Unexpected Joy

Tonight, my parents went to the 70th birthday part of a member of my parents' Sunday School class, Floyd. I've met him and his wife, Becky, before at church and at a few get-togethers at my parents' house, but I don't know them very well. I could tell my mom wanted to spend more time together (we got our nails done and poked around antique stores this afternoon) and that they expected to not know a lot of the people there. Floyd is a car enthusiast (he drove his Edsel) and his car club was most of the people there. So I went, mainly to keep my parents company.

No need, of course. My parents never met strangers (my sister and I come by it honestly) and enough of their Sunday School class was present that they were kept socially happy the entire time. I settled in to ignore people after wishing the birthday boy happiness, only to be bombarded by his wife (who might be one of my favorites). Soon I was talking to people there about tracing family lines, NYC, and other various topics. We stayed around after everyone had left to help clean up and chat with Floyd and Becky.

It struck me, later, how something I had no interest in doing produced some beautiful moments. An elderly couple told me how they were both from OKC, but he had moved to California as a child. Incredible happenstance brought them together, back in OKC as young adults. His parents were welders during WWII. His mother was so small, they put her in the tight places to weld since she could fit. We discussed how my maternal grandfather couldn't join because he was so small, all his uniforms would have had to be custom fitted, so he made A26 Invaders in Tulsa, where he met my grandmother, who was a wing inspector for the B24 Liberator made in the same factory. It was just a lovely moment.

So we go to things we don't care about, but if we go with an open mind, sometimes we'll leave with a beautiful new moment.

Hard Labor in the Heartland

Today I woke up at an egregious hour to join my dad on our property in Asher for a morning of work. The early hour wasn't so much of a problem as the heat. It was 90 by 9 am and 110 when we left at 1. Oye.

My parents own 300 acres of undeveloped land in Asher, OK. They've owned it most of my life (bought in 1987). My uncle Tom and his boys (and their boys) have used it for hunting property for years. My dad doesn't hunt, but he goes out with them some times to read a book and enjoy the company.

Originally, the land was undeveloped entirely. Now, there's a hunting cabin, shed, and outhouse (recent addition!) in a area that previously was setup with tents. Dad has used the land to drop trees for firewood and we get our Christmas trees from there. Now, he and my brother-in-law have started reworking the land to make parts of it marketable for hay or general grazing land. It's not easy work - dad says the land was used to plant cotton and terraced accordingly, which has now caused deep ravines of erosion. We've got to fill those ravines, which means hauling burned out trees (we had a fire a few years ago from someone dropping a cigarette on the roadside) into them, evening out the slopes to discourage future erosion, and moving the dirt to bury the trees. That's long, hard work in the sun and we're all doing our time.

We took Indy out with us. He did well, despite the heat. He checked in on each of us working, then crawled under the truck. I got to drive the Bobcat awhile and knock an hour off of my needed 15 to get licensed. My biggest challenge is that you need to be able to provide weight on your feet and hands at the same time, which is hard when you're struggling to reach the peddles, but I manage. 






Overall, it was a good, if incredibly hot day. And the shower I got when I came home might have been the most glorious thing ever. I got to break in mom's snake boots (I haven't lived somewhere where they were necessary in a long time) and see my dog survive as a country dog. I also got a reminder of how beautiful it is out there. I couldn't live in it - the isolation would kill me - but it's great to visit. I now need my family to build a proper cabin for staying in so we can go and enjoy it. 


More pictures available at Asher album.

Three Kinds of Bad Days

I have three kinds of Bad Days. The worst is the Really Bad Day. Those are the days where I can't move, where I avoid drinking anything because it would mean having to go the bathroom, and that requires moving. Those are the days when even typing hurts and when thinking in nearly impossible. Those happen most often when it's cold or as a result of a Kinda Bad Day (see below).

The next is a Bad Day. This is a day where things hurt, walking is slow and achy, but I can walk and I can (mostly) function. My brain is a little fuzzy, but I can put together sentences. I shouldn't drive and I'm really bad at making choice decisions (a or b).

The least type is a Kinda Bad Day. I'm usually achy, and pain is present, but I can push through the day. The danger with this kind of day is that if I push too hard, I end up with a Really Bad Day the next day. Learning this lesson has been one of the hardest parts of accepting the new version of life that has become mine.

Today is a Bad Day. Slow to move, in pain, but I can function. I was able to watch my nephew (he hung out in bed with me) while his mom did some stuff, I just couldn't lift him above my head (no airplane) or get out of bed while holding him. I watched Tombstone, then moved to the front room, where I've been on the computer while laid out. I read everything I type three or four times to make sure it makes sense, I can't work on my thesis, and getting a cup of tea takes 20 minutes, but it could be a lot worse.

Why Do They Yell?

Being home with my family, I've gone to church more this summer than I have since 2004, which is to say, three times thus far. The first was to my parents' church for Father's Day. Their Sunday School class is a lot of fun and made up of great people. Their pastor, on the other hand, is a mission focused pastor, who would have every heathen converted. I don't have a lot of patience for that type.

The second time was in California, when we went to our old church (Immanuel Baptist in Highland) to hear the pastor we grew up with, Rob Zinn, preach. I love that man. I didn't agree with everything he said, but I like his message and his attitude. His sermon was basically about how judgement has no place among God's people, but to approach others with love.

Today was church three, as I attended Sunday School and church with my sister and brother-in-law. They're class was also a lot of fun, and you can see the group environment and learning. Kellie attended the church when Brandon was in Iraq, but she wasn't a member yet (they joined after he returned). Even so, they took care of her, taking her out to lunch and ensuring she wasn't too alone. That's the kind of community I expect from a church, and I was glad she had it. The sermon made me ask the question, "Why do Southern Baptist* preachers yell?" Kellie said that he didn't usually get so excited, but it's a common thing. They seem to think that if they yell at you, you'll hear them better. Rob gets loud, that's for certain, but you can see the excitement in what he's saying pour off of him. But for most, it just seems like they're yelling so you'll think they're serious.

I haven't been a member of a church since I left high school. Technically, I'm still a member at University Baptist Church in Shawnee, since I never transferred my letter of membership. I've been involved in a couple of Catholic communities since I left, but I've never joined a church. I don't like most aspects of community worship and the message that comes from the majority of the pulpits is one that chafes me greatly. Anytime someone teaches exclusion or superiority (which is often how a mission-oriented minister sounds) or hate, they've lost me entirely.

I haven't had much use in my life for a church, and I don't see that changing soon. Faith is a very private matter to me and I don't have the desire to share it, especially not in the manner that proselytizing faiths employ. It's been nice to visit a range of churches, to see what I like and don't like about them. But I don't see a return to them for me in the near future. Maybe, someday, a faith based community will call to me again. But not now. And never to one that yells.

*I'm sure other ministers yell. My experience is with the SBC.

Colorguard Mini-Reunion

When I was in high school, I was in colorguard my sophomore through senior year. I was captain my senior that, during which we had 16 new girls on a 21 girls squad. I grew very close to those girls during that year, starting the grueling summer schedule off with a sleepover at my house. I hope I made the schedule of fundraisers and summer training less painful by trying to develop an esprit de corps. It remains some of my fondest high school memories.

Today, we had a little mini-reunion with some of the girls. A few from later years came too, but I was the oldest and several my freshmen were there. They're wives, mothers, and professionals now, but they still look like they did then, at least to me. We met in a park, nothing fancy, and brought our own lunches. Some of the girls have remained friends. We talked about what happened after I left and they told me about the trial and tribulations (and oh, the drama!) that they suffered. It was a lot of fun.

One of the girls, who I distinctly recall suffering the most from our horrible uniform which created incredibly unflattering tan lines, sat down next to me shortly after she arrived with her adorable nine-month-old in tow. She told me that the opening sleepover had really been an awesome thing for her since she didn't know the other girls and was nervous, and that I had been a great leader. That was the first time that someone has told me that something I did in high school mattered to them. It was incredibly sweet.

While I was unsure about the entire thing to begin with, I have to say I had a fabulous time. I ended up spending the rest of the day with my godchildren and their mother, which included teaching my 11-year-old goddaughter the boxstep (in heels) and how to curtsy. Overall, a really enjoyable day, rather unexpectedly.

Time with Sister

Proof that Oklahoma has hills.

I spent today and yesterday with my sister, her son, and her husband at their house. They've got 10 acres and it's just beautiful out there. They've got a large creek and pond, which floods their pastureland, but their house is on a hill so they don't have to worry about it flooding their home. Lots of trees and space for them to have a large vegetable patch.

Once she finished work today, we went to the coffee shop, which is a really cool locally owned place that outlasted Starbucks (and also made the best chai latte I've ever had) and chatted. It was nice to get to talk and relax - and the little man was an angel. We talked about perceptions and how meeting people does amazing things to change that. For example, anyone who went to Basic Training at Ft. Sill knows that Oklahoma is not flat. The three counties of the panhandle are, but the rest of it is foothills, mountains (little ones, but still mountains), and lots and lots of water (the most man made coastline in the country). The dirt, however, is red and will stain your clothes. That's true.

We also talked about the idea that exposure reduces the harsh opinions of other groups. People are people, whether they be straight people, gay people, black people, white people...I explained the idea in the gay community that if everyone were to come out to their families, it would go a long way in reducing the hate that comes with the unknown. It's so much harder to hate all gays when that includes your child. That doesn't make it easy, certainly, and I understand the fears. But Kellie seemed to get the concept and we talked about gay marriage and such.

I remember when my sister asked me how it's possible for it to be okay to be gay. She was in high school, barely, and encountering the issue for the first time. What she wanted to know was how to reconcile it with the Bible. I set her up with a dear friend of mine who answered her questions, someone who was gay and had studied the issue. Living with me in DC, she got her first exposure to members of the community, rather than just individuals. And she came out of it with an incredibly mature understanding that people are people and you have to love all people, you can't pick and choose. It makes me so very proud of her.

The (tiny) Guilt of Not Breastfeeding

One of the truths to being me is that I can't carry a child through pregnancy. I don't mind, it was never something that was important to me. It is something incredibly important to my sister, who is healthy as a horse and had a relatively smooth first pregnancy and lightning fast labor (hour and a half - of which 20 minutes was in the car on the way to the hospital!). Basically, this isn't a problem, it's just life and I'm fine with it. I think of the upsides - I can have children while working on my PhD with less physical recovery time and  I will get to share the child-rearing experience with my husband from the same level of involvement and attachment, which is pretty awesome in my book.

Where I run into trouble is the ever-growing research on the benefits of breastfeeding children for their first 6 months (or longer). It's simply something I won't be able to provide - I won't be pregnant, therefore I won't have breast milk. I'm not concerned about the apparent emotional bonds and such and I know that there are perfectly healthy children who were never breastfed. But each time I come across an article or blog post about the benefits of breastfeeding, there's a brief twinge of guilt that it's just something I can't provide. It passes and I move on. Watching my sister breastfeed while we're hanging out does nothing to fuel a desire for the experience myself, but I do envy her that her child won't ever have formula (nor baby food, but that's different).

Nothing that my future children will be denied by not being breastfed is insurmountable and I know better than anyone that breastfeeding doesn't ensure a healthy life for your children (I was breastfed). But still, in our current climate, it's hard not to feel guilty, even briefly, for not being able to provide your child with what is considered, more and more, the foundation for a healthy life. 

This moment of guilt brought to you by Andrew Sullivan. Don't worry, Andrew, I don't blame you. You can't breastfeed either.