tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183891602024-03-13T08:19:06.422-07:00Yop!!!As Jo-Jo with his yo-yo showed the Mayor of Whoville and Horton, the smallest exclamation can make the biggest difference. Here are some of mine. Now as a grown up doctor-ishMargarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.comBlogger194125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-57514542605870535552022-09-18T15:34:00.000-07:002022-09-18T15:34:16.615-07:00So I'm Writing a Thing Part 4- The Library <p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We looked around at the plain but opulent foyer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>John Michaels staunchly refused to give up his hat to the hat-rack, insisting that it was apart of his “look cultivated especially for the occasion.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The butler gave up after the third offer.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My heels echoed as we were led down a plain hallway of dark wood to an extensively large library.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It wasn’t quite out of Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast” but it was large.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Floor to ceiling book cases lined a large L shaped room.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There was overhead inset lighting at every bookshelf lighting up every title.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Window box seats with deep red cushions that were just perfect for cozying in with a good book on a rainy day were under each window.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There was even little directional lights on each side of the windowsill and small tables to set your tea on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The shelves had classics such as Shakespeare and Arthur Conan Doyle as well as Turman Capote and Roger Harrington. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There was even the last set of Encyclopedia Britannica published in 2010.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of the books appeared immaculate in hard back and most were leather-bound.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We couldn’t quite see the short side of the L as we walked in.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There was a circle of seating in the center with stained glass lamps again in shades of grey from white to black every few seats.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No two chairs were the same, there was: a hard straight backed chair, a kneeling ergonomic chair, a Queen Anne’s chair, a chintz arm chair, a layzboy,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a papasan, a chaise, a pouf, a saddle stool, a classic office chair, a bean bag, a bar chair, and what appeared to be an African ceremonial stool.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We all stood awkwardly staring at the seating when the butler said “Please have a seat.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Mr Yardley had to have so little company that this seating was collected from all over the house. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">John Michaels wasted no time sitting in the Queen Anne’s Chair tucking his feet underneath, and getting his recording equipment, notebook and pen ready.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The rest of us looked at each other unsure of where we should be sitting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Mary who had rung the door bell chose the chintz arm chair and perched herself on the edge.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of us seemed to be carefully avoiding the African Stool; I wasn’t entirely sure it was supposed to be in this collection.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Linsey, who preferred to go by Star Flower,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>in flowing skirts and knitted cardigan chose the papasan. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They had long blonde hair with two dreads held back by a lace headband.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I had thoughts and feelings about the dreads, but Star Flower obviously had tried to dress to this occasion.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I sat on the pouf,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>used to sitting lower<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>due to the weekly story times at the library. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was thankful that the pouf was pretty sturdy and didn’t sink with my weight.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was actually quite comfortable. I figured others needed the more traditional seating, and it was next to the saddle stool.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nathaniel had back problems since we were kids and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I figured the saddle stool would be great for his back. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However Nathaniel wasn’t looking for a seat at all.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was still staring at the different books on the shelves and working his way around to the short side of the library. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I leaned back and took in the whole view.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The short side of the L seemed to be more of the same floor to ceiling bookshelves in dark wood.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There was a small circular table at the end of the hallway next to a door that presumably lead to the rest of the house.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It appeared to have several white bottles<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>on it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The bottles were nondescript and seemed to be the size of shampoo bottles. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Now that I looked there were many more on the bookshelves<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>around the small table.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I looked back at all of us in the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>circle, almost everyone had a seat by this point.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Some has switched seats due to comfort or positioning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Master Yardley is just attending to some business and will be in shortly,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the buttler stated in<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>clipped tones. “ He apologizes for not being ready to attend at your arrival.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However, to be respectful of your time, Master Yardley would like you to introduce yourselves to each other.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He has specially placed a camera so that he will not miss an introduction.” The butler gestured to a camera clipped to a high bookshelf.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We waved, some hesitantly, some enthusiastically and some in a way that was reflective of 2+ years of zoom meetings. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The invitation had specifically asked us to RSVP with evidence of full vaccination, boosters and negative tests 72 and 24hrs before, as it requested that we be mask free.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I figured this was all to add more to ‘the mystique of Brian Yardley.’ <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>John Michaels was alternately waving enthusiastically and taking notes.</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 18px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We were all seated save Nathaniel who was still inspecting the shelves on the short part of the L. Mary went first.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I wasn’t sure if she was the eldest but as one of our Eastonville city counsel members seemed to always take the reins of any situation, from ringing a doorbell to ordering brunch. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’m Mary Weathers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Most of you know I sit on our city counsel, but what you may not know is I found the Duloc Elders’ Club a fan club for those of us who already had a fair amount of wisdom and years, but were always ready to gain more.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She adjusted her glasses and patted her grey curls which had not moved from where they had been pulled back from her brown eyes as she nodded to the camera and smiled.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">With barely a moment in between John Michaels broke in “John Michaels of the Eatonville Gazette and can I just say I am so honored to be invited here for this grand occasion. Liar’s of Duloc changed my life.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of this spilled out in rapid succession while he was awkwardly twisted around in his chair to see the camera and wave around the high back of his royal chair. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I guess I’ll go next,” rumbled Mike. “Michael Duddley, but most of you all know me as Mike.” Mike was contractor who had worked on most of our houses.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He did excellent work despite being pretty much the only contractor in town.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Dressed in his typical jeans and a white botton down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It looked like he just stepped of a site; knowing him he probably did. “I’m not sure why I was invited.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I read the book when I was a kid and I liked it.” I noticed he was perched on the bar chair which was probably how he was most comfortable.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Perched higher looking over things and feeling like he should be at the bar instead.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’m Sanjay Patel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I think I’m here because I was almost cast as an extra when they made the movie.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This was a fact he had let none of us forget.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Long after we left the EDLC they decided to make a TV mini-series and Eatonville was not only inspiration but cheaper to shoot in than any other major location. There was an open casting call for extras, but most of those casted were from larger nearby cities.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Sanjay never let us forget that he made it in to the second call back. He was swiveling in the office chair with the kinetic energy he seemed to keep since he was 5.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We were all surprised that he wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I go by Star Flower, and I have always felt very aligned with certain characters . . .” They continued to introduce themselves and looked back around for Nathaniel who still hadn’t taken a seat.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was closely inspecting the books on the selves combing each title. I tried to signal to him to come sit but he was engrossed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I turned back to the group as<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Charles Wiggans began to introduce himself. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’m Charles Wiggans the Fourth of the Wiggans Estate. . . “<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I tuned him out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This elderly white man had some of the oldest money in Eatonville and therefore relatively powerful.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However, his antiquated ways and the fact that his family historically owned some of the other families in Eatonville made him generally and specifically unliked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ms Mary’s lip curled only slightly throughout his entire introduction and I only hoped my face was as neutral.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I could feel that it wasn’t. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">As Stephen Clark began his introductions I heard a sound from the far side of the L.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was something between a gasp and a cry and it could only come from Nathaniel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I looked around in concern as I caught Nathaniel hurrying through the side door.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Janine sitting next to me leaned over as surreptitiously as she could from the chaise and asked where Nathaniel was going.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“He’s going to the bathroom, he asked when we first came in,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I responded, not knowing but feeling like it was important that I made his actions normal.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I tried to not show my concern.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He had been acting strangely since the invitation and it seemed to escalate each moment.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I could feel his anxiety rolling off of him in waves.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But he wanted to come and be here.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was worried, but tried to reassure Janine.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She was both the consumate mom but also the town gossip.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I didn’t want to set off rumors. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-34365511788984113892022-05-15T14:09:00.000-07:002022-05-15T14:09:06.303-07:00So I'm Writing A thing Part 3- The Ranch <p> So uh yeah section two was a bit steamy. Here's the next section.</p><p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Brian Yardley’s ranch wasn’t really a ranch.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was just a ranch style house on half an acre of land that seemed to be maybe 2400 sq feet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The house was off set from the street with a 10 minute walk up a gravel drive.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was unprepared for the terrain in my 2 inch chunky “interview heels” that I only wore for “work dress-up days.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">That morning as I smoothed my shea butter, coconut oil and olive oil mix over my freshly showered skin I deliberated outfit choice with my husband Mark.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“I want to be professional, but not read like a 40-something librarian.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“You never read like a ’40-something’ Librarian”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Mark said with a smirk rubbing body butter over my back and buttocks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He gave my booty a light smack that had us both laughing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“But seriously, you’re going out to some author’s ranch out in the middle of nowhere with only a handful of other people.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I think you should be in your running shoes and work out leggings.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“That’s not very professional.” I frowned as I started the attempt to wrangle my thick curly hair into a style that I could leave the house in. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Come-on everyone wears athleisure<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>now-a-days.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He said sitting back on the bed smiling. “Also it’s practical.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You were the one who said you never wanted to wear clothes that you couldn’t nap or run in.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">I had given up trying to get my hair in to the largest puff cuff and settled on flat twisting the front of my hair and using a scarf to keep the rest in a modicum of a style. “That was when I was in college.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Now I’m supposed to be a professional.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Though with my curls currently obscuring my entire vision the thought that I was a professional was pretty laughable. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Seriously,” Mark said all smiles out of his voice “This man is a recluse.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You are going miles away from town via transportation he scheduled. I know he wrote an amazing book 30 years ago.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But we know practically nothing about this man.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>At least consider some sensible shoes.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He looked genuinely concerned.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">I slipped into a comfortable blue and white faux-wrap dress in which I indeed had taken several naps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“You know I’m not going by myself right.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“The fact that Nathaniel was also invited and going is the only reason I’m allowing you to go at all.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I raised an eyebrow at him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“And by allowing you to go I mean, not complaining more and trying to insist that I go with you, while you do what ever you want to do, because you are grown.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">I smiled.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Mark had learned a lot hanging out with my family.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“How about this,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’ll wear my chunky Interview heels.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Now trudging up this gravel driveway I had wished I was wearing my comfortable sneakers instead.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“At least I won’t sprain an ankle.” I said to Nathaniel who was keeping pace with me. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">He gave me a weak smile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He heard about the shoe-wear debate in the luxury bus ride over.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He seemed his old easy going self at the start of the journey every mile out of town he seemed to get more tense.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Every step he took now seemed to become more leaden.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“You know you should have listened to Mark,” he said looking ahead at the house with a foreboding that I couldn’t understand. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“It’s just a book reading.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I don’t know why you both are trying to turn this into some kind of Stephan King novel.” I said adjusting my backpack and hoping I wasn’t beginning to show sweat through my dress.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Not just a book reading.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It is THE book reading of the year,” an excited journalist from the Eatonville Gazette broke in, obviously not hearing the whole conversation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“John Michaels from the Eatonville Gazette,” he said excitedly nodding to myself and Nathaniel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“I had a New York Times journalist begging me to give him my golden ticket,” he bragged while adjusting his pink spectacles and his white fedora with an peacock plume bouncing along with his steps. “But I said ‘not on Betty White’s life,’<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>May she rest in peace.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He crossed himself and mumbled “In the name of the Mother, the Daughter, the Slut and the Friend.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Nathaniel and I looked at each other and grinned. We had all heard bout the “guy with two first names” who moved to Eatonville after living the “high-life” in several major cities.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was working hard to make himself a regular at all the local stops and nowhere more so than our local drag club.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Even though Eatonville was on the edge of rural America we were always known to be quite a bit more accepting than most would assume a small town would be.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’ve never heard<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>them referred to that way before,” I responded with a smile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“The question is who is the slut and who is the friend.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Oooooh a believer,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>he responded.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Thank you for being a friend,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>he looked at me expectantly.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Travel down the road and back again,” I responded questioningly, having no idea what the catechism was or what this might make me a part of.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">He slipped his arm into mine and patted it. “Sadly no,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the correct answer is ‘your my family and you make me happy to be alive,’<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>from the pilot, but you are definitely at least a good soul if not a kindred spirit.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He steadied me as I walked along. “Actually it was<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="s1" style="text-decoration-line: underline;">Liars of Duloc</span> that helped me be my whole self when I was just a little boy. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I figured if Reggie could come clean in the book when there were such high stakes so could I,” he ran on barely taking a breath between sentences. “And that is why I could never give up the opportunity to see Brian Yardley in his own home.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">His charming babble had gotten us up to the large marble paving stones that formed the last few hundred feet to the door way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It really was an extensive walk.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was paying so<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>much attention to where my feet went I hadn’t even noticed the broad wide entry way into the house.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was quite eclectic.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Dark wood and marble created a wide veranda with a partially overhanging balcony.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The column<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>were an unusual mix of clean tuscan lines with the scroll tops usually seen in grecian ionic style. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The architecture seemed to be extremely particular down to the Georgia Marble.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I didn’t even want to know how much money it took to get Georgian marble here, but I wondered why he wouldn’t choose a more local marble that wouldn’t turn from bright white to dull dark grey with the rain.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The ranch style house sprawled to either side and our group of twelve clustered around the front door.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The front door also had plain clean lines save the stained glass window with the initials BY in different shades of grey, white and black. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’m so sorry,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>uhm,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>John Michaels had just realized he never asked Nathaniel’s or my name., “Dear, but I must attended to my recording equipment and get up to the front.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He unlinked my arm and kissed my hand “But we will talk again.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He gave a slight bow and waded to the front of the line while adjusting something in his front pocket.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“What a character,” I said turning back to Nathaniel on my left side.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However Nathaniel was now staring intently at the door with an intensity I had never seen. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">He glanced in my direction but didn’t meet my eyes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Oh yeah, he’s something.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Nathaniel.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Hey, I’m fine.” He said completely unconvincingly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He pulled me to him, gave me a hug and kissed my forehead. We lingered in the hug while Mary, an older woman, rang the doorbell which was a red satin cord hanging next to the brass handle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I indulged in the scent, comfort, and solidness of him before the moment was broken by the sound of the door opening. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">A buttler in a black vest and tie with an English accent greeted us. “Ah, yes the reading party.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Master Yardley will see you in the library.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I had to smile.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Why is it that all “fancy” houses have an English buttler: Batman, Clue, The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was so much of a trope I almost laughed out loud.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I stifled my amusement to a smile and a cough and crossed the threshold with the rest of the invitees.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-81203003032723922372022-05-08T15:29:00.008-07:002022-05-08T15:29:56.232-07:00So I'm writing a thing - Part 2 Nate & Eric <p>So uhmm yeah part two .. Try to ignore the spacing between paragraphs it's a bit of a copy and paste edit. </p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">I was one of a dozen from Eatonville who was invited to this exclusive book reading and signing at his ranch.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">I don’t think it was a coincidence that most of us had been a part of the Eatonville Duloc Liars (EDL) Club.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">One of the many book clubs around the nation that popped up around the nation. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">Eatonville had one of the longest starting the year that the book was published and continuing to this day.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">The last few kids were planning on bringing it to a close at the last chapter meeting (held quarterly in the library), but with the news of the prequel being released interest and membership has grown over the last 18 months. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"><span> </span>The invitations came in the mail with the list of all 12 who had been invited.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">I was happily surprised to see Nathaniel’s name on the list.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">We had been friends since childhood and more recently had become romantic partners.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">Nate was one of the founding members of the EDL Club as we called it. He was an active member and even president until he suddenly quit.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;">It was a few months after our friend Eric went missing. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: Palatino; text-indent: 18px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">I should say his friend Eric.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The rest of us were only passing acquaintances with Eric.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Eric’s parents had left him with his grandparents in Etonville when he was 6.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His grandparents, in their 70’s by that point, were sterner and stuffier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He went to school, then home and did chores.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Eric never seemed happy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nathaniel and Eric lived in the same direction so they walked part of the way home together. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>About 2 months before Eric went missing his grandmother had a stroke that left her mostly paralyzed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>One month later his grandfather died from massive heart attack.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Then Eric went missing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We all figured he was just trying to find his parents and get away from the burden of being the sole caregiver to a nearly 80yr old.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But Nate never believed our reasoning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We were all waiting in the library for our meeting to start.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The EDL Club was trying to decide on which books we would read for the summer and what awards we would give for each reading tier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The library had given us the responsibility to do the summer reading club for the middle school and junior high grades.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We felt it was a great responsibility.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nate came in looking disheveled, almost like he had been walking through a rain storm though it was sunny out side.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Even his locs, shoulder length after meticulously growing them out for the last 5 yrs, seemed to droop.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We all stopped talking as we saw him walk in; all except for Roger who was quickly laying out his plan for the 7<span class="s1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"><sup>th</sup></span> graders. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Hey.” Nate said in a voice much weaker than his usual jovial lilt. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">At this point Roger, finally, stoped talking and gasped as he saw Nate’s eyes. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nate’s eyes had always been bright.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The edges always near crinkling up in a smile or laughter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The deep browns could capture anyone he made contact with and lighten their load.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Now his eyes seemed, not dull but darkened.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They darted around the room not quite making contact with anyone.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I’m resigning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I can’t do this any more, not with . . .”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And without finishing his sentence he turned on his heel and left.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He cut off his locs a week later and didn’t start regrowing them until after college.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He never told me the reason he quit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not even after we were partners.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Lazy mornings in bed in post coital bliss could be ruined by bringing up Eric’s name.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It only took being left in bed while he took a shower and our brunch plans canceled once before I never tried again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We happened to have a date planned the night our invitations arrived.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I decided at risk for the evening ahead to ask him.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“So I got an invitation in the mail today.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nathaniel stopped eating his stuffed chicken breast but didn’t look up at me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“I saw your name on it as well as mine.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He slowly started chewing again and swallowed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Yeah,” he responded.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>His tone flat and face blank.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“I was wondering if you were planning on going.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I quickly rushed on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In for a penny in for a pound I figured. “I’ll be going as a part of the library of course, and it would be great to have a friend there.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Be both knew most everyone on the list, our town wasn’t that big, but he also knew what I meant. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">His eyes still hadn’t met mine yet and I was surprised when he said “Yes.” He looked up and his eyes had the same hurt I saw the day he resigned from EDL.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We sat there in silence for nearly a minute. I wanted to ask more but didn’t want to ruin the rest of the night.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He went back to eating his stuffed chicken and I returned to my tuna steak salad. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Our conversation slowly flowed back to normal. Later that night when Nathaniel entered me it was with a release and a relaxation we both needed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We both sighed as he stroked inside me with a desultory rhythm that always brought forth a cascade of climaxes.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We completely let go losing ourselves in the feeling of each other.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My mind hazed and every muscle relaxed as I let the pleasure sweep away all thoughts, worries, and anxieties.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My clit throbbed under his fingers as his erection pressed just the right spot deep inside and I gushed spraying over him, soaking the towels and comforters I put down to protect the bed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I felt his erection swell as he came into me sighing deeply. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Later in the shower as we were cleaning up he kissed my shoulder. Nathaniel was behind me and I couldn’t see his face, but he held me in the running water his penis between my cheeks. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">I was thinking about grinding back onto him and getting things messy again when he said, “I’m glad you are going. I don’t think I could do this without having a friend there.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My dirty thoughts immediately stopped and we just stood there letting the steam cloud our vision and water cleanse us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-78009204561225436652022-05-06T20:14:00.003-07:002022-05-06T20:14:38.927-07:00So I'm Writing a thing Part 1 - The Opening <p> Preface - So this is based on a dream and has spiraled into a much longer story- </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">The Opening </p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center; text-indent: 18px;">Everyone knows my town, Eatonville. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We’re only famous because of the story T<span class="s1" style="text-decoration-line: underline;">he Liars of Duloc</span>., a YA novel published in 1985.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It was so poplar that it was on the New York Times best seller list for nearly 3 months.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Yardley the author lived in the outskirts of town where the cornfields take over the suburban wasteland.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He based it his story about four kids who ended up taking over the town after taping into some “ancient Native American magic”. It was based on one 12yr old who ran ran for mayor due to a loophole in the law.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">It was an AMAZING story, all about youth, truth, values, culture.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It hit us all in the 80’s and reverberated through the 90’s.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The physical book actually still has a 1-2 person waiting list in the library.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I remember shortly after I became an junior librarian at the Eatonville library when we finally retired our original edition for a 2000’s reprinting. Most kids now get the digital book or audiobook.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I can’t believe it was the same reader who did Harry Potter years before he won a Grammy. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">We were ecstatic when we found out he was writing a pre-quel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Brian Yardley had always been a bit of an enigma.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I mean few people have an amazing best selling YA novel and then just walk away and never write again. I mean he was no Anna Sewell. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We all knew he was healthy and well; we saw him in town every few weeks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But it was like he wrote his epic and never wrote again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Until now.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was so excited when I saw the news release.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Even more so when I got the invitation to a private book reading at his house as the head Eatonville librarian.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>This is a book that had changed the lives of so many kids.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Helped them achieve their dreams.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They often shared it with their parents to help them understand.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was hoping it wouldn’t be another Harper Lee or Tomas Harris situation.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>There had been so much anticipation around continuing the story only to have the stories completely warp beloved characters.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Yes even Hannibal Lecter is well loved.</p>Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-49222385619479758132022-03-20T19:06:00.008-07:002022-03-20T19:06:47.810-07:00So I wrote a thing #1<p> Welcome to "So a I wrote a thing." Random fiction writing from me. This one inspired by <span style="background-color: white; color: inherit; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; white-space: inherit;">@EreikaWritesFic</span> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">`<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3_zj6CgtVZwXt1tRfWjHUqUz98zxzp2uRQxUZvhAhGN9E1TCcrMCRiSqtsvNkoLgf0oG5df4XwSixCPozO9phFiCqn9qs4kQesWdO3unBUU-AZ3aLoiwormSzCdYA8ilZj1kI6H7nCJfbLPI5mqKd9K4TIrybSIG1kZUHwNUsX_Ce2PIXVu0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1379" data-original-width="1001" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3_zj6CgtVZwXt1tRfWjHUqUz98zxzp2uRQxUZvhAhGN9E1TCcrMCRiSqtsvNkoLgf0oG5df4XwSixCPozO9phFiCqn9qs4kQesWdO3unBUU-AZ3aLoiwormSzCdYA8ilZj1kI6H7nCJfbLPI5mqKd9K4TIrybSIG1kZUHwNUsX_Ce2PIXVu0=w290-h400" width="290" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Cindy stared at the shoes and then glanced up at three magnificent pairs of wings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The butterfly wings were iridescent blue, violet and black sitting slightly below the dragonfly wings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“How did she get in here,” Cindy wondered. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">The dragonfly wings were the same clear blue turquoise of the shoes and at least the height of the enchanted creature and a half.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The last set of wings were feathered, or at least looked like they were feathered.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>No, may be they were scaled, or mirrored.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They seemed to consistently shift as if they were made of nothing more than imagination. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Where did you get that coat.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Cindy heard someone in the crowd inquire. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">And she could see why.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The coat was perfectly fitted around the exposed wings in shifting shades of each of the wings.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The pattern swirled over a dark material that served to let the colors of the wings shine brighter.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The skirt was a perfect tea length of the same dark material and seemed to be dotted with shifting dust that floated down from the wings as they shook with the creature’s laughter. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Cindy overwhelmed by the sight exclaimed, “I didn’t know there were any fairy godmothers left in my father’s realm.”</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">The wings abruptly stopped moving as the enchanted one slowly turned to face the little girl.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow as their rainbow eyes narrowed on Cindy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The jacket showed their brown skin almost to the navel and was linked with strings of stones both common and precious but each pulsing with magic. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Your father’s realm,” They said questioningly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“Anyone with basic education knows that <i>this</i> is the land of the Tree Dwarves. Land that they grew and cultivated long before <i>man</i> knew anything of the Fare Ways. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Land that the Elders of the Elm allowed the humans to find refuge on when they had no other place to go, and entrusted care to when the Tree Dwarves left to find The Song.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">Cindy’s cheeks burned bright red.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But the enchanted one’s wings began to move again.</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Palatino; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 18px;">“Ah, but you are a child. You words betray the ignorances and the fatuousness of man in this era. Though I had thought your father’s court was more progressive.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>They sighed and took a drink from their champagne flute as chatter began around them again. “However, “<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>they bent down to meet Cindy eye to eye: rainbow to blue. “You should know I’m a Fairy Godparent.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p>Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-30562167301372468402019-04-30T11:16:00.001-07:002019-04-30T11:16:49.383-07:00For Off-Beat Bride. Pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-15498549035385209932019-03-16T19:33:00.001-07:002019-03-16T19:35:02.831-07:00What's in a Name - Mini Blog Sorry for the long break in blogs. Pregancy then having a small person will throw things off schedule. I have a few back blogs to finish but in the meanwhile here are some mini blogs.<br />
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Zara Octavia Rose was born January 27th 2019 at 11:52 am. </h2>
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We thought super long and hard about that name. We wanted to be an original name with great meaning. It had to look good on a resume (We do want Zara to have a job one day). I also wanted a super flexible name; everyone at some point hates their name and wants to change it. I wanted as much material as possible for our small person to work with.<br />
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Octavia was the easy name. Stephan and I started talking to each other because of <a href="https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2017/07/10/535879364/octavia-butler-writing-herself-into-the-story" target="_blank">Octavia Buttle</a>r the first well known Black Woman Sci-Fi authors. If you don't know her you should get to know her.<br />
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When we first met at P&G in our first real conversation we found out we both read Sci-Fi. He immediately asked me if I knew who Octavia Butler was and I was surprised that this random White guy knew who she was. I also loved the name Octavia for the latin roots and for the nickname Tavi. Tavi means good in Hebrew. </div>
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One great name down, but how about another one. I love names with Z in them. My original choice was Lizazi - which means sunshine in one of the Namibian languages. It was actually the sir-name of one of the teachers I taught with. Stephan was not going for it. Zoe is too common. We looked for other awesome Black Women role models. <a href="https://www.zoranealehurston.com/about/" target="_blank">Zora Neale Hurston</a> has always been another of my favorite authors and anthropologists. </div>
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I really liked the concept of sunshine and was happy to find out that Zara means star by its Arabic origin. It also means seed in Hebrew or princess in Russian. So many good name adaptations. It also is similar to her father's name. In that Stephan was actually named for Stephen King; it was just a slightly different turn on the name. </div>
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So now we had two names and we toyed with the order. If it was Octavia Zora she could go by OZ or Dorothy (the name of one of my best friends mother and an amazing person) or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wicked_(Maguire_novel)" target="_blank">Elphaba</a>. If Zora Octavia she could go by Zo or Zoey if she wanted too. </div>
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But this will likely be my only child. So why only two names? Once talking to my Sister Mychelle she mentioned the name Rose if a female infant. Rose just felt right. Aside from being in a song (I've always wanted to have my name in a song)</div>
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It is also the name of my aunt. The aunt who literally gave me the world. There will be a whole post about this later if I can ever finish it. </div>
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The last bit is the Sir name. Stephan and I decided not to change our last names when we got married. But we have called ourself the Shegoodwin Household for ages. Therefore it made sense that Zara have the Shegoodwin name. Though apparently lots of people were surprised that you can give your child a name that neither parent have. </div>
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So that's it; how we named our newborn. Hopefully there's enough variety that Zara feels comfortable throughout her journey as Zara Octavia Rose Shegoodwin or: Zee, Zo, Zoe, Zora, Tavi, Rosie, Zors or good old Mixtape. </div>
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Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-80867808342087495062018-09-16T00:46:00.003-07:002018-09-16T01:08:00.380-07:00My Faith to Non-Faith Journey- Part IIPart II. If you didn't read <a href="http://margarettejshegog.blogspot.com/2018/09/my-faith-to-non-faith-journey-part-i.html" target="_blank">part one</a> you should. But here is the the same prologue as the last one<br />
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I honestly have been back and forth on this particular blog entry even though it was specifically requested. I know religion discussions can get very emotional and isolating. But after recently listening to the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ebony-Exodus-Project-Walking-Religion/dp/1939578027" target="_blank">Ebony Exodus Project</a>, I was re-inspired to share my story. This is loosely based off of a talk I gave in 2014 to the Asheville Humanist Group. I actually sang the songs that start each section. And just FYI -- This is super long and written over several sessions. Here is part II<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">International Travels </span></b><br />
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Well I'd Like to visit the moon,<br />
In a rocket ship high in the air.<br />
Yes, I'd like to visit the moon,<br />
But I don't think I'd like to live there.<br />
While I'd like to look down on the Earth from above<br />
I would miss all the places and people I love<br />
So Although I may like it, for one afternoon<br />
I Don't want to live on the moon. - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIq8jLj5TzU" target="_blank">1978 Sesame Street - as sung by Ernie</a><br />
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At the time I went to Peace Corps I was pretty comfortable with my concept of God as a warm comforting presence i.e "The Purple Blanket." In my going away gifts I got some meditation cards which I was looking forward to using and decided to continue my yoga as I set off to Ovamboland in northern Namibia. Remember my problem with "The Great Commission?" Well the relationship between religion and Namibians was a perfect example. There were two major religions in our region Lutheran and Roman Catholic. The Catholic churches actually still said the mass in Latin. While I could appreciate knowing and understanding what was going on -- thanks catholic school friends and 6 years of latin -- it was very clear that the traditional cultures were buried. Even the word for Sunday in Oshiwambo was the same for tobacco; because that was the day the missionaries would given them tobacco if they went to church. The clothing women wore the "Meme dresses," were still in the style given to them by colonizers related to prison clothing. The Ovambo didn't seem to have <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2286624/The-Namibian-women-STILL-dress-like-colonists-Tribe-clings-19th-century-dress-protest-Germans-butchered-them.html" target="_blank">taken back their dress </a>in the same way of their sister tribe <a href="https://www.refinery29.com/herero-dress-namibia-african-women-fashion" target="_blank">Ojihereo</a>. The Ovambo people had a saying "We are born to suffer," that seemed related to fatalism and giving up of both will and responsibility. This worked well with the religions of the missionaries and colonizers. While I went to church a few times with my host family, I stopped as soon as it was culturally appropriate to do so.<br />
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Peace Corps was also the first time I had long discussions about faith with an atheist. While I had an atheist friend in high school (I think), I never really spent long periods of time discussion religion in high school. One fellow Peace Corps volunteer who had also lost her mother earlier in life spent an evening talking to me about her lack of faith. She admitted it was something that she had tried to have many times, especially after her mother died, but she just could not believe. Here was someone who was lovely, reasonable, and working just as hard as I was for a different people in a different culture who did not have the ability to believe in god. Clearly she was a good person and in every other way very similar to me. This definitely made me think.<br />
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After I completed my service I got to travel around the continent for a while. At the time I completed my service I know I had done some good, but also felt very defeated. The White Male Supremacy which was rampant through the Ovambo culture makes service hard for a Black American Woman. Add in the fact that many Ovambo at that time didn't think there were any Black Americans (Colin Powell and Alisha Keys were White, Micheal Jackson was Angolan, and Whoopi Goldberg was South African so I was told) and I was pretty exhausted after two years. My travels were a great way to get out of my village and culture. I was able to see how other countries and cultures were not still under the thumb of missionary and colonizing influences. My time on the continent really showed the harm of Christianity.<br />
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Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna<br />
Krishna, Krishna, Hare, Hare<br />
Hare Rama, Hare Rama,<br />
Rama, Rama, Hare, Hare -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kru4TTEyB6w" target="_blank">Traditional Hindu Chant</a><br />
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Peace Corps Service had solidified in me a desire to practice medicine, but now I was off the school cycle. I decided to get back on schedule and expand my skills with the America India Service Corps, now known as the <a href="https://aif.org/fellowship/" target="_blank">Clinton Fellowship</a>. -- Aside, I'm really glad I went when it was the original name. -- I took my MCAT worked for P&G for a summer before heading out for Kolkata, West Bengal. Kolkata was surreal, and probably a topic for many more blog posts (some of which are still up). I have never been in a culture where religion was so tied in to every part of life. One would walk down the street see a shrine. Say a small prayer of offering and keep going. There were literally gods for everything (creation, destruction, study, wealth, love) still actively worshiped and incorporated into life. I participated in the holidays and religious culture. I did note that Mother Theresa's mission was right next to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalighat" target="_blank">Kalighat</a> one of the largest temples to Kali in India. Through my <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kathak" target="_blank">Kathak dance classes</a> (I was with the small children) I learned how Classical Indian dance had to go underground during the time of British Empire because of its relationship to Hinduism. I felt fortunate to be welcomed into this culture and honored these beliefs.<br />
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While in India is also when I had the second time I felt like I heard god talk to me. While I was in the states I had reconnected with a friend. This friend happened to be the first person I had fallen in love with and for a short time it seemed like we could be more than friends. But he told me that he had no desire for this to be. So I was pretty heartbroken for the first few months in Kolkata. I would literally schedule time in my day to cry for an hour or so, then go to the market, finish a project etc. One time, early in my service, I was riding home in a taxi and making such a plan when out of the blue, it seemed I heard a voice saying, "Why are you wasting time like this?" "Don't you know you will find someone better who will better fit your life and your plans?" This was so abrupt and not at all my current line of thinking that it shocked me. I knew the statistics. Black women are often considered the <a href="https://www.npr.org/2018/01/09/575352051/least-desirable-how-racial-discrimination-plays-out-in-online-dating" target="_blank">least desirable</a>, and the l<a href="http://blackdemographics.com/households/marriage-in-black-america/" target="_blank">east likely to get married</a>. Moreover I knew the statistics from my own family. Out of 19 grand children (7men and 12women) at that time only one of the guys wasn't married (by choice) and only 2 of the women were. But here was <i>something</i> telling me that I wouldn't be alone for ever and to stop wasting time crying over what wasn't. That afternoon I didn't go home and cry but figured out what positive I received from that relationship. I dated a bit in India and actually started planning my future wedding (positive thinking). I became more comfortable with my bisexuality and in all left in a much better place than where I started.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Public Health School & Medical School</span></b><br />
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I am a girl,<br />
I am a woman,<br />
I am connected to earth and sky<br />
I know the secrets they only dream of<br />
Girl you are who you are so am I <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KpeNGpu9Lv4" target="_blank">- Kindred and the family soul 2003</a><br />
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By the time I left India and started public health school at Ohio State University, I was very comfortable with a very fuzzy, vague god idea. At this point I did not really believe in the Christian God any more. The Bible was too contradictory. Moreover, if the God of the bible was true he didn't deserve to be worshiped. The relationship between the Christian God and man is abusive to say the least. There some small stories of cruelty: when God sends <a href="https://bible.org/seriespage/4-elisha-and-two-bears-2-kings-223-25" target="_blank">bears to eat children</a> because they called Elisha bald, turning a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lot%27s_wife" target="_blank">woman into salt </a>for grieving the loss of a city, demanding the <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Judges+11%3A30-40&version=KJV" target="_blank">devout to kill their children</a>. The two stories I found most egregious were Job and Pharaoh. Why would you challenge someone you have already defeated to <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Job+1&version=ESV" target="_blank">torture a man </a> just to prove he will still say he loves you? That is literally abuse. If that person was man he would be in jail for intimate partner violence. My problem with Pharaoh is that God "<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus+10:20&version=ESV" target="_blank">hardened Pharaoh's heart</a>" which ultimately lead to the death of the first borns and Pharaoh himself. Now why would God do that unless he just wanted to kill some kids and keep the Jews in slavery longer? I knew all of the debates about the New Testament from my studies with mom. There are g<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Gospels#Apocrypha_and_pseudepigrapha" target="_blank">ospels that are not included </a>in the New Testament. Paul was always shown to be a b<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_the_Apostle_and_women" target="_blank">it of a misogynist</a>. Also historically there are so many Jesus like figures who are <a href="https://www.livescience.com/42187-miracle-birth-stories-beyond-jesus.html" target="_blank">Virgin born</a> or <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dying-and-rising_deity" target="_blank">died and came back</a>. There was also the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_Council_of_Nicaea" target="_blank">First Council of Nicea</a> who decided Jesus was actually divine. If that can be decided by council it probably isn't true.<br />
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So I was an Agnostic Theist. I did not know there was a god, but I did believe there was one. It was clear that we are all interconnected with each other and the universe and that seems very god like. I started attending a <a href="https://www.uua.org/beliefs/what-we-believe" target="_blank">Unitarian Universalist Church</a> which was very accepting open and more about humanism than anything. Though my cousin really wanted me to be Quaker instead, "Because they still believe in Jesus." I didn't have the heart to tell him <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nontheist_Quakers" target="_blank">not all Quakers do</a>. My boyfriend, later husband, was Athiest but he would come to UU church with me when I asked. We had lots of conversations. In one conversation I remember saying that "god is a nice idea." His question back to me was is god necessary? Is there anything that I believe in that couldn't be explained by natural means? This I thought about for a long time. I didn't believe in ghost, miracles, auras, or prayer. My concept of god was really just the fact that we are all connected. Is supernatural needed for this concept?<br />
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You say you want a revolution<br />
Well you know,<br />
We all want to change the world.<br />
You tell me that's it's evolution<br />
Well you know<br />
We all want to change the world.<br />
But when you talk about distruction<br />
Don't you know you have to count me out.<br />
You know it's going to be Alright - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGLGzRXY5Bw" target="_blank">Beatles, 1968</a><br />
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Changing your concept of religion can feel very isolating. I became a evangelical(ish) Agnostic Theist. I noted that technically everyone of every faith is agnostic. Since being agnostic means you don't know. If people of faith knew they could not have faith. Since faith, by definition, means belief in that which is not known. The short version was "I don't know and you don't know either." This way I tried to point out our similarities and continue feeling connected to my (very) religious family and some friends. Meanwhile I was going to Medical School and learning more about the vestiges of evolution that are still present in our development and the fact that if this was design it was poor. Embryology is pretty much a study in evolution from <a href="https://esi.stanford.edu/circulation/circulation5.htm" target="_blank">fish</a> to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heart_development" target="_blank">mammal</a>. I remember our anatomy teacher pointing out that there are only two blood vessels that feed the heart which he noted was "poor design" and probably the reason for so many heart attacks. I was actually interviewed as an agnostic theist for an article and found it a bit hard to truly explain my position.<br />
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Though the local UU Church was not as vibrant and welcoming as my previous one, I found community in the Wright State Freethought Group. This group was great for in depth conversations about science, religion, skepticism, and humanism. Through our discussions I examined my belief in god more and more. I realized that none of my beliefs required the supernatural. "We are all connected: to each other biologically, to the earth chemically, to the rest of the universe atomically," as Neil deGrasse Tyson stated. I didn't need god to be or feel connected to the universe, because I already was atomically connected to the universe. The atoms in my body came from a s<a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/space/star-in-you.html" target="_blank">tar that died</a>. It is true that a sun died for my existence. The more I learned about what is true the less I needed the concept of god to explain it. I came out to myself and to everyone at a Secular Student Alliance Conference. There was supposed to be a lecture about from a Black Athiest group but the speaker didn't show up. I figured I could moderate a discussion about diversity in atheism, and I introduced myself as a Black Athiest.<br />
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I realized that this was true. While I did not know if there was a god still (agnostic), I no longer believed there was one (atheist). I later came out to my parents as non-christian for the above reasons I figured out years ago. While my father questioned me, he ultimately understood (especially when we discussed the Job story). My mother (the good reverend) pretty much ignored it. I didn't really discuss my beliefs with the rest of the family. My siblings knew I didn't go to church regularly. Only my brother had great contention with this; my sisters were accepting. Given the high religiosity of many of my cousins I didn't want to get into a session of "come back to Jesus," or start any prayer circles. Mostly I didn't want to worry them or create more separation between us. Church is such an integral part of the <a href="https://aaregistry.org/story/the-black-church-a-brief-history/" target="_blank">Black American community and culture</a>, that leaving seems unthinkable. I still appreciate a good choir, and miss the support that one feels in the church. I also appreciate all the leadership skills I learned through church. However I couldn't continue to state belief in something I did not just for the community.<br />
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My friends were still of all faiths and backgrounds and our house in medical school became a safe haven for a friend of mine who was muslim. However it did make when the surgeons wanted to pray before surgery awkward, and it made me annoyed when they thanked god at the end of surgery and ignored the fact that I held a retractor for the last hour. The hardest time I had was when I went to Swaziland my last year of medical school. I did not realize the group we were going with were Christian . . . Very Christian. . . like showing "Passion of the Christ" in the mobile clinic Christian. This was very difficult for me and my muslim friend. The group did not want her to pray in an area where people of the community could see when in our mobile clinic, "they [the Swazi] might get confused." --not condescending at all right? - We were not to answer if people asked us about our faith directly. The colleagues we traveled with were christian and soon started having conversations without us after the first night when an open discussion did not end up the way that they desired. I ended up losing a friend on the trip because she could see my point of view and I made her "doubt too much." This experience reaffirmed the type of international medicine I did NOT want to participate in. No one should be required to pray or watch "Passion of the Christ" to get medical care. They also participated in just giving things to communities rather than helping communities build for themselves. It also helped me solidify my place with muslims as t<a href="http://www.pewforum.org/2017/02/15/americans-express-increasingly-warm-feelings-toward-religious-groups/" target="_blank">he most hated group of people</a> in the US.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Then to Now</b></span><br />
<br />
Somebody once told me<br />
The world was going to roll me<br />
I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed<br />
She was looking kind of dumb<br />
with her finger and her thumb<br />
in the shape of an L on her forehead<br />
Well<br />
The years start coming<br />
And they don't stop comming<br />
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running<br />
Didn't make sense not to live for fun<br />
Your brain gets smart but you head gets dumb<br />
So much to do so much to see<br />
so what's wrong with taking the back streets<br />
You'll never know if you don't go<br />
You'll never shine if you don't glow - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_jWHffIx5E" target="_blank">Smash Mouth 1999</a><br />
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So that's the main part of the story. I am an agnostic atheist. I am also a humanist, a freethinker, a scientist, a Black American Woman, a Brown Girl with Curly hair, a friend, a wife, a doctor and lots of other things. I had an AMAZING wedding including multiple traditions that didn't mention god at all, and my family didn't seem to notice. --Well my mother did complain later that she was not allowed to pray over us, but I didn't hear anything else -- I went to residency down south in North Carolina and joined a Humanist group. Life proceeded as normal. Though I didn't go to church I did find Sunday afternoon naps sacred and enjoyed them when my resident schedule allowed. It was not until my behavioral health fellowship that I realized it was easier to talk to colleagues about being a bisexual atheist than my family. This seemed wrong. I wrote a Facebook post about it which my friends responded with support and my family was silent. I gave a talk about my faith to non-faith journey at the humanist group which became the basis of this blog. Now living in California religion seems much less crucial than it did in North Carolina. If "the family" is going to church I still go as a part of my culture. I send positive thoughts and energy as well as asking if there are actual things to help when people ask for prayers. When people say they are praying for me, I note the fact that they wish me well. Though it's been a long journey I'm still the same me.<br />
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I can change my socks<br />
And I can change my hat<br />
And I can even change my mind<br />
I can pretend to be anything<br />
But I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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I imagine I can fly like an eagle in the sky<br />
I can dream I'm a big ole tiger<br />
When I open my eyes<br />
It's no surprise<br />
I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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Happy me, Fussy me<br />
The me that gets tired and sleepy<br />
Mommy and Daddy love me as I am<br />
'Cause I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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My imagination takes me anywhere (My travels have taken me far)<br />
From Africa to Australia (From Africa to Asia . . . Austria, Honduras etc. )<br />
I'm an ancient king or a movie queen (Dancing on the beach in Ghana to the clubs in Kolkata)<br />
And I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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I can wear a frown or a magical face<br />
I can make believe I'm a lion<br />
When I go out of bed and close my eyes<br />
I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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Scary me, hungry me, (These may be the same person)<br />
The me that needs a nightlight<br />
My best friend loves me as I am<br />
'Cause I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
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The universe is a wonderful place (This is 100% true)<br />
And there's no thing I can't try<br />
Happiness is when I do my best<br />
Still the same me on the inside<br />
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Quiet me, Cranky me<br />
The me that sings off-key<br />
I'm growing me and I'm feeling free<br />
Still the same me on the inside<br />
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Still the great me on the inside<br />
Loving who I am on the inside<br />
Loving who I am on the inside<br />
I'm still the same me on the inside<br />
YES! -- <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSqc6F7VkaY" target="_blank">Sweet Honey in the Rock 2000</a><br />
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Also this is just one of my favorite positive videos </div>
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<br />Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-84546665383555488182018-09-03T11:59:00.001-07:002018-09-03T11:59:40.613-07:00My Faith to Non Faith Journey - Part I I honestly have been back and forth on this particular blog entry even though it was specifically requested. I know religion discussions can get very emotional and isolating. But after recently listening to the <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ebony-Exodus-Project-Walking-Religion/dp/1939578027" target="_blank">Ebony Exodus Project</a>, I was re-inspired to share my story. This is loosely based off of a talk I gave in 2014 to the Asheville Humanist Group. I actually sang the songs that start each section. And just FYI -- This is super long and written over several sessions. Here is part I<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Early Life -- </span></b><br />
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Jesus loves me this I know<br />
For the Bible tells me so<br />
Little ones to him belong<br />
They are weak but He is strong<br />
Yes Jesus loves me<br />
Yes Jesus loves me<br />
Yes Jesus loves me<br />
For the Bible tells me so - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNqAHrNNLqA" target="_blank">Written by Anna Bartlett Warner 1860</a><br />
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I grew up in the church. My family went every Sunday to the (Black) United Methodist Church in Milford, OH. Between the ages of 5-10 I was in the church building at least 3 days a week. Every Sunday morning for 9am Sunday School 11am church service and until my Mother stopped talking. One of my first public performances was standing on a table in front of the congregation when I was 3-5yrs old singing "Jesus Loves Me." Though it could've been "Jesus Wants me for a Sunbeam;" my 5 year-old memory is hazy. Apparently before I was born (there is a 8 year gap between me and my closest sister, so I heard this phrase a lot) there were times when we stayed home if someone was sick. There were rare times when we would have Sunday breakfast and skip Sunday school. But most every Sunday we were in the pews. Wednesday nights were choir rehearsals and Saturdays were committee meetings. I would spend Saturday afternoons watching <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwrLkBEmWtc" target="_blank">The Greatest Adventure</a> and playing with The Whole Amor of God. If there were other kids at the committee meetings we would lay under the tables in the choir room (it had carpet) and play astronaut, play Red Light- Green Light, Mother May I, or just make up funny songs and dances.<br />
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I was very aware of expectations and did my best to live up to them. Which is pretty easy when you are 5. A little less easy when I was 7-10yrs old. According to <a href="https://muse.jhu.edu/book/42036" target="_blank">Sexual Behavior in the Human Female</a> I am on the early part of the curve when it comes to starting masturbate. All of sudden Sunday School songs become more sinister and shamey. "Be careful little hands what you do. Be careful little hands what you do. Because the father up above is looking down on you with love. Be careful little hands what you do." All of a sudden everything I did was a sin. According to <a href="http://rzim.org/" target="_blank">Ravi Zacharias</a>, one of the preachers we would sometimes listen to while driving home from Sunday Dinner with grandmother, anything that glorified the flesh and not God was a sin. I didn't feel that playing outside really glorified God. Plus you start learning all about unforgivable sins and that's another stressor. The fact that I was an anxious kid probably didn't help. I did my best to do what was expected of me. I was: in children's choir, an acolyte, leader of the children's story. I didn't question much, and one day when my best church friend told me to "go up there" during an alter call I did.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Age of Reason--</span></b><br />
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Here I am Lord<br />
Is it I Lord<br />
I have heard you calling in the night<br />
I will go Lord<br />
If you lead me<br />
I will hold your people in my heart. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EcxOkht8w7c" target="_blank">- Written by Dan Schutte 1981</a>.<br />
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Around 10-11 years old is when I started getting in to the politics, philosophy and history of being a United Methodist. One reason was my confirmation into the church. But this is also the age that my mother went to seminary to start her Masters of Divinity. I would sometimes go to her classes and look through her books. My Methodist upbringing did a pretty good job of instilling the need to educate ones-self about the Bible. I knew there were different translations and would sometimes read from my mother's <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Strongs-Exhaustive-Concordance-Bible-Strong/dp/1598566938/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1525049673&sr=1-5&keywords=strong%27s+exhaustive+concordance+of+the+bible" target="_blank">Strong's Concordance of the Bible</a> which discusses different translations of different parts. It was a big thing when our church changed from the New King James version to the Revised Standard Version of the Bible. I admit I would sometimes parrot what I heard our preacher say in my mother's classes, but I was getting oohs and ahhs from the adults so I still felt good about it. I knew we were founded by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wesley" target="_blank">John Wesley</a> who had some very different views than his other Protestant colleagues.<br />
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I started going to Connections, which was a United Methodist Church Arts Camp for 1 week over the summer. Teens could major in liturgical dance, drama, song, christian clowning, preaching and audio visual. There were minors in miming, banner making, American Sign Language and poetry. Connections was for High schoolers but my mom was a counselor so I got to go for the first time when I was 10 and it was my sister's last year. Ages 12-17 I went to Connections Every summer. It was one of the highlights of my summer. Though we progressed from hiding in the basement reading "Song of Solomon" and giggling about the dirty parts of the bible, to hiding on the 3rd floor and mixing drinks during FOYOB (Feet On Your Own Bunk), we were all pretty good kids. Unlike the stories my sister told, no one was pregnant after our Connections Weeks. Connections was all about a loving God and loving one another. There was a Designated Hugger and that is where I got my Doctorate of Hugs. There was Jerry who was one of the counselors who was gay and had AIDS and we loved him anyway. It was at connections where I felt God. We were all gathered together one evening after dinner and I knew that everyone in that room loved me. It felt like my skin was buzzing and I was warm all over. Connections started one year before my Brother went in 1983 and ended one year after I left in 1999. This is honestly a bit of a tragedy. <br />
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Around 10-12 is also when I started going to the Annual Conference. Methodist are - Method-ists so every year they get together and create the "Book of Recommendations" which every church should do. It was at annual conference that I heard people debating whether you could call God, Sophia, or is this a separate entity. Should the Methodist Church apologize for their participation in slavery or table it for another year? Should openly gay people be allowed to be ordained and lead a church? Like the translations of the Bible I realized that all these decisions were just made by people and some pretty flawed decisions could be made that were not based in love.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Teen Years - - </span></b><br />
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Listen as the day unfolds<br />
Challenge what the future holds<br />
Try to keep your head up to the sky<br />
--<br />
Harald what your mother said<br />
Reading the books your father read<br />
Trying to solve the puzzles in your own sweet time<br />
Some may have more cash than you<br />
Other's have a different view<br />
My oh my, yeah, yeah, yeah - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pO40TcKa_5U" target="_blank">Written by Des'ree 1994</a><br />
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Growing up in Cincinnati I always had people of different faiths around me. In my kindergarten we celebrated Hanukkah and Christmas as well as Easter and Passover. I loved mythology and read Greek, Roman and Egyption myths through middle school. I often babysat for the Jewish couple next door on the Holy days and got Matzah Ball Soup as a part of my payment. The year wasn't complete until I had gone to Synagogue and Mass at least once. My best friend in high school was raised both Hindu and Catholic which added a whole new set of deities to start to understand. One of the hardest concepts for me in Christianity was "The Great Commission."<br />
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This felt more like "Go out into the world and tell them that everyone else is wrong." At this point I had been to too many Seders and Shabbats to feel that this was the right action. It became more complicated when I started to go to Navratri and Diwali celebrations as well. My mother had started her time as a associate minister at a large suburban mostly white church. The senior minister often preached on Grace, but this seemed to directly contradict other parts of the Bible. By auditing some of the confirmation classes at the new church where we discussed the differences between Methodists, Catholics, Muslims and Quakers. This brought up more questions than answers.<br />
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They all deserve to die.<br />
Tell you why Mrs Lovett, Tell you why.<br />
'Cause the life of the wicked should be made brief,<br />
For the rest of us death will be a relief -<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TxoFi5Lie34" target="_blank"> Stephen Sondheim "Sweeney Todd- Epiphany" 1979</a><br />
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Love's in need of Love today<br />
Don't delay send yours in right away<br />
Hate's going 'round breaking many hearts<br />
Stop it please before it's gone too far. - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YLDydokJ_s" target="_blank">Stevie Wonder, Love's in Need of Love Today 1967</a><br />
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<b>Junior & Senior Year</b><br />
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My Junior and Senior year were marked with an uptick in religious events and activities. At this point I was pretty sure this was just to try to keep all the hormones in check. Which wasn't really a problem with my group of friends. I had Connections as I did for one week in the summer and it was still a wonderful comforting place. Though at this point it was more for the bonds I had with the other campers than anything else. Escaping during FOYOB (Feet on your own bunk, AKA when the counselors were napping or meeting) to go the top floor of the dorm and hang out talking about geeky things and deciding if we were brave enough to mix drinks. We were not.<br />
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My mother was also getting a Masters in Religious Communication as well as her Masters in Divinity. At this point I was reading and editing her papers as well as critiquing her sermons on a regular basis. An interesting thing happens when you being to critique religious writings; you start really looking at everything with a critical eye. I already loved science and the scientific method since the age 8. I began to see more contradictions and less coherency in the bible as well as its teachings. Aside from trying to keep my mother from using SNAFU and FUBAR in sermons (She didn't know they were acronyms that included curses), I started to listen to everyone's sermons and see lack of context and cherry picking. These careful listening skills and critique skills would continue to help me in my scientific reading and writing as well as make me really critical of what people of faith said and did.<br />
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There was also UN/DC a biannual event where the West Ohio Conference of United Methodist Youth took a trip to either NY or DC to talk about an international or national issue. Our year we went to DC stayed in Dupont Circle and talked about "Sexuality A-Z." This was actually an amazing trip. We got to hang out at some youth centers and had multiple sessions which really made us figure out what our definitions of sex and sexuality were. We also saw some "Transformation Gay" programs and I noted how they would condemn someone in one verse but disregard the verse afterward that said they should not cut their sideburns. They clearly cherry-picked the bible to justify cruelty and hate. I definitely understood why people in the GLBT community (now GLBTQIA) would leave religion.<br />
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My senior year I also was able to go to Chrysalis. This is a teen version of an adult retreat called "<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walk_to_Emmaus" target="_blank">Walk to Emmaus</a>." It was three days of bible study and self reflection. Doing different parts of the weekend you were to write down a character trait or sin. Nail it to a cross and then they were burned as a symbol of Jesus taking on this burden. One of the last days we walked through the church which was lined with people holding candles and were given a box of letters from friends and family to read while meditating in front of the cross now clean of all the nails.<br />
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--- So this could've been a powerful experience if I hadn't been to Connections so may times. I really felt like this 3 day weekend was trying to fabricate a feeling that did not come up organically. I had never met these people and had little connection to them. I liked receiving the letters but the knowledge that all these people were depending on me to have some change or new commitment was uncomfortable. There are also people praying for you each hour of the weekend which I also found stressful. (Actually we know that people who know they are prayed for tend to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/31/health/31pray.html" target="_blank">fair worse in healthcare</a>.) It was around now that I started to come up with my Purple Blanket concept. Since technically God is neither male nor female, I saw God as a warm Purple blanket that comforts and covers me in time of need. I articulated this to one of my Mother's Prayer Group friends and she seemed quite dismayed, but this seemed to match the most with what I felt. I pretty much tabled the whole Jesus thing until later. I mean <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pascal%27s_Wager" target="_blank">Pascal's Wager</a> is still a thing right.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">College -</span></b><br />
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Here come the sun, little Darling<br />
Here comes the sun<br />
and I say<br />
It's alright.<br />
Little Darling,<br />
It's been a long cold lonely winter<br />
and<br />
Little Darling<br />
It feels like years since it's been here<br />
but<br />
Here comes the sun. -<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rCgM07uzq4" target="_blank">Written by George Harrison 1969, as performed by Nina Simone 1971</a><br />
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I went to the doctor, I went to the mountains<br />
I look to the children, I drank from the fountain.<br />
There's more than one answer to these questions<br />
Pointing me in a crooked line,<br />
And the less I seek my source for some definitive,<br />
The closer I am to fine. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUgwM1Ky228" target="_blank">- Indigo Girls 1989</a><br />
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College was interesting. For the first time in my life I didn't have someone waking me up and taking me to church. By the time I came along (8 years difference between my sibs and I) church every Sunday was a given. We would go even if I or one of us was sick. Apparently this didn't happen according all the time when they were young according to the lore of my older sibs. Now, I did have a cousin who was in Seminary also at Emory. The deal was if he picked me up for church I got a Sunday Dinner after. Who would say no to Sunday dinner? He was doing his student preaching at a Disciples of Christ Church. I knew a lot of denominations, but this one was new to me. This one had way less tests. Rather than having to prove your baptism (Methodist) and by a certain way (Baptist) and taken classes (Catholics), you just have to say you believe in Jesus and you are in. "No creed but Christ" is often what they say. They were much more on the Grace and Love train.<br />
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For part of Freshman year I was apart of the Gospel Choir "Voices" at Emory. We visited many churches which I found questionable (an armchair on the pulpit, or only pictures of the founder in the sanctuary). It also seemed another place where there was a lot of performance. Students would whip themselves into a frenzy crying and singing at the rehearsals. That just wasn't me, or some of my friends luckily. The same folks who would whip into a frenzy were also the same ones being questionable at the frat party on Saturday night. The whole thing seemed again another way to keep young people out of trouble, with rehearsal on Friday night and Sunday morning engagements. It was a bit of a scandal if you were seen at the Frat party Saturday night but didn't come to the engagement Sunday morning. Again, it seemed performative.<br />
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I also got involved with some of the Youth programs there now as a leader. I found that the "Adults" didn't really seem to have an understanding of what Youth needed. One time assisting in a youth program in Cincinnati I felt like I was batting clean up after everything the actual minister said. He was harping on about obedience to God and your parents (basically lecturing these church youth). I had to come up after and note that God could be a source of love, comfort and protection when you feel like it is not coming from anywhere else (Purple Blanket concept). Sometime between Freshman year and Sophomore year my cousin realized that I fell asleep in church a lot and he said it was okay to stay home. He also graduated and I did help out at his church occasionally.<br />
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But over all going to church just didn't seem that important for me. I would go to my mother's church in the summer so she felt supported. I would go help with my cousin's church to support him. But it wasn't really apart of my practice I was pre-med, Neuroscience and Behavioral Biology major, Anthro minor and almost had a second minor in dance. I was pretty busy. The religious critique skills I picked up from going through seminary from my mother led me to question and often disregard some of the religious teachings around me. I also was introduced to yoga and meditation by this point. These I could do on my own time and in my own way. Similar to connections it was about the people, not the actual religion or faith. I was very comfortable with my warm purple blanket concept.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Well that's all for part I. Next time - Peace Corps, India, more education and the ongoing journey. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you haven't heard some of these songs - check them out.</span></div>
Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-41029446213019691722018-05-19T19:32:00.002-07:002018-05-19T19:36:36.191-07:00Developing ThirstInspired by <a href="https://thirstaidkitpodcast.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Thirst Aid Kit</a> -- for your thirsting needs -- and a conversation with one of the nurses while I was on night shift.<br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw"><b><span style="font-size: large;">thirst</span></b><span style="font-weight: lighter !important;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span>(Google definition)</span></span></div>
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<span class="lr_dct_ph XpoqFe">THərst/</span></div>
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<i>noun </i><span style="font-weight: lighter;">1</span><span style="font-weight: lighter;">. </span><span style="font-weight: lighter;">a feeling of needing or wanting to drink something.</span></div>
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<span class="vmod">"they quenched their thirst with spring water"</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><a class="word" href="https://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=thirsty" name="7979393" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: Lora, Georgia, Cambria, "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 41.28px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: middle;"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">thirsty</span></a> (</span><span style="color: #333333;">Urban Dictionary definition )</span></div>
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<span style="color: #2c353c;">when</span><span style="color: #2c353c;"> </span>you are<span style="color: #2c353c;"> </span>horny<span style="color: #2c353c;"> </span><span style="color: #2c353c;">for</span><span style="color: #2c353c;"> </span>some ass</div>
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<span style="color: #2c353c;"> "</span><span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;">I</span><span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;"> </span>always<span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;">get thirsty looking at your</span><span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;"> </span>fine<span style="color: #2c353c; font-style: italic;"> a</span>ss"</div>
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I remember the exact moment I realized it was okay to find White Men attractive. It was Sophomore year and I was in my High School Latin room after school. -- I spent a surprising amount of time after school in my Latin classroom, and that probably says something about me. -- I was one of the last people in the classroom after either a Certamen practice (Latin Quiz Team, don't judge me) or club meeting. I had recently seen "A River Runs Through It," and I was trying to describe Brad Pitt. Obviously he was a wonderful actor, but there was something else. I remember as I was leaving the classroom and thought "Oh my God, Brad Pitt is Hot." Immediately followed by "Am I allowed to think this?"<br />
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As a Black Girl growing up I understood from TV, movies and family who was attractive. I was lucky to grow up in the 90's when there was a bevy of attractive men of color in the media. Everyone could agree that Denzel Washington was attractive. Wesley Snipes was also shown to be particularly desirable. Though honestly I probably got most of my thirst pallet from sitcoms, especially "A Different World" and "Living Single."<br />
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The witty banter between Max and Kyle, along with his stunning afrocentric fashion sense, made him clearly attractive. The "Dufus turned cool" manner of Dwayne Wayne along with his devotion to his love interests taught me that brains and passion could be found in a single person. (For more check out this <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/sylviaobell/baby-please?utm_term=.plvNr3bzO#.rv9Ppxj0l" target="_blank">compilation</a>). Ron Johnson was always smooth and cute. Shazza was just unreasonably large and attractive; although his personality sometimes left much to be desired. Showing that just because they look good, doesn't mean they are good. I was pretty clear on all kinds of brown being reasonable thirst objects. My first really memorable crush (outside of elementary school) was on an Indian kid in my Latin Class. It was a long lasting crush even when he switched schools. This may be because I was also often the only Black American in my classes and there were not a ton of guys of color in my classes either. Though my mother insisted that many of my guy friends (I had way more guy friends in high school than girl friends) had crushes on me, they were all White and therefore off limits. . . Right? <br />
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Maybe it was the fact that Brad Pitt's character in "A River Runs Through It" has a love interest who is a woman of color. Maybe it was the fact that this is the beginning of peak Brad Pitt acting and attractiveness. But something at that point clicked and I realized that White Guys could be hot too. Later watching movies like "Corrina, Corrina," I had an example of a White (ish - for a long time I thought Ray Liotta was some kind of brown) man who could find a Black Woman attractive as well.<br />
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-- Can a take a moment to note that we don't get another major movie example of this until "Something New" 12 years later. Something New came out the same year as "Broke Back Mountain." But the plot with a White Man and a Black Woman is called "Something New." But I digress --<br />
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Possibly much to my guy friends' dismay I didn't find any of them particularly hot. --Really what high school student is?-- However, I was able to start looking at all people through new eyes. I started to think it was possible that some of my guy friends could theoretically be attracted to me. Also that it would not be the end of the world if I ended up with someone who was not Brown. I was still shocked when riding home from church one day my father went into a lecture about "If you decide to marry a white man" completely unprompted by any of my actions. The realization that I was "allowed" to fancy who ever I found attractive, also helped when I realized, a short time later, that I found some women attractive.<br />
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We are enculturated to believe certain things are expected of us romantically. Through many conversations I realized not everyone has examined the origin of their thirst or questioned it. Junior year of college I went on "Alternative Spring Break" building trail in the cumberland gap. One night we had an in depth conversation and one of the White Guys on the trip was horrified to realize that the could not find Black Women attractive. He was distressed to find out he was that programed. One colleague in medical school was attracted to Black Women, but married an Asian Woman instead because that is what his family expected. I recently had a conversation with a Black woman who stated she could not find white men attractive nor even light brown men of any race. When we pressed her on how she could find her nephew cute (who was light brown) but not other men she avoided the question. <br />
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My general "type" is nerds/geeks of all races and genders. I'm more of a 2-3 on a Kinsey scale and lean a little more toward masculine than feminine. I'm excited that we are moving to a time when media is more than a parade of similar looking White Men and people of all colors and cultures are starting to be portrayed as attractive. Every person deserves to feel people like them are attractive and have the option to find people who don't look like them attractive as well.Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-62829417614670454002018-05-10T20:41:00.000-07:002018-05-10T20:46:53.706-07:00Don't Wish Me Happy Mother's Day.Warning: This talks about loss and infinity wars.<br />
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Mother's Day after a miscarriage is hard. There are plenty of other websites and blogs about <a href="https://www.huffingtonpost.com/robin-cassady/youre-still-a-mother-on-mothers-day-if-youve-had-a-miscarriage_b_7068922.html" target="_blank">this</a>. Every person who has experienced a miscarriage feels it differently. Some would actually like the acknowledgement of the loss in some way. According to an informal pool on one of the TCC apps I put up when I realized Mother's Day was coming, about 57% of people who have had a miscarriage are dreading mothers day. Only 8% are looking forward to it and the rest are just trying to ignore it. The thing about miscarriage, just like any loss, there is no straight line through grief. I have often wished that the stages of grief were linear and simple to go through<br />
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The reality is that it is not linear but convoluted going back and forth with being okay one minute the next wanting to cry when you se a mom with a baby in target. It's like ripples on a pond. There is still water between the swells. Some you can prepare for like a co-worker's baby shower. Others you can not like "Infinity War."<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: red;">SPOILER ALERT -- </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">MCU - AVENGERS, INFINITY WAR </span></div>
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">-- SPOILER ALERT</span> </span></div>
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Tony Stark at the end of "Infinity War" has the same feelings as a woman who has gone through a miscarriage. He realizes he would like a kid at the beginning at the movie; all of a sudden he realizes he is now responsible for this new young being. Just as he is getting used to his role, the child literally turns to dust in his arms. He is left empty wondering what he could have done to change that fate. That is exactly what a miscarriage feels like. Watching that scene was strangely cathartic.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;">SPOILERS OVER</span></div>
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Every person who has had a miscarriage experiences this differently but for me please don't wish me "Happy Mothers Day." For me it will just bring up my loss and cause more ripples and possibly tears. Here are things I will accept -<br />
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<ul>
<li>Extra Random Hugs</li>
<li>Good Wishes via text, phone, Facebook, Twitter, or Marco Polo</li>
<li>Fertility Gifts - One of my colleagues made me a bracelet, and it was an amazingly touching gift. </li>
<li>Random gifts that make you think of me (if you already have them and just haven't sent them, or were thinking of sending me something anyway)</li>
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This is just for me and maybe 57% of people who have experienced a miscarriage. There are some who like to hear they are a mother. If you know someone else who had a miscarriage just ask. "What can I do to make this Sunday better for you."Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-7805105392101142112018-04-03T23:56:00.000-07:002018-04-03T23:56:07.322-07:00GAD-ingMy instinct is to make a joke about how this will not be about Gilderoy Lockheart's best-seller Gadding with Ghouls, but I realize not everyone would get this obscure harry potter reference so. . .<br />
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The <a href="https://www.psychiatry.org/psychiatrists/practice/dsm" target="_blank">DSM-5 </a>defines Generalized Anxiety Disorder as :<br />
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<ol>
<li>Excessive worry about a variety of events for at least 6 months</li>
<li>Worry that difficult to control</li>
<li>The worry is associated with at least three of these symptoms: restlessness, easy fatigue, difficultly concentrating, irritability, muscle tension, or sleep disturbance. (only one symptom needed for kids)</li>
<li>The anxiety causes significant distres or impairment in functioning socially or with work</li>
<li>You can not attribute the worry to the effects to a medical condition (like hyperthyroid) or drugs (Cocaine)</li>
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I've had GAD since I was about 5 or 6 yrs old. I remember staying in the bath tub until the water was cold and I was shivering because I was afraid that ALF - yes <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ALF_(TV_series)" target="_blank">that</a> ALF - was going to eat me. I loved muppets but for some reason Alf always wanting to eat the cat made me worried that he would one day turn his taste to children. My older siblings would chase me around the house saying "Pac-Man" making alligator type arms to demonstrate how large Pac-man would be if he was out of the screen, and how he would probably eat me if he could. <div>
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Between the ages of 7-9, I started realizing how scary the world was. I realized that at anytime I could die. I had a lot of deaths in my early life; so I thought about it quite a bit. I would worry every day my father drove me to school that we would get into an accident and die. I worried when I was carrying scissors from room to another that I would trip and they would go into my eye and I would die. I worried that The sharp edge of the TV tray that was often up in the family room would be sharp enough that I could fall and it would impale me. I worried walking home from school to my grandmother's house that I could be hit by a car or abducted. Those were the big fears. There were always the smaller fears of failing a test, disappointing my parents or family, or generally not doing something correctly. </div>
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Some of this can be explained by being born into my amazing family. Three generations of Graduate school graduates (on both sides) and over a dozen Doctors (MD &PHD) is a lot to live up to. The fact that my elementary school was in inner city Cincinnati in Walnut Hills, which used to be an upperclass black neighborhood and in the 80's had seen better days, could account for some of my neighborhood fears. Even a 8-year-old knows car accidents are common. However all of these factors don't explain why these thoughts kept me up at night and a fairly stressed child. It also lead to a slight break down in 7th grade. </div>
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For each class, in 7th grade, I would change my attitude and personality to be what I thought the other students and teacher expected of me. The only ones which were similar were Latin and English. All of the changing and trying to live up to expectations took its toll. Around the end of first quarter I had a breakdown while working with my best friend Anjali on a Latin project in the library after school one day. I don't remember what quite set it off; it may have been a minor argument. I do remember putting a book on the shelf, saying good bye, walking down a hall, riding the bus home, and being in my basement. I have no memory of anything in-between, but I have a clear feeling of being outside of my body. That disassociation was way more scary than disappointing some teachers or classmates. After a few hours of crying in my basement and another month of school I was finally myself for all classes. </div>
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My coping mechanism, that I figured out around age 10, was to figure out what the worse case scenario for each situation and prepare myself for it. As long as I was prepared for the worse then I could deal with everything else. What if I'm a disappointment and dishonor my family? Just work harder and do something original (like going to peace corps) so they have to keep you. What if I don't pass my medical boards? Study harder, take some time off and do them again in 3 months. Make sure I have money saved or work arrangements so I can support myself. But this drives me to study harder now. What if I get pregnant but there is a chromosomal anomaly like Trisomy 21, 18, or 13 where my child could not have a complete life? We get genetic testing at 10 weeks so if I have to terminate it will be early and do all of the other things I can possibly do to have a healthy pregnancy. This has led me to saying things to my husband such as "So if you are going to leave me, please do it now so I can recover enough for: medical boards, residency interviews, Medicine Senior rotation, etc."</div>
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The other part of my early coping mechanism was likelihood. I could be impaled by the corner of the TV tray, but how likely is it? My computer could explode sending shards of glass into my heart and causing me to bleed out right now. However, it is not likely. I could be sued tomorrow for a mistake I made medically as a first year resident, causing me to never be able to practice medicine again and the government take all of my belongings because I owe over 300,000$ for my education, and have to live on the streets. But it is not likely. . . I hope. As a scientist this plays well into my desire for data and evidence. Having the numbers helps put my fears in their places. </div>
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Not all anxiety is bad. Because I grew up when HIV was being discovered I was extremely careful about washing my hands, checking for rogue syringes everywhere (including under movie theater seats), and delayed intercourse until well into my 20's. My highly educated family instilled a drive to uphold the name. I traveled the world, have multiple graduate degrees and even an extra fellowship on top of my residency. I had the wonderful honor of being hooded by my big sister the orthopedic surgeon at my medical school graduation. The continued desire for data and to do the right thing keeps my medicine evidence based and documenting as much as I can for my patients. Even though there are multiple times I wish I could be lazier. </div>
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The down side are things out of my control or that I can't prepare for. Hospital credentialing and trying to find someone to notarize one of the forms literally left me shaking in my front room and crying at an insurance office. My schedule changing frequently - which it did in residency and now in an area of physician shortage - causes insomnia, tension to migraine headaches, and trying not to fall apart in the hospitalist dictation room. Oh and panic attacks are a major down side. Panic attacks are full on activation of your sympathetic nervous system i. e. the "Fight, Flight or Freeze" system. When I found out that I did worse on my MCAT than I did on my first practice test, I ran to the highest stair well, took about 30 minutes to stop hyperventilating (okay it was probably more like 10 minutes but it felt like 30), and called my best friend 14 times zones away at 3am. Panic attacks literally make you feel like you are going to explode and implode at the same time. I'm fortunate that for my last one <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IDgBlCHVsA" target="_blank">I could walk myself through the sympathetic nervous system</a> and talk myself out of it. Panic attacks are terrible. </div>
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Over the years I have picked up more coping strategies: yoga, deep breathing, exercise, and open honest communication. I had counseling in public health school, medical school and residency which was extremely helpful each time. My counselor in residency convinced me to actually try medication; Celexa was amazing. Just 10mg helped make everything a little bit easier. As soon as the whole TTC adventure is completed - either with a small person or an IUD and a dog - I am planning on restarting Celexa.</div>
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The thing about GAD is that so many people have it, but like all mental health problems it is stigmatized. Society doesn't look favorably on people who are "nervous," need counselors, or have had breakdowns. Anxious kids are often either seen as "sensitive" if they cause an outburst or ignored if they are not causing problems. GAD is a chronic disease. I know it's not going away. GAD has been with me my entire life and will be there until the end.</div>
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Thankfully my laptop did not explode while making this blog . . . yet. </div>
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Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-36288991693025506212018-03-12T17:47:00.000-07:002018-03-12T17:47:27.530-07:00Miscarriage LessonsWARNING- This one is way longer than I expected it to be.<br />
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I have a long history of processing things in life by figuring out what lessons come from painful experiences. Fell in love with a high school friend who is dating someone else; what lesson can I learn from this? Took 26 credit hours and when making a study schedule couldn't schedule sleep until Thursday; what lesson can I learn from this? The friends with benefits situation suddenly and dramatically fall through; what lesson can I learn from this? Find out there is "Not a place for you," at your place of work which is actively trying to hire people; what lesson can I learn from this?<br />
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So as I'm going through this new journey of miscarriage I'm looking for the lessons. Here are some that I've found, but I'm sure there will be more.<br />
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<b>This is a different kind of grief. </b>- I've had a lot of loss in my life. I lost Papa Shegog, my paternal grandfather, when I was 4. I lost Grandma Shegog when I was 6. I remember being sent out to the car to get something and screaming at the sky when my grandmother died. Since then I've lost family friends, Uncles, Aunts, Cousins, and most recently powerful my Aunt Rose and my Father. I've grieved a lot, and been trained to help people through it. I know that this is a process. There is no drug that can make it go faster and no short cut around it. One has to just go through grief. It never really goes away. <br />
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But this grief is different in many ways. It is physical in a way that no other grief is. There are so many hormonal changes that my body is going through in addition to the literal loss through bleeding and passing tissue. The physical pain in someways mirrors the emotional pain. I literally lost something that was apart of me. <br />
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The grief of miscarriage is also different in the fact that it is lost potential. In other losses I have been able to celebrate the lives that my friends and family lived. Take solace in the lessons my loved ones have taught me. This loss is the loss of what could have been. It is also feels like the loss of time, money, effort and energy put into getting to that point (see <a href="https://margarettejshegog.blogspot.com/2017/11/ttc.html" target="_blank">TTC</a> ). There is literally nothing good that I can see in this loss other than that I found out at 9 weeks and not later.<br />
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Because I didn't find out until after the pregnancy was over I still can't quite process the fact that this was a loss of twins. But it does make the loss literally and emotionally greater.<br />
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<b>Grief or Depression or Anxiety is not a fun new game. </b>-- Since I already have anxiety and history of depression, when I let myself think about my emotions, there is a constant wondering which element is contributing most to how I feel right now. I've always treated my anxiety by figuring out the worse possible situation and trying to prepare myself for it. My depression I've treated with counseling and medication. Grief has always amplified these, but, as I mentioned in the beginning, this is a different kind of grief. There is some time in each day that I try to figure out if I'm back into a major depressive episode or just grieving. This does not help my baseline anxiety, but it does make me feel like I have a little control.<br />
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<b>You can never hear "It's not your fault" too much. </b> - As far as I have read about other's experiences formally in blogs and informally in online support groups, all people who are pregnant wonder if there is something we did to cause it. I was working a hospital shift when it happened, was it because I was working too hard? I had caffeine two days this week, was it that? I started spotting after orgasm once, did that cause it? Am I just too darn old? <br />
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For the first two weeks one of my fellow family medicine docs, who had a similar experience, texted me "It's not your fault," about every other day. Every time she text it I needed to hear it. It is easy for me to fall into feeling like I need to punish myself; the constant reminders that it is not my fault help.<br />
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<b>There are triggers everywhere.</b> - I was looking forward to going the farmers market. We haven't gotten a chance to go since we moved here. It was almost 3 weeks since I found out and two weeks since my last cytotec. I've been seeing patients; therefore, I can go out in a social situation. What I was not prepared for was all the people walking around with their babies: in arms, in strollers, in carriers. Each one dripping a little bit of salt water into my wound. You never realize how many pregnant people there are in the world until you are suddenly and unexpectedly not. You can be watching your previous favorite TV show then, BAM, one of the main characters is pregnant, delivering and making your wound bleed a little brighter.<br />
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It's pretty easy to start to feel resentful of anyone who has not gone through this. Even more frustrating are those mothers who are "accidentally pregnant," on their 4-6+ child, or on any kind of substance from tobacco to meth and heroin. I want to yell at them - DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD I WORKED FOR THIS TO HAVE IT END LIKE THIS?!?! <br />
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I really want anyone lucky enough to have their G's (pregnancies) and P's (live deliveries) match to know how lucky they are. I pretty much only want to surround myself with other people who have experienced a pregnancy loss, because they are the only ones that get it. It's an exclusive club that no one wants to be in. Annoyingly this is not completely possible.<br />
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<b>Bleeding like grief can pop up at the most random of moments. </b> - I chose to use Cytotec/Misoprostol, a medication to help cause uterine contractions and opening of the cervix, instead of an procedure to help complete my miscarriage. There was cramping and bleeding for about 8 days and then just spotting for 2 weeks. Then out of the blue more cramping, bleeding and clots again pretty heavily for about 45 minutes. I was worried until my husband, after lots of searching, found that this can be <a href="https://www.earlyabortion.com/3-questions-and-an-answer-about-bleeding-after-the-abortion-pill/" target="_blank">common</a>.<br />
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-- Why isn't miscarriage more studied? This data was surprisingly really hard to find. There are some, but they often stop after 2 weeks. (example <a href="https://academic.oup.com/humrep/article/19/7/1655/2356520" target="_blank">1</a> and <a href="http://www.ajog.org/article/S0002-9378(06)01154-9/abstract" target="_blank">2</a>) This may be another example of women being ignored in health care research. But, I digress. --<br />
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Because of the physicality and pretty much ignoring how I actually felt all week. It brought all the feelings from the background to directly in front of my face.<br />
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<b>Ignoring your feelings can help temporarily but only temporarily</b>. -- See above lessons.<br />
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<b>What not to say when people have a miscarriage.</b> -- Here is a list of things that have been said to me that are not useful<br />
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<ul>
<li>"Everything happens for a reason" - Technically yes, it was probably a genetic abnormality. But this is not helpful in anyway.</li>
<li>"I know what you are going through, I had a abortion/spotting in my successful pregnancy/lost a family member/pet." - Unless you have had a miscarriage of a wanted pregnancy, You Don't.</li>
<li>"At least you know you can get pregnant." - Again, Technically true. But that excitement sailed around week 6. Two-thirds toward the end of first trimester it's just painful: so close to the end of the first trimester when miscarriage is less likely, almost done with the fatigue and nausea, and the point when I already had to start buying new clothing to accommodate my physical changes (34 G Bras are impossible to find). </li>
<li>"I'm sorry for your loss." - This might be specific to me, because I have gone thorough so much loss, but I hate this phrase. I'd rather people say "I'm so sorry," rather than qualify it. It seems more empty and trite. For me it is similar to when people say "I'm sorry if you were offended," instead of "Sorry for offending you." </li>
</ul>
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There are some more things not to say in this <a href="http://pregnantchicken.com/loss-and-miscarriage/" target="_blank">article</a>. </div>
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Here are some useful things people have said to me. </div>
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<ul>
<li>"It's not your fault."</li>
<li>"I can't imagine what you are going through."</li>
<li>"I also had a loss, here's what happened to me..."</li>
<li>"Sending Hugs/Love/Warm Fuzzies."</li>
<li>"Can I give you a hug?"</li>
<li>"I'm here for you for whatever you need."</li>
</ul>
</div>
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The best thing was how many people opened up about their own experience. We don't talk about pregnancy loss enough, but finding a community of my friends and family who understand is a refuge. </div>
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<b>Music still helps.</b> -- I often have a soundtrack of my life and what things are happening right now. Music has always helped me express emotions that are hard for me. When I realized I was in love with one of my friends in college, and my roommate was gone for the night, I would put on a playlist and cry under my blankets. This strategy can still be very cathartic. Here's my current play list</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ejrwhSiMEFg" target="_blank">Have a Cry- Kina</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7yHSCuVH2To" target="_blank">Pandemonium - Company "25th Annual Putnum County Spelling Bee"</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ms8EZbGDt1Q" target="_blank">Totally F*****- Jonathan Groff, Boys & Girls "Spring Awakening"</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEWF2xh5E8s" target="_blank">Sadness and Sorrow - Naurto Soundtrack</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SMauMGqa_rk" target="_blank">Paint It Black - Vanessa Carlton </a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pkae0-TgrRU" target="_blank">White Room - Eric Clapton</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMfJY-ZzkKY" target="_blank">I'm In a Sexy French Depression - Crazy Ex Girlfriend Cast</a> (I still have a bit of sense of humor, plus the end french monologue is pretty spot on)</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4heHLbchPKk" target="_blank">Tears of a Clown - Smokey Robinson</a> (this is work mostly)</div>
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<div>
It's constantly updating so I'm sure there will be more. --- Yes I know in theory I could do this with some Spotify type thing, but that takes way more effort than I'm willing to put into it right now. -- Watching movies and shows about people with a loss is also helpful. I've watched "Frida," and may watch "Pan's Labyrinth" next. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Trust your body, or try to. </b> -- With PCOS (PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome) I often feel like my body has betrayed me or that it just doesn't work. Although my body doesn't work like normal. It makes extra ovarian cysts for no reason. It is resistant to insulin and doesn't process sugar making it unreasonably hard to lose and maintain weight. It doesn't ovulate monthly without a lot of effort and medications on my part. In the early part of my pregnancy I was surprised to that my body was acting like normal: nausea, some breast tenderness, increased urination, and fatigue. There was so much fatigue I wasn't able to exercise as I usually did. With the miscarriage I feel like this is one more example of my body betraying me. However, with the cytotec it did what it was supposed to do. My beta HCG levels are dropping appropriately, and my basal temperature is back to normal. Working out again feels wonderful. </div>
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If I get lucky enough to be pregnant again I will try to be a little active in spite of the fatigue. </div>
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<b>If you are able to be pregnant again, this miscarriage will color that pregnancy.</b> -- Even with this loss we are still TTC (at least for the next 11 months or so). So the first cycle after a miscarriage tends to be more fertile. I was reading up on <a href="http://pregnantchicken.com/23-things-i-wish-someone-told-me-about-pregnancy-after-loss/" target="_blank">how miscarriage can affect your next pregnancy</a>. But so many of the things I was already doing because I know everything that can go wrong. I was already checking for spotting obsessively, anxious about all the visits, and not super excited for a positive pregnancy test. All of this knowledge did not make the loss hurt less. I'm not sure if I'm going to want to get an ultrasound earlier or later than 6 weeks. I'm not sure if I want to just wait until 12 weeks before having my first prenatal appointment or want to be seen super early. I had already kept my pregnancy a secret with a select few; maybe I really won't tell anyone else until third trimester or tell everyone at 20 weeks. I'm not sure what changes this will have if I get pregnant again, but I know it will change my next pregnancy as it has changed my life. </div>
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<br />Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-57201468536046610142018-02-26T18:45:00.002-08:002018-02-26T18:45:55.839-08:00Nonviable Early Twin PregnancyWarning: This may get a little rage-filled and preachy<br />
<br />
I was five days in to my miscarriage and going to an OB/Gyn for a completely different problem. We had actually scheduled a pretty simple office procedure about 6 weeks previously. I was starting to feel like I was healing a little bit. I could put words to emotions and even mention to the nurse, that my urine pregnancy test would probably be positive because I was in the middle of a miscarriage, without signing or tearing up too much.<br />
<br />
-- So while I love OB/Gyns for procedures and high risk pregnancies, for my prenatal care I stuck (and hopefully will get to stick) with my Family Docs and Midwives. --<br />
<br />
I knew that he probably knew about the miscarriage since he is apart of the same hospital system as the ER. But I was hoping to get at least one of my gyn problems taken care of. I was also hoping to get a copy of my ultrasound read from the ER. When I was led to a normal exam room and not the procedure room I suspected something was amiss. Even more curious was the fact that there were no instruments for any procedure prepared in the room.<br />
<br />
"Twins, huh?" The OB/Gyn greets me. Confused I say " No, Nothing." We have some mundane conversation about delaying the procedure until we have a repeat ultrasound proving that the Cytotec worked. <br />
<br />
--Cytotec/Misoprostol is a common medication given for incomplete miscarriage, or in medical terms incomplete & missed abortions. I was given a prescription for 400mg BID x 3 days. Which is not the dose recommended by anyone as far as I could tell. I checked <a href="https://www.acog.org/Clinical-Guidance-and-Publications/Committee-Opinions/Committee-on-International-Affairs/Misoprostol-for-Postabortion-Care" target="_blank">ACOG </a>(American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologist) and gave myself the correct 800mg with 1-2 repeats three hours later, which has a 66-99% chance of working --<br />
<br />
He checks my uterus, orders the ultrasound and leaves. My husband and I disappointedly walk out and I ask for a copy of my ultrasound read, for which I have to sign a release of information (ROI). It is not until I read the ultrasound impression that I find out that I was pregnant with and miscarrying twins.<br />
<br />
HOW DID NONE OF THE 4 DOCTORS I INTERACTED WITH NOT TELL ME I WAS MISCARRYING TWINS!<br />
<br />
I talked to 2 ER docs. An OB came down in the ER to talk to me, and I stayed in the ER until the radiologist read the images. My first US showed only a "Single viable intrauterine pregnancy corresponding to 6 weeks and 1 days." I did not mention having a twin pregnancy, which is generally a pretty key piece of information. None of them felt it was appropriate to tell me what was happening with my body?! <br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Devil's Advocate says:</span> "Would it have made a difference given the fact that there were no fetal heart beats?" "They were probably busy and thought someone else told you. You know how things go at shift change." " They probably didn't want to make a bad situation worse."<br />
<br />
However the primary care doc in me -- the one who has to give bad news on a daily basis, the one who has to translate the actions of other physicians so that patients understand the treatment they received, the one who believes that I am not just a physician but a doctor, which means to teach -- cuts them no slack. <br />
<br />
Why do people feel they can make decisions about other people's body and the information they should know? This reminds me of all the injustices and decisions the government is trying to make about women's & fems' bodies (here is summary from <a href="https://rewire.news/multimedia/podcast/boom-lawyered-every-terrible-anti-choice-bill-coming-state-near/" target="_blank">BOOM Lawyered</a>). Is it because I'm Black? We know that Black Women have <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5206968/" target="_blank">worse perinatal health outcomes.</a> If I had not wanted to see my ultrasound read I would not have known that I had twins, which may have ramifications if I do get pregnant again. (And I had to sign an ROI for my own records?!?) This is the treatment I received when they knew I am a doctor; it was incomplete, with incorrect dosing, and extra hoops to jump. What would have happened if I wasn't one?<br />
<br />
There is now an inquiry in the hospital ED and radiology, and my prenatal folks are checking in with their ultrasound tech since they were missed first time. I need to tell the OB/Gyn that "Twins" is not an appropriate greeting to someone in the middle of a miscarriage. That is another reason I will not be seeing him if I am fortunate enough to conceive again. <br />
<br />
I would have rather every single one asked me if I knew I was carrying twins, than be set back to the beginning of my grieving process. I was without words or expression, trying to figure out what went wrong and what I could have done differently. Again. <br />
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<br />Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-53474561321520488302018-02-20T19:20:00.001-08:002018-02-20T19:20:10.204-08:009 weeks and 2 daysI'm still processing so this may not be pretty. Trigger warnings this talks about loss and body issues.<br />
<br />
I've been exhausted for weeks. I had a weekend hospital shift (which are notoriously hard). I was coming down the the virus that everyone else in the household had. Everyone knew these facts. What everyone did not know was that I was about 9 weeks pregnant.<br />
<br />
My husband and I had made a clear decision to tell as few as possible in the first trimester. I took Reproductive Epidemiology in public health school. I knew that about 1/3rd of all pregnancies end in miscarriage especially in the first trimester. Also I just didn't want the questions and the looks. I honestly intended on not telling anyone I was pregnant until they asked and then make them feel guilty for calling me fat.<br />
<br />
I expected things to go terribly as my baseline anxiety kicked in. I literally know everything that can go wrong. However after a "normal 6 week US" and 8 week first prenatal. I was cautiously getting comfortable with just making it through the first trimester. Which is what people kept telling me that was all I had to do. <br />
<br />
Easier said than done with the bone deep fatigue, growing out of all reasonable bra sizes (34 G+ are hard to find), and my baseline duties as a new doc in a resource poor area. I felt terrible canceling morning or evening clinics when I just could not do another thing other than fall into my bed. I also have PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) and Insulin Resistance which makes eating more more than 1200-1700 calories against what I've practiced for the last decade.<br />
<br />
But as the weeks racked up I was cautiously hopeful that I could make it one more month. <br />
<br />
So I did the right thing. I called in back up for my hospital shift, which was amazing. I saw patients. I admitted patients. I did a little clean up work from the previous hospitalist. I got home about at about 12:30 intending on sleeping for 7-8 hrs before doing it all again. Then right before I went to bed I went to the bathroom for the last time and saw bright red blood.<br />
<br />
This led me to handing over my shift to my amazing medical director (one of 2 people at work who knew). And heading to the ER at 1am. 8 hours some blood tests and the most uncomfortable ultrasound I've ever had later the verdict was in. Where there were heart tones before, there were none now. I got my meds for a missed/incomplete abortion (medical language for miscarriage) went home. On the way I texted the 6 people who knew who responded with great outpourings of love and care.<br />
<br />
It is impossible not to think about the what ifs and possible signs, even though I know the most likely cause is chromosomal abnormality. At my dating ultrasound I was dating 4 days early was that a sign? I had a terrible allergic reaction to the sheets at the ultrasound place was that a sign, or a cause? I knew I was working too hard was that a cause? At my first prenatal 5 days ago she said my uterus was enlarged, should I have pressed to make sure she thought it was 9 week size? What earlier sign could there have been to tell me that things were not going well? What could I have done to change this situation?<br />
<br />
It's strange to hope for cramping and bleeding just so this part completes itself. It's strange to still have symptoms of first trimester even though I know I'm not now. This directly plays in to my appreciation/distaste for my body (love/hate is not quite accurate). Of course my body which can't process sugar, lose weight, and makes unnecessary cysts would fail in these ways: both in staying pregnant and not allowing it to end when it should. <br />
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I'm hoping the meds did their job and this doesn't linger on. In someways the physical pain is appropriate to the emotional pain.<br />
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I find it hard to give myself permission to feel during this. As a doctor I'm so used to putting everyone's needs before my own, and yet I'm finding it very hard to care about (or even check) my inbox. While I know that's probably appropriate, I still feel guilty. I'm also not dealing well with the other pregnant people around me. Yep, I'm I little bitter and jealous at this time.<br />
<br />
Part of me wants to hurry up and get this over with so I can move on to the next month. In theory my chances are higher the cycle after a miscarriage, but as I said previously my eggs are old. So should I just go to reproductive endocrine? I only have about 1 year left of my trying (see <a href="http://margarettejshegog.blogspot.com/2017/11/ttc.html?spref=bl" target="_blank">TTC</a>), so time is running out.<br />
<br />
So why write about this? I was talking to one of the 6 people, another family medicine doc, who knew who noted that people don't talk about this much even though we know from medicine it is so common. Why don't we talk about it? Because it's one of the sad realities of life, maybe. Is because it feels like failing and people don't like to talk about their failures? Is it because though I've lost so many people in my life (my Father and Aunt Rose most recently) the loss of potential relationship is harder? I don't know. But I am writing to process, tell my story, and maybe help someone else feel not so alone.<br />
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There are no words for the difficulty of this experience.<br />
<br />Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-71979575018847255222017-11-26T18:32:00.000-08:002017-11-26T19:23:39.044-08:00TTCSpring of 2014 I was finishing my intern year of Family Medicine residency. I would be turning 34 in July, and I was FREAKING OUT. You see I had gained enough medical knowledge to understand all the things that could go wrong in pregnancy and delivery. I also knew because of my PCOS I had lower fertility than others my age; also I was 1 year away from the dreaded AMA.<br />
<br />
-AMA stands for advanced maternal age. The term for when you will deliver over 35. Of course with the update of the diagnostic codes it has been changed from the sad but acceptable "Advance Maternal Age" to "Geriatric Gravida" which is infinitely worse-<br />
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Thankfully I had a visit from a friend who just had her first child who helped put my anxiety to a little bit of rest. "If you guys have kids you will be great parents and it will be wonderful. If you don't have kids you will continue to be great people and it will be wonderful." So I allayed my fears for a few more years and made a plan. The main way I deal with my anxiety is by making plans.<br />
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I figured I'd give myself 18 months to see if I could conceive (by which ~91% couples do). So in typical fashion I started to research. I started <a href="https://pin.it/5277pwayzoxzpp" target="_blank">Pintrest boards,</a> a Amazon wish list for possible registry, and started following some <a href="http://pregnantchicken.com/" target="_blank">blogs</a>. I had already been following my cycle since I had an IUD and I added a few more apps specifically for tracking. There was a whole set back with the Nov 2016 election. (see <a href="https://margarettejshegog.blogspot.com/2016/11/nov-9-2016-330-am.html" target="_blank">Nov 9 2016 330 am</a>) After that experience I realized that though attempting to have a kid may be a fundamentally bad idea (given the fact that the world is pretty actively terrible), If we the US was not in nuclear holocaust by July 2017 would try anyway.<br />
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Armed with 2 new apps I entered a new world of acronyms and short hand. If you are not apart of this world I will give you a taste because they are truly non-intuitive:<br />
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<ul>
<li>AF - though I initially thought this was the more common "As F**k" it actually means "Aunt Flo" or period. </li>
<li>BD - Baby Dance. Why people can't just say sex, intercourse, nookie, or any other euphemism I don't know. </li>
<li>Baby Dust - Not to be confused with BD- It is wishing someone good luck, though I sometimes think of it as fairy dust and is therefore wishing more GLBTQ children into the world for fun. </li>
<li>DPO & CD - Days post ovulation and Cycle day. These actually make sense and are useful</li>
<li>DH - Dear Husband - I first came across this one in wedding groups. Still don't like it. </li>
<li>TTC - Trying to Conceive. Which is what most people are trying to do on these groups anyway and I'm not sure why this is an acronym. There should be one for the folks who are not trying.</li>
<li>BFN/P - Big Fat Negative or Positive in reference to pregnancy tests. Why they have to be "big and fat' I am unsure. </li>
<li>TWW - Two week wait. Also known as the truest purgatory known on earth. It's the two weeks after ovulation and before your period. It is HELL.</li>
<li>EWCM - Egg White Cervical Mucous. Yep it's what it sounds like. </li>
</ul>
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So now I'm apart of this very strange community of people actively trying to get pregnant and generally complaining about it/confused/wondering if they can check a pregnancy test 2 days after ovulation, "I mean I know it's really early, but. . . " </div>
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I started out doing more stealth doctoring. "You know the best medications for PCOS is Metformin low carb diet and exercise." "There is no evidence to having your legs elevated after sex to insure conception." "No a BFN two days after ovulation does not mean that you have not conceived this month."</div>
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I've found that there are 3 large categories in these groups. 1) TWW screams from purgatory: to check or not to check, how sucky this, I just checked but I can check again. 2) What to try next: better supplements, fertility meds experiences, should I go to the doctor? (I generally answer yes) 3) Hoping: baby dusting, wishing they could by baby clothes, hoping this is the month. </div>
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Then I realized this is a group of strangers who don't know I'm a doctor and I can ask stupid questions that I also already know the answers to. I also realized that though there is a group of people going through the same thing, TTC is a very isolating experience. Though my partner is amazing and there is a group (though sometimes questionable) of people going through the same thing, at the end of the day it's still what's going on with my body. While I can track my basal temperature, check my cervical mucous, take my meds, try to exercise and fit in nookie with my new grown up doctor job which inconveniently schedules events every fertile weekend so far, it still feels wildly out of my control. I'm still AMA, PCOS, in a high stress job, and my body doesn't seem to like to cooperate. </div>
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It's a month to month rollercoaster over 4 weeks ultimately waiting to find out if I am infertile enough to get help or will it magically happen. Using my planning skills I have kept myself on track with adding something every 2 months or so. First adding cheap ovulation tests, then the expensive ovulation tests. </div>
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(Can we take a minute to talk about how unreasonably expensive conception items are. American consumerism truly makes all large events in life more expensive than needed: Weddings, TTC, actually having a baby. I mean really. It should not be 45 dollars for 1-2 months of ovulation tests and 39$ for one month of a supplement that actually has medical evidence.) </div>
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But I digress</div>
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After 4 months I added <a href="https://www.pregnitude.com/" target="_blank">Pregnitude</a> which actually has evidence of supporting ovulation for people with PCOS. Then after 6 months I officially get to go get the whole fertility work up as appropriate for people over 35 TTC. I am hoping that with the work up that more things keep getting added, because I need a plan, and my plan runs out in January. </div>
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I realize I'm only 5ish months into this journey and I'm already over it. I would like to know if my body will cooperate or not. I also feel comfortable with my limits. I'm not doing IVF or any truly invasive procedures. If I'm in that 9% then I shouldn't be having kids I can just get an IUD and a dog. </div>
Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-82894780815468827052017-08-23T15:51:00.001-07:002017-08-23T15:51:12.571-07:00Dear LeVar Burton,<b>Caveat</b>: This is a reforming and updating of a previous letter I wrote while I was in Peace Corps Namibia (Group 20 Represent) approximately the spring of 2003. I wrote the letter and literally had no place to spend it. It had been years since I saw the PO Box that came up at the end of Reading Rainbow and the internet was not where it is today. I'm not entirely sure what happened to this letter. I think I tried to send it to PBS, but it also could be in some of the Peace Corps boxes I still haven't completely unpacked. (I was warned this would happen literally and figuratively.) I've thought about this letter repeatedly and how to possibly get it to him. Should I do a series of tweets (a long series)? Maybe on Facebook it could work (too personal or impersonal)? This desire was rekindled as I started listening to <a href="http://www.levarburtonpodcast.com/" target="_blank">"Levar Burton Reads"</a>. When he showed up on my favorite podcast "<a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/anotherround" target="_blank">Another Round</a>" I figured I had to do something. As this is a testing ground for my memoirs someday I figured . . . <div>
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<b>Dear LeVar Burton,</b></div>
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Like many children born in 1980 I remember coming home from kindergarten and first grade and watching Mr Rogers, Reading Rainbow and Square One TV. I was excited to get any book that had the stamp of approval "Reading Rainbow Book." I loved watching all of the shows new and old. I still remember the plot from "A Chair for My Mother," and all the words from the song in the Team Work episode. The concepts of "Ty's One Man Band," that everything can be music (not to mention Ben Vereen's song), continues to enhance my daily life. At one point in my childhood (maybe when I was 7) I wanted to be a book refurbisher, an idea I got from the library of congress episode. </div>
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I took for granted that every afternoon I could go on a new adventure to find out what happens at fashion week, or on a farm, or all night in New York City. As a teen and I caught a rerun here and there (at one point I wanted to work for PBS [also wouldn't life be better if we all lived by the things we told children to do?]). Watching Reading Rainbow as a teen I started to realize who the readers of the books were. Finding out that Phyillis Diller read "Ludow Laughs" and Hoyt Axton read"Meanwhile Back at the Ranch," I started to appreciate Reading Rainbow on an whole other level. </div>
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As a Star Trek fan raised on TNG you were one of my favorite characters. The only collectable TNG characters I had were a small Enterprise NCC-1701-D and Geordi LaForge. My short lived - incomplete TNG fan-fiction was about Geordi LaForge finally getting his love story. (Even as a 14 year old my Trekkie friend and I could tell that this was an injustice. Yes there was that episode or two with the designer of the engines but that really doesn't count.) I was elated with the cross-over episode between TNG and Reading Rainbow. I didn't realize how much I took your place in my life and the things I loved for granted until I was in Peace Corps. </div>
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I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Namibia in a small Ovambo tribe about 20 km from the Angolan boarder. In order to get to my homestead you had to drive about 1.5 hours from the nearest town. After the tarred road turns into a dirt road you travel about 30 more minutes then walk another hour and fifteen minutes into the desert until you get to the village of OshiKuKu and my homestead. Namibia has 3 desserts that converge and the landscape is fairly barren save a few bushes, anthills and the occasional tree. The water was a public tap where community members can collect water in 5,10, and 20L jugs and take it back to their homesteads. There was no electricity to the village though the school was wired for it and did have a telephone. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Leaning Tree landmark on my walk from the dirt road to home</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The folks at the water tap my last night in my village</td></tr>
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<br />As a Peace Corps Volunteer at the Illonga School I taught English and Science to grades 8-10 as well as art classes. I was also raised in a house that fostered a love of reading and books. I was surprised to find out that the school library was stored in the teacher's office and had a very small selection. I was even more shocked when I saw an occasional book weather-worn just laying in the sand. Children treated their books roughly and without the respect and care I was taught. What was sadder to me was the lack of imagination. I would ask my English students to make up a story or write poetry and all of the responses were very concrete. Rarely would I have a student write about something that had not actually happened. If we had just read a story they would mostly repeat what they had heard or understood. This limitation in imagination was more obvious in art class. When I asked them to draw items it was mostly copied from what they saw in front of them be it a magazine, picture, or item in the classroom. <div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My school first thing in the morning</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My 10th Grade Class - I'm in the center with my dog Nando<br /><br /><br style="font-size: medium;" /><span style="font-size: small;">I started to seriously consider why students' imagination was so limited. I figured the landscape was one reason Though the landscape could be breath taking during the rainy season, during the dry season (which was most of the time) it's pretty bland</span><br /></td></tr>
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I then started thinking about my influences as a child. Though I lived in Cincinnati, OH I had seen what New York and New Orleans were like, because of your show. I knew about different careers in aerospace as well as farming because of your show. I realized that through Reading Rainbow I had an understanding of vast worlds beyond that which was in front of me. This is an advantage my students did not have. I had book donations to the library and encouraged reading, but I wish I could have shown them your show. Though I come from a family of readers you show made it clear how transportive reading could be. </div>
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Moreover I saw all of these things hosted by a Black man. I can not state the significance of this enough. </div>
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Every afternoon I had a Black man on my television taking me on new adventures and teaching me We would laugh, learn, and I always knew I would "see him next time." I had a pretty stable childhood with two loving Black American parents; I can't imagine what you meant to those who did not have this. I never wondered if there would be people of color in space because of you (and Mae C. Jemison.) As I grew up, I realized I had a very revisionist history of my childhood TV. I found out: "Benson" was not the governor, "Gimme a Break" was not about a Black woman adopting three White children, and "Sliver Spoons" was not about the friendship of a rich White kid and rich Black kid. However you and your roles stayed true and genuine. </div>
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I know you are a human being and I appreciate you letting us see that side of you as well in your interviews and conversations. I remember on one of the PBS promos you mentioned your own children. It was kind of like when you see your teacher at the grocery store and you realize they are a person. When I got back from Peace Corps (and India, and had enough people bug me to do it) you were the first person I followed when I joined twitter. I was so excited to hear that you had a new podcast. When I got to listen to your first podcast it brought tears to my eyes.</div>
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Thank You LeVar Burton. Thank You for showing children worlds beyond what they can see in front of them. Thank You for being an example of a Black man that much of America pretends does not exist. Thank You for teaching our past showing our present and the possibility of our future. Thank You for continuing to act, teach, and inspire. </div>
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<b>Thank You for being You.</b></div>
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Honestly & Sincerely,</div>
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Margarette MD, MPH</div>
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Cheers</div>
Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-21784082355954293242017-06-07T07:20:00.002-07:002017-06-07T07:40:08.671-07:00MzunguI saw a white dude with a t-shirt that said Mzungu. Now most people would not know what this shirt meant. It's probably just a funny word to them. I -- having worked in Southern Africa -- knew this was the word for white people said by Africans. As I continued to look I noted that the shirt was in fact from Tanzania. So it probably did mean what I thought it meant. Being that I live in Asheville -- Home of hippies, hipsters, and people who will sing along with you at the gas station (that actually happened) -- I figured I would ask. <br />
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"Excuse me, I noticed that your shirt says Mzungu and is from Tanzania. Since I worked in Southern Africa I know that means white person. I was just wondering why you would wear that shirt."<br />
White guy looks awkward "Yeah it's from Tanzania,"<br />
"I was just wondering why you would wear a shirt that pretty much just says white guy."<br />
He now looks even more uncomfortable and starts to ramble. "Oh well, it reminds me of being in Tanzania when I was at this awesome snake ranch, we were hiking, and this kid bought me this shirt . . . It reminds me of good times I had there . . . It's not racial."<br />
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At this point I could tell he was feeling pretty uncomfortable. He probably had never thought about his shirt before or that someone would ask him about it. I could see clearly one of the Peace Corps Guys wearing a T-Shirt that said OshiLumbu ironically. (Actually I think the group before us did make those shirts ironically.) They would've probably noted that's what they were called all the time and laughed. I tried to give him an opportunity to let him in on the joke.<br />
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"I just saw the shirt and knew the meaning and wondered if you were wearing it ironically, or if you were wearing it just for the memories."<br />
"Just for the memories."<br />
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So he was not in on the joke. This is was probably a white male who had never thought about it. I realize that most of the white men in my life have had to recognize their color and privilege at some point. My husband who wears "Not an accurate representation of a white person" T-Shirt ironically. My best friend who I had frequent debates with in High School. While he was coming out and we discussed our disadvantages, I told him that walking down the street no one could tell he was gay, but everyone could tell I was black. That statement pretty much ended the debate. All of the guys in Peace Corps had to deal with their whiteness on a daily basis. But this guy had probably never really thought about it.<br />
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I could tell he was uncomfortable; in retrospect I wish I had let him sit with his discomfort. Why shouldn't he think about his whiteness, or how what he wears means something. But on instinct if rushed in to make him feel better. I joked about how I was called Oshilumbu myself even though it means white person. How my Namibian students told me I was not black. His female companion joined and we laughed it off has he left the area and I could order my coffee.<br />
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But I wish I had let him sit in his racial discomfort. I wish as a Black American Woman my training and instinct was not to make sure that the white guy is okay, even in this small moment of discomfort. Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-87029583291156168562017-03-27T16:16:00.001-07:002017-03-27T16:16:12.312-07:00Reconciliation Today in the shower I had a reconciliation of sorts. I said "yay thighs." Now for most people such a statement may not mean much, but for me that was monumental. I have not had the best relationship with the top half of my legs. It probably started around the age of 10. As I started to develop, having a little bit of curves was something I wanted. Mostly I wanted breasts (irony), but a booty was okay too. However what I did not forsee was the mental havoc that would be wrought by my legs. <br />
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Honestly it may not have even been a thing, if it wasn't for Shane Parish. (That's right I just name dropped) My parents moved from the country to the suburbs of Cincy when I was 9. I went from inner-city (primarily Black-American) elementary school to E. H. Greene in Blue Ash (primarily white). This transition was hard enough (changing classes every 2 weeks because they put me in remedial classes, working my way back up to gifted classes, trying to find new friends, riding the bus for the first time instead of walking), but gym class made it that much harder. <br />
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We had gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We were all working for the presidential fitness test: running a mile, sitting up, pushing up, trying to do pull ups. You know all the "up" things. Over the summer I had started to wear a bra (ooh) and had more weight on my legs. I honestly did not think about my thighs much other than wearing cords or track suits that now made sounds as I walked. But when I stepped into the gym I now heard every step echo. The green gym shorts were not the most flattering either. However what made it life scarring was Shane Parish calling out "Here comes Large Marge with Thunder Thighs," every time I walked into the gym. It was terrible. <br />
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Even now my heart rate increases thinking about the anxiety caused by trying to figure out when to walk into the gym. Was there a way to walk in without him noticing? <br />
With a group of girls - nope.<br />
Right before the bell - nope. <br />
Maybe super early before anyone else was out - well I just never changed that quickly.<br />
Suddenly for the second half of the year I came down with a terrible illness Wednesday night which would cause me to miss school for Thursdays and many Fridays. If I went to school I would be sent to the nurse before PE with a fever up to 101.9. My parents took me to my pediatrician, Cincinnati Children's and specialists trying to figure out what was wrong. I had tons of lab work done, which I enjoyed more than walking into the gym. Suddenly when I started the summer and then went back to school in 6th grade when Shane was no longer in my class I didn't have the end of the week illness. <br />
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Only when I was in medical school did I learn that this is a common and normal coping strategy for children.<br />
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Though I no longer had to hear him say those words; the image and the sound stuck with me. I stopped wearing shorts in the summer and only wore long baggy pants. Luckily it was the 90's and this was the style. I gave up on wearing women's clothing and shopped in the men's section where I could buy a 40+" waist which I knew would go over my hips. All of my skirts or dresses had to go below the knee. That experience started anxiety, stress, and dislike of my thighs which so far has lasted over a quarter of a century. <br />
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In college I came to terms that my thighs were never going to change size and get smaller (my hip bones are actually set wider than others) and they were either going to be fat or muscle. So I danced and worked to make my thighs as much muscle as possible. But I still didn't like them. I actually managed to lose weight in Peace Corps, but still didn't like my thighs. I did yoga and jumped rope in India, and fortunately saris and most Indian clothing covers the entire legs so less worries. I was getting my legs waxed regularly and there are few things worse than holding your fat taut so someone else can remove hair.<br />
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In pubic health school I started volunteering at <a href="http://www.shadowboxlive.org/" target="_blank">Shadowbox</a>. (If you live near Columbus Ohio and don't know what this is do yourself a favor and go) Shadowbox (Sketch Comedy and Rock & Roll) is known for having people of all sizes in all costumes. So I had some fun and got into the spirit. I forgot my pants one day and needed to borrow the skirt from one of the cast members. I was amazed to find the skirt fit when I always thought she was way smaller than I. So as a volunteer with fishnets I showed my thighs for the first time in years.<br />
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I still pretty much only show above the knee for performance or costume. But with continued exercise and time I got to the point where I don't actively hate my thighs. I can appreciate what they do for me on a daily basis; start to like them. I can even say "yay thighs."Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-24254280230599447942016-11-09T01:07:00.000-08:002016-11-09T01:07:19.217-08:00Nov 9 2016 3:30 amI am scheduled to get my IUD taken out Thursday. It's a little more complicated because they can't find the strings; I have to go over to the Ob's and have a ultrasound an likely paracervical block. It is likely going to suck. What is worse that now I have to scramble to see if I can get a new IUD placed.<br />
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I don't let myself get excited about things until it is really happening. Travel, new adventures, even graduations I don't acknowledge until I'm in the moment. I also am an over planner. I've been looking at pregnancy and labor information for the last 18 months. I'm 36 and my fertility is falling (not as fast as it will in a few years) but fast. As I've told others it is time to poop or get off the pot.<br />
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But now I feel 30 minutes into a Trump presidency that it would be irresponsible for me to try to conceive. We were alway dubious given the world as it is: global warming, overpopulation, the state of Black American life. But people were at least talking about change and possibility, and my time was getting short. I have been worried for sometime about what could happen to me and my family with police violence. <br />
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I keep hoping that something will come up and prove that this is an error. That the country that I live would not elect someone who has committed sexual assault, suppresses minorities and endorses violence. I recognize that this is without the voting rights act and gerrymandering occurred, but Hillary ceded. I don't know what could change in the next 24 hours that would make me trying to conceive responsible.<br />
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I am genuinely sad and mourning not just for my country but for my personal loss. Maybe in a year things will look reasonable again, and I will feel okay possibly conceiving. But of course my fertility will be even lower at that point and it will be less of a chance. <br />
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Damn it I really wanted to try. Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-47849926254897247382013-04-17T13:16:00.003-07:002013-04-17T13:18:19.308-07:00"Are You Ready, Are You Excited?"These are the two questions I've heard repeatedly for the last 2 weeks and up until now they have just made me want to scream, "NO, I have a list of about 1400 things that still need to be done and right now I'm just exhausted and daunted." Somehow in the last 36 hours I've actually started to realax. I know part of it is because I've had awesome help from friends. I can't tell if we are through the storm or if we are just in the eye. My loving husband to be has become a full fledged and embraced the fact that he is a <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/01/fashion/01love.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0" target="_blank">groomzilla</a>.<br />
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So in between creating detailed notes for our posse so they know what they are doing I have to keep reminding him that he won't be there to make sure it is done correctly. We'll be taking pictures :-). Meanwhile my wedding has become a full fledged family event. So I knew they were going to have a celebration for my Aunt's 80th birthday the afternoon of the day after the wedding. But what I was not expecting that my informal Sunday brunch to become the formal celebration for her birth. I also get company when getting my nails done, but not for the bride to be, to celebrate my cousin's birthday. So now members of my family are now talking about how great it is to be there to celebrate everyone else and I'm thinking. . . Is it wrong to think my wedding weekend should be about my future husband and me? Alright back to washing dishes and getting ready for the weekend. So am I ready and I excited. . . I'm starting to be.Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-49474092186745910322013-04-13T12:16:00.003-07:002013-04-13T12:20:48.736-07:00Unforeseen Wedding Crazies and Match Day Results So, I see myself as a pretty low key non-stressy bride. I intend not to be a Bridezilla and have made it so those participating in my wedding have max flexibility. For example, I'm not choosing dresses for my party but allowing them to chose their own within a certain color spectrum. So far my fiance has been way more of a Groomzilla with demands that no sneakers be worn and that certain members of the party should wear hats, and freaking out when little things don't come together. <br />
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However, there is something about weddings that make people lose their sense of agency and need to ask the bride about every little thing. I've been asked everything from what shoes (which I think is reasonable) to how to wrap our wedding present (which is not). It's like we are <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ta'veren" target="_blank">Ta'veren</a> and everyone is just waiting for our approval. More frustrating is the lack (possibly American lack as I've talked to others before) of ability to look things up. Though the <a href="http://weddingwire.com/shegoodwin" target="_blank">website</a> is chock full of info and we've sent out numerous emails & google docs with information people still ask me. Even though I've clearly said in other emails that I don't have this information, people still ask me. <br />
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Apparently I was looking so defeated today that everyone seemed to feel the need to console me and tell me not to worry. All of our service people have been super excited and we're crossing fingers for no rain next Saturday. <br />
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Of Match Day I will be heading down to wonderful <a href="http://www.exploreasheville.com/" target="_blank">Asheville, NC</a> to join the Mountain Area Health Education Center <a href="http://www.mahec.net/" target="_blank">MAHEC</a>. That's right I get to be warm have a beautiful view, southern hospitality, in a hippie liberal refuge. That's right it's NC version of Austin or Yellow Springs on steroids. :-) Here's a shot before we found out where were going.<br />
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Now we're heading to <a href="http://www.shadowboxlive.org/shows/taboo" target="_blank">Shadowbox</a> for a combined Bachelor Bachelorette-esque party. Can't wait to chill out and have some fun. On other news I gave a successful talk on White Privilege to FreeThought thanks to<a href="http://thisweekinblackness.com/" target="_blank"> TWIB NET</a>. Shout out to the chatroom and all my wonderful friends who are helping me remain sane by tying ribbons and gluing corks. ONE WEEK LEFT.</div>
Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-10847402588369969612013-02-07T11:14:00.000-08:002013-02-07T11:14:32.440-08:003, 2, 1 AHHHHHhhhhhhhSo I'm at O'Hare airport on my way to Kansas City for AAFP's cluster, and I stil can't get myself to focus enough to completely read through last year's report. So apparently I'm blogging<div>
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For the last couple weeks I've been having fun saying , "In 4 months I'm graduating, 3 months getting married, 2 months Matching, and going to Swaziland in 1 month. Then it all crashed down. Wait no, not 4 months, 3. I'm going to Swaziland next month (which is a whole other discussion) . . Ahhh wait no I did again. I'm going to Swaziland next week. Actually this time next week I'll be landing in Johannesburg. So with the realization I'll be basically out of touch with everyone for a month I've been trying to get things squared away. Like emailing the entire family to RSVP for the wedding since for some reason most of my family didn't. This is especially important since we have an A, B and C list and people keep wanting to bring guests. 120 people can come to the wedding. That is it we are against fire codes here people. </div>
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To add to the craziness I have to make sure my schedule is finalized. Work on my talent show entry (since I am the reining champion for the last 3 years). Make sure my research FINALLY gets through IRB so I can graduate. And oh yeah at some point I should pack for leaving the country. But wait there are some wedding things that I need to tend to before I go. And I have to turn in my badge for my Women's Health elective and, and and . . . . </div>
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At least my Rank list is done.</div>
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I'm pretty sure I don't look as crazed as I feel since Airport Security haven't dragged me away yet. Okay. I'm going to get back to actually preparing for the thing happening later today. Fingers crossed there are no more delays. </div>
Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0Chicago O'Hare International Airport (ORD), 10000 West O'Hare Avenue, Chicago, IL 60666, USA41.979444 -87.90444400000001241.88501 -88.06580550000001 42.073878 -87.743082500000014tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-76392148457939164432013-01-26T17:34:00.000-08:002013-01-26T17:34:42.869-08:00Wedding in less than 3 months!!<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5D9V0JEGfGA/UQSCL_gcpcI/AAAAAAAAAQs/NBbX7-QqTnE/s1600/Photo+on+26-Jan-13+at+8.24+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5D9V0JEGfGA/UQSCL_gcpcI/AAAAAAAAAQs/NBbX7-QqTnE/s1600/Photo+on+26-Jan-13+at+8.24+PM.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F2sYPqQayyA/UQSCP7bx7kI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/23Ke1gI3uf0/s1600/Photo+on+26-Jan-13+at+8.24+PM+%232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F2sYPqQayyA/UQSCP7bx7kI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/23Ke1gI3uf0/s1600/Photo+on+26-Jan-13+at+8.24+PM+%232.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a> So my wonderfully DIY wedding seems to becoming less and less so by the week. So first we were going to do a DIY photobooth. Then my great friend Jared found me an amazing photographer for a very reasonable price so we had it in the budget to just rent a booth. Now the dessert buffet that we were going to have Stephan's Dad make for us. But he said he's not going to be able to take the time off and is willing to just pay for us to have a local Baker make the desserts using our recipes. On the up side we are still mostly local, and of course there is the center pieces etc that are all DIY as well. Finalized my wedding hair style today :-) Which will be a slightly messier version of this. Now I just have to figure out my make-up and underwear and I will be all ready for the wedding . . . well ready look wise. I still have to do favors and a bunch of other stuff as well. <br />
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Meanwhile on the Residency front Stephan and I are going to sit down and figure out what we are putting first 2nd and third tomorrow. And enter the RANK LIST. I have my fabulous Excel spreadsheet and residency rater app to help. Which has me down to a top 3, but figuring out after that may be harder. Hopefully I'll get it done.Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18389160.post-41022574452220970952013-01-22T18:58:00.001-08:002013-01-22T18:59:32.950-08:00Why I'm Pro Choice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was raised to be pro choice, literally. My father is a medical doctor who was trained during the pre- roe v. wade era. He saw first hand the effect that lack of legal and safe abortion had. I remember him coming home from work one day and stating how important it is that it is legal and safe because otherwise women die. Remember the scene from Dirty Dancing when Penny is crying on the bed and Baby runs to get the doctor? My Dad was that doctor in a rural part of Kentucky for many years. I heard stories about the bleeding, the hangers, and the self sterilization that occurs when abortion is not safe and legal or even when women are just too afraid to seek it due to the stigma. My family is Christian and I was raised that sex before marriage was a bad choice. In my family you lived with your poor choices, because choices had consequences. Because of this much of my youth I was personally pro-life. But because of the teachings of my father I was always politically pro-choice. Who was I to tell someone else what to do. <br />
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As I grew older I learned how many children were stuck in the foster system, how many American children go unadopted every year. I started to understand that there are good and bad times in life to have children, and talked to friends who had abortions. Through my young adulthood I became personally and politically pro-choice. These convictions were solidified as I worked in Reproductive Health throughout my time in Peace Corps Namibia, America Service Corps in India, and my Masters in Public Health in the US. All over the world and here girls and boys, women and men are given incorrect and half information about their sexual health. Reproductive health in all it's aspects became one of my passions. <br />
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Now as a future (in 4 months) physician being trained in Family Medicine I am seeking training to become an abortion/termination provider. I love to have prenatal visits and deliver babies. I also love to educate about contraception. As a family physician I look forward to being able to take care of women and families throughout the different stages. To me providing comprehensive care means being able to provide most all of the clinic services my patients need. As a family practice doctor providing safe legal abortions I know I will be living up to the lessons my father taught me as a child and saving women's lives and futures.Margarettehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03826130753211937760noreply@blogger.com0