Gaping = staring, open-mouthed
Gawking = staring stupidly at something
Okay, I have finally figured out what is chapping my hide so.
I am deeply unsettled at the notion that I am from a country of gawking and gaping. I want to say it isn’t so, I want it to go away but alas it is not and will not and is only getting worse.
Mind you getting to the facts of the matter was a great exercise for me. I had to ask myself - why am I so bothered by all of this reality TV., Charlie Sheen mania, royal wedding hoopla, glued to professional sports stuff not limited to all of the goings on surrounding all of it e.g. the wives, the steroids, the d.v., the whole shebang.
It was as though the lights came on and I had arrived! It was all of the disgusting-despicable-get a Frickin life of your own- how do you have time for such malarkey- people are starving- how crazy can you be madness that inevitably brought me to: there is something so thoroughly unappealing about the spectators on/of other people’s lives. It begs the eternal, “what the hell are you here for”… I mean, sucking up air, space and resources in general only to be off gassed while gawking and gaping…
Of course I took it to the next level and begged the question, Do those who are really living need spectators? I mean do the non-living need to be there to validate the rest? Um, nope. Don’t care who is watching I am going to be doing me. Well then, what purpose DO spectators serve? Ah! They are consumers of all things copycat! They are the drinkers of the kool-aid, the ones who will buy whatever their favorite athlete/singer/actor etc is selling! They drive our economy! Without the shamelessness of plebeians all of the floor shows televised and otherwise ‘in the news’ on a daily basis would have no meaning.
I wonder what percentage of humanity - well of humanity that can afford non-living e.g. don’t have to scrape out an existence day in and day, aren’t inundated with war and personal safety concerns everyday, can eat slop and swill at their leisure - are gapers and gawkers? Anybody care to take a guess?
Hmmm, how to help children know how to live, to see more value in their own lived experiences than in watching someone else’s… a new mission is born!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Prayer Answered!
Please indulge me while I take a trip to just one of those times in life when I believe God answered my prayer.
I was always a large child. The tallest and sometimes largest in class in elementary school. The girl who skipped right past the girl’s department and went straight for grown assed woman. This was before the time you could get tall and tall between pants so mine were all either high waters or men’s which fit me terribly since I already had a very female body. Clothes were not cute and shopping was a dismal nightmare filled with my mother’s angst, my frustration and my younger brother’s “I’m so bored I am going to die right here!” exclamations throughout the stores. Yes, shopping was put off until the very last possible moment each school year with the pickings’ slim and tensions high. Recipe for a tear filled event.
This particular day I was 10 years old and nearly 5’8” and YIKES I wore a size 10 shoe. 10 and 10. I was shocked to find myself in a size 10 woman’s shoe. It seemed like just a few months before I was a 7.5...
I had bee lined into the store to try to beat my mother to her ‘sensible’ and never wear out choices of some type or another which would include but not be limited to saddle oxfords, Doc Martin equivalents or some other indestructible-before-they-were-popular lug sole. Well lookey lookey. A lovely pair of two toned black patent with olive green suede shoes. I immediately asked for them in a 7.5. The shoe salesman brought them out and it was as though I was one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters. I could not squeeze, press, beg, stuff or otherwise cajole my gigantic hoof into that shoe. I asked for an 8. The salesman looked embarrassed for me and suggested we just give the foot slide rule situation a check. I remember being aware of my mom nearby saying things to both me and the salesman but me not listening, I was in shock, afraid to find out what size shoe I now wore.
She was holding the wretched rust/beige indestructible saddle oxford in her hand saying something while the salesman bent down and placed my big ol’ foot on the evil measuring slide. Loudly, “well, it looks like you were WAY off. Size 10. Yep. That’s a size 10, maybe a 10.5”. I was stricken. Whadinduhell??????? I remember getting that ’I’m about to cry’ feeling. I held up the patent/suede two toned situation and had the guts to ask for it in a size 10, well I had to recoup something of my dignity didn't I?! You should have seen those big skate board looking shoes! I don’t know if it was the 2 colors or the two different materials or what but those shoes looked like they were a size 16. Of course I tried it on. It fit. I INSISTED that I had to have them. I NEEDED them. My mom looked deflated and defeated and so wilted… she didn’t have it in her to insist on my trying more shoes bless her heart. Nor did she have it in her to tell me that they were the biggest most ridiculous shoes she had ever seen and that I would feel and look like bozo the clown with them on.
I had to go forward as though I was fine. I had to pretend that I wasn’t surprised or scared that me feet had grown gigantic in a matter of months. I had to pretend that I wasn't having thoughts of foot binding or what I could do to fold my toes back without breaking them.
When I got home I went to my room, knelt by the side of my bed and cried out to God, “Please God! Please! Don’t let my feet grow not another bit. Not at all. Not a micrometer. Oh, please God, they can’t grow anymore. Make them stop!” I wept. I stayed in my room for hours wondering about my future. Just how tall was I going to get. Could and would God stop my feet from growing more?
Some weeks later my picture taking aunt drove up excited to share her most recently developed film. There I stood in all my glory with the great, great, great big black and green shoes on. I don’t know if the dowdy skirt and half calf knee highs (because those were one size fits all then too so most of my sock calf was taken up in footage) really made it that much worse or not but they sure seemed to. Nobody said anything to me. They didn’t need to.
Within a matter of hours I had dragged my feet along every curb, every rock filled driveway and any brick I could find in my neighborhood and had those shoes thoroughly torn up. I came inside and announced that, “oops, my shoes were messed up”. My father made some comment about my being a ‘big foot woman’ which became one of his terms of endearment for me and my mom said, “Get in the car”. Silently she drove us back to the shoe store. Without a single word she waltzed in, asked for a pair of rust and beige saddle oxfords in a women’s size 10. Handed them to me to try on. Paid for them and told me to ‘get the bag’. Those danged shoes were so big and luggly. They were indestructible and I never outgrew them.
I still wear a size 10 shoe!
I was always a large child. The tallest and sometimes largest in class in elementary school. The girl who skipped right past the girl’s department and went straight for grown assed woman. This was before the time you could get tall and tall between pants so mine were all either high waters or men’s which fit me terribly since I already had a very female body. Clothes were not cute and shopping was a dismal nightmare filled with my mother’s angst, my frustration and my younger brother’s “I’m so bored I am going to die right here!” exclamations throughout the stores. Yes, shopping was put off until the very last possible moment each school year with the pickings’ slim and tensions high. Recipe for a tear filled event.
This particular day I was 10 years old and nearly 5’8” and YIKES I wore a size 10 shoe. 10 and 10. I was shocked to find myself in a size 10 woman’s shoe. It seemed like just a few months before I was a 7.5...
I had bee lined into the store to try to beat my mother to her ‘sensible’ and never wear out choices of some type or another which would include but not be limited to saddle oxfords, Doc Martin equivalents or some other indestructible-before-they-were-popular lug sole. Well lookey lookey. A lovely pair of two toned black patent with olive green suede shoes. I immediately asked for them in a 7.5. The shoe salesman brought them out and it was as though I was one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters. I could not squeeze, press, beg, stuff or otherwise cajole my gigantic hoof into that shoe. I asked for an 8. The salesman looked embarrassed for me and suggested we just give the foot slide rule situation a check. I remember being aware of my mom nearby saying things to both me and the salesman but me not listening, I was in shock, afraid to find out what size shoe I now wore.
She was holding the wretched rust/beige indestructible saddle oxford in her hand saying something while the salesman bent down and placed my big ol’ foot on the evil measuring slide. Loudly, “well, it looks like you were WAY off. Size 10. Yep. That’s a size 10, maybe a 10.5”. I was stricken. Whadinduhell??????? I remember getting that ’I’m about to cry’ feeling. I held up the patent/suede two toned situation and had the guts to ask for it in a size 10, well I had to recoup something of my dignity didn't I?! You should have seen those big skate board looking shoes! I don’t know if it was the 2 colors or the two different materials or what but those shoes looked like they were a size 16. Of course I tried it on. It fit. I INSISTED that I had to have them. I NEEDED them. My mom looked deflated and defeated and so wilted… she didn’t have it in her to insist on my trying more shoes bless her heart. Nor did she have it in her to tell me that they were the biggest most ridiculous shoes she had ever seen and that I would feel and look like bozo the clown with them on.
I had to go forward as though I was fine. I had to pretend that I wasn’t surprised or scared that me feet had grown gigantic in a matter of months. I had to pretend that I wasn't having thoughts of foot binding or what I could do to fold my toes back without breaking them.
When I got home I went to my room, knelt by the side of my bed and cried out to God, “Please God! Please! Don’t let my feet grow not another bit. Not at all. Not a micrometer. Oh, please God, they can’t grow anymore. Make them stop!” I wept. I stayed in my room for hours wondering about my future. Just how tall was I going to get. Could and would God stop my feet from growing more?
Some weeks later my picture taking aunt drove up excited to share her most recently developed film. There I stood in all my glory with the great, great, great big black and green shoes on. I don’t know if the dowdy skirt and half calf knee highs (because those were one size fits all then too so most of my sock calf was taken up in footage) really made it that much worse or not but they sure seemed to. Nobody said anything to me. They didn’t need to.
Within a matter of hours I had dragged my feet along every curb, every rock filled driveway and any brick I could find in my neighborhood and had those shoes thoroughly torn up. I came inside and announced that, “oops, my shoes were messed up”. My father made some comment about my being a ‘big foot woman’ which became one of his terms of endearment for me and my mom said, “Get in the car”. Silently she drove us back to the shoe store. Without a single word she waltzed in, asked for a pair of rust and beige saddle oxfords in a women’s size 10. Handed them to me to try on. Paid for them and told me to ‘get the bag’. Those danged shoes were so big and luggly. They were indestructible and I never outgrew them.
I still wear a size 10 shoe!
Sorry! sorry! sorry!
Sorry, sorry, sorry!
Okay my peeps! I quit submitting stuff because I was feeling like Debbie Downer! I am happy to continue if you are happy to join me in my goings on…
Here’s some stuff that’s working me over:
1 - The Royal Frickin Wedding. Let’s start with the fact that I wish them well. Many happy, healthy, lovely blah blahs… as I wish every marrying and/or married couple. Ain’t that ‘nough said? Do we need to focus on it for even one more second?
2 - K. The Middle East. Can we all pray, send some positive energy, juju, love, peace vibe? I am hurtin’ for the human spirit. That drive, desire, thirst to be free. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want freedom. I don’t know anyone who does not want to try to create the nature of their own reality. They aren’t just acting up/out they are crying freedom. God be with them.
3 - Reality TV. doing whatever with the stars and all of the other faux TV. that people spend their precious time and energy checking out of their own reality for ought to be telling us something about our collective pain, numbness or lack of participation in each others’ existence. I know that I would rather spend my evening with you - listening to your stories, hearing about your life, being sad, happy, angry, joyful than I would sitting in front of the mindlessness that checks us out of life. Any day. Everyday. I’d rather be with someone I care about than zoned out in front of the box.
4 - Gang stuff. Here is something that blew my mind. I was seated next to a most enjoyable young woman on a recent flight. It didn’t take long before we were talking about life stuff. She was attempting relocation back to the west coast, preferably Oregon. She explained that she is originally from a town right near the Arctic Circle where a ‘trip to town’ is a two day venture. I was very curious about her existence there which she happily shared with me. Ah, Aurora Borealis… one day… one day… Sarah ‘Gosh Darned Nuts’ Palin and what the regular folks in Alaska think of her and day to day life. She told me that some days they get 3 to 4 hours of light and other things we all know about Alaska but wait - get this - she talked about how her town of approximately 8,000 had gotten overwhelmed with what to do about their GANG problem. Yes, I said it, their lip flippin’ gang problem! Go figure.
5 - There is a part of me that wants to ask what the world is coming to but I needn’t bother… the writing is on the wall and it ain’t pretty. Hell in a hand basket! I don’t even feel doom and gloom. I am more of a mind to live it up! Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we shall die! Care to dance anyone? I may not be a star but I am fun and I will be fully present with and for you. Will you for me… “If that’s all there is my friend, let’s keep dancing”. I don’t feel like looking up that lyric to quote it properly. I need to dance.
Okay my peeps! I quit submitting stuff because I was feeling like Debbie Downer! I am happy to continue if you are happy to join me in my goings on…
Here’s some stuff that’s working me over:
1 - The Royal Frickin Wedding. Let’s start with the fact that I wish them well. Many happy, healthy, lovely blah blahs… as I wish every marrying and/or married couple. Ain’t that ‘nough said? Do we need to focus on it for even one more second?
2 - K. The Middle East. Can we all pray, send some positive energy, juju, love, peace vibe? I am hurtin’ for the human spirit. That drive, desire, thirst to be free. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t want freedom. I don’t know anyone who does not want to try to create the nature of their own reality. They aren’t just acting up/out they are crying freedom. God be with them.
3 - Reality TV. doing whatever with the stars and all of the other faux TV. that people spend their precious time and energy checking out of their own reality for ought to be telling us something about our collective pain, numbness or lack of participation in each others’ existence. I know that I would rather spend my evening with you - listening to your stories, hearing about your life, being sad, happy, angry, joyful than I would sitting in front of the mindlessness that checks us out of life. Any day. Everyday. I’d rather be with someone I care about than zoned out in front of the box.
4 - Gang stuff. Here is something that blew my mind. I was seated next to a most enjoyable young woman on a recent flight. It didn’t take long before we were talking about life stuff. She was attempting relocation back to the west coast, preferably Oregon. She explained that she is originally from a town right near the Arctic Circle where a ‘trip to town’ is a two day venture. I was very curious about her existence there which she happily shared with me. Ah, Aurora Borealis… one day… one day… Sarah ‘Gosh Darned Nuts’ Palin and what the regular folks in Alaska think of her and day to day life. She told me that some days they get 3 to 4 hours of light and other things we all know about Alaska but wait - get this - she talked about how her town of approximately 8,000 had gotten overwhelmed with what to do about their GANG problem. Yes, I said it, their lip flippin’ gang problem! Go figure.
5 - There is a part of me that wants to ask what the world is coming to but I needn’t bother… the writing is on the wall and it ain’t pretty. Hell in a hand basket! I don’t even feel doom and gloom. I am more of a mind to live it up! Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we shall die! Care to dance anyone? I may not be a star but I am fun and I will be fully present with and for you. Will you for me… “If that’s all there is my friend, let’s keep dancing”. I don’t feel like looking up that lyric to quote it properly. I need to dance.
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