THE MORNING WALKS

The sun was just up and lighting the sky with orange and gold as Josephine and I headed out for our morning walk. The sun is up earlier now and even though it is 5:30 in the morning, we are not walking in the dark now during our morning walks. The early walk time is necessary for me to get to work on time and to beat the heat of summer. This particular morning was cool, but with the thick heavy air of the rains and storms predicted for later in the day. It was the kind of air that makes the connected space between your fingers feel sticky. Our walk route for this day was the neighborhood walk. For this, we have to cross our street at Lydia and 77th tends to be a busy street during the seven AM rush hour, but not usually at 5:30. Yet, Josephine and I had to wait for a number of cars to pass before crossing. I was surprised by the amount of traffic for that time in the morning.

Eventually, we made our way to the park that’s just east of our house. There was a middle aged couple passed out and tightly spooned together on the pavement in front of one of the park benches. This was the first time I’d seen them in the park. Recently I had noticed a path from the sidewalk leading into the thick overgrown edge of the park. I could tell that someone was living back there; the hint of a blue tarp visible through the overgrowth. But the inhabitants were like the fox family that lived in the same area a few years earlier. They were elusive. I don’t know if the middle age spooning couple were the ones living there, but on this day, a pile of mostly folded and clean clothes laid on the ground near the path. The clothes looked like they had been folded, ready to be put away before someone came along and dumped them out of the laundry basket. I thought about the spooning couple as I saw the clothes, how they were passed out cold, but tightly clinging to each other. It’s as if their argument started with the clothes and ended with a reconciliation a few yards away.

Josephine and I walked the loop of the park, passing another couple with their dog. Again, something rare, seeing other dog walkers at that time of the morning. The couple looked new to dog walking. One of them was wearing a sweater even. Josephine can be reactive towards large dogs on leashes. I kept her relatively controlled on my side while they kept their large dog barely restrained. Still, we managed to pass each other with a nod and a smile without incident. As Josephine and I exited the park, we passed by the spooning couple again, noticing that they had not moved. I briefly wondered if I should check for pulses, but decided against it. From the park, Josephine and I walk up the street to a bus stop. There’s a trash can there and a good place to toss the poop bags. This street is the Paseo, a major and historic boulevard. Across from the bus stop, in the wide grassy median, there’s a fountain. You know…because we’re the city of fountains. On this morning four or five teens were perched around the fountain. The air around them smelled like soap as if they had all just bathed in the fountain. I heard one of them say something about getting back to the hotel. Their conversation made it seem like they were lost but knew exactly where they were all at the same time.

We turned down the street that takes us back home and passed the house that always has random piles of crap in their front yard. Today, there was a shopping cart there and a young man sorting through the contents. A block from the house, a young trans woman passed us, smoking on her vape. We smiled at each other and said good morning at the same time. Then Josephine and I were home and I felt like I had dreamed the whole walk. Never have I seen my neighborhood so active at that time of the morning. I’m used to seeing possums and raccoons at that hour, not people. There is usually the same old man sitting at the bus stop who always exuberantly wishes me a good morning and I pause to have a small chat with about the weather or his health. But now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him there in months. It’s possible that he no longer rides the bus anywhere any more.

I’m used to seeing people on the morning walks in Tower Park. This is the time of year when there are more people sleeping in this park. Most of them congregate on the picnic tables in the large pavilion. There’s a scattered few on benches throughout the park. Some times, there’s tent set up next to the two trees that remind me of lovers with the way their branches reach towards each other. No one is stirring when we walk through. This morning, we heard actual snores from someone sleeping so soundly. There was a time during the pandemic when the park was full of unhoused. I walked carrying a backpack filled granola bars that I would leave next to sleeping humans. I got out of this habit when officials cleared the park. Now our unhoused are seasonal, showing up after the last freeze before drifting off to hopefully someplace warmer when the temperatures drop. Most likely though, they are moved involuntarily after the complaints from the neighborhood start to pile up. Even in my blue bubble, there are those who are unsympathetic when it comes to our unhoused. They know about it and feel bad about it, but don’t want to see it.

Out of sight, out of mind.

A number of our seasonal unhoused are teens. They are either tossed out for the summer, unsupervised during the summer and or the park is safer than their homes. Those who ask ‘why can’t they just a job?’ are oblivious to the complexity of being unhoused. It’s not easy filling out applications when you don’t have an address or doing an interviewing knowing you look like you took a sink bath at the gas station because you did take a sink bath at the gas station. It’s not easy to just stop doing the drug you’re addicted to and can even be deadly to stop cold turkey. Not every one has health insurance or access to mental health care. It is not hard for me to be empathetic here.

It might be time to start walking with a backpack full of granola bars again.

WOULD YOU

I was scrolling through the front page of the New York Times and there it was, an oversized pink square highlighting an Ideas article with the title “Would You Want to Know If Your Baby Had an Incurable Disease?” I did not click on the bait to read the article, but I could imagine that it reads like an editorial with some factual research on genetic testing thrown in. It is one of those think pieces that are meant to prepare you for tough decisions, but it is not a new to me think piece. This kind of question is the basis for Twilight of the Golds, a play by Jonathan Tolins.

A thousand years ago, during that idyllic college time, Chris was in a production of Twilight of the Golds along with Talaura, Misti, Kirk and John. The story revolves around the couple Suzanne (Talaura) and her husband Rob (Chris) discovering through genetic testing that their baby boy will probably be born gay. Suzanne’s brother, David (Kirk), is gay and all of this leads to family discussions about the trials of raising a gay child and whether or not Suzanne should abort the fetus. In 1993, the “incurable disease” was(is) homosexuality. As Chris’s theater support, I found myself in his dorm room during show seasons running lines with him in between my class schedule. I am not, nor was I then, interested in being in any of the plays. I am not talented in this way, but Chris… well it was his talent in this way that made me notice him to begin with. Most of the time, running lines was a fun activity, but this play was awful. Chris’s character was moody and angry and most of the character’s interactions was with his wife. Their discussions were hard and complicated and heart breaking. I couldn’t wait to be done with this play. The only good thing that came out of it is one picture I have framed and hanging in the family section of prints in my house. The photo is a family photo of Misti, John, Talaura and Kirk taken as a prop for the set.

It is a cherished photo.

It is no surprise to anyone that I am and always have been pro-choice. It is none of mine or your business of what any woman does with her body. I know that if I found myself pregnant today, I would have an abortion scheduled for the very next day. I don’t need to tell you the many reasons I have for that choice and I would not wait around for genetic testing to make this decision. This play gave me a list of one reason for not getting an abortion. Because I would never once even consider the tiniest of thought of ending a pregnancy if my child was going to be LGBTQ+ in some way. Yet…I know people who would. I know that their hate for the LGTBQ+ community is so great, that if genetic testing made it possible for them to know this about the child they were having, they would immediately abort. I know people who have no place in their hearts for love and acceptance, not even for their own child. I am not friends with these people, but I know them and at the very root of this “would you?” question is the reality of knowing that there are people who would say ‘yes’ to aborting their child for this reason.

And that knowledge has put a dark smudge on my heart.

I was off camping in the woods the weekend KCMO was celebrating Pride. I missed the parade and seeing people walking together in love and solidarity. I am the biggest softie when it comes to seeing two people together who are so obviously in love and who have realized that they have found their person. I think I have more LGTBQ+ friends who are in long term relationships than straight friends. I recognize the difficulty in finding your person when the odds of doing so are so stacked against you and I so respect and admire those people have beaten the odds. And so, I turn straight to mush over it. My heart swells up at the sight of it and I will rip out the throats of anyone that tries to come in to hurt or destroy that love. My dark smudge has made me deeply protective of love, mostly because I know what it feels like to have found my person only for him to be cruelly taken away.

I think about this every Pride month. I think about that awful play and I even get a little mad at Chris for the role he played in that play. I think about how rotten a human has to be in order for sexual orientation to be the reason to have the abortion. Then I look over at the people and friends who show me every damn day that love is always the winner.

THE WAR ON WOMEN

Even though the state of MO voted and passed Amendment 3, which repealed the ban on abortion, the MO House of Representatives proposed a constitutional amendment that would repeal the reproductive rights of Amendment 3. I read a quote from one of the protesters of the new constitutional amendment in a news article last week that said “This is a dangerous time to be a woman.” My first thought was to ask “Has it ever been safe to be a woman?!” But yes, it is still very dangerous to be a woman and lately that list has been growing. 

It is dangerous to be a woman

It is dangerous to be a woman of color

It is dangerous to be a woman in science

It is dangerous to be a woman living in poverty, low income and even working class (that’s me)

It is dangerous to be an international woman studying or working in the US (in science and other fields) even if they have the correct documentation to be here. 

It is dangerous to be a woman in the LGTBQ+ community

It is dangerous to be LGTBQ+

It is dangerous to have tattoos

It is dangerous to not be a member of Evangelical Christianity

It is dangerous to be Palestinian

I could easily keep going, but in particular, I’d like to circle back to the whole Evangelical Christianity thing. The president and his administration spent last week celebrating “the living Son of God who conquered death, freed us from sin, and unlocked the gates of Heaven for all humanity.” These are the actual words released by the White House for Easter celebrations. Ramadan got “warmest greetings.” by contrast. That’s fine. I don’t really care what religion anyone decides to follow. We were founded on the idea of freedom of religion. So, if the president wants to pretend christian, let him. I mean, they did a lot to get him there. He’s got to at least up his drama skills and pray along.

The problem here is not the celebration, but the incorporation of a religion into government. This administration has also implemented a faith office led by two conservative christians with the sole purpose of challenging separation of church and state. I can think of a number of reasons why merging church and state is a big problem. First of all, whose religion? In what state? I’ve read The Handmaid’s Tale. I have also read the bible. Gillead is what happens when evangelical christians are in charge and that makes this country even more dangerous to be a woman. What is it about evangelicals that makes them want to force everyone to practice their beliefs?!? They are the most myopic religious fanatics. Do I even need to ask, what if this faith office was run by Muslims or Catholics or any other religion? Would the American people be okay with that?

For a political party who campaigned on the rhetoric of preserving our freedoms, they sure are doing a lot to take away most of our freedom. 

I’ve never been one for conspiracies. If someone gives me a bit of “news”, I immediately dig into the validity of that news. When my chiropractor was trying to get me to try Light Therapy, I asked if this was voodoo. She told me it was not voodoo, but I still went and scoured all of the medical journals for research on light therapy. I found enough peer-reviewed research papers that convinced me that light therapy was maybe not voodoo. I am a fact finder. It’s what I do. So even when the opposing team to this administration says something that sounds whack-a-doodle, I look that shit up. The problem is that the things I think must be whack-a-doodle like declaring martial law and deporting US citizens or demanding women have three forms of identification for voting is not so whack-a-doodle. These are things that are happening. So while we haven’t started burning women on stakes (though we are imprisoning them for miscarriages, so…) it is a pretty dangerous time in American history to be a woman. They want to start offering incentives to women to have babies. Of course, by incentive, they mean a one time payout of $5000. That might cover a month of childcare. They start with incentives, but it is only a matter of time before they implement demands on women to have babies. A convicted rapist is running the country and he is being guided by evangelical men who would like to reduce women to property status, revoking the rights that allow us to be independent. 

So, yeah…it is a dangerous time to be a woman in this country, but it is also terrifying. 

IT'S NOT ME, IT'S YOU

Everyone tends to dread a Monday, particularly if you’ve had two days off from work, because Mondays are reentry days. It is not uncommon for reentry days to be rough with sharp edges. My reentry day was fine. Not great. Not bad. Just, you know, fine. At one point, my friend Melissa was texting me a rant about about a certain white guy we know (look…his whiteness is important for this story…dude is a patriarchal cliche). At some point Melissa said she must be getting her period because she was so ranty. And I thought about this really hard for a second before responding with:

I hate that as women, we’ve been reduced to blaming our rage over the patriarchy on our monthly cycles.

We don’t need to use hormones as an excuse to be angry. I mean, the Equal Credit Opportunity Act didn’t pass until 1974. That’s two years before I was born! Up until then, women had to have their husband’s (or father’s ) permission to open a bank account, get a home loan, have any line of credit, you know…just basically be able to live an independent life. I mean, we still don’t have body autonomy, at least not in about twenty states in the Union. The House just recently passed H.R.22 (the SAVE Act) which will require documented proof of U.S. citizenship for voter registration and voting. if it passes the senate. Proof of U.S. citizenship for any of us is our birth certificate, which sounds reasonable, except my last name is not the same as the one on my birth certificate, which is true for all married women who took their husband’s name. Now, I tried a number of times to get ahold of my congressman to clarify some things, but he (his staff) are sending all of the phone calls to voicemail. But it looks like I will need my driver’s license, my birth certificate and my marriage license in order to vote if this bill passes the senate. In spite of voter fraud incidences being very very rare, this is what our voted officials think is important to address during this time.

But wait! There’s more reasons for women to be angry all the time!

On average, woman do more during a day than men. I can already hear some men grumbling about how that can’t possibly be true and for those men I ask you “how did you get clean underwear? Where did your groceries come from? How is it you have a planned out meal? What about the clean environment you live in? Who put clean sheets on your bed?” Now I’m not saying that men never do this. I’m saying that these things happen on a regular day to day occurrence without notice. Women take care of the things that need to be done without talking about taking care of the things that need to be done and they do this while holding down 9-5 job. They GO TO WORK and then come home TO WORK. And it is frustrating and exhausting and when we reach a limit and show any emotion about it, it’s because we’re ‘hormonal’. I can assure you that hormones or no hormones we have plenty of reasons to show some emotion over the bullshit of inequality, but guess what? We GO TO WORK while feeling crampy and bloated with our periods and then come home TO WORK, still feeling crampy and bloated with our periods too. Even with all the “hormones” we still do all the things without talking about doing all the things.

We just get shit done.

So if you are a woman and you come to me complaining about some privileged white dude, do not try to excuse your complaining with being on your period. I will politely stop you and tell you that you have every right to the feelings you are having. Your complaints are valid menstrual flow or not.

WE NEED BETTER NETS

With the release of the new Disney Snow White movie coming out this month, I’ve been thinking about why this movie bothers me. Partly, I’m annoyed by yet another remastering of this old fairy tale. I have the same feeling for the constant recycling of super heroes and as a semi-comic book nerd, they’ve not really ever gotten these stories right either. What has happened to the art of storytelling and imagination?!? Don’t answer that. I’m staring at it right now. Like I said; this is only part of my annoyance. I had to sit with it a couple of days to really pin it down and the thing that bothers me the most about Snow White is not this newer live action version. It is the story itself. 

The villain is a middle aged woman trying to hold onto her reign, while staying relevant and beautiful because no one wants to be ruled by an old ugly lady. Then she feels threatened by a younger prettier woman who just happens to be the rightful heir and proceeds to take the younger prettier woman out. Not on a date. Like, take out to die. The villain curses the young beauty by feeding her a “poisoned” apple and only the kiss from her true love, Prince Charming will release her from her curse. Wait…wasn’t Prince Charming the prince in Cinderella? 

Prince Charming is a fairy tale stock character who comes to the rescue of a damsel in distress and must engage in a quest to liberate her from an evil spell. -Wikipedia

Where do I even start? 

Let’s just dive right into the patriarchal bullshit of this story and most (if not all) of the fairytales all of us women were read to as little girls. We call it grooming today. These fairytales were designed to groom us into the shape of the kind of woman that would first of all, require a stock character’s rescue attempts and at the same time teach us that other girls were our competition. Take for example, the story of Cinderella. The stepmother went to great lengths to make sure the prince noticed her daughters. The stepsisters mutilated themselves to make that glass slipper fit! This was not about love. Everyone wants to marry the prince because a woman’s value was based on how well she could marry and how many babies she’d produce. Marrying a prince was a financial boon for the whole family. 

Okay, so just to recap here. Somewhere around ages three and four, girls are told stories that teach them to despise and be suspicious of other women and their value lies in the type of man she marries. Also, the man will save her. Let me get back to Snow White and the Evil Queen. Of course I don’t condone murder or the whole “I had no choice” argument unless in cases of assault. That’s not murder. That’s self defense. Though maybe that’s exactly how the queen felt; like she was acting in self defense. A large aspect of her villainy was her age. She went from “fairest of them all” to “you need to be careful to watch your elevens and stop squinting.” That’s a reference to those two little wrinkles that show up between the eyes when we squint. I would say, there are some people out there too young to get that reference, but since they’ve been marketing anti-aging wrinkle cream to us since we were babies, I would think most people get the reference. 

I just recently finished watching the series Younger where a forty year old woman fakes her age to be mid twenties so she could get a job in a publishing company. To be fair, the woman who is played by Sutton Foster, doesn’t look like what we think and have been told women in their forties should look. All she has to do is tweak her makeup, buy some clothes from RU21, and get a fake ID. The whole time I was watching it I kept thinking about how much this storyline bothered me but I also couldn’t look away. It was a fun soapy kind of show, but the whole time I kept saying to myself “Why the F@$# does it matter what age any of these people truly are unless they’re under age and doing something illegal?!” The short answer is that it doesn’t matter, but it aligns with the narrative of the story they've been pushing on us forever. Age matters. Older people are irrelevant and clinging to youth while younger people are flighty and irresponsible. 

This narrative is stupid. This narrative is designed to distract you. Worry about wrinkles and becoming irrelevant and just maybe you won’t notice that you make less money than the white dude with less experience. If you are too busy attacking the young woman you fear may be “after your man”, you won’t turn your focus and rage onto “your man” who lacks the integrity and wherewithal to not be persuaded to cheat on you with that young woman. The narrative is designed to pit you against other women and yourself. The New York Times morning newsletter last week had a list of things scientists learned culturally and anthropologically from the COVID pandemic and number three on the list was “Men do less”. If every woman in America read that newsletter at the same time I did, there would have been a collective loud bark of laughter echoing through this country. 

WE KNOW! 

What they really should have said for number three on the list of things learned from the pandemic is that women realized their self worth. Which is true, we looked around us at the endless piles of dishes and constant loads of laundry and the man sitting on the couch playing video games, while we wrangled a child (or children) for virtual learning at the same time trying to remain present in a work zoom meeting and came to our senses. We spoke up and demanded help. We may have to tell the man exactly what it is we need them to do, but (usually) they do it. We can’t have everything and it is a continuous daily practice. It is a practice made harder by “entertainment’s” continuation of the fairy tale narrative. Just stop retailing these antiquated stories that were designed to keep women in a patriarchal jail cell. It feels like they keep doing it in hopes of tricking a new generation of young girls.

Over the weekend, Michael and I got in a disagreement when he went into a rant about why we should stop telling kids they can be anything or do anything. He argued that this made kids disconnect from “their roles in society” and believe they’re going to be the next TikTok star or sportball star. I got so frustrated with him that I just completely stopped talking, which is his cue that I am angry. And when he pushed the subject, I put a hand up and said “You do not want to hear what I have to say about this right now.” Then I walked away. But this gave him time to mull over his own words and the flaws in his argument and put him in a place ready for listening. I told him that the problem is not that we tell kids they can be anything. The problem is that we don’t tell kids they can be anything without having to work for it. A number of kids are never told that they will need help from their communities to succeed and they will need to help the community in gratitude for their support. I have a strong suspicion that the kids in his class who are boasting about being the next big famous thing, are kids who have parents that never tell them they can be anything at all. Their encouragement is coming from what they see on their screen. Their impression of who they can be is coming from a screen. So when the patriarchy casts their media nets, there’s plenty to be caught. 

It is past time we started casting different media nets.  

MY UTOPIA

Recently, as in just last week recently, I had to explain to Michael that sperm doesn’t contain all of the DNA to start a life form. I got full on text book with him, using words like oocyte and haploids but it wasn’t until I showed him an actual picture of what an oocyte looks like before fertilization and after that it finally made sense to him. I would consider Michael to be a ‘smart’ person. He teaches math, knows a bunch of math and very knowledgable about history. This subject of oocyte vs zygote was probably glossed over in any and all of the biology courses he encountered. It just wasn’t discussed in details that would cause someone to remember. Particularly those individuals who do not have biological science minds. Most middle school boys lose all focus as soon as the word ‘sperm’ is uttered and the rest is a lesson of holding in giggles.

The lesson one gets in class, very much like the one I gave Michael, is a simplified description of a very complicated situation. I mean, I didn’t even mention mitochondrial DNA or ribosomal RNA or histones or chromosome structures or all the other protein interactions involved. I honestly do not expect a lot of people to know about these things or understand it. But I do expect that the people making laws that govern reproduction and reproductive health to know just as much as, if not more than, I do on the subject. I expect that the person in charge of federal grant funding for basic biomedical research to know even more than I do on this subject and many others.

Any basic biological research regarding women’s health and reproduction have all been placed on grant funding holds because they fall into the DEI category. This means that any research benefiting women’s health will not receive funding. We will not be being seeing new and innovative treatments or screenings for breast cancer or ovarian cancer or cervical cancer or anything related to the word ‘vagina’. So ladies, if you are frustrated now with the lack of knowledge regarding perimenopause or the antiquated boob smash we have to endure every year, I suggest you start calling your senators and representatives. Many of us are all aware of how we have to advocate with our healthcare providers for our own health. Many of us have gone from doctor to doctor to doctor just trying to get one of them to listen to our symptoms and needs.

We are now going to have to work harder for own health.

DEI stands for diversity, equity and inclusion. So when you say you’re against DEI, just say you are against diversity, that you strongly disagree with equality and inclusion. Just say that you don’t care about reproductive health or basic medical research that could save the life of your mother, sister, niece, yourself. Don’t just say abbreviation. Make it very clear and just say “I don’t agree with diversity, equity or inclusion.” Vice President JD Vance received a scholarship to attend Yale. It was a scholarship for people who are the first generation to attend college and who live below a certain income level. JD Vance used a DEI scholarship to gain an education. Maybe some federal funding will get shuttled over to researching how this hypocrisy makes sense.

Now I know that I’m preaching to a choir, but just maybe one person who didn’t really think things through before, sees that what is happening with our Federal Government is going to make their lives a little bit, probably a lot, less and join the fight to end this fascism.

IN DEFENSE

I rarely take the hook, but there was something about a particular posting that I couldn’t resist commenting on. A facebook “friend” (yes, I’m still there. I have reasons) posted about the Grammys and the unbelievable audacity to award Beyonce with a Grammy for Best Country Album. The person already had three comments on the post all along the lines of “What is the world coming to?!” So I chimed in my two cents.

Beyonce's country album is great and totally deserving. You can really hear the influences of early country music and gospel in many of the songs. The grammy was intended for "country album" not "Country artist". So she fit well in that category. Growing up when country music was dominated by white men singing about drinking whiskey and cheating on their wives, it's refreshing to hear some diversity.

This comment is completely heartfelt. I am not a ‘woke’ person when it comes to music. I tend to listen to a playlist of the same artists ranging from Neko Case to First Aid Kit, I throw in the occasional Andrew Bird and the National, and have stations that reflect these artists. But I feel it is important to broaden my listening because it’s like traveling to new places. It opens my ears up to new sounds and ideas. It is an empathy builder. Often times, I throw on my headphones before heading off for my coffee walk and pick an artist that is not in my everyday list. Just this morning, I was listening to Douchii and having a dance party at my desk. Beyonce happens to be another one of those artists and I’m not going to lie. I like a number of her songs and I really enjoy her country album for the reasons already stated. I prefer the sound of earlier country music as opposed to today’s country tunes. This is why I often listen to Yola, who sings an old bluesy style of country. Today’s country, to me, sounds like fake country accents rapping to a banjo.

if you’re into listening to two dogs fuckin then sure I get ya other than that it’s pretty dumb

This was the reply left to my comment regarding Beyonce’s win. It is far from constructive and straight up racially inspired hateful. I was a little surprised, but I guess this is something this person feels passionately about considering they were willing to speak to their yoga teacher that way. Yes, this person used to be a regular yoga student. I left it alone. Melissa (who is a mutual Facebook ‘friend’) saw all of it and sent me a text. We’ve decided that Two Dogs Fuckin’ may be our new band name. But the exchange left me pondering what it was/is about Beyonce that induces such violent and visceral reactions. Particularly from suburban white women.

I remember hearing the hoopla and ridiculousness over the release of a country album by Beyonce. Radio stations in Nashville railed against it. Other country artists screamed hatefulness over it. “She’s not country!” “What could she possibly know about country?!?!” “She needs to stay in her lane.” So quickly these people had forgotten the African American influence on country artists. They did not throw such fits when Darius Rucker moved away from Hootie and the Blowfish to country music. Jelly Roll seemed to easily slide from rap into the country scene. Beyonce was born and raised in Houston Texas. I mean…that’s a big boots and chaps and cowboy hats kind of town. She grew up in country music and gospel. Also, these people are artists. Artists explore and experiment with different art forms all the time.

So why is it a problem that Beyonce has done this?

I can only guess that much of the hate thrown at Beyonce stems from not just the color of her skin, but that she is female. Resentment and jealousy genetically passed down starting with antebellum white women who watched their slave owning husbands sire child after child with his slave women. In that patriarchal landscape, the only place the white woman could put her pain and resentment was on that slave woman and the child. Thus began a systemic system of turning jealousy into hatefulness towards other women and particularly women of color. This could have been an excellent opportunity for women supporting women, but no, we once again let misogyny and racism win. Those white suburban women still believe that there is a specific place for everyone. Everyone must fit into their constructed social normative box. This is why they cannot tolerate the LGTBQ+, they’re people that do not fit in a specific place and a strong talented successful black woman blows up their little boxes.

I think if these women truly listened to Beyonce’s music they would discover a lot of commonality. Beyonce presents herself as strong and fierce, but you can hear in her music that she carries all the same insecurities as everyone else and shifting through the hatefulness just to read some constructive criticism probably feels impossible. And when they announced her name at the Grammys, the shock of winning was clearly evident on her face. She had received so much hate by releasing a country album that she probably struggled to comprehend a win in this category; because it is so much easier to see the hate that’s thrown at you than the good.

I don’t know what the sound of two dogs fucking is, not sure I’ve ever heard that, but if that’s the sound of this album then I guess I like it.

DEAR WHITE HETERO MEN OF AMERICA

First of all, I guess I should congratulate those of you who voted for Trump. You did your part in maintaining the Patriarchal standard of white hetero males running the country. I will say that he did make it easy for you by manipulating and exploiting your fears. I guess I never realized how cowardly you truly are, but it does give me some ideas on how to manipulate cowards for a good a cause. I will say that one of the reasons all of this stings me is that I know some of you personally. So now I know that you place a higher value on your archaic reliance on fossil fuels than you do of the women in your life.

How disappointing.

Look, I know you had help from some women. I recognize and pity those women who just can’t seem to escape the social construction of a woman’s value being linked to a man. Some of this comes from their religious indoctrination. Basically, for their whole lives they’ve been told by their God that they must be submissive to the man. That’s hard brainwashing to undo. In the TV adaptation of Margaret Atwoood’s The Handmaid’s Tale (one of the most banned books in the US), the character Serena Joy is one of the defining voices in changing the government into a patriarchal, totalitarian theonomic state. In doing so, she took away her own rights to read, write, property, everything. It is only when she is punished for reading the scripture do you see her recognize the awfulness that she has played a part in. There will be a Serena moment for those women who support Trump. I just worry about that time frame. Like, how many rights are women going to have to loose before they break their social construct chains? I mean, we’re barely clinging to our rights to make our own decisions about our own bodies.

I’m not going to lie. I’m sad and disappointed with the whole lot of you. I thought you were smarter, braver, more compassionate than that. I don’t like thinking about some of you being fascists racists, but that’s all I can think about because you support a fascist racist. Sort of like if the shoe fits, wear it?… And I’m going to spend today being sad and disappointed. I’m going allow space for my grief and then I’m going to roll up my sleeves and get to work. There are plenty of charities that support women and our LGTBQ+ communities that could use my help and I’d much rather funnel my rage into doing something good for my community than wasting any more time or thoughts on the likes of you.

So, enjoy your day and your win. Raise your pitchforks and point your silly guns to the sky. Who knows how much longer you will be able to do such things? Winds of change are coming for you.

Sincerely,

Disillusioned White Woman of America

WORDS

I’m not entirely sure where we were, but it was north of the river. North of the river is how the people of Kansas City refer to anything north of the Missouri River. This is an area that has gone largely unexplored during my time here. I know where the roller rink is and maybe a couple of casinos. I can get myself to Michael’s school and the airport, but don’t ask me for restaurant recommendations. Unless you’re into Indian food, then Swagat’s out by the airport is a solid choice. We happened to be in a completely unrecognizable area on this day because Michael was buying a used exercise bike. On our way home, we passed a billboard for a layer that read in large, yellow lettering “Winningest!” and I lost my mind.

At first, I couldn’t stop saying the word out loud over and over. I found the sound of the word to be ridiculously hilarious. It’s not like I haven’t heard someone use the word before, but it is always been used in jest around me. Seeing the word spelled out on the billboard just reiterated how stupid this word is. I was almost over my minor turrets moment when we passed the same advertisement on a different billboard. Then I exploded. This is an advertisement for a law office. Do you really want someone you cannot even use grammatically correct language in their advertisement to defend you in a court of law?!? Yeah, I know that my house is made of glass. My posts are the Swiss cheese of poorly written navel gazings, but I didn’t major in English. This dude is a lawyer; His job revolves around language. Besides, my editor is dead. What’s that lawyer’s excuse?

Lately, well ever since the “winningest” incident, I’ve found myself increasingly ranting about language. I will see a turn of words that makes my brain itch and I will go off in a ten minute rant. Yesterday, Michael had the TV on and it was all day coverage of concussion ball. There was a story about Brock Purdy (I didn’t know who this person was before this story) and the day he was drafted for the 49rs. They were showing footage of the draft and there was a woman standing on stage, holding up a jersey the read “Mr. Irrelevant”. I said “Why are they calling that guy Mr. Irrelevant?” and Michael replied “It’s because he is the last person to be drafted.” Disgust and rage instantly boiled up out of my body. Before they showed that footage, the sportscaster was talking about how Purdy has a “chip on this shoulder.” Of course he has a chip on his shoulder! He was just called ‘irrelevant’! That is just mean and uncalled for. As if I didn’t already think poorly about the capitalism and exploitation of athletes that is the NFL, now I think even less of them because they are bullies. Mean, hazing Frat boy, bullies.

And while everyone was speculating about Kelce proposing to Taylor and/or the Chiefs Super Bowl win being a government rig so that Taylor and Kelce could use that platform to endorse Biden (people are fucking crazy), actual genocide was/is happening in Gaza. I know many of you are sitting there thinking ‘But I can’t do anything about the genocide in Gaza’. Yeah, well, you can’t do anything about the whole Taylor/Kelce relationship either but it doesn’t keep you from chattering on and on about it. And if you can chatter and on and on about that, surely you can do some chattering to your representatives about demanding a cease fire and shifting our funding from weapons to humanitarian efforts.

Maybe now that we don’t have football to scream about, we can be the winningest by raising our voices against genocide.

FORMULATING A RAMBLING PLAN

I just made an appointment for my next chiropractor visit, which tends to be scheduled two to three weeks out. This means the next time I get my bones shoved back into place it will be December. People around here already have their Christmas lights up and on. I’ve passed a number of houses who have beautifully decorated Christmas trees on display in their front windows. I still have pumpkins on my porch. Jane and the rest of the Halloween decor made back to the basement just last weekend. Or was it the weekend before last? Maybe it was the weekend before, but I still have pumpkins.

I need more time to muster any kind of holiday cheer. The often talked about but forever elusive Aldi Cheese Advent Calendar was finally available at my neighborhood Aldi. It might be the only thing I’m excited about for December. My brain power has been divided between work and the daily images of death and destruction pouring out of Gaza. I worry for my Palestinian friends here in the US who still have friends and family there. I worry about the Jewish community in the US because the rise of antisemitic violence which was already on the rise, is even worse now. Hate crimes against Muslims and Jews are increasing daily. My brown skinned friends have to be even more careful walking down a sidewalk, ever vigilant for the attack that may come at them. That is an exhausting way for them to live and as American citizens, unnecessary because this country is supposed to be better. Except we’re not. What Israel has been doing to the Palestinians for decades is exactly what white colonizers have been doing to native people for centuries. Acts of genocide are more familiar to us than true acts of humanitarianism. Terrorism is a consequence of displacing, confining and massacring populations of human beings. If we continue to treat other human beings in this way, Terrorists will always exist.

Wow. I thought I was sitting down to write about how I’ve been thinking about forming new habits in the next year. Instead, I sat down and vomited out the imaginary conversations I have with people in my head. While I was all ready to map out a plan for living a happier, healthier life in 2024, maybe I just cleared some space for that mapping by vomiting up this ranty bit. These ranty bits tend to leak out in moments of helplessness and in regards to what is happening in Gaza, I feel very helpless. 5 Calls is a free app that makes it easy for you to contact your members of congress and provides helpful templates for what to say when you call them. I feel very limited in my abilities do anything to help the Palestinians in Gaza right now and it is really hard as someone who wants to fix things, to not be able to fix things.

Do what you can, with what you've got, where you are. - Theadore Roosevelt

Calling my congress members and asking them to demand and support a de-escalation and ceasefire in Gaza is something I can do. Maybe it’s something you can do too.

BANKSYLAND

Melissa had a spare ticket to Banskyland and asked me if I wanted to have a girl’s date. This is something I would have loved to see, but would never have made the effort to buy tickets. So, I hopped up and down and said “Yes, please!” Then we made reservation for fancy dinner and ordered way to much food before driving down to the Westbottoms for the event. The exhibit was held in the Rumely Historic Event space, which we got to hear the history of the building twice as we rode in the in the largest, oldest working elevator in Kansas City. Melissa had purchased VIP tickets which included an audio tour and a free poster. We collected our headphones and made our way to the second level.

This is where things got confusing. We were told to start on the second level, but the tour didn’t match up with the art on the second level. Eventually we figured out how to skip around in the audio tour to match whatever it was we were looking at and then things made more sense. Michael later asked me “How was the exhibit?” and I said “Well, at first it kind of felt like someone had gone to places that had Bansky art on the walls, took photos of them and then printed and framed those photos for us to look at.” Which still feels true. Most of the original stuff was on the second level. Also, Melissa and I were the only ones in the building listening to an audio tour. Everyone else was standing around in groups, talking about art, but not art while holding plastic wine cups. It was a place to go to be seen. The hip thing to do. Melissa and I were the only nerds listening to the hows and whys of each piece of art and there to truly learn and see the art.

Sorry! The lifestyle you ordered is currently out of stock. - Banksy (original street art)

This was the neon installment in the elevator and the first thing we saw. Melissa read it out loud and then said “Ain’t that the truth.” Melissa’s story is not my story to tell, but she is a paraplegic. I’m sure she felt those neon words more than most. Many people responded to my picture of this piece with a thumbs up and even a sad face because I think many of us can all relate in some way to these words. Losses, divorces, job choices gone wrong, falling into a financial hole that you can’t seem to climb out of. Losing the use of your legs. This is just a minor list that none of us would ever have ordered up for our lives. But my friend Eagle had the best response. He posted a gif of a woman yelling “Improvise”.

This should be tagged onto Banksy’s piece.

For those of us living a lifestyle we did not order, many of us have become pretty dang good at the art of improvisation. Sometimes the lifestyle we ordered for ourselves just doesn’t fit right and we have to order up something else. Sometimes the lifestyle we ordered for ourselves turns out to be the absolute wrong order. We ordered a life that really should have gone to someone else. Not only does it not fit right, it doesn’t feel right. The life my fourteen year old self ordered did not include one that contained love. That order I placed then was all work. College and medical school and nothing outside of that. I am happy that life was out of stock. This right now is not the lifestyle I ordered though. I have had to improvise, continue to improvise, because life is change.

Banksy originally plastered these words over a reproduction of a well-known painting. It was his protest statement against the art market and consumer capitalism.

a rebellion against the great corporations that manage our lives, our forms of consumption, even the space in which we live, through choices that are exclusively aimed at making profit. -Banksy

You wouldn’t know this by just reading the neon quote, particularly if you didn’t know this artist. Moving it to neon and taking away the well-know painting behind the words allows one to take it all out of context. Now those words speak to me as a challenge. Okay, that life you thought you were going to get isn’t going to happen the way you thought it would. What are you going to do about it?

Improvise.

I’m going to improvise and practice contentment with this life.

ACCOUNTABILITY

A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead. By chance a certain priest was going down that way. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite also, when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he travelled, came where he was. When he saw him, he was moved with compassion, came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. He set him on his own animal, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the host, and said to him, 'Take care of him. Whatever you spend beyond that, I will repay you when I return.' Now which of these three do you think seemed to be a neighbor to him who fell among the robbers? -  Luke 10:30–37

When I read the news report regarding the shooting of Ralph Yarl, this parable was the only thing I could think about. Yes, the man who shot Ralph must be held accountable for his racism, but what about the two homes that Ralph went to for help? The owner of the third house that Ralph went to, reluctantly called 911 while telling Ralph to stay on the ground with his hands above his head. Treating the victim like a criminal. Those people who claim to be christian while pushing forward ideas of hate, who turn their faces away from someone who is suffering because their skin tone doesn’t match their own, are not followers of Jesus. They are liars.

The only reason there is now an arrest warrant our for the man who shot this boy is because the people of Kansas City and outside it, inundated Clay county’s prosecutor, Zachary Thompson with phone calls and emails demanding justice. Don’t stop calling. Don’t stop emailing. Don’t stop constantly pestering your senators and representatives. Don’t stop demanding changes to laws that make murder legal. Don’t stop demanding proactive gun control laws. Don’t stop demanding justice for racist behavior.

Donate here to help Ralph and his family with medical and legal fees.

THESE CHANGING TIMES

Saturday morning, Michael and I stood in a fairly impressive line for early voting. It was a slow moving line, so we had plenty of time to run through another review of the ballot and discuss the pros and cons of yes and nos for some of the state questions. I always feel like I’m going in to take a test I am not fully prepared to take even though I studied before hand. When we’d finished our ballot review, I told Michael about the story Karen Walrond posted in her Instagram feed about how her daughter had to use frequent flyer miles to fly home from college so she could vote. You can see the story here: https://www.instagram.com/stories/highlights/17941902179271771/

It’s a feelings inducing story that will make you cry and then want to punch someone. It is a story of voter suppression. A very important story of voter suppression.

Here’s why.

So often the idea of voter suppression conjures up the image of not just the minority, but specifically those living in poverty levels. Voter suppression is happening to a majority of us because choosing a Tuesday during normal working hours as the only time to vote is, in itself, voter suppression. Without early voting, the poles are only open on Tuesday 6:00 AM- 7:00 PM. Now, I have a regular 9-5 job with a pretty flexible schedule, but let’s put that 6:00 - 7:00 time frame into my daily schedule. I get up at 5:30 AM to walk the dog. Josephine and I get home five minutes before Michael needs to be up and in the shower. That’s around 6:35 and then I get in the shower when he’s done sometime around 6:45 (?). I’m usually leaving my house for work at 7:20something. If I go to the polls at this time, I risk being late for work depending on the line. Not a big deal for me because of where I work, but a serious fireable deal for others. I leave work in the evenings around 5:00 PM. Google maps tells me it should take me fifteen minutes to get to my polling place. So, techinically, if there’s not a line, I could be voting by 5:15 PM. As long as I’m checked in by 7:00 PM, no matter the line, I will still be able to cast my ballot.

This sounds doable.

A number of people in my neighborhood rely on public transportation to get to and from work. If I was riding the bus from work to the polls it would take me thirty minutes to get there. Again, that only takes in account my job schedule. Many people in poverty levels are working two jobs. They have to navigate their voting time around bus and work schedules and I have yet to mention children and family obligations like picking those kids up from daycare or school or getting them to sports ball practice. Most health care workers I know, work twelve hour shifts, making that 6:00 AM - 7:00 PM time frame impossible. This is why receiving a requested absentee ballot is vital for voting rights. This is why no-question early voting options are vital for voting rights.

You know, we don’t have to keep doing things because that’s just the way it’s always been done. Especially if is not working for today’s society. One of the things we should all be demanding is voting rights that make voting easily accessible to all citizens.

Vote!

FREEDOM AND LOSS

I’m at my desk and I’m listening to my male coworkers talk about car repairs and oil leaks. Meanwhile, I’m silently boiling on the inside because the Supreme Court just reversed Roe vs. Wade. And there they all stand, talking like nothing has happened. I guess, for them, nothing has happened. They didn’t lose any rights today. Their bodies still, and always has, belong to them. They have never been second class citizens, have never known what it feels like to not have autonomy. They can’t even empathize.

I am not here to argue with anti-abortionists on the importance of legalized abortion. I will not change a mind so indoctrinated. Nor will you change my mind on the importance of legalized abortion. If hate mail from my church youth group didn’t change my mind then, you’re not going to now. This is always going to be about my body, my choice and my health and how all of that is nobody’s business but my own. I will fight for your rights to practice your religion, but I refuse to allow you to force your religious views into my life.

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The Supreme Court seems pretty hell bent on taking down anything that is not in the original constitution. Roe vs Wade will not be the last thing on their list. Contraception and fertility rights will be next. Same sex marriages will be next. No person, I repeat, NO. PERSON. (exception: white men) Is guaranteed miranda rights. This means that you will be prosecuted with out a fair trail.

This country is becoming the science fiction stories. Life is imitating art in a very very bad way.

WHAT THE GOOGLE DOODLE GOT WRONG

It is International Women’s Day and all month long companies, TV channels and radio stations are celebrating women. I’m sure there is also a Hallmark card out there for this day. Of course, there is a Google Doodle celebrating women today and it’s nice. It is simple, depicting colorful scenes of women doing stuff like taking care of all of the things while doing their job or being doctors. I scrolled through the doodle twice and both times I felt like the artist was given a theme of ‘domestic caregiver’ for the doodle. With maybe an exception for the scooter mechanic, most of those doodle scenes were just stereotypical ideas of women and how men define the role of women.

[side rant: Did I tell you the finance guy at the motorcycle dealership told me that scooters were a much better two wheeled vehicle choice for women? He said that women on motorcycles were not safe. Did you know that one of the great things about wearing masks is that no one can see you mouthing ‘fuck you’ while you put a smile in your eyes?]

None of those doodle scenes depict the fight and drive that women have to have in order to be more than that defined role. The reality of that first scene with the mother rocking her baby while remote working in the office and checking on the older child doing remote school is missing the partner that was sitting at the table or at his own desk ONLY doing remote work. That next scene of women doctors and nurses was all too easy. Women doctors and nurses have finally become a “normal” role we can play in society. The same is true for the scene of the woman designing clothes and running her own fashion business. Where is the scene for the woman who walks four miles a day just to collect fresh drinking water for her children? What about a scene that depicts a woman who could not do her job remotely, has no partner support, and has to manage children and the household? Where is the scene of the women in the Ukraine making molotov cocktails and building barricades to keep the Russians from invading their country?

I think the thing that really bothers me about the Google Doodle is how easy and light they make the life of women look. There is nothing there that depicts how fucking hard it really is. It’s dirty, gritty, messy and exhausting. You want to celebrate women? Give them a break. Take over some child care or at least wash the stack of dishes piling up in the kitchen. Walk the four miles for them to get the water or better yet, make the fresh water accessible at their home. Provide a temporary safe haven for a Ukrainian woman so she can at the very least take a shower and have a nap without worrying about the next missile attack. Recognize and depict the struggle that woman go through to be the doctor, the scientist, the wildlife photographer, the business owner. Recognize and depict the struggle that women go through to just be.

Don’t celebrate me with sugar coated scenes of life.

MOOD

I’ve been in a mood. Monday felt like just the usual case of the Mondays. Microscopes had to be restarted multiple times to get them working. I set up a batch of slides to run overnight, but when I checked on them from home by remote access, I discovered that the batch failed due to a software error. I dreamed about those slides and zombies and then woke up today with my mood far from improved from the previous day. Then there was more work related shenanigans, one of them involving a supervisor. I headed off to my yoga mat with fury in my heart. While I moved through my sun salutations, my brain vibrated with chatter and rage. It was not until the end of my practice, as I sat in baddha konasana, that the chatter lifted and I started sobbing. I stayed there sobbing in baddha konasana for a while and watched the fat tears fall to my mat. Then, slowely, the tears dried up and I breathed a sigh of release.

The first thing to greet me when I went back to my desk was a news notification announcing the release of Kevin Strickland. Some of you might remember the story I wrote back in July regarding Mr. Strickland as well as Lamar Johnson, two men being held in prison despite the evidence proving them innocent. Since that entry, every week I have written and called the MO Governor and the Attorney General, pleading with them to do the right thing and release these men. Each week I have received letter back from both saying the same thing. “We appreciate you contacting [The Governor’s office or Attorney General’s office] …” Both letters end by basically saying they’re not going to do anything about it. I know that my letter writing has very little to do with the release of Mr. Strickland, but I like to think that my voice helped to keep this topic fresh in other people’s minds. That is an act of activism.

There’s a section in Karen Walrond’s The Lightmaker’s Manifesto that talks about celebrating your victories. They don’t have be to big victories, but even the tiniest victory deserves a Huzzah. Even though the only thing I did here was to bring attention to this issue, I feel like celebrating this victory. Not for myself. No, I feel like celebrating this victory for this man, his family and this community. I’m going to celebrate today and continue writing and calling tomorrow for Lamar Johnson.

SAME

Last week, a judge in New York gave Christopher Belter eight years of probation for the rape of three underage teenage girls instead of prison time. A few days later, Kyle Rittenhouse would be allowed to walk free after murdering Joseph Rosenbaum and Anthony Huber. I know I should be screaming about this, but all I can muster is a shrug because this is what happens in this country. White men, particularly if they have money, get away with rape and murder. Meanwhile Kevin Strickland and Lamar Johnson, two black men who have been proven innocent are still sitting in prison. I don’t even know the number of black men sitting in prison for possession of marijuana right now. One is too many particularly with so many states legalizing the use of it.

My dad used to worry about my safety because I live in what used to be a predominately African American community. It still is, but my street has more white faces now than when I moved in, mostly because of the current housing crisis and gentrification. I would always argue with Dad over his concern. I have not once ever felt unsafe in my neighborhood. Josephine and I walk this neighborhood daily. I talk with my neighbors. I laugh with my neighbors. We are a neighborhood that looks out for one another. I am also not prone to being fearful. I will walk down that dark alley without even thinking about it. With one exception: white men.

If I am walking down a sidewalk and see a group of white men walking in my direction, I will cross the street to avoid them. One white man might be okay, but I’m still going to be on guard. A group of white men? No way. I am not taking the risk. My whole life, any time I’ve been bullied, sexual assaulted, or threatened it has always been a white male doing the bullying, the assaulting and the threatening. They do it not because they were raised by incompetent parents, but because they know they can get away with it. Time after time, history has shown and proven that white men do not have to pay any consequences for their behavior. This is why they remain the most dangerous racial group in America. Now, if you are a white man that I know personally and are currently reading this and your panties are starting to twist up in a wad over what I’m saying, you’re either mad because you know it’s true or you feel guilty for some past behavior. If you are a white man reading this and nodding your head in agreement, it’s because you’ve also been bullied, assaulted or threatened by another white man.

This is why the movie American Psycho is so terrifying. It has nothing to do with all the murder and everything to do with him getting away with all of it. It’s terrifying because it is the truth.

There is a video of Rittenhouse walking down the middle of a street with his assault rifle and not one police officer stops or questions him. George Floyd was murdered by police for the possibility of using a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. No weapons on him. No violent crime committed. Trayvon Martin was walking down the sidewalk when he was shot by a white man. The weapon in his pocket was a packet of Skittles. Tamir Rice was shot by police for carrying a toy gun. If you do not see the hypocrisy and crime in this, then there is no hope for you and you deserve to be labeled a racist.

I feel like I’ve written this all before. I’m afraid I will be writing it all again.

THE PREGNANCY WAR

Usually, I’m working on a Thankful Friday post right about now, but instead I’m writing about a conversation that has been rolling around in my head all week. It was a conversation about pregnancy. The person I was talking to was telling me about a new coworker. They said they really liked this person, felt she was a great choice for the job, but she’s pregnant and didn’t disclose this information during her interview. The person then said “I think that’s very unethical of her.” Here’s where I stepped in to defend this new coworker. The unethical part of all of this is not the part where the woman did not disclose her pregnancy. The unethical part comes from the corporate society that has lead to a woman not being able to disclose a pregnancy for fear of not getting the job.

The person I was talking with then said “So, I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given six months to a year to live. Do I disclose that information if I’m applying for a job?” I feel I deserve a cookie for not saying the actual words I was thinking, which were along the line of “No, Drama Queen, and you’ve just linked pregnancy to a terminal illness. Don’t be obtuse.” This is an apple and oranges comparison, but still I think your current state of health is nobody’s business but your own. Also, you have no idea the amount of good work you could do in the span of six months, let alone a year. It is about investing in the person who is right, qualified and talented, for the job. Everything is temporary.

The New York Times published an article this week about the sad amount of money the U.S. spends on child care and early child development compared to other countries. The average amount other countries spend on child care is around $14,000 a year for a toddler, while the U.S. spends only about $500 or even less. Most families get about $200 in a once a year tax credit for children under two. Any one who is a parent knows that childcare is expensive. My friend Robin once told me that after her second child was born, her and her husband talked about her leaving work to be a stay at home mom. It turned out that her keeping her job, even while paying for two babies in childcare, provided the family with just enough money to keep them from sinking further into debt. So while most of her paycheck went to pay for childcare, the rest of it paid the light bill. Now imagine a single parent family with a mother who has a minimum wage job. Actually, she probably has more than one minimum wage job because that’s the only thing she can do to pay for the roof over her kids head’s.

This is bullshit. But wait…I’m going to give some more bullshit numbers.

The U.S. has double the maternal mortality of most higher income countries. That’s twice as many deaths a year than France and Canada, more than double the rate of the UK. Our maternal death rate is the highest rate among developing countries. THE HIGHEST. The maternal death rate is twice as high for Black women than white or Hispanic women. In this study by the Commonwealth Fund on Maternal Mortality Rates in the U.S., found that Black women with a college education are at a 60% higher risk of maternal mortality than white or Hispanic women. In a 2018 interview with Vogue, Serena Williams shared her pregnancy story and the risks involved in childbirth. It also put a spotlight on the racial bias in the medical field. I’ve had plenty of experience with white male doctors not listening to me. This happens to every woman, but in many cases Black women in particular have been dismissed and mistreated. Case in point: Henrietta Lacks.

And you know what? I didn’t even intend for this post to go in this direction. What I wanted to focus on was the woman’s right to work. When a man goes to interview for a job, does he have to disclose that his wife is pregnant? It doesn’t even enter anyone’s mind. A man can have a job and be a parent. As a woman, we should have the same rights, but as I dig into this topic I just find myself in a pool of disparages that can be narrowed down by one word: Hypocrisy. For a country with a large number of voices screaming for family values, we sure do offer little support for families. Now is a great time to be contacting your senators and representatives and encouraging them to support policies that support working families, policies like childcare and healthcare and reproductive rights.

RESPONSIBLE ADULT

For months now, I’ve been telling Michael that I think I need new brakes on my car. Every time I say it, he tells me that I don’t need new brakes. I’m surprised he doesn’t pat me on the head when he says this because his tone implies that there’s no way that I, a female, would know anything about brakes. Last week I messaged my friend Lyn to see if he could look at my brakes. I met Lyn at the June session of Camp Wildling. He taught the charcoal drawing classes, but he also has his own mobile auto repair business. If you live in the Kansas City area, do not hesitate to contact Lyn with car stuff. He’s honest and does good work. Lyn told me that my front brakes were fine, but I really needed to replace the back brakes. He came over Saturday morning to replace those back brakes and it turns out that I didn’t even really have any back brakes. The old ones, at least one of them, had seized open and was not doing anything.

I can just see my dad closing his eyes and bowing his head while shaking it side to side in disappointment.

I now have new back brakes and four new tires. My car no longer makes that occasional clunkadunk sound it’s been making lately and when I hit a bump in the road while braking, my car no longer makes that grrrrr sound it’s been making for a while. I feel really responsible and grown up because I feel like I nailed adulting on Saturday. Here are all the things I did before noon on Saturday: made sure Michael and The Cabbage got up in time for the Cabbage’s 8 AM soccer game, added words to my journal while eating a breakfast sandwich, grocery shopped, cleaned out chicken coop/pen and put down fresh straw, cleaned the bathroom, folded and put away two loads of laundry, stripped the sheets from my bed, put clean sheets on my bed, took a shower, talked with Lyn about car stuff, sat on the couch and read a chapter of The Lightmaker’s Manifesto (go pre-order your copy right now!).

I am about half way through The Lightmaker’s Manifesto and I’m already feeling the wheels turning in my brain. Right from page one, I felt like Karen was speaking directly to me. I can’t help but feel like I am currently in a one on one life coaching experience and I am rewiring my brain to see activism in a different way. I spent some time journaling on Sunday, making a short list of goals for the month of October and the whole time, I was thinking about all the ways I can be an activist without marching in protests. The more I read, the more I realize that I can be doing a lot more and without much effort. Then Karen shared this quote with the Lightmaker’s team for our prompt this week.

Integrity is choosing to practice your values, rather than simply professing them. - Brene Brown

Am I practicing my values? Not only that, but am I practicing my values in a noticeable way? I don’t think I am. I think I have picked up a bad habit of talking about these things, about being a kind, patient, good person, without ever taking any action to do so. Now, I realize that I am the most judgemental towards my own self. Of course I am kind and I am mostly patient with others, but are these actions big enough to inspire those around me?

Case in point: Saturday afternoon, Michael and I were leaving IKEA. We had to stop at the door because the woman in front of us paused in the doorway to apply hand sanitizer and there was no way around her. She was an older woman, wearing a mask, doing all the right things, but Michael was so put out by the way she had inconvenience him. I tried to be soothing. I said “at least she’s pausing to do something to help end the spread of viruses.” but this didn’t do much to calm Michael and in the end, I let it go and let him rail on with his rant. I don’t think people realize how wearing a mask effects their peripheral vision. It messes you up and is even worse if you wear glasses. I am sure that this woman didn’t even realize that there were people behind her. If I had been truly practicing my values, I would have spoken up and said “let’s try to have patience for others. This woman clearly doesn’t realize that there are people behind her waiting to get out, but let’s cut her some slack because she’s wearing a mask and using hand sanitizer.” This was a missed opportunity to advocate for the elderly and to advocate for patience. It is time for me to hold myself accountable and be more responsible in practicing my values.

Because I am a responsible adult.

WHISPER

Photo from Karen Walrond

I’m listening. I went a little deaf for a while. Honestly I have been overwhelmed and closing off my ears and a tiny bit of my brain was required for self preservation. But I’m listening now. I am listening to hear that whisper of a thought that sparks a more organized activism. Up until now I’ve just been throwing dollars randomly at causes and charities. It was the only thing I could think of to do because I don’t feel I have much else to offer. I am not a bake sale kind of person. I like the idea of attending protests in theory, but crowds freak me out and I have doubts that standing in a crowd with a sign really does anything. My activism is more quiet and subtle. I vote. I stay informed on what bills are being presented and how my senators and representatives are voting. I contact those senators and representatives and that’s pretty much it.

Karen’s prompt for the Lightmaker’s Team this week comes from Brad Montague, the creative mind behind Kid President. Here is what Karen had to say about one of the lessons she has learned from Brad.

I'd argue that in fact, some of the most sustainable movements In the world happen because there's this nagging thing that won't let go of you, a notion that keeps returning, causing you to furrow your brow and mutter, "that's not right. That *can't* be right."

This is why I am still writing the same email every week to the MO Governor and Mo Attorney General about Kevin Strickland and Lamar Johnson. There is a deep nagging feeling inside me that screams that the continued incarceration of these two innocent men CAN NOT be right. There is also the knowledge that these two men are not alone. There are a countless number of predominantly black men who are incarcerated for crimes they did not commit. So I keep the sticky note with the names of Kevin Strickland and Lamar Johnson on my desktop to remind me to keep writing and calling and supporting candidates who want to meaningfully reform this fucked up criminal justice system.

Right now, I’m listening for something louder than a whisper to tell me what to do next. Karen’s book is coming out in just a few short weeks. Pre order your copy of The Light Maker’s Manifesto today!