay in a marriage where you are not wanted or you break away and build a life on your own? What do you do when your dad gets cancer; and your mom can’t find a job? What do you do when you live black and white and life throws you a whole pot of grey? What do you do when you live the Christian standards the best you can and then life hands you things that don’t fit the ideal?

You don’t fall back into the trap that black and white thought is. Just as grey hair is a sign of maturity, you go grey and grow up.

One of my favorite quotes is from Fletch and addresses this issue (indulge me please, yes, more than you already have):

“Fletch: Well, there we’re in kind of a grey area. Frank Walker: How grey? Fletch: Charcoal.”

And that is my answer to most of my own questions: Charcoal; or 1 Corinthians 13:11.

“When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.”

When you live the Christian life to the best of your ability, you establish a relationship with Jesus so firm that no matter what color the question, you respectfully ask it. And then you wait for the answer. Some of them you’ll get. Some you won’t. Some of the answers you get you won’t like (go ahead and buckle up for that piece of it now). Some of his answers are in red.

I’m not advocating that teens (or us ‘adults’ in the faith) break all the rules. Society has them; we need them. I’m not advocating that you make up some feel-good religion in which you do whatever you want. In fact, I’ve seen the opposite come true. The traditional man-made rules have been replaced with God setting his rules down with mine. Amazingly, they are harder but better.

I AM saying that you take the black and white to God, and let him determine what shade of grey his rules are going to look like in your life. Divorce is wrong, however, I’m in the process of divorce. Not his plan or mine, but we’re both working with it, and He’s taking that once purely black issue and marching me through various shades of grey.

Other than my dancing moves and the color of my skin I’ll never be purely white; not this side of heaven, and other than my black, bitter heart I’ll never be definitively dark.

So, I’m [almost] divorced, and charcoal, and growing up in the faith.

For both teens (spiritually and cognitively) and “adults” in the faith (spiritually and cognitively) I offer the Grey List:

Wrestle with the religious ideals and tenets of your childhood faith and

Question and

Grow and

Live.

Glee-ful! October 6, 2009

more about “Hulu – Glee: The Rhodes Not Taken – W…“, posted with vodpod

I am in love with Glee.  We look forward to Wednesday nights with the – well – glee once reserved for Thursday and The Office.  The presence of Jane Lynch drew me in, but I stuck around for the demented fun.  It was only a matter of time before Kristin Chenoweth crashed the party.  I will never understand how such a big voice comes from such a teeny woman.

My mom used to buy me Broadway soundtracks (on cassette tape.  I’m that old.) and subscriptions to The New Yorker in an effort to inject some culture into my life, or possibly turn me into a gay man.  Who knows?  But those big Broadway numbers with perfect crazy harmony still make me all kinds of goofy happy.  So Kristin Chenoweth and Lea Michele absolutely tearing up Maybe This Time from Cabaret (incidentally, has there ever been a weirder, darker musical)?  OMG, the best thing on network TV ever.  My very very hetero husband, who has suspiciously made it a point to linger in the living room for the past two or three weeks during Glee, and my eleven year old son both sat there glued to the screen.  Frickin’ Cabaret of all things!  I don’t know, maybe all of us recognize that talk.  That talk we give ourselves over and over again.  Trying so hard to convince ourselves that this time is the time that it will all be different.  Not believing a word of it, but still hoping against hope that this time, it’s all gonna change.  That it’s our turn now.  That’s kind’ve universal, isn’t it?  That need to believe that things will get better.

So for three short minutes, we sat in the living room, completely silent (no small feat in our house), listening to a broken doll of a girl singing her heart out for her last chance at happiness.  It was perfect.  “Wow,” Ethan whispered when the song ended.  I don’t know whether he was in awe of Michele’s and Chenoweth’s vocal abilities or oddly moved by the hopeless optimism of the song, but yeah kid, wow.

Favor October 3, 2009

Well, in the interest of adding more to my already crowded plate, I’ve taken on a side project that is super important to me, and it is here that I’m asking for HELP!

My parents teach the Young Adult Marrieds group at our church. Ironically, that came into existence while I was in the middle of my separation, causing just a few slight issues.

Anywho. This group is comprised of my peers, most of whom I’ve known for the past 20 years. Considering the pain I’ve gone through these past 2 years (I’m now calling that time period my “Get a GRIP Tina” phase), I feel a burden on my heart to address marriage and family; especially as it relates to women, especially since these are some of my closest friends. If I can keep one of them from the pain I’ve felt, that would be a good thing.

Now. Most people would think “WHY would a [almost] divorced woman be the one to address a group of happily married, mid/late 20-yr-olds? She’s not qualified!!”

Well. I would agree and disagree. I’m an odd mix of being just the right person. I know some of what it takes to make a marriage work; and, I know the things you should NEVER do unless you want to toss the M out the window.

They just recently did a study entitled “Wired that Way”, which is probably the closest my parents will get to acknowledging psychology and counseling. That study isn’t my favorite, but I’m choosing to see it as a door that is cracked, even if only somewhat to pursue more studies as they relate to the individual being whole.

I already have a list of things that should be addressed. Some of them build off of the study they just did. I thought about pasting it in below, but I don’t want to lock anyone into a certain way of thinking. The exact reason I’m opening this up is to get varied view points.

I’m asking for anybody and everybody to please submit things that should be addressed in this class.

Things you should know:

• This class is made up of 18-35 year olds
• All attend church on a regular basis, but not everyone was raised in a Christian home
• The number of years married ranges from newly-weds – 6 years (that’s the current longest one going)
• Some have kids, some do not
• Some are career oriented, some stay at home
• If you submit “Love is all you need” I WILL delete your comment. I need practical, real life things.
• Don’t just offer problems. Try to offer the reasons behind them.
• Please only offer suggestions if you are married or divorced. Being single is a totally different class.

I’ve asked two other people so far, and we’ve got a banging list going. I’m excited though to see what other people suggest, and I’m excited at the opportunity to learn along with them, even given my current situation.

I’ll post our list in a week or so and let everyone see what we’ve all come up with.

Thanks everyone!!

Up is down, black is white October 2, 2009

This morning I found myself with the oddest whim to watch Miller’s Crossing.  There I was, eating  Lucky Charms, when the thought hit me:  You know what I really need right now?  Obviously, a twenty year old gangster/noir/morality fable.

Miller’s Crossing is far and away my favorite of the Coen Brothers’ offerings.  I was around twelve when it came out, and for whatever reason it captured me, becoming another in a long line of vaguely inappropriate films that I begged my parents to see.  (I had surprisingly indulgent parents when it came to movies.  Within that year alone, they took me to see Godfather III, Miller’s Crossing, and Cape Fear.  Coppola, Coen, Scorsese…thanks mom & dad.  You guys truly were the best.)

The basic premise revolves around a Prohibition-era gang war, a Dashiell Hammett tapestry of double-crosses, love affairs, deception, lies, and blood.  It is stunning: visually arresting with crisp dialogue and an engaging anti-hero hero in Gabriel Byrne’s Tom Regan.  In keeping with personal tradition, I like my heroes flawed with hearts surrounded by steel bands-men who lie, steal, cheat, and kill but have oddly ethical notions of loyalty and honor.  Men with the potential to be so very good who nevertheless make tragic choices.  They’re my kryptonite.

And my God (I mean that with all due reverence), that scene.  That march through the woods with John Turturro begging for his pathetic life.  It remains one of my favorite cinematic moments ever-right up there with To Kill A Mockingbird’s courtroom scene and Butch & Sundance’s last stand.  It still gives me chills every time I see it.  Dead perfect.

Tell Me A Story September 28, 2009

When I was growing up, my daddy spent a lot of time parked under the trees at the local library-windows rolled down, steaming Hardee’s coffee at the ready, perusing the daily paper.  Thanks to his forbearance, I was free to roam the stuffy rooms of our library, at that time housed in an old no-nonsense brick foursquare located downtown.  After graduating from Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and their ilk to adult fare, I clung to a lengthy list of influential books recommended by college professors.  Those photocopied pages were gifted to my English class by our teacher, a formidable woman who did not hesitate to bus a group of brainy eleven year olds to the nearest university library in order to instruct us on conducting research.  Under her tutelage we scoured the basement stacks for scholarly tomes and conquered microfilm machines which would spit out stinking black copies of our prized articles.  Thanks to Ms. Crowder-Davis, I could turn out a proper research paper on the effects of Agent Orange, complete with a thesis statement and works cited, by the end of Sixth Grade.  She was, in a word, amazing.

I carried that list until the type had faded, the pages were tattered, and it took a good amount of squinting to even make out the words.  I mourn for it twenty-odd years later and still hold a vague hope that I’ll run across it tucked away in a box of nostalgia stored in my dad’s basement.  That worn collection of paper was my golden ticket into the adult world.  A world where Tess is soundly seduced but still remains a pure woman.  A world where Gatsby spends a lifetime gaining entrance into a rarefied society in which he will never truly belong.  A world where happy families are all alike, but unhappy families are each unhappy in their own way.  A world where a stoic Atticus Finch defends a black man in court to the detriment of his own family’s security.  A world where an adolescent Holden Caulfield roams the streets of Manhattan; alienated, alone, foul mouthed but pure of heart.  A world where Blanche Dubois depends on the kindness of strangers.  A world where ship-wrecked boys revert to savagery when left to their own devices.  A world where Lizzie Bennet cannot see beyond her pride to the very evident truth in front of her.  Hemingway, O’Connor, Dickens, Hardy, Welty, Fitzgerald, O’Neil, Miller, Flaubert, Austen….life would be so very dull without them.

It’s banned book week.  If you know me at all, you probably know that the surest way to get me to do something is to tell me that I shouldn’t.  I’m a friend of the devil that way.  Give me a list of books someone somewhere out there thinks shouldn’t be loosed onto the public consciousness, and I will consume it greedily.  My daddy never saw fit to question me on a single thing I brought home from the library-though he may have raised an eyebrow.  My gratitude to him for that small kindness which opened up a vast universe.

So go ahead, read a “dirty” book this week and tell the establishment to stick it.

Absent September 19, 2009

Noticed a certain lack in posting from two devilishly brilliant, beautiful, and witty as all get out girls? Well,  Luc & I are both going back to school, online.

[Quick note: I MUST apologize to every friend who has taken an online course and I uttered the words (which are from Satan himself) “Ohhh, it won’t take you that long to do! You just have to read/take a quiz/write a quick paper – do that LATER! Come and Play!” Evilness abounds!!! Forgive me? Love me?]

So.

Guess what?

I’m a flamer. Well, not in its newest sense of the word; but… in a totally different sense. My bachelor’s degree comes from a school whose mascot (mascot – for a serious lack of a better word) is a Flame. Flame of knowledge + religious institution, blah blah blah. Yeah I get it. But really? A Flame? I have a torch on my class ring because a match just wasn’t as exciting.

Well, fast forward: six years after receiving my first degree, lucky me has been blessed to have the opportunity to go back to school. (Thank you Financial Aid). As if it wasn’t bad enough the first time around, my second school (which ironically is different from the first) has the same initials and the same dang mascot. A freakin’ flame.

I sound bitter, and that’s probably because I am. Life is doing a number on me here lately, and you know how it goes; bitterness in, bitterness out. For those who like my snarky side, I’m slightly more enjoyable in that mean sense. For those who hate my crying jags, well you aren’t enjoying me right now. Heck, I’m not enjoying me right now. But I’m putting one foot in front of the other and am plodding along; with a book bag that weighs more than I do.

The good news, no I take that back, the GREAT news is that I am getting smarter for every page, every article, every discussion board post I read. Smartness never hurt no one no how. I am currently face down in the middle of reading for a 20 article (empirical, not magazine) 20 page research paper. We were allowed to pick our topics, and I’ve picked one that is of particular relevance for me at this stage of life. I’m toying with the idea of posting it here, in sections, when I’m done (and once I’ve received my grade).

Anywho. All of that just to say a quick hi and bye.

HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII.

And

Love ya Bye.

See ya in December. (Unless I find something worth mentioning inbetween now and then)