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Tag Archive for 'Cultures in Flux'

Desert Song

We’re in the desert again, this time to attend a baby blessing for our granddaughter who lives here. There’s something about deserts that call to the spiritual side of people. I remember visiting Barry Stevens in Moab Utah, in 1973, and our family vacation in Sedona, Arizona in 1997; the red rock formations, evening light shows against the mountains, dry creek beds and sand everywhere. Maybe it’s the sand. There’s so much of it, and all those tiny grains help remind us of where we fit in to it all.

My son invited some monks to bless his baby daughter, a day and a month after she arrived. Friends and family gathered for the occasion – actually the grandparents gathered ahead of everyone else because mom and dad hadn’t had much sleep and gotten behind on house and yard maintenance. So we cleaned and swept and raked the sand, inside and outside, getting the house ready to welcome the monks and the baby’s new community.

We knew that the monks wouldn’t eat anything because they would have already had their one meal for the day. They’d take water, (seems a necessity in the desert) whatever your spiritual practice, but apparently they said yes to some iced green tea. My son told me they needed one more tea and glass of ice so I brought them and placed the items down in front of the monk who didn’t have anything in front of him. Just after I did that, the head monk picked up each of the three glasses and bottles of teas and placed them down again, in the same spot as before. It seemed odd to me, but later, when I learned that my daughter-in-law had been the person who placed the other glasses of ice and tea in front of the first two monks, I realize that this action was necessary because the monks cannot eat or drink anything presented to them by a woman.

The baby blessing began with the monks inviting the entire group to mediate with them while they chanted. We were instructed to first send loving kindness to ourselves, because if you cannot love yourself, you cannot love anyone else. We were instructed to send loving kindness to all those that we love, our family and friends, then next to those suffering with ill health or recent losses. Finally, we should send loving kindness to the whole world, to those with whom we disagree, and to the ancestors on the other side. The chanting of the monks supported our meditation and I came to a place that I’ve come to many times – everything becomes easy when we love. That changes the world from the love of power to the power of love.

Especially since the baby we are celebrating is a girl, I prayed that everyone gets this message soon. The world I see for her is one where women and girls are respected and treated with dignity and respect. Where men accept with gracious gratitude, what women have to offer them. And where practices that do not reinforce these values, fall away; as the desert lets go of whatever doesn’t work in the environment, and where only what is essential survives.  

Published on Monday October 1, 2012 in Personal Stories, Rituals, Songs and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 0 Comments Tags: , .

A Rose by any other Name

Driving back from our InterPlay session at the women’s shelter, two friends told me something about myself that I hadn’t noticed. Apparently, I have a tendency to refer to women in a group as “gals.” So much for my belief that living in Texas for 20 years hasn’t affected my speech patterns. My African American friends warned me that, for some African American women the name “gal” could be an insult, like the term “boy” is for African American men. It has a remnant of slavery and the disrespect of not being recognized as a full-fledged adult.

Amazing. This would never have occurred to me if my friends hadn’t pointed it out. And it got me to thinking about other names or expressions, many of them regional. Just coming back from North Carolina, I remembered the Cartoon on pronounswaitresses referring to everyone, male or female of whatever age, as “ honey.” And since I’ve been sensitized to such expressions I noticed my dentist, who is nearly a generation younger than me referring to me as “young lady.” The first time I heard it I didn’t know if he was being sarcastic or playful.  Now that I know him better, I’ve decided he’s talking to the younger spirit inside me, reassuring her that no harm or pain will come from his hand.

My dancing teacher always referred to her students as “ladies” and when I started teaching I adopted that same practice.  I think we were both hoping this salutation might inspire civilized and respectful behavior. These days people juggle terms like “girl friend” or “boy friend” for people who have not been girls or boys for decades. Besides being careful not to culturally offend, perhaps we need to create some titles to fit our times.

Published on Thursday August 9, 2012 in Personal Stories. 4 Comments Tags: , .

The Day of the Mother Has Arrived

Everywhere I look I seem to see a pregnant lady. This is more likely to happen in the summer time, when women aren’t wearing layers of clothing to keep warm. And I must admit, this particular noticing could be related to the fact my son and his partner are expecting their first child, my granddaughter, this September. Women dance PregnantI could just have babies on my mind.  There’s the very pregnant gal in my Zumba class that I first noticed the other day, due to her cute workout attire. When I complimented her outfit she commented she didn’t have much choice in what she could fit into these days. Her baby’s due early September.

Coming home and looking through the paper, I saw that Yahoo has just appointed their first women CEO. Of course, being a woman of a certain age, I rejoiced at this development. In reading the details, however I learned the more dramatic news – that 37 year old Marissa Mayer is pregnant and due to deliver her first child in October.

Wow! The times they have a-changed! In the old days, women kept the news of their being in a family way, a secret as long as possible. Marissa MayerThis was particularly necessary if they were interviewing for jobs or hoping to be promoted in their workplaces.  Having a pregnant lady at the helm of the ship is a big deal because of what it does to the traditional barriers of the good ol’boy network, the glass ceiling, the baby track, and people’s ignorance.

I’ve always felt this baby-carrying factor the heart of the matter, the one difference between the sexes that makes all the others seem moot. If this works out for all involved it doesn’t mean that it always will, but it is a demonstration, in an industry whose signature force is innovation and creativity, that to stay competitive, its best to not exclude the gifts of one half the population. I’m wishing Ms. Mayer and Yahoo the very best. I may just get that pregnant lady in my Zumba class to help me celebrate.

Published on Saturday July 21, 2012 in Technology and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 0 Comments Tags: , .

Antiques

In order to meet my early morning plane in Omaha I drove the night before from Des Moines and settled into a motel just off a ramp from Hwy 80, about an hour from the airport.  This was as close as I could get since Omaha was hosting the College Baseball World Series that weekend, and their fans were occupying most all the nearby hotels.

Arriving in the early evening, I decided to drive the single mile into town. Expecting to find a quaint village with lots of antique shops, I discovered an antique festival. The festival consisted of temporary booths, covered and inactive for the night, lining the main street and most of the side streets. I had trouble finding the main street since so many streets were blocked off. I was looking for a particular café I’d heard about even though the young man at the hotel had warned me, “Oh, I wouldn’t eat there,” he said grimacing.

With the help of some pedestrians on the street, I found the café and entered. Without sitting down or reviewing the menu, I left almost immediately. The musty stale smell of old objects that permeated the entire town seemed to culminate in that one small space. The walls were cluttered with memorabilia, the tables and booths appeared cramped and cluttered, giving me a sense of clostrophobia. My appetite disappeared immediately and I knew I couldn’t eat in that space.

Window painting the reads Everything must go

I’d been to antique shops in small town before, but I remember them as being less musty and dusty and mildewy.  In those villages, the merchandise was displayed as though it were new, or being viewed in a museum. Yes, the items were old, but the wood had patina, the special shine that can only develop through years of being used and worn. Dust, dirt and disrepair were the hallmarks of the items in this festival. And the smells were of dead things, stored and left unattended.

As I walked to my car I thought, “Everything old isn’t valuable. Everything old isn’t a treasure.” Perhaps that’s what keeps people searching through the old barns and basements, stopping at estate and garage sales, and attending antique festivals. They’re searching for the one item, disguised as junk that could transform into something of value. At the bar where I finally ate, I heard the woman next to me say, “Lots of women like to go to spa days, or discount malls, but for me, its antiques, and the hunt.”

On my way out of town I noticed a few vintage houses, which seemed inviting and cared for. I’m sure their plumbing doesn’t work as well as it once did. I’m sure the roof may need repair, or the foundation may be cracked – but people are stilling living in these antique treasures. The front porch contains a swing or rocking chair, the living room window glistens from the beveled glass in its cornice. And flowers in the garden say, “I’m vintage, but I’m still useful, and I’m loved.”

Published on Monday June 18, 2012 in Art & Life, Grieving and Personal Stories. 0 Comments Tags: .

The Politics of Dress

A young Indian woman in my neighborhood is expecting a baby. I know this because the smock she is wearing no longer hides this fact, though I’m sure it did throughout the winter months. When I was pregnant nearly half a century ago, a loose fitting maternity top like she was wearing was the fashion imperative in this country.  Sold in maternity shops, this garment allowed a woman to kept her secret socially for five or six months. Only in the last trimester could anyone make out the silhouette of her bulging pear-shaped belly. At that point, for me, when I could no longer fasten my coat around me, I experienced myself as uncomfortably “fat” and freezing cold in the wintertime.

A century ago, the word “pregnant” was never used and there was little need for special clothing since women who were “in a family way” were confined to their homes. According to one of my great aunts, it was considered poor taste to speak publicly of a woman being “in a family way.”  She maintained she never knew of her older sister’s condition before each child was born, until she would be asked to come over to assist her with the older children during her “confinement.”

Fast forward to today’s expectant mother – She seems to be making a political statement as well as a fashion one. She’s likely to be wearing the most figure hugging, spandex-type tank top she can find, over shorts or jeans. She walks proudly through the grocery store parking lot, seeming to enjoy the fact that the entire community can track the progress and stages of her growing belly. Other women her age and older, as their biological clocks tick on, look on in envy at one who has achieved this blessed state, something that perhaps may still be eluding them.

I’m amazed at what messages about our larger world we can get by paying attention to what people choose to wear. I’d love to hear what you’ve learned from “people watching” the fashion get-ups in your neighborhood.

 

Published on Wednesday April 4, 2012 in Personal Stories and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 0 Comments Tags: , .

Mad Women

Mad Men, the iconic television show of the 50s and 60s, has finally returned after an 18-month hiatus. I must admit to being a follower of the show, but the pause in the action has stretched and strained my connection to its characters and plot lines. The following morning after watching the second hour of the two-hour opening, I found my thoughts returning to the show. As I walked my dog along the riverfront, the women characters continued to linger in my mind. I wondered what will happen to them? And then I decide, without much pause, that I already know. Mostly I know what will not happen. 

The brilliant Joan will not become CFO though she will coach the male figurehead from behind the scenes for her entire career. I know this because I know the experience of my Aunt Dote who, for the 30 years of her career as an accountant ,was required periodically to train the men who were to become her bosses at the Ford Motor Company.

The hardworking, talented, and dedicated Peggy will not be promoted to partnership, as 40 years later I would not be included in the management team that formed, after the company I founded was purchased. And all those secretaries whose professional lives involve dodging the sexual harassment of their male bosses, or succumbing to it, will not be rewarded by stock options or golden parachutes when those same men decide their services are no longer needed.

We know this because 50 years later most women who’ve worked all their lives do not have the benefits and financial resources to live comfortably in their elder years.  Megan, and the other women who become wives of these same men, will not develop anything close to their full potential. Their energies will be spent pleasing their masters and staying youthful enough looking so a woman from their daughters’ generation will not replace them.

I know that things have changed, and other things are changing. But pardon me if I suggest, given the recent public discourse over women’s preventative health care,  many things have not changed nearly enough. And yes, it is a tribute to all women that some of us are able, on behalf of all of us, to get mad.

Published on Friday March 30, 2012 in Personal Stories and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 1 Comment Tags: , , , , .

Who Speaks for Thee?

There I was, talking back to the television again. Waving my hands and raising my voice as though I could get the newscaster’s attention. My husband walked into the room and I attempted to enlist him in my incredulous reaction.

“Look at this. It’s a roomful of men, testifying before congress about contraception.”

My husband looks down at the floor and nods his head. This fuels the energy of my reaction further.

“Some of the men are priests, celibate priests. What do they know about contraception?”

My husband scoops up our dog Clancy, sits down on the sofa and begins petting him. As my enthusiasm elevates the tone of my voice, I say, “Clancy knows more about contraception than those men. Where are the women?”

As if to demonstrate my point that this topic needs a woman’s touch, my husband smiles softly, continues petting the dog, and nods his head in agreement.

The next day the front page of the newspaper sported, above the fold, a large picture of this group of mostly elder white men. They must have interrupted their discussion of contraception for this photo opportunity. I looked closely into their faces.“Do any of these guys have any awareness of how bizarre this is.? Did anyone think to invite a couple of women, if for no other reason than to give this group a modicum of credibility?

Finally yesterday, I got an email from Emily’s List, the organization dedicated to helping women run for public office. Thank heaven, somebody else noticed besides me.

“Yesterday morning, an all-male panel of religious leaders testified in front of a Congressional committee about birth control coverage. That’s right, only men — who are not doctors, by the way — were allowed to testify by the GOP leadership about critical women’s health coverage. No women.”

Thanks to whoever organized that group of men. They’ve provided a kick in the pants to those of us who have been expecting the 445 men and 93 women in congress to effectively represent the nearly 51 per cent of U. S citizens who are female. Get thee to Emily’s List or another organization that can help us fix this. http://emilyslist.org/splash/speakout/splash01/

Published on Saturday February 18, 2012 in Personal Stories and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 1 Comment Tags: , , , , .

Choices

All the brouhaha over contraceptives in the national news lately took me back to the middle of the last century, before science had any tried and truly reliable safe methods of birth control. In those days the choices were; calculate and abstain, or take your chances. If that failed, a woman’s choices were to make the best of what comes, live with resentment, or take actions that in those days were criminal.  Since I believe that the political is personal and the other way around, here are some of my remembrances from that time. It’s important to remember those days.

I didn’t think I’d make a good mother. Not like the women who seemed to be born for that role. As a young woman I had other things I wanted to accomplish, other places I wanted to go. But those dreams and plans came to an abrupt end when I got pregnant just one month after my wedding. My husband was thirty-three years old. I was about to turn twenty -two. 

Using the approved technologies of the time, (which were mostly based on counting and the calendar), we had hoped to postpone pregnancy for a few years.  Getting pregnant came as more of a shock than it might, were it not for the comments my doctor had made at my pre-marital examination. “It’s highly unlikely you will be able to conceive,” he said. Something about my organs being “infantile” and my possibly needing some surgery to open my tubes. “Come back when you’re ready to be a mother. I can do the surgical procedure, though I don’t know if I have instruments on hand that are small enough to do the job.”

Only a few months later I was at my best friend’s apartment on the way home from another doctor’s appointment where I had learned I was pregnant. Feeling a bit betrayed by my doctor’s misleading predictions, I complained to her over a cup of coffee at her kitchen table.  I asked him, ‘what happens now to my infantile organs?’ and he said, rather cavalier, “Oh, don’t worry, they’ll mature now. The process of your pregnancy will insure that.’”

Since Charra was older and wiser than I was, I was able to admit to her my deepest fear.    

“I’m not ready to be a mother.”

At this point Charra was loving her role of being a mother to her bright, energetic two year-old son. This child had come to her in her thirties as a surprise pregnancy after she’d given up years before on the possibility of ever having a child.                                              

“So, you’ll get ready,” she said, matter-of-factly.

I chose to do that, hoping to mature emotionally along with my physical organs. I didn’t want to live with resentment and I never even considered taking any actions that would  be against the law.  Today women have more and better choices due to improvements in contraceptives and their wider availability,  and science’s better understanding of the processes of conception, pregnancy, and birth. Does it make a difference now that abortion is not a crime? We can’t compare the numbers from when it was, but it makes sense to me that having access to effective family planning decreases the chances that women would need to consider other options.

Published on Sunday February 12, 2012 in Health, Personal Stories and Women, Girls & the Feminine. 1 Comment Tags: , , .

Is this Privacy or Something Else?

It felt a bit creepy; walking up the outside steel and cement staircase to what I hoped would be my friend, Laurel’s apartment in Austin Texas. The winter sun was warming in spite of a cool breeze, but the building and the large complex felt cold and isolated. Though it was the middle of the morning, no one was in the parking lot, no one answered my knock on her door, or on the door of the apartment below, (the one whose door mat bore the message, “Go Away.”) 

My next stop was the leasing office where I hoped to find a way to reach her. The man in charge reported that she had moved out the middle of last week. He stated he could not give me any other information due to the complex’s privacy policies. I explained that I was in town just for the weekend, and that a couple of weeks before coming, we’d been in touch through email. But in trying to finalize plans to meet, I’d gotten no response in the last ten days, which had caused me to worry. The phone number I had was no longer in service.

I asked if he could telephone my friend through the number he had for her and get her permission to give me her contact information.  He insisted that he could not be a “go-between” as this too would violate the policies and put him at risk to lose his job. I tried to be sympathetic but when he suggested I could be someone hired by the Austin Apartment Association to test his ability to adhere to their privacy policies, I realized we lived in totally different worlds.

In an attempt to enlist his help in problem solving the situation, I mentioned that since my friend had been ill last fall, I suspected that she may have had to move to an assisted living facility. If that were the case, of course I would want to visit her there. His response, “that was my impression,” told me he visits, on occasion, the world of human community and compassion where most of the rest of us choose to live.

After one more visit to the building where my friend used to live and a few more knocks on a few more doors, a young man opened one of them. Though he didn’t have the information I needed to contact my friend, I felt a small sense of encouragement in his comment, “Yes, I remember her. The older lady with the dogs.”  His suggestion: “Try reaching the office by phone. Maybe you’ll get someone who will help.”

Published on Tuesday January 31, 2012 in Personal Stories. 1 Comment Tags: , , .

Activist Art Shows The Way

After reading Mary Thomas’s excellent article about the Pittsburgh Biennial activist art segment at CMU, I was disappointed it wouldn’t be staying around longer.  After seeing the exhibit on the last day, I felt more disappointed it wasn’t staying around so I could bring my out of town holiday guests.  The exhibit left me with a pervasive sense of sorrow that I couldn’t share, even with my companions as we walked across campus. We discussed the three-story sculpture of people walking single file up a silver pole, into the sky.  Someone pointed out, the pole used to be graceful and slender, but after many bouts of being bent in the wind, it was remade for safety’s sake.  The present version has the people walking on a thick cylinder, along the same trajectory, but the present platform seems to overpower the human figures. 

Our tour began with a section of billboards, powerful shoot-outs on themes of economic equity and immigration. One of my favorites, an artful rendition of barbed wire attempting to cover the message,  “A millionaire stole your job, not migrant labor.” An instillation of small tea tables, “Feminist Matter(s): Propositions and Undoings,” by the subRosa collective contained artifacts of women artists and scientists and stories of their struggles for recognition.

This one hit home personally. Having been a faculty member at various universities, and having been told that what I considered worth investigating and teaching, (career paths of professional women leaders, movement and non-verbal communication in therapy) were subjects not worth pursuing.

In meditation in my women’s group the following Monday I got a deeper understanding of the show and my sorrowful response. I saw an image of a wrecking ball taking down a building and a large shovel scooping the rubble into a landfill. In contrast, came images from the instillation, Transformazium’ – women deconstructing a condemned building, patiently disassembling it in order to reuse the materials.  

 The patriarchal system never worked for women, but it never worked for most men, and minorities, and children either. Now as that system is in advanced disrepair, we must carefully disassemble its parts, so we can reuse what still has value. And as with the campus sculpture, special attention needs to be paid to the balance between people and technology.

Published on Thursday December 15, 2011 in Art & Life, Environment and Technology. 0 Comments Tags: , , .