Oh yes. My favorite television show– until David Duchovny left it…The 2nd movie is coming out this year! Whahahahahaha.
Little Moments
Little things make me happy: a text from my nephew, rain tapping against the window, blank paper, a hot bath, a stranger’s smile. Little things. Simple things. Small memories: the bells of St. Mark’s, a bouquet of dandelions, laughter after midnight, fingers on ivory.
I suppose it is often the small things that truly affect me, the small things that lead me, quietly push me toward the bigger. And how often I forget—how often I do not notice these moments, passing flecks, that collect and dance like dust in sunlight.
The Story of Stuff
I recommend watching this. It is a very well done video. You will have to click on the other chapters to continue. I watched it in my history class. It made me think. A lot.
I Can Be a Homemaking Feminist
I adore my nephews and nieces. I miss them and am grateful to have at least N. here to dote on. She is a bright, spirited little thing, and on every occasion causes me to smile. H. will have the baby in May, which means I will have a nephew here, too. It amazes me, all their different personalities. How, at such young ages, they exemplify unique characteristics. My siblings are blessed to have such children.
One day I hope to be a mother. Today’s society looks upon motherhood, or– I should say– most of society looks upon a woman who centers her attention on the home as one oppressed and subjugated. Get a career! says society, Snub the male domination with your brains, ban family life, and for heaven’s sake, never bake an apple pie!
Alright, I might be going overboard with the apple pie bit. I also know that there are many women who have no choice but to work. Whatever their circumstance, life demands that they do. For those with a choice, though, and who want to stay home– I think it silly to label them some brainless, dictated June Clever. Just like I think it is silly to label a woman who wants a career as selfish.
I strongly believe, of course, that education is important for every woman to obtain. I think it extremely important to always cultivate the mind, even after one is finished with their education. I do not consider woman to be the weaker sex any more than I do man to be the stronger, and every person, man or woman, ought to be allowed goals and dreams and the means to pursue them. Everyone has the right to reach their full potential. If a woman feels her potential best obtained outside the home, I am no one to stop her, just as she cannot ruin my belief that my potential cannot be stifled with my focus on “running” a household.
So, thank you for my right to vote. Thanks for opening the doors of education even wider for women. Thanks for throwing out the ‘Good Wife’s guide of 1954. I can open my own door, put oil in my car, and even have an opinion! And you know, I can be just as liberated and intelligent as a woman outside of the home– so proves many marvelous mothers. Mine, of course, worked off and on, and is amazing in all respects. As for my grandmother– she makes one amazing apple pie.
Alive
A moment comes when everything stops. The only thing you are certain of is your heartbeat, how it pumps in an even rhythm beneath your chest, how the blood pushes in and out, rushing through your veins. You think, I am alive. Beneath the bright blue sky, atop the green grass, between all the mountains and buildings and people– I am alive.
For Being Here
Thank you for listening today. I know you do not read this, which is fine because our communication is entirely different from most peoples’. I just want to say thank you, is all.
Thank you for helping me dry the tears.
Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you for loving all of me. The nicked-up bits, too.
Thank you for the laugh.
Yours.
M.
Personality-shmality
Because of the morbid curiosity of a dear friend, I took the Jung Typology Test. I am usually wary about personality tests. They are very rarely accurate. So, imagine my surprise when this test turns out to be frighteningly, extraordinarily, extremely correct.
I am a INFJ, which stands for Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging. Lucky. Me.
Two interesting facts about the INFJ include:
1. There are only a little more than 2 percent of my kind. Like I am an alien. Or diseased. Or something.
2. Some famous INFJ’s are Eleanor Roosevelt, Emily Bronte, Nathan, prophet of Israel (which begs the question: They had the Jung test way back then?), Chaucer, Aristophanes, Nelson Mandela. And let us not forget my personal favorite– Michael Landon. Nothing says INFJ like, Little House on the Prairie.
So, what about you?
And I, I Took the One Less Traveled By
I am not sure what to say, except that maybe I was fooling myself.
We Wake Eternally
When I was a child my parents did their best to emphasize why one truly celebrates Easter, though– I confess– as a child, my main concern was my pretty new Easter dress and, let us not forget, what candy would appear in my basket. My thoughts rarely focused on Christ, rather more on Mom’s potato salad and homemade rolls. Oh, and the honey-glazed ham and cheesecake. Clearly my priorities as a child revolved around looking pretty while getting fat.
Things are different, now.
I was sixteen (sadly) when the glory of candy, hidden eggs with money inside, clothes, and food went to the backburner. Though Grandma V. died two years previous, it was Grandpa’s death that impacted me. Not so much his death, but the funeral, which took place a few days before Thanksgiving, leaving the rest of the winter poignant to our family.
Being a Mormon, I have been raised with the understanding that death is not the end, that life does continue, that we are capable of being sealed for all time and eternity to our loved ones. This teaching, which I not only find comfort in, but deeply believe, has been and is of great help when the clouds of mortally have gathered upon those I love.
Since Grandpa V.’s death, Easter also holds a deeper meaning. It is Christ, after all, that makes such a belief in life after death possible. Some of the sweetest words in reference of His sacrifice come from the hymn, I Know that My Redeemer Lives. This song, especially as I play it on the piano, rarely leaves my eyes dry or soul unmoved. It is His sacrifice that breaks the bands of death and dispels the dark and lonely thoughts that this life is all there is, that there is no purpose, no hope– because I know that there is purpose and hope and love.
I can think of no better time for Easter, either, then spring. After the long, cold months of winter: bare trees, naked gardens, bleak skies– comes a rebirth: blossoms, budding flowers, sunshine. The long night is over, a new day is come, and the words of Donne’s poem take on greater meaning: Death, thou shalt die.
A Note on Suddenly Being Fanatic About Earth
Before my world history class, (which strangely has little to do with history), I had it up to my neck with Green buy and Global Warming. If I heard one more rant, hostages would be taken.
Change of heart.
This class has opened my big brown naïve eyes.
Some important sites that P. brought to our attention tonight:
and
P. had our class saunter down to the library to take the quiz on, My Footprint. Guilt. Complete guilt.
