Late yesterday I visited the Ageless Hippy Chick where I found this:
IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly
Imagine a woman who believes it is right and good she is a woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.
Imagine a woman who trusts and respects herself.
A woman who listens to her needs and desires.
Who meets them with tenderness and grace.
Imagine a woman who acknowledges the past's influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.
Imagine a woman who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and wisest voice.
Imagine a woman who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs a personal spirituality to inform her daily life.
Imagine a woman in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.
Imagine a woman who honors the body of the Goddess in her changing body.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her life-energy disguising the changes in her body and life.
Imagine a woman who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.
Imagine yourself as this woman.
“Imagine a Woman” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995
IMAGINE A WOMAN II
Imagine a woman who is interested in her own life.
A woman who embraces her life as teacher, healer, and challenge.
Who is grateful for the ordinary moments of beauty and grace.
Imagine a woman who participates in her own life.
A woman who meets each challenge with creativity.
Who takes action on her own behalf with clarity and strength.
Imagine a woman who has crafted a fully-formed solitude.
A woman who is available to herself.
Who chooses friends and lovers with the capacity to respect her solitude.
Imagine a woman who acknowledges the full range of human emotion.
A woman who expresses her feelings clearly and directly.
Who allows them to pass through her as naturally as the breath.
Imagine a woman who tells the truth.
A woman who trusts her experience of the world and expresses it.
Who refuses to defer to the thoughts, perceptions, and responses of others.
Imagine a woman who follows her creative impulses.
A woman who produces original creations.
Who refuses to color inside someone else’s lines.
Imagine a woman who has relinquished the desire for intellectual safety and approval.
A woman who makes a powerful statement with every action she takes.
Who asserts to herself the right to reorder the world.
Imagine a woman who has grown in knowledge and love of herself.
A woman who has vowed faithfulness to her own life.
Who remains loyal to herself. Regardless.
Imagine yourself as this woman.
“Imagine a Woman II” © Patricia Lynn Reilly, 1995
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Saturday Song
Yes it's true, I have a worrisome heart, and troubling ways. Do I need a man who can love me the way that I am? I've never known one who could...
Friday, February 6, 2009
The Republicans Have a RNC Chairman To Make Them Proud
This from the Washington Post:
Michael S. Steele, the newly elected chairman of the Republican National Committee, arranged for his 2006 Senate campaign to pay a defunct company run by his sister for services that were never performed, his finance chairman from that campaign has told federal prosecutors.
Federal agents in recent days contacted Steele's sister, a spokesman for Steele said yesterday.
The claim about the payment, one of several allegations by Alan B. Fabian, is outlined in a confidential court document. Fabian offered the information last March as he was seeking leniency for himself during plea negotiations on unrelated fraud charges. It is unclear how extensively his claims have been pursued. Prosecutors gave him no credit for cooperation when he was sentenced in October.
Fabian's claims emerge as Steele begins his new role at the RNC, where he oversees the raising and spending of hundreds of millions of dollars in party money. The former Maryland lieutenant governor has faced questions about his handling of campaign money in prior elections and was twice fined for missing filing deadlines.Reported by Washington post staff reporter Henri E. Cauvin
Don't Know Why
This is a song that reminds me of the girl/woman I was. The girl who always left. I was always on the run one way or another. I sure hope I've stopped running.
I'm a bit melancholy today. Don't know why. This is the ugliest time of year here. Where snow hasn't quite melted, it's covered with bits of dirt and debris. Walkways are filthy with winter-fall--the bit's and pieces that continue to drift down from the canopy of trees during winter storms but are hidden until most of the snow melts. And all my walk ways sink a little deeper into the ground each year so that now they are a boggy trail--wet and muddy. It was just like this when I moved back here from Santa Barbara. I cried as I drove into Salt Lake and then got to the house. Compared to Santa Barbara this is a very ugly city and this is it's very ugliest season. It's overcast today, and I'm tired.
I feel kind of sad. Don't know why... Maybe it's just the anger and helplessness I feel about the mess we're in and the idiocy of the party out of power, working so damned hard to make sure we can't climb out of the hole they dug for us. I'm not sure why I feel this way.
I'm a bit melancholy today. Don't know why. This is the ugliest time of year here. Where snow hasn't quite melted, it's covered with bits of dirt and debris. Walkways are filthy with winter-fall--the bit's and pieces that continue to drift down from the canopy of trees during winter storms but are hidden until most of the snow melts. And all my walk ways sink a little deeper into the ground each year so that now they are a boggy trail--wet and muddy. It was just like this when I moved back here from Santa Barbara. I cried as I drove into Salt Lake and then got to the house. Compared to Santa Barbara this is a very ugly city and this is it's very ugliest season. It's overcast today, and I'm tired.
I feel kind of sad. Don't know why... Maybe it's just the anger and helplessness I feel about the mess we're in and the idiocy of the party out of power, working so damned hard to make sure we can't climb out of the hole they dug for us. I'm not sure why I feel this way.
Paul Krugman: My Favorite Blogging Economist
Today in his blog at the New York Times Krugman says:
Appeasing the centrists
Atrios is right, though I’d put it a bit differently: centrism is a pose rather than a philosophy. And to support that pose, the centrists are demanding $100 billion in cuts in the economic stimulus plan — not because they have any coherent argument saying that the plan is $100 billion too big, not because they can identify $100 billion of stuff that should not be done, but in order to be able to say that they forced Obama to move to the center.
Which raises the obvious question: shouldn’t Obama have made a much bigger plan, say $1.3 trillion, his opening gambit? If he had, he could have conceded to the centrists by cutting it to $1.2 trillion, and still have had a plan with a good chance of really controlling this slump. Instead he made preemptive concessions, only to find the centrists demanding another pound of flesh as proof of their centrist power.Thursday, February 5, 2009
Dickhead in a Wheel Chair
What I want to know is, what he was really doing that made this kind of apparent helplessness possible? How can we assist in making sure this injury puts him in the home until we can put him in the big house where he can regale his fellow inmates with tales of the time he water-boarded that friend of his who apologized for getting his face in the way of Dick's shotgun? And who is the poor woman in attendance? How helpless he looks. Smacking his gums together. Waiting for her to put his foot rest down. What a prick. Shut the fuck up Dick. We don't want to hear what you think. We just want to watch you wither and die, you evil old bastard.
Romance Among The Bipolar Set
There are many triggers and symptoms of bipolar disorder. If you're one of the older bipolar patients, say over forty, you've been living with the disorder for a long time and probably know what to watch for. Not the least of which is falling in love. There is a swing we notice where libido is either a trigger or a symptom. And "inappropriate sexual behavior" is on all the lists of triggers and symptoms. So is compulsive shopping.
So I watch myself carefully and avoid department stores like I was a recovering alcoholic and the department store was my favorite watering hole. I take my libidinous pulse now and then and find that my romantic heart is barely beating. And for many reasons I have not been shopping for anything more lovely than a used pair of jeans at a thrift store . I have been flirted with by a younger man with a quick wit and charming email style. I was tempted, but found myself believing that this attraction was more than likely the acting up or out of my bipolar disorder and nothing more. So my heart has remained in the deep freeze.
Life goes on. And 49 years later this boy is now an old man who has reappeared in my life. It was not his sexual aggression at eighteen that got us into bed, it was my sixteen year old self that did the aggressing. I was the sexual predator. I took what I wanted and left him without a word, without a backward glance. Oh, I thought about him, but I did not call, I did not return to explain my behavior, my moving on, my craziness. I did not look back and wonder if my carelessness hurt him. It seems to have left him whole and healthy. And my crazy life went from wild and free to a long string of failed romances, failed marriages. He on the other hand did all the things one would expect of a good man. He joined the Army and served in Germany. He traveled, he married, he raised two sons. He married again and raised two other children. He has a relationship with his grown up children. He seems to carry with him into old age the same kindness and gentleness he had as a boy.
Now he has found me again. His family is raised, his children grown. He lives alone in his house 60 miles from my house. And my libido is revived and revving. And I wonder is it love or lust or just bipolar disorder?
So I watch myself carefully and avoid department stores like I was a recovering alcoholic and the department store was my favorite watering hole. I take my libidinous pulse now and then and find that my romantic heart is barely beating. And for many reasons I have not been shopping for anything more lovely than a used pair of jeans at a thrift store . I have been flirted with by a younger man with a quick wit and charming email style. I was tempted, but found myself believing that this attraction was more than likely the acting up or out of my bipolar disorder and nothing more. So my heart has remained in the deep freeze.
Life goes on. And 49 years later this boy is now an old man who has reappeared in my life. It was not his sexual aggression at eighteen that got us into bed, it was my sixteen year old self that did the aggressing. I was the sexual predator. I took what I wanted and left him without a word, without a backward glance. Oh, I thought about him, but I did not call, I did not return to explain my behavior, my moving on, my craziness. I did not look back and wonder if my carelessness hurt him. It seems to have left him whole and healthy. And my crazy life went from wild and free to a long string of failed romances, failed marriages. He on the other hand did all the things one would expect of a good man. He joined the Army and served in Germany. He traveled, he married, he raised two sons. He married again and raised two other children. He has a relationship with his grown up children. He seems to carry with him into old age the same kindness and gentleness he had as a boy.
Now he has found me again. His family is raised, his children grown. He lives alone in his house 60 miles from my house. And my libido is revived and revving. And I wonder is it love or lust or just bipolar disorder?
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
A gift from YellowDogGranny
"Moving On Up! To The East Side ! To That Deluxe Apartment In The Sky-y-y , , , , , "
INSTEAD HOW ABOUT A LITTLE RESPECT!
The Devil's In The Details
There is unrest amongst the natives. We are growing impatient with the republicans gaming this stimulus package or spending package, depending on you viewpoint. Dear Mr. President, it's time to tell the people what is in the package and let us start screaming for passage of changes or pass it. But make congress get off their asses and do something. We will damn well call our congress persons. We will fire off the email to Nancy and Harry. Oh yes we will. But tell us what you're doing. And while you're at it, will you please explain the weak spot in the vetting process that does not enquire into ones tax difficulties? I'm guessing Caroline, who seemed stunned that she would be required to do this if appointed Senator from New York. This is getting embarrassing, but will no doubt delight the audiences of SNL, Jon Stewart, and Stephen Colbert, of whom I'm one. I'm rooting for you. I'll do anything you ask, but please, Mr President, talk to us. You're really good at it. We need to keep our hope alive.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
It's A Fairy Tale Romance
I've told you bits and pieces in posts and comments about Cal, the boy I met at his brother's coffee house in 1960. I was barely sixteen, he was barely eighteen. It was his older brother (married and with children) who hit on me, but it was Cal who I chose to drag home to my parent's empty house for the purpose of having sex with a very sweet real boy. He was gentle, kind, patient, willing and in the end probably in a great deal of pain, if the stories of blue balls are true. I was the first girl he'd been naked in bed with. He was the first boy I'd been naked in bed with. (My daddy did not count and it was because of my experience with my daddy that I so wanted to have a normal experience of sex with a real boy) I was not the first girl Cal had sex with, but the first girl who really wanted to have sex with him but who wasn't able to have sex with him.
It was the very early trauma of those years of sex with daddy that made sex with Cal impossible. I eventually had to get medical help for the problem for the clamped down muscles that would not allow me to even use a tampon. My body did not want to be penetrated by anything. My body had a mind of it's own and was determined to remain virginal if not technically a virgin.
Now, 49 years later the boy is an old man and the girl is an old woman. He has been married twice, raised two of his own children, and two of his second wife's children. He's lived in the same house for thirty years. Prior to that he lived within a few blocks of me and used to see my photos in the newspaper modeling. He recognized me. This in itself amazes me. So close and yet so far.
Then a year ago he read my letter to the editor in the newspaper and googled me where he found my blog. He started reading and read for a full year before he emailed me. That is a patient man. That is a loyal man. And of all the men I've ever known, he is the first to read my novel. And at breakneck speed. He finished it the day I took it off the blog.
We have been talking on the phone now for weeks. I am again the aggressor in this odd relationship. But he seems fine with that. I ask very personal questions and he answers without thinking for the answer I might most want to hear. He says he can't lie to me. I'm hoping that's true. I believe that intimacy is impossible where honesty is withheld.
I thought I was through with men. I thought I was again impervious, sexless, disinterested, over it all. I might be wrong about that. There might be a bit of romance left in this old woman's heart. I'll keep you posted.
It was the very early trauma of those years of sex with daddy that made sex with Cal impossible. I eventually had to get medical help for the problem for the clamped down muscles that would not allow me to even use a tampon. My body did not want to be penetrated by anything. My body had a mind of it's own and was determined to remain virginal if not technically a virgin.
Now, 49 years later the boy is an old man and the girl is an old woman. He has been married twice, raised two of his own children, and two of his second wife's children. He's lived in the same house for thirty years. Prior to that he lived within a few blocks of me and used to see my photos in the newspaper modeling. He recognized me. This in itself amazes me. So close and yet so far.
Then a year ago he read my letter to the editor in the newspaper and googled me where he found my blog. He started reading and read for a full year before he emailed me. That is a patient man. That is a loyal man. And of all the men I've ever known, he is the first to read my novel. And at breakneck speed. He finished it the day I took it off the blog.
We have been talking on the phone now for weeks. I am again the aggressor in this odd relationship. But he seems fine with that. I ask very personal questions and he answers without thinking for the answer I might most want to hear. He says he can't lie to me. I'm hoping that's true. I believe that intimacy is impossible where honesty is withheld.
I thought I was through with men. I thought I was again impervious, sexless, disinterested, over it all. I might be wrong about that. There might be a bit of romance left in this old woman's heart. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, February 2, 2009
I've Gone And Done It Now
I'm now officially entered in the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I could not have done this without Phillip. Just the technical part of the entry form, all the small details of getting every part of the submission process right would have flummoxed me. For Phillip it was easy, despite the disorganization of my "files"--that may be too generous to me to call what I'm storing files. Phillip is one hell of an editor. Too bad he doesn't want to do it, but then I'm amazed anyone wants to do it, since I'm so bad at it.
My little nervous breakdown is coming. There is the period of extreme stress buildup when a deadline is looming. This chance to publish means a lot to me. It's a long shot I know, but I have one goal, one resolution for this year and it's to get published. It may just be a short story. Maybe a poem. But something. So something is now out there. Odd that it's the pitch I have least interest or skill in writing which is the part that will end up determining whether or not the first three chapters are even read. See how awkward and convoluted that sentence is? Is it even a sentence? Oh god. Now I'm filled with fear. Everything depends on the pitch.
I will now collapse on my fainting couch and weep and carry on. Then I'll vacuum. Then I'll come and visit you.
Kathleen, thank you for telling me about his contest and urging me to enter it. Thank you for helping me with my pitch. So many of you have been helping me, I can't name you all, but in the beginning it was Stella who made me think I just might be a writer. It was Vig who took me seriously enough to correct my grammar and spelling. It was Lisa and Lib, Linda and Diva, Naj and Freida. Then it was my friend Susu who read and left me email comments, and the notes of a good copy editor. Then it was LeeAnn who left me emailed notes of an editorial nature, and Larry for a million reasons. God bless the editor in every one of you. I was amazed how many of you read the book and left helpful and encouraging comments. There are so many men who read and left touching and thoughtful comments. I'm talking about you Unconventional Conventionist and you Randal, and you Beach, and you Steve, and you MRMacrum. I'm sure I'm leaving some of you out. I know I am. But I so exhausted I'm shaking. My fingers are jumpy. I've got the jitters.
And you Cal. You, who finished reading just as I took it off the blog. It has been ruthlessly edited--four chapters cut, chunks here and there, the occasional word like "that." Thanks again Phillip for pointing "that" out to me.
Don't feel bad if I haven't mentioned your help.
My little nervous breakdown is coming. There is the period of extreme stress buildup when a deadline is looming. This chance to publish means a lot to me. It's a long shot I know, but I have one goal, one resolution for this year and it's to get published. It may just be a short story. Maybe a poem. But something. So something is now out there. Odd that it's the pitch I have least interest or skill in writing which is the part that will end up determining whether or not the first three chapters are even read. See how awkward and convoluted that sentence is? Is it even a sentence? Oh god. Now I'm filled with fear. Everything depends on the pitch.
I will now collapse on my fainting couch and weep and carry on. Then I'll vacuum. Then I'll come and visit you.
Kathleen, thank you for telling me about his contest and urging me to enter it. Thank you for helping me with my pitch. So many of you have been helping me, I can't name you all, but in the beginning it was Stella who made me think I just might be a writer. It was Vig who took me seriously enough to correct my grammar and spelling. It was Lisa and Lib, Linda and Diva, Naj and Freida. Then it was my friend Susu who read and left me email comments, and the notes of a good copy editor. Then it was LeeAnn who left me emailed notes of an editorial nature, and Larry for a million reasons. God bless the editor in every one of you. I was amazed how many of you read the book and left helpful and encouraging comments. There are so many men who read and left touching and thoughtful comments. I'm talking about you Unconventional Conventionist and you Randal, and you Beach, and you Steve, and you MRMacrum. I'm sure I'm leaving some of you out. I know I am. But I so exhausted I'm shaking. My fingers are jumpy. I've got the jitters.
And you Cal. You, who finished reading just as I took it off the blog. It has been ruthlessly edited--four chapters cut, chunks here and there, the occasional word like "that." Thanks again Phillip for pointing "that" out to me.
Don't feel bad if I haven't mentioned your help.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
I Could Write A Book
I wish I could edit one quickly and cleanly. Oh well. The work goes on. Obsessive as ever.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Gift That Keeps On Giving
From Cal or Cal's Cat. I'm not sure, but thank you.
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Admit it, he did give us a lot of laughs.Farewell, George Bush'The vast majority of our imports come from outside the country.' - George W. Bush'If we don't succeed, we run the risk of failure.' - George W. Bush
'One word sums up probably the responsibility of any Governor, and that one word is 'to be prepared'.' -George W. Bush
'I have made good judgments in the past. I have made good judgments in the future.' - George W. Bush
'The future will be better tomorrow.' - George W. Bush
'We're going to have the best educated American people in the world.' - George W. Bush
'I stand by all the misstatements that I've made.' - George W Bush
'We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a part of NATO. We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are a part of Europe ' - George W. Bush
'Public speaking is very easy.' - George W. Bush
'A low voter turnout is an indication of fewer people going to the polls.' - George W. Bush
'I have opinions of my own -- strong opinions -- but I don't always agree with them.' -George Bush
'We are ready for any unforeseen event that may or may not occur.' - George W. Bush
'For NASA, space is still a high priority.' -George W. Bush
'Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children.' -George W. Bush
'It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it.' - George W. Bush
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