interesting viewpoint

I read a column recently that has me all up in arms. The main premise of the piece was to claim that Bernard Madoff, one of the biggest con artists of our time, is just like "us." We, as a people, have such disdain for him because we see ourselves in him.

REALLY, Cal Thomas? Can you possibly be serious??

Mr. Thomas claims that we are so disgusted by Bernie Madoff because he "mirrors the flaw in each of us."

I am far from a perfect person. But I (and all of the other imperfect people I know) have somehow managed to never run a billion dollar Ponzi scheme. Perhaps I am just a pillar of exceptional strength and restraint when it comes to controlling my dark, evil, greedy side.

Except, I just don't think so! It is possible to be fundamentally honest, rather than fundamentally evil, with "evil management" skills. I remember years ago I was in charge of managing the snack fund at one of my jobs--I took my role of managing that $50 a month fund seriously, I always left the receipts in the contribution jar so that people knew I wasn't pocketing any of the money, and was in fact using it all to buy snacks. That was $50 lousy dollars; I take personal offense that Cal Thomas thinks I am disgusted by Bernie Madoff because I see what he was able to do with his dark, evil, greedy side and identify with it (maybe he thinks I'm jealous because I am evil enough, just not clever enough, to pull off such a scheme.)

There was another disgusting side to this article: Mr. Thomas mentioned some comments from Jewish leaders that all but said (you could cut the implication with a knife!) that Mr. Madoff's behavior was even more despicable because he did it to fellow Jews. As a non-Jewish person, I take huge offense--this is a crime against all people who trusted someone who claimed to be an investment professional. This isn't a Jew/Gentile issue at all, and to imply that the offense would somehow be lessened were none of the victims Jews makes me sick.

I hold a firm belief that adult humans, who are essentially the top of the "food chain" in our civilised society, have a higher burden of care and responsibility to creatures lower on whatever food chain you are using for comparison, who rely on us in our exceptional capacities. As an investment professional, Bernie Madoff had a fiduciary duty to take care of his clients funds better than he would his own investments. In my opinion, it is a more egregious offense to screw over people who trust you than to rob someone at knife-point. At least a robber with a knife is honest with you about his intentions!

birdsong

I took a rare spontaneous day off today, to enjoy the weather and the parade downtown with Elise, and also so Danny could spend some time with his brother who is visiting from Fargo. As Elise and I walked through the grand old downtown neighborhoods, I felt such pure happiness and joy as the sun warmed us (78 degrees today!) and a southerly breeze blew our hair around. Birds were singing all over the place. I marveled at Lawrence's beauty, with all the hills and the gorgeous buildings of the University looming high above on said hills.

It's a beautiful, special city. Its been my home now for nearly 14 years, and I just realized, literally a minute ago, that whereas I thought I was mentally ready to move because I had divested myself of my previous community here in Lawrence, I've already started building a new community, and Lawrence is my home. The old community doesn't fit into my life anymore anyway, so I probably would have drifted away from those people eventually. I don't want to start over again. At least I know a lot of people in Topeka already, by virtue of working there.

I hear Elise waking up, so I should wrap this up. Nutshell: I'm not ready to leave, and am having trouble reconciling these feelings.

omg

i have to document this:
i just re-read a post from earlier this week, the one where I mention that my mom has been gone for 22 years. In September of 2009, it will be 23.
I started noticing around the time that Elise was born that I kept seeing certain sequences of numbers all the time. I thought it weird, and passed it off as one of those things that, once its entered your consciousness, you notice it more--surely it meant nothing beyond that. However, seeing 2's happens to me ALL the time--I'll glance at a clock at 2:22 or 12:22(nearly every day this happens at least once, usually twice.) I'll just happen to look up at a street number as I'm driving by and its full of 2's. As a result of this, I've started choosing 22 as my lucky number.
What is startling is I just noticed this:
Elise was born on the 22nd day of the month, nearly 22 years to the day after my mom died. She wasn't due until October 10th. Coincidence...???

just begin to write!

I've started reading more of other people's blogs lately, wanting to find out what other people are writing about, and was surprised that there are lots (LOTS!) of people "out there" who use their blog as an exclusive platform for their interests or even to promote their business. For example--a person with a certain political bent opining on various charged topics. Or, an attorney presenting a common legal problem central to their particular practice (complete with contact information at the bottom of the page, conveniently!)
I'm not sure what I'm using my blog for. Definitely not for any pointed purpose, I just like to get my thoughts out sometimes. I've always liked journaling, and this seems like a journal for modern times. Although, I do miss going to the bookstore and finding the *perfect* blank book, and starting a new journal, vowing to write as neat as possible this time, and to not abandon it before its full, like I have with so many others.
I view everything through the lens of my child these days, and I think of Elise when I write, wondering if she'll ever read it. The problem I have with blogs is that I want her to have something tangible of me for the day when I'm gone, for her to show her own daughter--my mom wrote this! I do have a few journals laying around still, and I want her to read my 13 year old words when she is 13, to know that I had the same crazy thoughts and hormones that she will have. Aside: my snoopy stepmother really robbed me of the joy of journaling when I realised she was reading everything I wrote--even when I was in college that first year, when I still lived with my parents. And she would use it as ammo against me during arguments--my most personal thoughts and sincere, unabridged feelings, which was really quite brutal (its one thing to snoop, quite another to use what you found snooping against me.) I started writing in Spanish when I realized I couldn't escape her invasiveness, and do you know what she did? She manually copied passages from my journal and tried to translate them herself. I remember the day I discovered this; that was the day I vowed to do whatever it took to get out of their house. I couldn't believe the lengths to which that woman went to spy on me--me! a GOOD kid! A good 19 year-old woman-child with perfect grades and a beautiful heart. I discovered it one day when I was looking for stamps--she hid them from us kids in her top dresser drawer (but we all knew where they were) and as I was thumbing through her various other papers looking for stamps, I saw Spanish words. When you speak another language, it just jumps out at you from anywhere, and I remember being very confused, because Sheila knew not a word of Spanish. Then, with horror, I realized they were MY Spanish words. In Sheila's handwriting. With a kidnergarten-esque attempt at translation below. How COULD she? Is it so necessary to know what I was writing, that you would go to such a length? I will never do that to my daughter. I hope we have a relationship where if something is going on in her life that I need to know about, she will tell me. Invasions of privacy only further erode the trust and estrange the relationship.
So, I am writing this blog now (in English this time!), still from the city I chose as my new home after I'd had enough of Sheila's persecution. I've only told a few people in my life what prompted me to leave so abruptly; my dad still doesn't know. He thinks I came to Lawrence to follow my boyfriend at the time. Certainly, Andy was an influence, but mostly I needed out from under the oppression that was that household. To this day that when I go "home" I still feel uncomfortable, even though we are approaching the two-year anniversary of Sheila's death. I never want my daughter to feel, even for a second, that I am not in her corner; in my youth and adolescence, home was not a place of sanctuary for me because of my stepmother. I made Danny promise me that no matter what happened, that he would always be Elise's ally. I know it would hurt my father to know that I think he abandoned me, in terms of support, during a critical time in my emotional development. But he did, indirectly, by his willful blindness to what his wife was doing to me. Its no wonder I ended up married young to the wrong guy.
But that is all in the past, and it is my turn to be the mom that I lost.

thoughts on motherhood, music, real estate, and love

So many thoughts today! I guess that is what happens when you drive around for an hour because you needed to leave your premises for a real estate agent who couldn't bother to show up or take 30 seconds to call and say she wasn't going to show up. And we are the ones to receive complaints because the Lawrence Board of Realtors doesn't approve of the FSBO signs we have in our yard (because we are also listed on the MLS because we purchased a flat-fee MLS package, and apparently that is "confusing"--maybe so, if you are not up to speed on new methods of FSBO marketing, and you'd think someone in the industry would be.) Very interesting, their politics. They will be hearing from me about this.
While I was driving around, I heard the song "Pride in the Name of Love" by U2, and, as always, got chills during the line "Early morning, April 4. Shot rings out in the Memphis sky. Free at last, they took your life, but they could not take your pride." What a wonderful thought, that MLK was fighting for black rights out of love. I have such a micro view of love--love as it affects me and the individuals I love. But what about love for those that I don't even know, as a humanity? I know I've got it, because empathy is one of my greatest attributes. I can't stand to hear of suffering--human, animal, or otherwise, or general hurt/malaise. I wish I could help everyone. Delivering MOW once a month and rescuing the occasional shelter dog is all I do. I vow to do more.
Speaking of love: Danny and I watched a show on the anatomy of love on Discovery channel last night, and I had a nice reverie wondering and affirming what aspects of biology drove me to choose him for my mate. According to the show, evolution cause women to prefer partners with strong upper bodies and a certain size/shape of genitalia because of the size/shape of our own evolved reproductive organs (stay with me here--its just biology, I promise.) And likewise, our partners choose us because of our innate need/desire to replicate our DNA, so they choose women who appear to be fertile. Large breasts, wide hips, enough fat to get through lean times...what occurred to me rather profoundly was the implications of all this for my ex, who had no desire to procreate. Let me very diplomatically say that biology and evolution support this conclusion as far as he is concerned. :-) And the fact that Danny and I got pregnant so very easily support the evolutionary conclusions that brought us together in the first place.
On the topic of motherhood: I wish I remembered more of my own mother. She's been gone for 22 years. As I hold Elise while she's nursing or sleeping, I think to myself, cherish this time, because she won't always want to be so close to me. I wish I remember being that close to my mother, because I know I was (she nursed me as well.) But, I don't remember, and neither will Elise. But, on this side of the coin, I will always remember.

Reservations

We have talked about it ad nauseum; its virtually a done deal, this whole moving to a new city thing (I feel compelled to not name said city, even though anyone reading this who knows me will know exactly what city to which I am referring.) But, I am starting to dread it like grim death. My house hasn't sold (yet! it hasn't sold yet!) and the move isn't really imminent, but I'm already starting to mourn leaving my beloved Lawrence. This town made me who I am today--I've lived here almost as long as I lived in my hometown, save for my two year Floridian hiatus. I acknowledge it is time to move on, that there are more reasons for me to leave here than there are to stay.
All I see when I am in that city is people unlike myself. I see unhealthy people everywhere--I would venture a guess that this city has the highest smoking rate in the state. EVERYONE smokes. And, I would guess that this city has the highest obesity rate as well. Crime is high. Urban sprawl is rampant. Fast food and chain restaurants abound. Aack.
But homes are inexpensive. I wouldn't have to commute anymore. I will not have to scan the parking lot of the grocery store for my ex's car every time I want to pick up a gallon of milk. I can get on with my life like an adult who is making the best decision for her family.
One's environment can have a profound impact on mood, though. When I was in Florida, even though my job was thankless and dull, it was in Palm Beach, on Royal Palm Way, a beautiful road lined with huge royal palm trees. You could see the blue of the ocean from where I parked my car. I would walk to the beach and eat my lunch and feel amazed that this, THIS was MY life! Little old Mandy from Pumpkin Truck, Kansas was eating lunch on Palm Beach. My former marriage was no good back then either, but surrounded by the perpetual vacation that was West Palm Beach, we were constantly distracted and enchanted by our surroundings and therefore happy with our situation, despite our personal mismatch.
Its like walking into a Whole Foods market; you feel healthier just walking in the door and inhaling a whiff of that earthiness that is the smell of Whole Foods.
I think I will feel less healthy and vibrant and satisfied when we move. I hope I am wrong; I'm really trying to be upbeat and optimistic about this, because its possible my negative energy and my inability to let go of Lawrence is causing the house to go unsold. I am hereby letting the Universe know that I am letting go of Lawrence, and embracing this new place for what it is: the new, better home... the place where my family will thrive, where my husband's career will bloom, and where I can be a part of making a community better--because I want it to be better for me, for my daughter, and for the citizens there who are my coworkers and friends.

poems from 2007

Some context for the below: 2007 was a dark year for me. Cancer was taking my stepmother while I was coming to the sad realization that my marriage was never going to be a thing of joy or satisfaction. Divorce is a horrible thing; making such a permanent decision about something that started with such optimism was complete agony, especially since, at that time, I hadn't come to regard him with the disdain that I currently feel. The poems below are about my beloved Daniel, of course, and the conflict within my heart that came from realizing I was fettered to a dead marriage whilst in love with someone else. I'm only mildly ashamed to say that falling in love with Daniel took place before I was divorced; the marriage had been over for several years. I'm not one to take a vow like marriage lightly, so I plodded on, thinking someday things would be better. Someday he would sleep in our marital bed. Someday he would want to have a family with me. Someday he would be able to resolve conflict with me without ignoring me as if I weren't there. Someday...

One especially joyous revelation about this spring: it makes 2 years together with Danny. The two year mark with my ex-husband was full of desperate moves, trying to keep things from unraveling further. I conceded to move back to Kansas--surely we will be happy there!--and in hindsight, I knew in my gut we were headed towards ruin. But if I hadn't came back to Kansas, I wouldn't have met Danny. I don't discount it at all, and even the pain of upheaving my life, of falling into financial ruin at the hand of my ex, have given me so much appreciation for him and the love we have. Maybe its like "without the bitter, the sweet isn't as sweet" sort of thing. Without the stewed tomatoes, the chili isn't as delicious. (Aside: that little tidbit will only mean something to a select few readers. I think I'm *almost* to the point where I can laugh at the absurdity of that now...)

Without further ado...

amidst acceptance and regret, i hide

let this be subject upon only me

to ensure that no one else will reside

in this odd space, no, within this wrong deed

to love you, is to love and shelter you

from me, but not this me, the other one

the one, both senseless and good, but not true

but more than the sum of what i have done

and so i forget from the day before

that which does not appeal or so reflect

the light i wish to cast, for whom i adore

familiar mask, my comforting affect

the two things, relate not to each other

not meant to wound, not content to smother

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your velvet glance has graced many a dream

even before my soul delighted

with recognition, a reunion sweet

deep breaths to scatter apprehensions

my heart stills, now that my lips have found yours

hopeful, delicious, and singing;

to be savored only in sleeping hours

or a fleeting shadow

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