The Other Side of the Looking Glass

This may sound self-congratulatory... but it isn't meant that way. It came as quite a shock to me that some people don't understand their privilege. Even my own privilege. I suppose, growing up in an impoverished area with parents that would fit comfortably in the nouveau riche category, it was sort of inevitable that I would notice disparity early on in life. It seems very odd to me that anyone would reach adulthood thinking, despite being part of the Captain Planet generation, we were all equal. Yes, we were told we were equal but all it took was watching how people interacted to stir away that calm like muddying a still stream. So when I state how things have occurred in my life, I am always surprised when someone says, "Well.. that's not how it was for me." Of course that isn't how it was for you. Even identical twins don't make it through life having the same experiences, why would two different people from widely different backgrounds? Growing up as I did, in a household where I was the odd sheep, it never occurred to me to think that others would ever hear someones' story and try to block out that story with their own. It seemed the best way to get to the truth was to lay out all the stories and stitch them together, then step back and look at the whole to see the picture made.

My most recent run-in with this has been having gained weight. Compared to disparities such as race, gender, or class, this does seem a minor difference... but it has opened my eyes in a way I never imagined. I, like most people initially gifted with an over-active thyroid, assumed that weight was something people would inherently notice and take quick measures to dispel. However, one's weight is something that can fluctuate so widely and quickly as to not know from one day to the next what size one wears (unless you're my husband.. then you're the same size from middle school to middle age apparently). I used to have people hate me because it seemed nothing made me gain weight, but now that I am curvy (not fat, really.. somehow, I always manage a 10-inch+ difference between hips/bust and waist.. but curvy enough to cause problems) the issues facing those over our "accepted" weight seem nearly endless. One gets laughed at while exercising, gets shade if ordering something other than salad, finds it impossible to find clothing that is both modest and comfortable. Even with the "ideal" body type, any size over a 4 is considered quite obese. (Ideal here being the touted "hourglass", which as far as I can tell has not had clothing designed to fit it since the mid-1950's.) If the average woman is a size 8 or more (and sizes are completely random thanks to vanity sizing), then it's almost impossible to have any muscle and wear anything other than athletic clothes. None of this is to say that size-ism is as terrible and over-looked in our country as racism or gender issues, education or poverty... but it is one of those privileges that one does not realize exists in truth until one experiences the opposite end of the spectrum. As for being aware of privilege, it isn't always a good thing because it can blind one to the understanding of a subjectivity in others. What seems apparent is not necessarily obvious to all... someone that has always been aware of their awkward standing on gender can have a very difficult time understanding the deeply-entrenched beliefs of someone that has never questioned their gender or the place of their gender in the world.

Winks

So, I have something of a dirty little secret. Even tomboy me cannot resist make-up. I love make-up. From the time my mom took me to the Clinique counter as a middle-schooler (unfortunately, they tended toward more pink tones at that point but the concealers helped anyway), I've been hooked. Once I began painting, it grew even worse because I realized that it was basically painting something new every morning... In high school, I started dating a guy that was a goth and realized that I already listened to a lot of the same bands, read the same books, liked the same art- I just didn't dress goth. I began to explore my fashion sense (thankfully this was before HotTopic came anywhere near where I lived) and searched high and low for pieces that expressed who I was then. I found striped stockings at a magic trick shop (yes, really), a lot of my fishnets and things from Spencers or Party City, and some of my more imaginative clothes were either thrifted or altered. I had combat boots from my middle school riot grrrl days. Given my perky, bubbly personality and the raver influences, I was a glitter goth. Mostly, it's goth but with a love of colors and obviously glitter. Once I discovered liquid eyeliner, it was on! Neither of these pictures are me, but both are similar to styles I wore: I was particularly fond of swirls, dots, and stars. These looks garnered a lot of strange questions...the most common of which was, "Is that a tattoo?" No, I did not get up and get tattoos around my eyes every morning. The second most common question was, "How did you get them so even?!" ....both questions meant I got to introduce people to liquid liner pens, which I still love. Any way, once I moved to San Francisco, I had access to a lot more resources. Back home, the nearest mall or make-up store had been 1.5+ hours away so I'd been making do with drugstore brands (nothing wrong with them.. some of them still have my favorite products). San Francisco introduced me to the make-up store to end all make-up stores: There, just past all the tourists waiting for the cable car at Powell (no, I never rode a street car unfortunately)...the SF Sephora. My partner worked in Union Square at the time so I just wandered in...awestruck and amazed. It carried over to our move to Texas, and I got my first eyeshadow palette. It was Urban Decay (which was a brand I had been in love with for years, having started out on Hard Candy and read about UD's Roach nail polish in a young adult novel growing up..)I had a few of their lovely shadows but the individual ones were rather pricey for me. I got their Ammo Palette

...which I still use. I used all of Polyester Bride and bought a pot of it because I love it as a brow highlight color (though things tend to get glittery). The glitter tends to run on me and get on everything I own. Shimmer does the same thing. People tend to flip about it, but I really don't mind it at all. Of course, it does tend to end up on people I spend a great deal of time around, but since humans don't have a great sense of smell...I like to think that I'm marking the people I love. Just kidding. I've only ever regretted one palette that I've gotten. It was the special release TrueBlood palette, and I think I convinced myself that I wore much more dark eyeshadow than I truly do....or that I would be going out more often and would do so, but being a new mom sort of put a damper on that. The colors are really lovely, they just don't suit me. I spent over a year yearning for the Naked Palette by UD. By the time I got around to getting one, they had released two more..but I did my homework and did a color-check on my forearm and went with the original. My sister has all three. I can't say I'm not jealous, but the second palette works better with her pinker complexion and blonde hair.

They also keep coming out with these fantastic, glorious colors that are not in the palettes but are brilliant nudes. I have to keep talking myself out of them; I believe one is called Stray Dog. It's one of those things where, were I not a painter and obsessed with the differences in color (Saffron and Marigold are not the same color, despite what my partner says), then I would not be nearly so tempted by all the subtle differences. Now, I face a new challenge. I'm trying to get a job and came across Too Faced's The Return of Sexy Palette. I will post a picture or two, but it doesn't do the shades justice.

Normally, I would at this point tell myself, "Hun, you've got too much make-up to even fit in your purse. You do not wear make-up everyday except for a tinted sf moisturizer. You most definitely do not need MORE eyeshadow. You just had to replace your mascara, lip liner, eyeliner, and foundation." Admittedly, the foundation bit was far past-due. However, having skin-tested it.. everything in this palette is my shade. Everything works. Everything looks beautiful. Not even everything in the Naked Palette works on me. Sometimes, when you're nervous and looking for a job and trying to balance things out... sometimes you just need something that works and makes things look beautiful. Hopefully, this will be my lucky charm, my little boost of confidence.. because I'm working really hard right now. I'm not going to go into how hard because I did not start this blog to mope or complain, but it's been a rough few months. The other things were necessities. This is going to be my little treat to myself. Hope you can keep my secret. ;0)

The Arachno-files

Anyone that knows me knows that my biggest fear is spiders. It might be thanks to reading 'Scary Stories to Read in the Dark' in 3rd grade, featuring the story where a girl's pimple turns out to be a spider's eggsac that hatches: ....or it could be growing up in east Tennessee/ North Carolina and finding these everywhere: These spiders can be up to the size of dinner plates, and in case that isn't freaky enough... the female carries her babies on her body, so they act like little arachnatorpedos. Like this:

The face of evil, my friends. I can remember my mother and godmother freaking out about finding one with a legspan of what looked like 8 inches crawling on the floor of our basement where my friend and I were playing. Unable to find anything short of a gun that would allow them better chances of finishing it off at a distance, they used 5 cans and spray-painted that spider to death, shrieking hysterically whenever it so much as twitched. It's one of those areas where you rinse your water glass out twice, because a spider has probably set up residence in it. So, I come by my debilitating fear honestly.. even if it doesn't excuse a full-grown adult of fleeing the room when a dime-sized 8-legged friend pops in to say hello. I've been slowly conquering my fears over the years, though. First, I threw myself into rock climbing.. which not only got rid of my fear of heights, but gave me a sport I love. I began working on my fear of needles in high school by getting piercings, but it isn't anything near the same (with piercings, I get to keep jewelry in it). So, when I was expecting Tobias, I womaned-up and dealt with the numerous blood draws and IVs as best as I could. I even had to go in once a week and get IV iron thanks to my little parasite...and I did. I didn't freak out or cry or even make them wait. I just watched the needle go in until I could deal. So, now came the time to address the spiders. I began by acknowledging that I needed something normal-ish. People keep tarantulas. I started by watching videos by keepers, learning about the different temperaments of different types, working my way up to feeding and even handling videos (though those are not necessarily a great idea). I started hanging around our local exotic pet store, looking at tarantulas and watching them. Talked to a few people that had them. I bought myself a g. porteri named "Caroline". This was autumn of last year. I've lost two slings so far, but now I have 13 tarantulas and 1 wild-caught funnel spider. I watch them eat, clean themselves, wander around their enclosures. I've even handled two of them. Tobias is obsessed with them and will often insist on checking on them, watching them feed, or kissing the enclosures goodnight...he even touched my most docile tarantula (after a lot of handling on my part to judge individual temperament...and even then, he just touched her leg). I've considered beginning a youtube channel about my journey with them combined with my journey with make-up and have begun a blog called "8LegsAndEyeliner", which so far has only an extensive list of tarantulas I want. Either way, my photos aren't great but here are some pictures of the types I own:

This would be Caroline. I also have an un-named sling.

I have two slings: Cauchemar (Nightmare in French), and Bela Lugosi.. they're a little high-strung.

Two of these: Seven (it lost a leg during a molt.. they grow back but the name stuck), and Ulrich.. because they're Avicularia Metallicas.. When they grow up, they will look like this: With a purple/blue/green sheen. And yes, they do have little pink toes.

This is a euathlus sp. red, and my favorite. Her name is Jezebel and she is so curious all the time; never skittish or defensive. She hides behind her front legs a lot as if embarrassed. These are a dwarf species and she is full-grown at smaller than half my very small hand. Speaking of dwarf species; these pictures don't do them justice:

Female and Male. The pictures can't capture the colors; the bodies and legs are bright emerald with the "butt" (not using technical terms here for ease of reading) bright orange with white underneath and black striping. My male is very small but elegant and constantly trying to get me to hold him so he can look around. I'm trying to breed them, but it's not going well...and to be honest, I love the male. It's going to suck when he dies.

A Mexican red knee. I've got a juvenile named Watson (no idea of the sex yet). I don't handle it, but it's always out, looking around. It rearranges the fake flowers in it's enclosure and is generally very cute. Tackles crickets like it's a quarterback.

Two of these. I'm very careful with them, because they're the only ones with bad venom. P. regalis. I had hopes of getting a female (they have gorgeous markings..). They're called ornamentals because you look at them and leave them alone. My oldest is named Sarge and may be almost mature, and I have one missing a fore-leg (meaning he'll never be able to mate) named Achilles. Sarge is chill, but Achilles runs and hides immediately. I also have a funnel spider that earned itself the name "Reaper" after taking down two crickets almost twice it's size (still smaller than a pencil eraser). So, that's what's going on. I'm obsessed and terrified... but, that's how you face your fears.

Allergies, Jurassic Park, and The Mystery of the Black Plastic

It's that time of year again. Or one of them. Everyone in the house feels like they have the flu, my voice vanishes behind a pain so great it feels like the Sea Witch from the Little Mermaid and I have some pact, and even my stalwart husband goes down for the count. This time, literally blacking-out in the middle of teaching tai qi. I've done needling, oils, and the good old favorites- nyquil, dramamine, and robitussin (oh, the taste of teenage memories spent chugging a bottle, walking on the back of your friend's couch, throwing up for 30 minutes, and then spilling your emotional life-story to someone equally out of it. If you don't get the reference, good. Abusing medication is bad, and totally not worth it.) We ran through the zyrtec and went on to the big guns- Benadryl. I say this because it is the one medication that has been able to consistently render me unconscious since childhood. You know what, though? They make regular, dye-free, Extra-Strength... but what they don't make is what is desperately needed: TEXAS STRENGTH. Before you wave me off as over-reacting, let me explain. Not only does Austin have a year-round pattern of pollen, mold, and mildew allergy seasons... but the plants here over-produce pollen like they're paid by the grain. We may actually be breathing in more pollen than actual oxygen right now. I grew up in a deciduous rainforest, had allergies, got allergy shots. Took claritin when it was a prescription. This leaves all that in the dust (sure, pun intended). This year is even worse; Tobias developed a fever, wouldn't eat, was genuinely affectionate... I was worried. Now, he's just wiping his snotty face against anything and anyone except tissues. It's revolting, but since he can't understand what is going on, there's no way to explain why it's so gross so we're in an endless cycle of wiping, reprimanding, wiping again. Meanwhile, we adults chug water like we're at a kegger and wait. Wait until it's something to which we aren't allergic that comes into bloom. In other news, as the weather heats up... the desert fauna flock indoors to try and survive the heat themselves. This has resulted in Tos and I being covered in mosquito bites, me killing a brown recluse, and me actually getting stung by a SCORPION while READING IN BED. I'd been there over half an hour, meaning he had just been cuddling up to me that whole time. I didn't handle that with the aplomb that it could have been dealt. Mostly, I threw off my covers, jumped up, grabbed my thigh while cursing, and shouted, "Justin! Scorpion! Stung! Scorpion in bed. On the floor! Kill!" He used one of my books to flatten it, which I later felt badly about (scorpions sting instinctively...it was scared), and we searched it online. It was a striped bark scorpion or c. vittatus, common around here and not particularly dangerous. I know people keep them as pets commonly. Admittedly, the websites lied- it does not feel like a wasp, hornet, or bee sting and lasts several days longer..but it wasn't that bad. They also have adorable little faces with cute little eyes:

Anyway, that's not the thing that's bothering me (except for obsessively checking my bedding every time I climb out of it for a moment and get back in). It's that w live in Texas, where everything is bigger. Since we live in a wooded area near a creek, the cockroaches are absolutely ENORMOUS. The last one I killed was about 3 inches long, and.. they fly. I keep expecting to look outside and find a flock of velociraptors fighting over a deer. Everything is huge here, especially the bugs..though I did see a 6ft rattlesnake just crawling down the pedestrian sidewalk in our neighborhood. I'm not afraid of roaches, but I am rally disgusted by them. Not if they're outside. I'm an outdoor person; they belong there. When they're in here with my food, my baby, and my bed... that is the difference. We put out the chemical traps when they first began to pop up, but they're resilient and have made a comeback. After killing 4 in one morning, I asked Justin to put out some more traps. So later, I notice Tenebrae (our black lab) chewing on a piece of black plastic. She grabs her temporary chew-toys from the garbage; not eating but eagerly dismantling paper, cardboard, plastic, and styrofoam alike. Mostly, it just means I pick up the pieces when she's done and we don't waste money on chew toys that she devours whole in 3 hours. However, when Tobias woke up from his nap, I walked in to find the living room floor covered in shredded, destroyed black plastic. I was aghast- what was this? We didn't leave anything out like that for her... did she grab one of the toddler toys? Was I seeing the destruction of Batman? I gingerly picked up one of the pieces that appeared to have writing on it and felt myself blanche. Roach traps. Since our phones have been off, mine was missing, so I had Mori call and ask what sort of traps Justin had used and whether I should be trying to induce vomiting in this hyper, unwilling 70lbs of pure fur-covered muscle. He replied that even having eaten all of the ones we'd set out (6), she should be fine. My response was divided. Clearly, these were effectively delicious to entice a large dog to painstakingly remove them from hiding just to enjoy the taste. On the other hand, if the dog kept eating them then the roaches would never get a chance. Looks like we're going back to the previous brand.

The Not-so-numinous

When I first moved to town, I couldn't find the right church. This doesn't seem like a big deal; a neotranscendentalist is basically a Universalist or a catholic, depending on your point of view. Surely there was a liberal church in this Liberal city to suit my needs. I began with the church from which I initially felt my calling; the UUs. The First UU was nice, large, central... but was a bit far from our first place, and it had that banal feel that many of the larger churches gain. We were greeted by Greeters, not by anyone actually interested in why we were there. They had also, apparently, just begun a search for a new minister because the old one did not suit the needs of half the congregation. Walking in felt akin to being in a friend's house growing up when their parents were in the midst of a particularly nasty divorce. There were groups for the old minister and against, and each group would congregate with their own, creating a rather unpleasant atmosphere for new seekers to stumble in upon. We found a fledgling UU church closer to us. It was, in fact, so young that they had not a building of their own. I would get there early enough to help them set up chairs, and though funds were not plentiful we donated enough to purchase three hymnals (two for the church, one which I purchased for personal use so as not to use their small collection and also for the edifying ability to learn their beautiful songs on my own). They waxed historic about the American Transcendentalists and spoke on the love and beauty of nature, but there was no feeling of entrance into the community. Once the sermon was over, a core group would gather for coffee and to be bestowed a kind word was a giddy feeling indeed. Once, in reply to a compliment given (this person had a particularly lovely handlebar mustache...and as someone that had recently moved from San Francisco, I was very impressed indeed..impressed enough to tell it's owner that it was a very fine mustache), I received the reply, "And it's older than you, you little snot!" Well.. I was getting a sense of spirit, but not of community... which I, personally, believe to be the lifeblood of a church. Community, in fact, is in my opinion the only true reason for a church. One may go to school to learn philosophies, or read theology on their own. One may pray and hear God's still, pure voice within them. A single person may walk down the street and in the mixture of nature and culture see the beauty not only that God has wrought, but that thousands of years of human history has tutored man to create. This is the key element of neo-transcendentalism; not just a love of and belief in the pastoral numinous and innocent spirit of nature, but arising from it as part of nature the amazing things (both good and bad) which have come from the minds and hands of humankind as a work of God. Once, church was not only a place to congregate and learn about (Christian) religion... it was also the cornerstone of community. People in a church looked out for one another. They prayed together, mourned together, created together, and celebrated together. The passage of time through life was a natural aspect of church; one was born, grew, baptized, learned the beliefs of the church, made lifelong friends within it, became part of the community, and the church was there as you created your own life. As you follow your own calling. If you were to move, say, far from your home... then you would be able to find (in most cases) a church nearby that had the same beliefs and within which you could feel safe as you continued with your life. The community took care of it's parishioners when they fell upon hard times, and allowed them to do more for the larger community (blood drives, food for the hungry, etc) than any one person could do on their own. Unfortunately, I was raised in a semi-religious home within the Southern Baptist Convention. I was taught in Sunday school that women were not valued as highly as men and that God loved me less because I was born female. This did not make sense to me; why have children born female if God instinctively loved them less? Didn't God create (as we were taught) each child individually, with their own strengths and weaknesses? If he so disliked women, why make so very many of them? If women were so lowly, why did it seem most of the work of the Church of the God that disliked them so very much fall on their shoulders? As soon as I was old enough to be taken seriously, I put my foot down and refused to go. Add to that the fact that I had just lost the one person in my life that I felt truly cared for me as myself (my Grandfather), and I was very confused about theology indeed. Did I believe in the afterlife? Was he actually gone forever? I swayed from various forms of paganism through agnosticism and to atheism and back again as if going through some 18th century dance in which the partners were ever-changing. In nature, I could see the beauty and perfection that required some sort of intelligence to function, and as I learned more about science became more convinced that it would be very unlikely for such things to come together and work so well completely by chance.. but was unsure of what I thought caused it. The idea of a female deity appealed to me; someone like myself with my awkward new lusts and dazzling raptures, someone shaped like me that knew, like me, the cyclical nature of life (that horrible monthly secret that was agonizing and made the idea of death so very real but which I knew, at least academically, could produce life through some that experienced it). However, having grown up in the patriarchal, fire-and-brimstone church I did (and mine was made apparently liberal by others my friends endured)... the idea of a female deity seemed at times as far-fetched as unicorns. Perhaps people had not worshipped Goddesses, perhaps they had worshipped... feminine Gods (reasoned my not-so-reasonable pre-teen and teenage mind), much in the way that people had seen antelope and believed them to be unicorns. One day during college, I was talking with a friend and he mentioned I no longer had the same passion for medicine that I'd once displayed. Surprised to find this the case, I agreed that I no longer felt the need to become a doctor. He then asked if there were anything else I could do instead. I opened my mouth and the words, "Well, I could always be a minister." came rolling right out. I did not think them, such a course would never occur to me. I felt as if I stood in silence inside a bell that had just rung; my whole body rocked with the reverberations of the experience. My friend laughed and our conversation continued; however, over the next few days I began to get signs that that I had, indeed, found my calling. I won't go into all of them- I think that anyone that has felt a true calling has found themselves receiving little nudges and acknowledgements. I had gone to a Unitarian Universalist Church once in high school and had been led there through the writings of the American Transcendentalists, so it seemed the place to begin. There is only one UU church inside the bounds of San Francisco proper, so that was the one I began to attend. It was beautiful, they had groups that met... but it seemed hollow. I found one of the two in Berkeley and we began to worship there; it felt like home. The people were welcoming, the space was comforting instead of ostentatious... this was the right place for me. I began to take religious studies courses at school when they were offered (the Religious Studies Department was the embarrassing offshoot of the Philosophy Department) and found myself enthralled in all of the belief systems that people followed; Varieties of Religious Experience moved me in a way that's close to scripture itself. On break from school, I went to the UU church in Oak Ridge and was awed by both it's amazing architecture and the fantastic way the minister balanced the liberal religious beliefs of his faith with the conservative congregation of a military town. I asked him to meet me for coffee and asked his career advice. He had gone to the University of Texas because of their broad teaching technique and on to Harvard (my ideal liberal religious graduate experience). We had been looking to move and had friends in Texas, so once my partner finished school.. we moved! I began by taking many R.E. courses both to get a feel for them, and because many credits had not transferred. Each state thinks it's the only state that can teach a student anything correctly. I don't even know why I was on the Drag on a Sunday (the main road next to campus). I lived up north and had no real reason to be there, but I felt a yearning to enter an old church I had admired from the outside for some time.. just to see what it was like inside. It was a Baptist church, so I was terrified to go but it was open so I stepped through the old wooden doors anyway. I climbed the stairs and did what everyone does the first time they enter a church; sat in the very back. However, this was not any ordinary service. I was late enough to watch as a man entered the Baptismal pool in which the striking pastor already stood. In this church, apparently, one was required to make a statement of faith which was read as one was baptized into the community. I had my first real religious experience since hiking in the woods as a restless teen; the Spirit moved through me as I listened to this man's story and I wept. I left without talking to anyone.. but I came back. Again. and again. I began sitting in the not-quite-back and shaking hands. I was astounded that there were female ministers also, and that this congregation was welcoming to LGBT people. I began to go to the college group and make friends, having theological discussion about topics that were actually interesting. I began to look to the youth minister as a spiritual leader, someone to possibly emulate because I felt called to work with youth. How many of my friends from high school would have found spiritual succor in a community like this? How many would still be alive or have their freedom? The college group began to grow, and I was thrilled to help in whatever way I could. This was a ground-breaking community- a Christian church where you didn't necessarily have to be in dresses and ties. They didn't go in for fake Christian metal or glitzy gadgets. They spent their time feeding the hungry and teaching comprehensive sex-ed. This could *be* that place where the disenfranchised and overlooked were taken in and became family. They had gay and lesbian couples, they had people without permanent homes.. all as part of their community. This would never have happened, even in the UU churches for all their talk of "faith without works"... this was revolutionary and God moved in it! I began to recommend this church to people I knew. We brainstormed and they adopted the slogan that I thought best encompassed this radical community- one that would help people see past the word "Baptist" on the door, because they weren't Southern Baptist. They were American Baptists and as such, had congregational authority. I asked my youth minister if I could "job shadow" her; just to see what life was like as a youth minister. I had hoped it would be like my high school residencies; I would be acknowledged as someone interested in the ministry and ignored. I would watch pastoral care and keep silent. I would fetch and carry. If need be, I could come up with interesting topics to discuss. She reluctantly agreed to an unpaid internship and I prepared to file and type, thrilled to have any chance at a glimpse of the daily life of a pastor. Over the break, she asked me to prepare a lesson plan that would draw in more people like those I had discussed- the unChurched. Those that weren't looking for a church to fill the hole left by the church at home while in college... the people like me and others in our group that lived here and would not have been welcome intellectually or for any other given reason at most of the conservative churches on campus. Thrilled, I went through books and articles, spending hours at the library, and came up with a comprehensive lesson plan based on the path our particular church had taken to become such a different and unique place. This is where everything began to unravel. My minister took my folder full of papers, placed it behind her on the desk, and described what she had imagined. While helpful, this would have been much more helpful if it had happened before all those hours of work. At the time, I was also embroiled in some personal matter which were causing great emotional and spiritual stress but which, at the time, I had no idea would be so destructive. I cheerfully shrugged off the uselessness of my hard work, deeply discouraged inside, but still more than willing to do anything possible to make this work. We tabled. We flyered. Our t-shirts with our logo and motto were a hit; they sparked conversations everywhere and everyone wanted to know about this awesome new place...but it wasn't awesome. It had been changing the culture of Austin since the Civil Rights Movement and now, people were finding that out! Not just people, but people that needed it. Confused, unsure youth began to drop in. I pinned our notecards, business cards, and flyers on every local note board in town and slid them in every copy of a liberal used book I could find at Half-Priced Books (if the Golden Dawn could do it, I figured.. why not us?). This is when things began to fall apart. I started to have seizures. I had a panic attack during Easter service. I was well and truly pregnant. My grades had been suffering after the death of my father, now they plummeted. I was wrapped up in it and swept away. I was crying one minute, mourning my youth and happiness, and sitting in the sun the next, reading feminist prose to a fetus I never thought I would carry. I began to miss services and things I had planned; I was sick, I was tired, I was enlarging and trying to keep some sense of sanity in an increasingly insane world. I never imagined having children, much less without my family surrounding me... my friends were excited at first but as things progressed (as I progressed), they one by one fell away. We were growing closer to winter and they were drifting away like fallen petals in a stream. I became so angry at everyone because I felt so very alone and terrified... I never, ever planned to pass on my genes to a child that had had no choice in the matter. I had seen how the genetic symphony played out in my own life and felt that any child of mine deserved so much more. I also knew as a matter of absolute fact that I would die in childbirth. It was more than a fear, it was a phobia..and no treatment seemed to help. Fortunately, I need not fear- after one pre-term labor and long, horrifically boring (and fattening) bedrest, I had a seizure and c-section. My deacon was one of the very first to see my son... or so people tell me. The medication they give you for c-sections mixed with anti-convulsants is pretty weighty. I was alive...I think. That first week was a blur except for the first time they made me walk; that was it's own trial. My mother was still in town for a month or two and people dropped by. Things went on as they had, with one of my close friends visiting even though it got her in trouble with her girlfriend. I had noticed unhealthy things going on in the lives of people around me but was oblivious...apparently suffering postpartum psychosis, because I began to hear things. Not words, but cocktail parties in rooms I knew were empty, Gregorian chant when nothing was playing. We sought help. I took a bit of time off from school and church to recover. When I returned, everything had changed. There was music, the kind you find in churches that are trying very hard to reach young people. Things felt different; the air had shifted. I was told, in my home in front of my friend-family that my best friend's girlfriend would soon be joining me as a paid intern. Up until that point, payment had never been discussed nor been an option. When I brought it up with the pastor I had grown to think of as a mentor, she brushed it off saying she had been going to tell me... and she'd come up with the internship as a way to introduce people into the ministry. None of this had happened in that way and I was incredibly confused. However, I kept showing up. I arranged for my partner to watch our son so I could meet-and-greet at school events. At some point we had merged with a church on campus in order to have both more college students and to have a site on-campus (never mind that our church was across the street from the middle of campus and next to the most popular cafe in the area). This church had different values, and the values for which we stood shifted. We became a church for the liberal church kids- the ones that believed they were saved by Jesus but had never had so much freedom at home. The motto and slogans changed in order to try to reach these kids and we began to study non canonical gospels (which I do love), but that seemed a bit.. much for incoming freshmen that weren't sure if God was real, what form God took, or if the universe had made itself for kicks. I was encouraged to bring my son with me to service, but when I did and he cried (as all babies are want to do), I got dressed-down for it and the sermon I had prepared cut short. When I asked about bringing in those we had been reaching out to- the queer kids (like myself), the young parents, the people of college age that didn't go to UT... I was horrified to learn that was no longer part of the plan. As my son began to get older, he took up more time. A retreat was announced and I was told it was mandatory for me, though I had never spent more than 8 hours away from my infant. The ministerial intern for the church began to hold forth on food activism, and I agreed with her. I suggested some alternate means of looking at the problem, but she became more and more convinced we were on opposite sides of the debate. On the walk back, my Mentor pulled me aside and told me I shouldn't argue about things which I had no idea of, and would not listen to me when I explained that, having grown up on a farm, I most certainly was a part of the movement...and she was welcome to attend the next March Against Monsanto with me. I was scolded and reprimanded. Fortunately, I ended up with a greenstick fracture in my foot at the same time it became obvious my friend's girlfriend had become...a controlling influence in her life and I went home to wrap my foot, prop it up, and hold my son like the dawn would never rise. I was increasingly ashamed of my appearance (milk-splattered, unwashed, large... like most new moms) and went out socially very little. That was all right, things were going down that I wanted no part of being. It was agreed that my "Internship" (what a fancy word for 'can I see what your life is like at work?') would end at the end of the semester. It was becoming clear that there was less of a place in the church for me. This saddened me a great deal. I had been baptized, shared my life, become part of this community. The thought that as a college parent, a polyamorous person, or a genderqueer person, I would be excluded from this community would never have crossed my mind even a year before. I got to church late one day and was invited by a dear friend to chaperone the youth to the other church for their study time. My partner had previously had more interaction with the youth by teaching them tai qi. This was my first time meeting the new children's minister and I was charmed; she seemed quite kind, if a little quiet. Someone I would not mind my kid learning about religion in her care. Two other women were introduced to me, and we went into the basement hang-out of the partner church. Once there, the minister from the other church played a few introductory clips by the Jesus Christ Church of Latter-Day Saints (a church which has, by the way, a center for higher religious learning directly diagonally from our Baptist church)....and then began to blast their beliefs and lay out falsehoods. I was stunned. We had presented ourselves, always, as a church open to religious conversation and dialogue...and here we were, vilifying a fellow Protestant faith! I respectfully mentioned that I had married into a Mormon family and spent years studying their faith and asked if it would be all right if I could clarify a few things. They had mixed up the LDS church and some cults, they were saying the LDS church helps only those within it's own faith, and there was quite a lot of confusion surrounding the afterlife, polygamy, and "holy underwear". The minister asked several times if I had converted and I assured everyone that no, I was an American Baptist from their sister church. The kids were very interested and asked some very intelligent, telling questions showing that they both wanted to understand and could grasp the concepts even if they did not share them. I was impressed. At the end, I apologized to the minister for taking up so much time and hoped that she had not been offended. I was assured she was not. I also shook the hand of the children's minister, telling her how pleasant it had been to meet her and how much I looked forward to learning about her lesson plans as my own child got older. A few hours later, I received a frantic phonetical from the friend that had invited me. She explained that part of the reason I had been invited was that, when presenting on anything, they usually have both their own ideas and an outside "expert" come in and she had found out last moment that there was no counterpoint... but that my husband was Mormon, so I probably knew something. She continued to explain that not only had the other minister been horribly offended and called my boss (my Mentor), but that the children's minister had also done so! I felt my stomach curling in on itself. I called the other church's minister and apologized once more, but was told it was not a big deal, I needn't even have called! She was simply doing her duty. I received a call from my boss (Mentor) telling me not to bother calling anyone else, she'd worked it out but that she was incredibly disappointed in my behavior. Disappointed in my behavior! I was an adult parent, chaperoning the youth as other adults from our church had done, and was not there in any capacity to do with my work. Further, I explained that both claimed to have not been offended to my face. I was not a child... I was a member of the congregation. I was not there as a representative of a college organization these children would be exposed to at the correct time and place my Boss had picked out for them. At our next meeting, I was not only called to task but told that if I did not get therapy, I would lose my position. Never mind that I had a new child, church/work, school, and neither the time nor the money for therapy! Fortunately for me, my Calling was still strong despite all this. If our church needed that sort of college group and could sustain it, then that was wonderful! However, we still had a dwindling population of congregants that were separated by a widening age gap.. perhaps I had not been called to college ministry. Perhaps, like Nadia Bolz-Weber (one of my idols), I had been Called to reach out to the American Protestant "untouchables"; the strippers, the queers (like myself), the not-quite-agnostics, the poly families looking to raise their kids in community, the people at the bars discussing philosophy with no theological context, covered in tats and discussing Sartre with their Belgian beers. As a young mom, it was going to take me a while to get through the rest of my undergrad and even longer to get through grad school (I had already ascertained that everyone I'd met from the local one wore a facade of piety that felt too false for a religion as gritty and real as the flavor of Christianity many people needed). Our church was congregational based! Anyone that had been a member for a certain amount of time and had served in an internship-type position could request ordination within your local area (our's was the south/southeast). I spoke at great length with both my trusted friend that had been born into the church, and with my previous deacon...a kind and upright man that I believed would give me honest answers. They both supported my bid. I approached our Minister and told him of my Calling, of my wish to proceed, of my ideas to help our community flourish. He explained that I might have to spend another year in "internship" but that it could be voted upon. I would have to submit my request, my calling, and plead my case in writing. He was concerned with the state in which my previous internship had dissolved, but (though it had hurt me very deeply.. so deeply I can only now write on it), I assured him that it was simply a difference in communication style and that I would work diligently to overcome such an obstacle- but that no one began perfect. I was also told that since the congregation was older and more conservative, a lot of my proselytizing might have to be done "underground" (i.e. without mention of the church and unpaid). This I was also willing to accept. People would connect the two, trickle in, and I already had plans in place for bridging the age gaps and creating a sense of continuing family. Also, however, I would have to include my orientation. I do no believe this to be necessary, nor right. I do not know if the children's minister had to disclose first-thing that she was a lesbian. I do not know if single ministers would have had to state that they might be dating while religious. I do know that I was confused by this request, but did so anyway. I told him that since I would be seeing my Mentor that evening at service, I would inform her then of my intentions in a straight-forward manner. I did not get the chance to do so. She requested I stay, and began to berate me. When I told her that we had had lapses in communication, they were all blamed on me. When I pointed out that she had hired an intern without telling me and without backpay, that was also my fault. Finally, I took a deep breath and said that perhaps there were other things in the way and that misunderstanding me was the easiest way of making everything right to her. She exploded and began to curse at me and told me to leave the sanctuary. I insisted no, I should not until I had calmed down also and that I needed time to pray... at which time I was told to "Get the **** out!" I cried and walked to a friend's house. The person that I had confided in with such honesty had been holding back quite a bit of anger and possibly loathing toward me. If someone could appear so nice, and hold all that inside... what did that say for the religious community as a whole? My husband picked me up; I was unfit to drive. My proposal was brought before the council, I believe, but it was after my "mentor" had spoken to them of... whatever sins she felt I was guilty of; selfishness, narcissism, laxity...things that I do not deny I engage in, but that I engage in no more than others. Things which, with time, I am conquering..particularly as a young mother alone in a strange state. I never heard what was discussed, but I was offered the position of entertainment committee chair. I accepted, not realizing I had no idea how to entertain a group consisting of the elderly and middle schoolers. Every idea I had was tossed out. However, it was not that which was the finishing blow. When I came to worship, I could sense the ill-will directed at me..not only from those that had supposedly been wronged by my actions, but by those that knew me by face alone. I was still dealing with postpartum (still am). I could not face these stone-masked people simpering at one another. Only the elders had any actual honesty visible; all else was smiles and handshakes oozing venom. I stood in the sanctuary and closed my eyes. I reached into my heart and let my soul breathe; the Breath of God was not there. There was no scent of the Spirit. There were TVs and gimmicks and candy-coated animosity. This haven had become exactly like the hell I had fled. I continued togged increasingly frustrated emails but could not respond to them.. how could I plan events for people that loathed me? I had never worn a disguise in church... the person they had hated was me, in all my naked but well-meant honesty. I spoke with several other previous members of my age that had left and found that they had also found the change distasteful and felt as if they were being forced out. The church was no longer liberal enough to hold everyone; it was Liberal and could only hold those that shared every belief. It was the other side of the looking-glass of the large, Conservative churches. I hope that it thrives, if for no other reason than it has such a beautiful past, such a past of resistance to hatred and falsehood that to lose it would be an emptiness in a world that needs more Fullness. There aren't a lot of places the Spirit still resides; I hope that in my continued searching, I will find another that will begin to heal the torn scars in my soul where this church had patched me up and ripped me open once more. Maybe I'll even walk through those heavy wooden doors again and see if there's a place for me amongst God's children. There's no way of knowing, but in God there is always hope. (*For the purposes of clarity, I have used the term "God".. this is not meant to represent a specific theological interpretation, nor to spark a theological argument. This was simply to unburden myself. I have left out all names, including those of my Church of which I am still a registered member. This is not meant to be inflammatory, but to tell my side of the story as viewed from my perspective alone. I am not the easiest person to work with, nor the kindest... but I have been and am continuing to work on it. That, in itself, is quite a feat considering my personality and my past. It should also be pointed out that the day after my best friend's girlfriend got my job, my best friend took me to get a drink. I was honest, and asked her if this was just a meeting to see if I were angry with her girlfriend. She said, of course not... we're friends. I have never heard from either of them again.. guess it was just information seeking. I am sorry to any hurt by my actions or by these words.. but they are my truth and I could no longer stay silent. This is the type of spiritual abuse that turns well-meaning people away from church and God.)

Blue Jays and Adulting

Recently, I had the luck to have my hair done by an amazing stylist/family friend. She did it a golden brown with individually-painted blonde highlights in the bangs and blonde, teal, and blue peek-a-boo highlights. It looked amazing, but I couldn't kept it up and I feel more natural with red anyway. Instead of trying to keep the blonde-teal-blue combo, she did red with blue covering everything else.. which I feel might be a little too much blue myself. However, as soon as she'd done the first session, blue jays started popping up all over my life. One left me a tail feather, now they're in all th yards, including mine, they follow me to the park. My animal is usually a panther, so here's what the internet has to say about blue jay symbolism: Like the crow, magpie and raven, blue jays are talkative creatures utilizing a wide range of vocalizations to express their opinions. Indeed, their speech abilities are so advanced, that they are able to mimic other birds and even humans. Blue jay's have been known to mimic hawk calls as a ploy to lure these birds of prey away from jay's nests. Likewise, those with the blue jay as their totem are quite loquaciousness, and have the gift of gab. Common vocations of those with the blue jay as their totem are sales people, lawyers, politicians, public speakers, and teachers. Animal Symbolism of the Blue Jay: Energy Clarity Vibrancy Advantage Curiosity Faithfulness Intelligence Communication Determination Assertiveness Loquaciousness Animal symbolism of determination, assertiveness, and intelligence is also a shared trait among those who claim the blue jay as their totem (and also common attributes with those having the vocations above listed). We see these characteristics in the blue jay because it is fiercely bold against its enemies. The jay is fearless when it comes to protecting its partner, young and territory. So too are those with this animal as their totem. They will defend their positions against adversaries who seem much more powerful than themselves - often with successful results.

Blue jay animal symbolism resonates truth, faithfulness, and solidarity because they are vigilant in their tasks. They also keep the same mate for life, which is symbolic of endurance, patience and loyalty. The jay is an excellent symbol for those wishing to honor their long-lasting bond between friends, family and lovers. In the spiritual realm, the blue jay speaks of clarity and vision. In Native American symbolism (namely the Sioux Nation) the azure of the jay against the blue sky indicated a "double vision" or double clarity. This visual/spiritual "blue on blue" concept speaks of purity of the soul, truth of the heart, and clarity of thought. In dreams the blue jay animal symbolism also deals with clarity - but of higher thoughts, and taking action. When we dream of blue jays our deeper selves may be telling us that we are not being honest with ourselves about something, and it's time to "come clean" with our thoughts. Blue jay's in dreams are also symbolic of taking action in the direction of our highest truth. The jay asks for honesty, and forthrightness - any other action taken (such as deceptive or dishonest action) will mean double jeopardy for us in our waking hours. These spiritual and dream impressions are especially poignant because the jay is an air animal totem. Creatures of the air naturally symbolize the realm of thought, higher ideals, spirituality and the attainment of higher truth. The Sioux also observed the jay preferring fir and oak trees for their homes and nesting areas. These trees are symbolic of longevity, endurance and strength, and so share the same animal symbolism with the blue jay. This is not to say the jay is persnickety. On the contrary, the blue jay animal symbolism includes aspects of opportunity and advantage because it will make its home anywhere. From supermarket awnings, to mailboxes, the blue jay is extremely resourceful and makes the best out of its environment. Those with the jay as their totem are likely to be the same way. Generally easy-going, jay people are able to make a turn situations around to their best advantage, and make awesome lemon aid out of the sourest of lemons. Blue jay's are vastly curious, stopping to peck at any shiny thing that catches their eye (much like crows and magpies). Those who resonate with the blue jay will also find themselves equally curious. Indeed, blue jay people have are always dabbling in new directions, gathering new insight, and slaking their curiosities. These people tend to be a jack-of-all trades, knowing a little bit about seemingly everything. This makes them fantastic trouble-shooters and quite resourceful (not to mention fascinating party guests).

Well, I haven't been feeling particularly assertive, loquacious, or determined lately.. but maybe that will rub off? I'm certainly all about clarity, honesty, and fierceness. Hopefully this is good medicine because I'm needing it. As for other animal symbolism in my life, my tarantula finally molted and.. it's a girl! I haven't named her yet. And don't look at me that way, I'm terrified of spiders, too. I just figured that if I was in charge of taking care of one for many years, I would grow less freakishly terrified over time. I guess the one thing that Jays and I have in common is resourcefulness. I was talking to someone from school and they said something so deeply meaningful that it made me cry. I had talked about my son, my relationships, family, friends, church, school, art, furry kids, moving and she said, "I don't know how you do it. You're so.. responsible. You're on top of things and getting it done. That's amazing." It's the first time anyone has ever said anything like that to me. Sure, my house looks like it might be featured on the "Top 10 Most Eclectic" episode of hoarders. Maybe I have little breakdowns. Maybe I do now have a permanent scar from my kid pretending to hug me and then bite me instead. Yes, sometimes finances are challenging. But I'm adulting. I am getting it done. It may not be picture-perfect or mani-pedi'ed like my mom or sister, but I've never been that person. I'm me, and my life is beautiful and full of magic. My son wears my hair ties as arm bands. I live in a house where there is always someone home, the house is never empty. I head to the door before people pull up. And it's absolutely, 100% me for right now (I'm ever changing), and it's fantastically beautiful, even if only I see it that way.

Where did I go?

"The real reason I haven't been writing is that- I haven't been writing. It has burst upon me like a revelation. I do what I do, and I don't do what I don't do. I feel embarrassed by this, as if everyone on earth knows this except me. The way I write more is to turn on the computer, sit in front of it, and write." -Meg Barnhouse. Something happened recently (which I may or may not discuss on here) which leads me to think I need to blog more. And possibly learn to use my camera instead of my phone, since I never could figure out how to transverse the instagram-blogspot vortex. I need a place to write, to rant, to stretch out the scraps of thought in my mind and see if I've got a quilt, a collage, or just stuff that needs to go in the recycle bin. I could claim that things got very complicated; and they did to an extent. I have a toddler (who is sometimes less than well-mannered and gracious). I had an internship with what began as an amazing experiment in ecumenical community and, through miscommunication, split my whole world (and my friend-world) in half. I have applied for candidacy with my church, which is basically a learning internship... at the end of which, my congregation could decide to locally ordain me. This is complicated by the fact that I'm trying desperately to shift my sleep schedule so that I can make it to night classes at a massage school. I love massage already, don't get me wrong... but with everything else and my hypothyroid issues, I'm having a difficult time getting myself in gear and if I can't pull things out of the toilet somehow, I will not make my hours and will have wasted tuition. Which, I don't want to do... massage is like spiritual counseling through movement, and I wake up feeling happy-sore every morning after a good class session. I'm just at a place where I need someone to hold my hand and guide me back to where I need to be. There are also some very cool people in my class, who might be friends if I were around enough to know. On top of that, our landlords want us out of the house within the next 30 days; I have not one clue how that is going to happen. Our house is currently a wreck. The one house we looked at was dirty, had a human sized hole in the ceiling of the garage, and had dead animals everywhere.. including, charmingly, stuffed into a toy chimpanzee in the backyard. We were told this was used as a daycare center. I left with a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. Having written just that has been cathartic. My poor partner has to listen to me constantly since all my friends are either on the daytime schedule or one of the coasts, and I'm used to the friendly chatter that keeps thinking at a lull until I'm alone. As the one people person in the house, I'm currently almost always alone and it's driving me to the nail-biting, dry-mouthed brink of talking to my cat. Or creating an imaginary friend. If I don't talk to them in public, I'm totally not too old for one.. right? As for my son, like his height and his insatiable ability to get into trouble early on in life, his "terrible twos" have come on very quickly. He can (and will) say "no", "stop", "don't", "tlvh-hv", and "e-e-e"... oh, and "jedi". He smacks me, pulls my hair, refuses to let me feed him (Dad, of course, is the savior parent... since he built Tos cell-by-cell and risked his life to bring him into the world), kicks me, and refuses to play with me. So I've been unashamedly attempting to buy his love. The color-on-windows crayons were/are a HUGE hit and he seems particularly enamored of the "giant" green bouncy ball I got him. Wait until he figures out he can play with it outside! However, my little ginger-man seems to think these gifts come from the gift fairy, not the life-giving fairy. I can just hope this is a phase and once he moves from wanting to be carried all the time to wanting to actually play he will see me the way other small children have always seen me- like a glitter-sweating fairy gothmother with the imagination of a kid and the height of a tall 8 year old. On the other hand, the kid has a serious music addiction. Not only does he dance to anything, but he hums and will frequently repeat songs I've sung (not children's songs...if my kid is going to hear about the black plague, it's going to be through some metal band, not ring-around-the-rosie). In other news, I'm surrounded by blue jays. I'l blog on that next.