tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34619180207135206862024-03-04T23:43:36.951-08:00The Beauty of EclecticismMy interests have never been monolithic, so there is no easy description of the content here.
These are just things that intrigue me, and updates on my life.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.comBlogger342125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-78505196472721927862020-02-11T02:00:00.001-08:002020-02-11T02:00:26.549-08:00Book Review: Gemini<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/51169144-gemini" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Gemini (It's Written in the Stars, #3)" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1581399427l/51169144._SX98_.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/51169144-gemini">Gemini</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8344144.Sterling_Children_s">Sterling Children's</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3185672770">4 of 5 stars</a><br /><br />
When my partner and I first met, she was a long-time believer in the power of one’s zodiac signs to affect one’s life, and had done a bit of research on it, while I staunchly refused to countenance any such ideas. My Pentecostal parents raised me to believe that astrology (no matter which cultural version you prefer), numerology, palmistry, and tarot reading were all actively satanic, and even though, as an adult, I’ve stopped seeing Satan around every corner, I still used to dismiss astrology as ridiculous superstition, embraced only by the desperate or the gullible. There’s nothing like falling in love with someone who holds an opinion you once denounced to get a crash course in your own prejudices!! These days, I describe myself as a healthily skeptical seeker. Many things that were once considered just superstitions have since been proven to have a scientific basis; our ancestors simply observed and attempted to explain phenomena, without having access to the data necessary to puzzle out actual causes vs. effects. So I’m prepared to accept that a similar situation may be at work here, especially since some of the things I’ve read have really helped explain some issues that have arisen in my relationship with my partner over the years.<br /><br />In some ways, I found these small books the most helpful on astrology I’ve ever tried. Ostensibly written for teens, they are written simply, but without any insulting tone, and though they don’t overwhelm with information, they definitely go deeper into the topic than most popular guidebooks or manuals, even most of those intended for adults. The range of relationship types—friendships, family members, love interests—are addressed, covering how each zodiacal sign is likely to interact with those who are the subjects of the individual books (in this case, Geminis). I really felt that I learned some useful information, I greatly enjoyed the illustrations, and I appreciated the fact that the writers acknowledged the fact that the stars are simply guides, and every human is an individual, that not everything they wrote may fit neatly into the readers’ lives!<br /><br />The only thing I found genuinely unhelpful here was the fact that the date charts they provided—which should have been a very useful inclusion!—only covered a small cross-section of the population, those born from 1995-2006. The addition of just 3-4 additional pages could have covered a MUCH wider range, and even if these books WERE only being read by teens, those additional dates could have allowed them to understand more about their older and younger siblings, as well as their parents and grandparents. The writers did give a one-line aside, suggesting how to use the chart if the necessary dates weren’t listed, but it wasn’t very clear at all, and it took me ages to figure out what it meant; I have to imagine it would baffle many younger readers.<br /><br />Still, I really like this series, and would recommend it to anyone who wants a more in-depth beginner’s introduction, for themselves or their children, to their signs and how they might have shaped their personalities. Unless you can find the books on a sale, as I did, they’re a bit expensive, so you probably wouldn’t want to pick up a complete set of them to learn more about the signs of others; a more comprehensive, all-in-one introductory volume would probably be more appropriate for that. But for the reader who just want to read up on one or two signs, they’re ideal, as they’re delightfully personal, and further personalizable, with some lined pages included on which to record the birthdates/signs of all one’s friends and family, allowing the owner to put greater effort into understanding and building better relationships with others. Those are skills that are important at any age, but really vital for teens who are attempting to grow out of the complete self-focus of childhood and into more outward-looking young adulthood. For that reason, if no other, I don’t think you have to fully believe in astrology to reap benefits from this book; the relationship advice it provides is just generally wise.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/6057211-jennifer">View all my reviews</a><br />
<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-66191579491513363052016-07-15T11:55:00.003-07:002016-07-15T12:05:20.185-07:00On Violence and Social Media<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">This is a collection of observations and statements I've made on Facebook in the past two weeks, in response to all the violence and madness swirling through the headlines, and the resulting ire streaming down our social media walls. I hope it helps someone. (I have provided a timeline of events to give context.)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><b><u>July 5, 2016 12:35 am CDT--Alton Sterling, shot and killed by police in Baton Rouge, LA</u></b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><u>July 7, 2016 c. 12:00 pm CDT--</u>I posted a comment on Facebook based on my first, emotional reaction to the news of Philando Castile, stating that I would march in protest if the officer involved wasn't convicted. In reply, I got a message from an old friend so angry and hateful that I took the whole post down, sent that person a private message, and after a few minutes of reflection, posted this:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><u>July 7, 2016 12:38 pm CDT--</u></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I'm sorry.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Our country is so divided right now, and everybody is so angry. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I think we can begin peace by someone admitting that all sides have at least one valid point, and one genuinely good reason for their anger. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Anger stems from old hurts, and hurts get to be that old because the one who inflicted them never made amends. So, on behalf of parents, children, lovers, attackers, cheaters, thieves, entire systems of philosophy, theology, economics, government, entire races, whole species...</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">I'm sorry, and I love you.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><u>July 7, 2016 1:11 pm CDT--</u></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Friends, I'm sorry I didn't learn this sooner:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">our anger level in this country right now makes it painful for others when we share "opinion pieces" about a myriad of topics. For the foreseeable future, I'm going to TRY (because I may fail) to only "Share" positive or strictly informational things, and just "Like" things with which I agree, but which may hurt some of you. Please let me know if you can still see my "Like"s, and I'll try to change that setting. America's way too angry right now.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><b><u>July 7, 2016 8:58 pm CDT-July 8, 2016 c. 2:30 am CDT--Mass shooting of Dallas police officers and bystanders by PFC (Ret.) Micah Xavier Johnson</u></b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><u>July 8, 2016 1:07 pm CDT--</u></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">And then we wake to this. Police put their lives on the line for us, as do firefighters, EMS, our military, anybody who walks INTO a situation that we would naturally haul ass away from out of fear--and I honor them for that. The police have a great deal of authority in our everyday lives, and I want to be sure they are held accountable, only because I don't want ANYBODY dead. That's the whole point. Yes, ALL lives matter.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;"><u>July 8, 2016 3:56 pm CDT--</u></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.32px;">Save a friendship. Before you de-friend anybody, consider just using the tiny gray downward arrow at the right-hand side of any post [on Facebook]. It gives you a drop-down menu, from which you can choose "Hide this post." There's a lot of anger swirling around right now; don't let your friends' need to vent make you do something you'll regret.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Violence and hatred are destructive forces; </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-size: large;">they cannot create anything except more of themselves. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 19.32px;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please try Compassion.</span></span></div>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-68489337192427817202015-06-26T12:08:00.000-07:002015-06-26T12:08:59.861-07:00Pax et LuxAs I sit in my living room, listening to President Obama deliver the eulogy for one of the the new martyrs, the Charleston 9 of blessed memory--and may their memory be eternal--I can only say this:<br />
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May these be--please, O Lord!--the last nine victims </div>
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of an old and horrifying war.</div>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-3334285977451297092015-06-26T10:31:00.000-07:002015-06-26T10:53:08.133-07:00Amor Vincit Omnia<br />
I truly never believed I would live to see this day. Yet, in the blink of an eye, it seems, history is made. Of course, it wasn't in the blink of an eye. People have suffered and fought for decades for this moment. I am proud to be their spiritual descendant, and to have received from their hands the prize for which they struggled.<br />
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-3182701816659904562015-04-23T15:46:00.000-07:002015-04-23T15:46:02.976-07:00A Beloved Father and Pastor, and His Lesbian DaughterReligion, science, and politics are currently tangled in a very messy dance over whether or not a person chooses to be gay, and what repercussions the issue should be allowed to have on our broader society. I think we all know the American conservative Christian position on the point, so let's not belabor it. That's a discussion for another time. Nor do I wish to discuss the current political wranglings. You can hear that argument anywhere.<br />
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I am interested in the best current scientific wisdom about when and how I "became" gay. Based on research surrounding twins, heredity, reported sexual attractions, and a host of other factors, the current understanding goes like this.<br />
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This is an X-chromosome. I really don't know how that actually works, either, so let's assume we're all in this together. We know that XX means a mother's having a girl, and that XY means she's having a boy. If you look very closely at the photo, you'll see that wrapped up inside that chromosome is human DNA, and of course, that spiral is made up of individual genes, lots and lots of them. Apparently, genes have even smaller units attached to them, called epigenomes, that tell the gene how to behave, and they change and even get turned off as we mature. In the womb, male fetuses have an epigenome that ensures their sexual characteristics and preferences won't get changed by the fact that their mother is female, and vice-versa for female fetuses. Those epigenomes usually turn off once their carrier is born, but if they don't, then a father passes his masculine sexual characteristics to a daughter when he fertilizes her mother's egg. And just that fast, a new little lesbian is made. If a mother's epigenomes keep working after they're no longer needed for her, they'll pass in her egg right along to help shape a gay baby boy.<br />
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Dad was 6'2" and some 300 lbs of utterly heterosexual male, with all the attendant frustrations for Mom about issues like house-cleaning and drinking milk straight from the jug. I've never met a more self-secure man; he sometimes wore pink dress shirts while delivering his fiery sermons in church. When surrounded by a houseful of menstruating wife and daughter, he went calmly to the store and bought maxi-pads, totally unfazed by it. My father believed that homosexuality was a perversion of God's design for human sex, but he was in no way a homophobe, never fearing for a moment that his attraction to women could be rattled in the slightest. Are we in any way surprised that this man's DNA was powerful enough to alter my personality?<br />
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My mother also had issues with ME on matters like drinking milk out the jug, and never being able to clean a room to her satisfaction. I loved my mother so dearly, but I adored and emulated my father in every way I could practically achieve; very frequently, I considered him my primary model for mannerisms, a habit that frequently got me in trouble. For example, I had to learn to wipe my sweaty face with the collar of my t-shirt, rather than the tail that my father used, so as not to flash the crowd. I wanted to make my mother happy, but I wanted to BE my father when I grew up. I'm proud to be my daddy's little lesbian girl, even though I know he would have been uncomfortable with such a statement.<br />
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Last week saw my partner, Kristina, and I pass the one-year mark in our relationship. She's a maddening joy and new-found wellspring of hope, constantly challenging me to become more the person I wish to be. My father (who died in 2007) made it clear he was proud that I was so much like him, but the one thing I earnestly wish we could have shared was the wonders and frustrations of loving a good woman. I wish I could call him and ask how he made my mother smile so genuinely for decades, that I could have questioned him while there was still time about how to help a woman's love for me endure like that.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-58055484390413247622015-04-20T15:42:00.000-07:002015-04-20T15:46:07.210-07:00PTSD 2--Automatic MindIn <a href="http://eclecticismjncl.blogspot.com/2015/04/ptsd-1-afraid-to-do.html" target="_blank">my last post</a>, I listed several new diagnoses for myself, and it seemed to spark similar questions for more than one reader, questions like, "Do you do anything but seek out labels for your issues? Isn't the actual diagnosis for one who constantly searches for diagnoses 'hypochondriac'? Does any of this then accomplish anything?" Today, I would like to address the ways in which my previous breakthrough has nothing but practical applications.<br />
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Defining Automatic Thoughts</h2>
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Panic and anxiety sufferers like me are masters at a thought process called "catastrophizing," i.e. some little thing happens, and my mind has already built it up into the worst case scenario possible, then declared that outcome a certainty. Psychiatrists often refer to this pattern as "automatic thoughts," but the term is misleading at first. The thoughts to which they're referring did not spring to life from nothing, fully formed, to torment their patients. These patterns are built up year after very painful year, the patient teaching herself to panic first and think rationally later, if at all. However, once the habit is established, it is automatic; it happens before I'm even aware that it's happening, and therefore I have no chance to challenge it and calm myself down. I had to become aware before I could begin to change the mental behavior, and the resulting actions I take in response.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xcYA2OgAjqY/VTVyS9RtoMI/AAAAAAAAJdo/aDlEN8xxjiE/s1600/Automatic%2BThoughts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xcYA2OgAjqY/VTVyS9RtoMI/AAAAAAAAJdo/aDlEN8xxjiE/s1600/Automatic%2BThoughts.jpg" height="241" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy of <a href="http://sportsnutritionsupplementguide.com/" target="_blank">Sports, Nutrition and Supplement Guide</a>,<br />who offer <a href="http://sportsnutritionsupplementguide.com/health-wellness/lifestyle/item/1312-negative-automatic-thoughts#.VTVwaCHBzGc" target="_blank">very clear coverage</a> of the subject</td></tr>
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<h3>
Some examples:</h3>
<div>
If someone says to you, "What's 2+2?", odds are pretty good that your answer is automatically "4". You don't stop to ponder, you just spit it out, and never question whether the mental path you took to arrive at that answer was accurate. But you weren't born knowing that answer; some diligent teacher drilled it into your head, or else you were just extraordinarily advanced and taught yourself. Either way, at the age of 6, you probably had to consider to come up with an answer. Equally, I'll ask you, "What is 3x4?", and you'll likely give me a quick and accurate response, but you wouldn't have when you were small, and still had no concept of multiplication. We function in adult society by using automatic thoughts all the time. Our thoughts automatically warn us that if a moving vehicle in front of us in traffic stops, and we don't, there will be a wreck, so we slam on the breaks. We don't have time to debate the point; we have to stop immediately, so our brain processes it all for us and gives us the answer. Now imagine if that function goes haywire on you.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_1tPiXiNlFM/VTV2EN6TWbI/AAAAAAAAJd0/xeUWTOsaqQQ/s1600/ANTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_1tPiXiNlFM/VTV2EN6TWbI/AAAAAAAAJd0/xeUWTOsaqQQ/s1600/ANTS.jpg" /></a></div>
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<h2>
Automatic Negative Thoughts (ANTS)</h2>
<div>
My discussion last time of the progression from being afraid of going to hell, to being afraid of God, to being afraid of any authority figure, to being afraid that any mistake can destroy my life, is an elaborate word-diagram of what now happens instantaneously in my head all the time. Someone says to me, "You need to go to a place to which you've never been before to fill out this paperwork," and right on the spot, I picture myself lost, roaming the streets of Minneapolis for hours, or reaching the office, but making a mistake on the papers that will somehow not only defeat my purpose, but land me in jail through some horrible misunderstanding. I'm not exaggerating. Every time I leave the house to do something I've never done before, that's a major triumph for me. After a lifetime of loved ones dying, people kicking my parents out as their pastor or fears that they might do so because of some mistake I made as the preacher's kid, living through a flood, my parents' bankruptcy and my own, I am accustomed to life going wrong, often without warning. My mind has me in a fictional account of the world crashing around my ears before I have time to draw breath.</div>
<div>
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<h3>
A real-life example:</h3>
<div>
I'm on Medicaid as my only form of health insurance. Last week, I made a mistake and didn't inform a health care provider that I was going to have to miss an appointment. Several days later, I was notified that because the mistake was mine, the office was still going to charge for the appointment, and I would have to pay it myself. What are your first thoughts? Perhaps something like, "Well, that's unfortunate and a bit foolish, but mistakes happen. You learned an expensive lesson, I suppose! Won't let one slip past you like that again." Indeed.</div>
<div>
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<div>
MY first thoughts went something like this:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Oh, my God! They'll probably take my Medicaid away over a screw-up like this! Why am I ALWAYS screwing up?! Even when I try to do everything properly and as they tell me to do it, I always manage to make a mess of it. What's wrong with me? What's wrong with the world, that there are always more requirements than I can ever seem to fulfill? I've never been able to keep up under the everyday pressures like all the normal people do, and I never will."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe, like my partner, Kristina, you know me, and think to yourself, "But you look confident most of the time. I mean, you got all those degrees! Traveled the world! A lot of the time, it just looks like you don't want to do something, so you don't." Maybe. But now you know what it sounds like in my mind. I'm often terrified.</div>
<div>
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<h2>
Awareness: The Only Cure</h2>
<div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GwZBZqAZhSA/VTV6cqDMxUI/AAAAAAAAJeA/R3SocXG2KSI/s1600/Challenge%2BANTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GwZBZqAZhSA/VTV6cqDMxUI/AAAAAAAAJeA/R3SocXG2KSI/s1600/Challenge%2BANTS.jpg" height="320" width="215" /></a></div>
<div>
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<div>
After so many years of believing such horrible things about myself, about the world and its perceived dangers, the only way I'll ever change these patterns is to first become aware of them. Like your brain when it tells you not to hit the car in front of you, mine tells me not to leave the house, not to take risks of any kind, not to try things unless I absolutely know I'm good at them, even things I think would be fun, and for years, I didn't question its pronouncements. I don't particularly want to work most minimum-wage jobs, that's true, but I really do want to meet new people, try new restaurants, visit stores and museums, and I often don't do those things for the same reason that I don't currently try to work. The same fear drives all that avoidance--the technical term for when a patient goes to great lengths not to do things that terrify them--and until I knew that, I couldn't counteract it.</div>
<div>
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<div>
Now that I know what automatic gymnastics my mind is performing, I can say to it, calmly and internally, "That simply isn't true. You won't go to hell if you go to church and God notices you're gay; that assumes He didn't know before, and trust me, He knew a lot longer than you did. No, you won't lose your medical coverage over one mistake; you'll just have to pay the doctor's office a small monthly payment until that debt is cleared. No, not every mistake could cost you any job that you do land. When the moment comes, you'll admit your mistake, and carry on with your work day."</div>
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<h2>
Cured?</h2>
<div>
So, I'm all fixed now, right? There should be news of a job within the next few weeks! No, it's not quite that simple. I spent 37 years building up these mental pathways for my automatic negative thoughts; it will be, according to my therapist, at least a few more months before I have enough practice under my belt with automatic POSITIVE thoughts that I will no longer burst into tears in the middle of the bank if my boss is frustrated with me, as I once did when I was 18 and made a mistake at work. Still, after last week's revelation, I filed my own taxes correctly, tried two new restaurants with my partner, met one of her friends from work for the first time, and have started writing again. I don't do self-analysis as a hobby; I do it to begin to rebuild my life.</div>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-39551682866465961882015-04-15T16:13:00.000-07:002015-04-15T16:13:32.443-07:00PTSD 1--Afraid to DoI have spent a lifetime searching for the information I found today on the internet in a 20-minute search.<br />
<br />
I don't mean I just wanted to know what I found; I was desperate to know, terrified there was something horribly, fatally damaged in my character that would always leave me a procrastinating wastrel.<br />
<br />
So if it was vital to know why I do certain things, why did I never just enter those search terms into a Google screen before and find my solution?<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-busulEXk-G4/VS7typ6qy-I/AAAAAAAAJcU/ogc04adnaG0/s1600/Google%2BMonster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-busulEXk-G4/VS7typ6qy-I/AAAAAAAAJcU/ogc04adnaG0/s1600/Google%2BMonster.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I call him "Google Monster"</td></tr>
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<br />
I'm about to explain. The answer lies within the question.<br />
<br />
[WARNING: Diagnoses ahead. If you truly believe that these days, everyone has a label instead of just taking personal responsibility, then this post will infuriate you, and I can't help that. You may not wish to read it.]<br />
<br />
Frequent visitors here know that I suffer from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and that it stems not from any military service or pattern of childhood abuse, but from the trauma of events such as surviving a flood at age 13, and living with two terminally ill parents, until their deaths in 2007 and 2011.<br />
<br />
However, you may not be aware that from about the age of 8, I have experienced anxiety and occasional panic attacks when confronted with a new task about which I do not feel confident. For many years, life has felt as if it adds more and more demands upon me, and each one takes a toll. So what, right? It does that to everyone. Very true. But not everyone lives in terror of not doing it perfectly the first time, no matter the task. And not everyone fears going to hell if they don't accomplish that mission impossible.<br />
<br />
My father was a Pentecostal pastor nearly my whole life, and at the age of 4, I really listened to one of his sermons promising heaven to the saved and hell to the unsaved, and believed that I would go to hell if I didn't go forward to the altar and pray "the Sinner's Prayer" with him.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ENxs8QJnvUc/VS7W7c593WI/AAAAAAAAJbI/EvD7uc9Tp_4/s1600/Mourner's%2BBench.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ENxs8QJnvUc/VS7W7c593WI/AAAAAAAAJbI/EvD7uc9Tp_4/s1600/Mourner's%2BBench.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This old-fashioned Pentecostal "altar" is housed at the <a href="http://www.crma.org/" target="_blank">Cedar Rapids Museum of Art</a>.<br />Known in the early "Revival" days as a "Mourner's Bench," <br />it was a place where penitents sat, and later more commonly knelt, <br />to pray for immediate conversion and forgiveness.<br />I said my initial prayers while kneeling at the single-railed "altar" in the <br />Church of God of Mountain Assembly, in Salem, Indiana, c. October 1981.</td></tr>
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<br />
In the minds of everyone around me, this was an extraordinary and blessed event, a wonderful thing for me to do at such a young age. No one seemed to take into account the very real terror of going to hell, nestled in the mind of an impressionable 4-year-old, that inspired the move.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vc1s9Aymoq4/VS7fN2gZr8I/AAAAAAAAJbk/cRJ84D9WhYI/s1600/Hell%2BHans%2BMemling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vc1s9Aymoq4/VS7fN2gZr8I/AAAAAAAAJbk/cRJ84D9WhYI/s1600/Hell%2BHans%2BMemling.jpg" height="400" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Hell"<br />by Hans Memling</td></tr>
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<br />
DIAGNOSIS #1--Hadephobia, aka Stygiophobia/Stigiophobia--a fear of hell, of being eternally damned to hell, so severe that it can debilitate the sufferer. At best, a person with hadephobia may spend most waking hours trying to decide how best to please God in order to avoid this eternal fate.<br />
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Even though I was so young, I do remember that before these events, I loved and respected God, just as I loved and respected my father/pastor, and I saw them as very similar in behaviors, motivations, and affections toward me. Now, God became a source of terror, even though my father certainly never was. If anything, the fear of God began to color my view of my father, making me afraid that failing to please one directly equated to being eternally judged by the other, a fear I had never envisioned before. Soon my mother, and then all authority figures, were swept up into the mental fray; any failure of any kind could lead me straight to hell.<br />
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DIAGNOSIS #2--Hagiophobia--fear of anything holy, including God, Saints, and sacred objects or buildings.<br />
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If God was willing to send me to hell for even small mistakes (again, the understanding of a child mind), then He was best prayed to daily (i.e. appeased), and then avoided as much as possible. Who knew when I might fatally disappoint Him? Churches were terrifying places, a truly debilitating state of affairs when your parents were full-time pastors. We were in the church house any time the doors were unlocked, even if only to clean it or mow the grass! There was no escaping the place!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1rbtmyvntis/VS7dPr45rHI/AAAAAAAAJbY/0i3I16-jBF0/s1600/Dark%2BCountry%2BChurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1rbtmyvntis/VS7dPr45rHI/AAAAAAAAJbY/0i3I16-jBF0/s1600/Dark%2BCountry%2BChurch.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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However, this fear of churches didn't develop all at once. It built up over time, compounded by a growing awareness from a very young age of another issue God was supposedly willing to smite me over--bisexual orientation. I describe it for people this way: "I discovered both boys and girls when I was three, and Jesus when I was four." Along with surety of my family's love, the fact that I had a crush on another little girl was one of the few certainties in life that I experienced BEFORE I became a believer in Christ.<br />
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By the time I hit puberty, several things about my character were set in stone:<br />
<br />
(1) I was a Christian, by choice, but also by fear.<br />
(2) I lived with such terrible dread of hell that I was in constant fear that I would, or already had, "blaspheme[d] against the Holy Ghost" (Matthew 12:31, Mark 3:29, Luke 12:10) (KJV). My parents had to talk me through this issue many times, and long stretches of my teen years are a horrible blur of terror when I look back on them. I didn't even want to think about the Holy Ghost, and to this day, prefer the term "Holy Spirit," because it does not engender the old fear. It's hard to love someone who you think is constantly waiting for a reason to hate you.<br />
(3) I was gay, by birth, and living in terrified denial. I had fallen in love with a girl, and was no longer young enough to dismiss it as just one little kid being fond of another. Through one awful summer, I burst into tears every time I stepped into a church building, because I was sure God couldn't love me any more, even though I was pushing down the feelings as hard as I could and had no intention of acting on them.<br />
(4) After so many years of fear, I was terrified to make a mistake, which leads us to...<br />
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DIAGNOSIS #4--Atychiophobia--commonly just described as "fear of failure," it is really much deeper and more horrifying than that. It is a paralysis that comes on any time I am asked to perform a new task, one in which I am not 100% certain of my ability. What if I screw up? With all this background noise of panic going on, I see every potential slip-up as another way to fail an authority figure, and if that happens, we all know what the ultimate result will be.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sps4d1n-SsM/VS7jX0ZlA1I/AAAAAAAAJb4/j_3H5lYxxxE/s1600/Florence%2BBaptistry%2BHell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sps4d1n-SsM/VS7jX0ZlA1I/AAAAAAAAJb4/j_3H5lYxxxE/s1600/Florence%2BBaptistry%2BHell.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This mosaic of Hell by Coppo di Marcovaldo was placed on the inner dome<br />of a building where new converts were baptized. What a welcome to Christianity.</td></tr>
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Only now do we reach the era of my childhood where we must add...<br />
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DIAGNOSIS #5--PTSD, aka Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder<br />
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Psychiatrists place very strict criteria on diagnosing PTSD, and virtually all of them center around a fear of death, either one's own death, that of loved ones, or in cases of extremely traumatic events such as war, witnessing the deaths of a number of unknown people. Living through a flood, during which an entire town must flee uphill in the middle of the night before rising waters, naturally creates a certain fear of death. Being forced to watch the slow, wasting deaths of both parents also counts, for sure. All create a fear of someone else's death, and ultimately a fear of my own mortality. So, where does this leave us?<br />
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CONSEQUENCES:<br />
I fear going to hell, therefore I fear the One who supposedly sends people there. Thus, I fear making a mistake, and naturally just freeze when something I've never done before, or something about which I don't feel totally confident, is required of me. (Imagine how much fun that makes it to try to hold down a job!) Finally, because I've seen death and people threatened by death, I fear that any medical issue could kill me, which would only send me to hell FASTER. So we start back at my fear of hell, and VOILA! One really mean vicious cycle.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E74KcxFOMV4/VS7l4Dfe3cI/AAAAAAAAJcE/rfCi9axUa98/s1600/Vicious%2BCycle%2BAlligator%2BSunglasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-E74KcxFOMV4/VS7l4Dfe3cI/AAAAAAAAJcE/rfCi9axUa98/s1600/Vicious%2BCycle%2BAlligator%2BSunglasses.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"<a href="http://alligator-sunglasses.com/post/46772479566/the-vicious-cycle" target="_blank">Vicious Cycle</a>"<br />(courtesy of a site called, believe it or not,<br />Alligator Sunglasses)</td></tr>
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<br />
Which may all leave you with one big question: Why on earth am I telling you all of this?<br />
<br />
Honestly, I'm not. I'm thinking in print, telling myself, and finding new freedoms for the first time ever, by discovering why I'm afraid to do anything. Not just worried, or hesitant, or I just don't like doing lots of things, so I don't do them. Nope. It's so much more than that, and understanding it is the first step to overcoming it. I just put my discussion with myself here, in case any of you realize that you see some aspects of yourself here, as well.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-62810096865126742432015-02-27T17:42:00.000-08:002015-02-27T17:42:04.956-08:00A Fascinating Man<span style="font-size: x-large;">Leonard Nimoy 1931~2015</span><br />
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Leonard Nimoy was born into a Slavic Jewish family, who left their rural Soviet village for America.<br />
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As a child in a synagogue, Leonard peeked at a moment when everyone's eyes are supposed to be covered, because the very glory of God was being invoked upon them all, and his father told him that presence could strike any on-lookers dead.<br />
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This is what he saw the men on the podium before him doing with their hands.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xxES_lfVs04/VPERb6pRHsI/AAAAAAAAJV0/a_DyddqSHog/s1600/Shekhinah%2BHands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xxES_lfVs04/VPERb6pRHsI/AAAAAAAAJV0/a_DyddqSHog/s1600/Shekhinah%2BHands.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is an image of Nimoy's own right hand, edited from <br />a photograph shot at the 2011 Phoenix Comicon.</td></tr>
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In creating the hand greeting for Mr. Spock, Nimoy tapped into the Judaism of his youth, a tradition which also contains many helpful practices for dealing with the burden of grief over time. Around the world, people dedicate a special prayer to the memory of those they've lost, known as the Mourner's Kaddish (<i>kaddish</i> is related to the Aramaic word meaning "holy.")<br />
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It is a litany in praise of God, and is recited most frequently for those to whom the petitioner was closest. By those criteria, millions of people around the globe will be saying Kaddish for Leonard Nimoy for many, many years.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-48852309431386832182014-05-01T16:13:00.000-07:002014-05-01T16:13:04.717-07:00Homeless 15: Terror by Night and DayIn response to a comment I made, a friend asked me yesterday in some shock if I was afraid of them. The question staggered me to a point that I've spent most of the time since sorting out why, and I have finally sussed out the reason that it rattled me so: I was astonished that the person even had to ask. Of course, I'm afraid of them! I'm afraid of everyone! How could this have escaped everybody's notice? And then I realized how much of my interactions with others is guided by this principle, and how unfair it is to all of you not to make you aware of this if you don't already know it. Without this key to the way my mind functions, my behavior must often seem bizarre, baffling, and infuriating. I need to rectify this. Today.<br />
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One reason it has taken me this long to start actively seeking a job again is that bosses and customers terrify me, to a PTSD flashback level. I can tear up just at the thought of facing some stranger who expects things from me, and may react harshly if I can't meet those requirements or do so in a way that does not satisfy their whims. I am afraid of everyone I've ever known. If we've met, then you terrify me. Those of you who are kind enough to consider me a friend, we are friends because I eventually came to love you enough that the love outweighed the fear, and I refused to deny myself the joy of your friendship any longer. That doesn't change the fact that I expect you to hurt me, to decide that you hate me for something about myself that you don't like, at any moment. I expect you to leave me.<br />
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You may be wondering, if all that I've just said is true, how on Earth did I end up so damaged? My fear that those I worship will suddenly become angry with me began with my father, at whose shrine I certainly always did worship as the most adoring "daddy's girl". It was a mutual admiration society that we had, and he was a kind, gentle man with a big heart. He certainly never demonstrated any violence toward me or anyone else in my presence. But he did have a temper sometimes, and I have been reliably informed that when he was younger, that temper could be dangerous to those around him. He changed dramatically when he accepted Christ, and I never knew that angry version of him, but he could still lose his temper at times, raise his voice occasionally, or demonstrate a bitingly sharp tongue. These times were what my brother and I have come to refer to as the "go silent and pretend to disappear into the backseat of the car maneuver". Since Dad's slightest hint of disapproval crushed me, his actual anger was a fearsome thing for me to behold, even though I knew intellectually that he would never harm me.<br />
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Dad mellowed as he aged, but I soon found a whole new fear of both my parents through no fault of their own, when they were each diagnosed with a fatal illness. Suddenly, the two people at the center of my life had become ticking time bombs, and I knew that when they finally died, they would carry my whole world out from under my feet with them, which they have now done. I am still rebuilding a life that doesn't center around feeling responsible for them, worrying about them, dreading and waiting for their deaths. So many people have died in my life. In my battered emotional head-space, I'm afraid of everyone I love, because everyone I love will die. I'm dating someone right now, and one reason I feel very safe in that relationship is because I know she'll be moving away soon for her job. I already know how this will end, what the worst will be, and I know within a narrow margin when it will occur. I knew going in when the patient would die. That's a luxury so rare that, having found that safety, I joyfully lose myself in it for as long as it will last.<br />
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They say you marry someone like one of your parents (which I specifically leave gender-neutral, as a member of the LGBTQ community), and I certainly married a man like my father in one major area--volatility, only much more so. Again, my ex-husband never raised a hand to anyone in my presence, but I spent a good bit of our life together worried about what innocuous comment or query of mine would annoy him and therefore draw verbal barbs with which I wasn't prepared to deal. The addition of a child only exacerbated this for me, as he was often irritated by her being a child--making too much noise, watching that same show one too many times, making a mess--and then we would get barked at, and I felt the need to protect her while at the same time feeling as if I was failing if I allowed some action of hers to annoy him. As I said, my father was such a good man, and he mellowed in the 25+ years that I knew him, but I no longer had the resources to start that process of mellowing all over again. Besides, I didn't want my daughter to have to grow up knowing when to meld herself into the backseat.<br />
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I am even afraid of my own daughter, because I fear unintentionally harming her, disappointing her, being unable to soothe her tears or meet her needs. I think every parent has these feelings, and I do manage to overcome them, because she needs me to and she comes first. But they would still be debilitating if I let them.<br />
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And of course, being homeless brought a whole new type of fear into my existence, fears for my basic needs and those of my daughter, fears for my comfort, because I am a creature of comfort when allowed to be. I won't attempt to deny it. But it also brought whole new levels of fear into my relationships. So long as you are my friend, and so long as I have to be surfing friends' couches, then you potentially hold my life in your hands at some future point. What if you become fed up with me? To whom will I turn for help until this nightmare is over? Where will I go? And if you're thinking no one would leave me stranded like that, three friends already have, one of whom was my brother. If you're NOW thinking that there must be something really wrong with me, if that many people had to throw me out, you're absolutely right. The whole point of this post is to admit that I have issues, and pull back the curtain so you can see what those issues are, in preparation for the next time that my fears drive me to unwittingly hurt or disappoint you. Still, when a friend is ready to throw you out, you become ever more fearful. I'm afraid you'll become angry enough at me to say horrible, hurtful things to me, even if that was not your initial intent. After all, my own brother reached that point with me eventually.<br />
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Most importantly, I've been stark raving terrified of God since my first conscious thoughts, because He might become angry with me and send me to Hell. So, if I'm afraid of my Sustainer, the two people who created me--one of whom carried me in her womb--the person to whom I used to make love, the child I carried in my body, and the only other person my parents ever produced, can you think of anybody that I wouldn't be afraid of? Indeed, the closer I grow to someone, the more afraid I am of them, because their power over my peace and happiness becomes ever greater.<br />
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If I've ever not responded to a phone call, a letter, a text, it wasn't because I didn't want to--it was because the fear defeated me that day. If I've ever hurt you by doing something inconsiderate, something seemingly out of character that was painful, you could probably ask me what I was afraid of and running from, and I could probably tell you without much hesitation for thought. I'm not saying any of this excuses my mistakes, nor am I asking you to like these things about me, because I don't like these things about myself. The past year has been about working on correcting these things. I am only asking for patience, and forgiveness. The mere fact that I've begun seeking work again indicates how far I've come, but I'm fighting a lifetime of habits, and I will regress.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-86014082600279333632014-04-28T10:34:00.001-07:002014-04-28T10:34:26.570-07:00Monday Moment 12Yes, friends, after a brief hiatus for an action-packed week, the Monday Moment is back! And there is more exciting news--there will be several reviews forthcoming this week! But that's a story for another time.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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Ah, the first stirrings of an Indiana summer...I remember them well. In order to have all that beautiful greenery, one must endure sweltering heat and 98% humidity--though the thunderstorms that are also frequently required are one of the more enjoyable aspects of the experience. But in the early days, when summer is just building up momentum, there can be few places more pleasant on Earth. Bright blue skies cover fields returning to life in mazes of new growth or riots of color. Well, you can see for yourself. This is my home.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J4ueMKNXWQI/U16PB9hkYjI/AAAAAAAADy8/Ua6agEL3YkE/s1600/Sarah+12+reboot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J4ueMKNXWQI/U16PB9hkYjI/AAAAAAAADy8/Ua6agEL3YkE/s1600/Sarah+12+reboot.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Wildflower Fields"<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I stopped the car on the way to work and took this one. The road goes through two very big farm fields, and these are the wild flowers ("weeds," to the farmer) that grow before they spray them and turn all of them under...kind of sad, because they made such a beautiful photo.</span></blockquote>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-62156425737081313402014-04-16T17:31:00.000-07:002014-04-16T17:31:02.102-07:00A Faithful Friend RetiresThe past year has been an extraordinarily prolific time for me as a poet.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f-YBAX-27IU/U08YCQICaCI/AAAAAAAADyE/uDWFOiMKvDc/s1600/In+the+Days+of+Sappho+(Reverie)+John+William+Godward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f-YBAX-27IU/U08YCQICaCI/AAAAAAAADyE/uDWFOiMKvDc/s1600/In+the+Days+of+Sappho+(Reverie)+John+William+Godward.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In the Days of Sappho</i><br />by John William Godward</td></tr>
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Indeed, I never really would have used that word to describe myself before. Technically, since I've written poems from time to time since I was about 14, I guess it is accurate, but in my mind, poets are people who have done something with their work, published poetry and established a name for themselves thereby, even crafted at least one poem that has touched the souls of and been beloved by many, many readers. I haven't done any of that, but in March, I did submit a completed manuscript of poems to a competition for first-time authors. And throughout this spate of creativity, I have had one devoted companion.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jkac_f8mORo/U08ZCNDH5RI/AAAAAAAADyM/HuV7Pr8GlTQ/s1600/Poetry+Journal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jkac_f8mORo/U08ZCNDH5RI/AAAAAAAADyM/HuV7Pr8GlTQ/s1600/Poetry+Journal.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></div>
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This little friend, produced by <a href="http://www.peterpauper.com/" target="_blank">Peter Pauper Press</a>, has received each poem I hammered out for nearly a year. It has suffered for my art almost as much as I did, poor thing. The scribbles, the <a href="http://eclecticismjncl.blogspot.com/2011/10/before-all-things.html" target="_blank">wicking</a>, the blotches! Each one tells a tale of the exhilarating journey we've taken together, as the small journal bounced around in my book bag, my crochet satchel, and on a few memorable occasions, any pocket available.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_SZ4iuUW6ck/U08bq2VoV9I/AAAAAAAADyY/letUZgF0YbY/s1600/Poetry+Journal+Interior.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_SZ4iuUW6ck/U08bq2VoV9I/AAAAAAAADyY/letUZgF0YbY/s1600/Poetry+Journal+Interior.jpg" height="200" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See what I mean?!</td></tr>
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And now, only one blank page remains between its reliable old covers. I'm proud of us both, this journal and I, but I will miss its cheerful little face. Of course, I still have to finish that last page, right? Once I have, though, a successor is already waiting in the wings. Sentiment is all very well, but there are more poems to write, and I must be ready to chase them down to the page. I think any writing worth producing is worth wrapping in the breathtaking art of Gustav Klimt.<br />
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Wish us luck!Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-82500719600154434912014-04-14T10:07:00.001-07:002014-04-14T10:07:37.216-07:00Monday Moment 11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="versetext" id="ge8-21" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"...</span><span class="versetext" id="ge8-22" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: arial; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease." (Genesis 8:22) (NRSV)</span></blockquote>
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The winter from which we are emerging has been long and brutal, seemingly without end. In the Denver Metro area where I now live, yesterday was ruled over by a snowstorm, in April, on Palm Sunday. But this morning, the sun is shining brightly, and has swept away all before it in demonstration of Spring's slow triumph.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VkcFn8Q_omo/U0wU4hG08_I/AAAAAAAADx0/R65YvxR8TIo/s1600/Sarah+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VkcFn8Q_omo/U0wU4hG08_I/AAAAAAAADx0/R65YvxR8TIo/s1600/Sarah+11.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Seedtime and Harvest"<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are the first little flowers to show their faces in my sleeping flower garden. I planted these bulbs last fall, and had forgotten all about them till they poked their little heads out of the dirt. It is a nice surprise, especially since they are of my two favorite colors!</span></blockquote>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-25371719623193826222014-04-09T15:55:00.000-07:002014-04-09T20:41:48.550-07:00"The Fry Chronicles": A Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DZ9bAEYH-Vc/U0XMosWUKXI/AAAAAAAADxc/XqNe6O8C5eA/s1600/Fry+Chronicles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DZ9bAEYH-Vc/U0XMosWUKXI/AAAAAAAADxc/XqNe6O8C5eA/s1600/Fry+Chronicles.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></div>
<i>The Fry Chronicles: an Autobiography</i><br />
by Stephen Fry<br />
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Great Britain is a very small island, and the number of great British actors is therefore a rather smaller club than the personnel involved in the bloated machinery of Hollywood. The result, in my opinion, is that autobiographies of British performers are easier and more satisfying to read, because the cast of characters is much more manageable. A lot of American actors' biographies that I've tried simply read like a "Who's Who" of people of whom I've never heard and names that I can't possibly keep straight. I didn't really have that problem with this one.<br />
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However, the real joys here are Stephen Fry's self-deprecating humor and honesty, the quirky way in which he marshals his thoughts, and his highly readable, thoroughly enjoyable writing style. He is the first to admit in these pages that he often comes off as smug, and actually is pompous at times. Moreover, his vocabulary is a truly formidable thing; I certainly encountered new words. Taken all together, these factors make Stephen Fry an acquired taste for some, and frankly unpalatable to others, but I'm a die-hard lover of Fry, and therefore of this book.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9ICxziOXFoc/ToeW69dgfvI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/A-ZwWNtobpY/s1600/4.5+Stars.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9ICxziOXFoc/ToeW69dgfvI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/A-ZwWNtobpY/s1600/4.5+Stars.png" height="41" width="200" /></a></div>
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<i>The Fry Chronicles</i> is the actor/author's second installment in what I hope will eventually be a multi-volume autobiographical series. The first, <i>Moab is My Washpot</i>, covered his childhood up to the age of 17, and this one picks up from the first, extending to the year 1987. I anxiously await the publication of the continuing story.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k4aNZgcMOeM/U0XMyMXdJBI/AAAAAAAADxk/8AG-sxjAubA/s1600/Fry+Education.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-k4aNZgcMOeM/U0XMyMXdJBI/AAAAAAAADxk/8AG-sxjAubA/s1600/Fry+Education.jpg" height="203" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Stephen Fry<br />Signature courtesy of IIVeaa</td></tr>
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<br />Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-62338484811104306922014-04-08T13:51:00.001-07:002014-04-08T13:54:33.524-07:00Sound of the Soul<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZdG-J05uXM/U0Rg6JGlJYI/AAAAAAAADxM/kUfsXA2IXsk/s1600/Quinn+Soft+Lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZdG-J05uXM/U0Rg6JGlJYI/AAAAAAAADxM/kUfsXA2IXsk/s1600/Quinn+Soft+Lights.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy of<br />
Scandinavia Studios and The Sights of Sounds</td></tr>
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For April, our resident singer/songwriter, Quinn DeVeaux, has served up a tasty Bob Dylan cover for his "<a href="http://eclecticismjncl.blogspot.com/p/7th-of-month.html" target="_blank">7th of the Month</a>" video series. His version of "<a href="http://youtu.be/xGzPiCFhtF8" target="_blank">Moonshiner</a>" strikes true for this great-granddaughter of an Appalachian moonshiner. Enjoy.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-56805372183692680332014-04-07T12:24:00.001-07:002014-04-07T12:24:28.228-07:00Monday Moment 10<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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At times, the storms of my home can be terrifying, but they are awe-inspiring, they are truly majestic, and many of us learn to love them from our early childhood. Today, our resident photographer captures that power for those who may never have seen an Indiana thunderstorm.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qD0toEgE4Ys/U0L6q1nEBII/AAAAAAAADw8/B0RJMWiG97k/s1600/Sarah+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qD0toEgE4Ys/U0L6q1nEBII/AAAAAAAADw8/B0RJMWiG97k/s1600/Sarah+10.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Dark and Ominous"<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here is a little bit of what's going on in Southern Indiana, with the thunderstorms moving across the unplanted spring cornfields.</span></blockquote>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-39315382309718719512014-03-31T00:09:00.000-07:002014-03-31T00:09:01.246-07:00Monday Moment 9Once again, our resident photographer brings us the hope of greening and rebirth we associate with Spring, even if many of us are still waiting for them to arrive, rather than actually enjoying them.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G_dFttZ6ipU/UzkTXV3EbiI/AAAAAAAADws/y1OCWQNJ6ug/s1600/Sarah+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G_dFttZ6ipU/UzkTXV3EbiI/AAAAAAAADws/y1OCWQNJ6ug/s1600/Sarah+9.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tiny Joys</i><br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is a cardinals nest I was watching last summer out by the picnic table where I eat my lunch at work.</span></blockquote>
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I am one of the greatest lovers of snow and Winter I have ever met, and still I say, Spring, come back to us! We're ready.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-71292410120913301892014-03-24T20:00:00.000-07:002014-03-27T07:52:34.064-07:00Clef Notes 2<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RfT66a4-OQ/UzDuCTA7-jI/AAAAAAAADwY/gBBoW22n8ko/s1600/Quinn+Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2RfT66a4-OQ/UzDuCTA7-jI/AAAAAAAADwY/gBBoW22n8ko/s1600/Quinn+Cover.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of<br />
Scandinavia Studios & The Sights of Sounds</td></tr>
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Hey, gang! Just wanted to give you a heads-up about some excellent new videos from <i>The Beauty of Eclecticism</i>'s resident featured musician, <a href="http://quinndeveaux.com/site/" target="_blank">Quinn DeVeaux</a>, which were recently recorded at <a href="http://wearescandinavia.com/" target="_blank">Scandinavia Studios</a> and available on YouTube through <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/thesightsofsounds" target="_blank">The Sights of Sounds</a>.</div>
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There are performances of two of Quinn's songs from the new album, <i><a href="http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/quinndeveauxthebluebeatr2" target="_blank">Originals</a></i>:</div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfwEFOppCUk" target="_blank">Cruel</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e-tNFjfxNd0&list=UUO4oQPKojw2_lJYqXj3FKAg" target="_blank">Hey Right On</a></div>
as well as two covers:<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xuy2N_l-ZkM&list=UUO4oQPKojw2_lJYqXj3FKAg" target="_blank">Into the Mystic</a> (Van Morrison)<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cik_pztqWHg&list=UUO4oQPKojw2_lJYqXj3FKAg" target="_blank">Moonshiner</a> (Bob Dylan)<br />
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Quinn also gave a recent <a href="http://media.libsyn.com/media/thebaybridged/Quinn_DeVeaux_Spotlight.mp3" target="_blank">in-studio interview</a> to <a href="http://thebaybridged.com/" target="_blank">The Bay Bridged</a>, a San Francisco-area source for local music and entertainment. It's a conversation with the artist, along with a couple of his songs performed live, and is featured in their Artist Spotlight series of podcasts.<br />
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With such a treasure trove of beautiful, soulful music, I hope you'll all listen, enjoy, "Like," and create some buzz.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-51028852789785176012014-03-24T16:01:00.001-07:002014-03-24T16:01:31.748-07:00Monday Moment 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This Monday Moment celebrates the joys of a world being reborn from hibernation. Here's hoping we all see them soon!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--RN6EdrYFjw/UzC4pWzoerI/AAAAAAAADwI/4_JkokVhmg8/s1600/Sarah+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--RN6EdrYFjw/UzC4pWzoerI/AAAAAAAADwI/4_JkokVhmg8/s1600/Sarah+8.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Bleeding Heart"<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bleeding Heart flower is one of my favorites. It only blooms in the Spring for a short time, when everything is still lush and green.</span></blockquote>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-21836306412265188462014-03-21T12:45:00.000-07:002014-03-21T12:45:21.633-07:00What I Hate Most is HateFred Phelps died this week.<br />
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If by some miracle you have avoided hearing about the subject, Fred Phelps was the founder of Westboro Baptist Church, an organization whose web address is "godhatesfags".<br />
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As a gay woman, still struggling to find my place in a new world I entered upon coming out, I felt like working through my view of this event here on my blog. I certainly don't speak for the entire LGBTQ community, and every human being has an innate right to an opinion. I just need to state mine, to help myself process a swirl of uncomfortable emotions. You see, I am, by definition, one of the people this man hated. It's a strange feeling, the moment you realize that someone you'll never meet, a complete stranger, hated you in particular. I have stood on the fringes of various groups who experience prejudice every day of their lives, trying to be an ally, an advocate, but this may be the first time I've ever been squarely within the hated population.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UO6yahAfks/UyyTjUUAeUI/AAAAAAAADv4/m1HIs_Ck994/s1600/Mountain+Assembly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6UO6yahAfks/UyyTjUUAeUI/AAAAAAAADv4/m1HIs_Ck994/s1600/Mountain+Assembly.jpg" height="173" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emblem of the <br />"mountain holiness Pentecostal"<br />denomination into which I was born</td></tr>
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At the risk of sounding like the Apostle Paul in his famous "I was a Pharisee" soliloquy (Philippians 3), I'm in an unusual position, because I was born and raised a Pentecostal, the daughter of a rural Hoosier Pentecostal preacher. I had a "conversion experience" at the tender age of 4, because I had heard my father preach that if I died without having done so, I would go to Hell. I have loved Jesus all my life, even though I was also afraid of Him. I was not only taught that homosexuality was its own special form of evil, but also firmly believed it for 30 years, which naturally led to a fascinating form of self-loathing, as I've known since I was 3 that I was attracted to both men and women, and more often to the latter. I may not have hated gays as people, but I certainly hated the concept, and felt disgusted with myself.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itUf6OkAWC4/UyyQ70p_SZI/AAAAAAAADvs/RB7XlbT6fec/s1600/Baby+Westboro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-itUf6OkAWC4/UyyQ70p_SZI/AAAAAAAADvs/RB7XlbT6fec/s1600/Baby+Westboro.jpg" height="200" width="119" /></a>Fred Phelps doesn't anger me. His legacy of hate doesn't infuriate me. The whole thing makes me horribly sad. Seeing people virulently hate him back makes me sad. Hearing people say they hope he is burning in Hell makes me sad. Hasn't there been enough of wishing people Hellfire? Isn't that the point of this travesty? Fred Phelps hated because he was terrified, of a God he never understood, of what his country would become if behaviors that frightened him became accepted. I've been Fred Phelps, or more accurately, I've been all those little kids I see in pictures of Westboro protesters, getting indoctrinated before they can possibly understand the issue in question, holding signs proclaiming that the God who called Himself love, hates people He created. I was that child. I say, enough hate, toward those who disagree with us, toward those who dislike us for who we are, towards ourselves.<br />
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This is compassion lived. And it was lived for everyone. No exceptions.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HkcUFiFC0_A/UyyP6Q2CfJI/AAAAAAAADvk/g9FKLrjT7CQ/s1600/Michaelangelo+Crucifixion+Sailko.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HkcUFiFC0_A/UyyP6Q2CfJI/AAAAAAAADvk/g9FKLrjT7CQ/s1600/Michaelangelo+Crucifixion+Sailko.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Sailko</td></tr>
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Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-58881486146331389062014-03-19T17:14:00.000-07:002014-03-19T17:14:59.161-07:00Homeless 14: Voices in the Wilderness<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vQUfHMKSWvk/Uyowcuo9W4I/AAAAAAAADu4/QV2E86h54eE/s1600/Colorado+Flag.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vQUfHMKSWvk/Uyowcuo9W4I/AAAAAAAADu4/QV2E86h54eE/s1600/Colorado+Flag.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flag of the State of Colorado</td></tr>
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I've been a bit quieter in the blogosphere lately, because I lost about a week to another flare-up of toothache in that poor, beleaguered tooth that is crying out for a root canal. Now that I can once again limp along on over-the-counter painkillers, instead of stupefying narcotics, allow me to give you a truly astonishing update: the state of Colorado has experienced an extraordinary moment of clarity. God willing, this trend will spread.<br />
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Remember <a href="http://eclecticismjncl.blogspot.com/2014/01/homeless-6.html" target="_blank">my first post</a> about this needed root canal, when I explained that Medicaid refuses to cover the procedure? Permit me a brief quote.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21.559999465942383px;">The American public could be saved untold millions of dollars every year if Medicaid and Medicare covered conditions that were still mild and as yet easily treatable, but our governmental guidelines define catching and treating a condition early as simply "elective" procedures.</span></blockquote>
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At the federal level, nothing about this statement has changed. I firmly believe that we will see gay marriage as an uncontested, nation-wide policy before "fiscal conservatives" in government realize the fundamental flaw in current Medicaid and Medicare logic. However, the states are permitted to add any coverage they wish to their Medicaid programs, so long as they maintain the federal minimums. Let's hear it for the Colorado legislature! Several years ago, the Colorado Health Foundation provided them with facts about preventive care, and they have begun to listen. A quote from <a href="http://coloradohealth.org/WorkArea/DownloadAsset.aspx?id=5720" target="_blank">the CHF study</a>:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The research is clear: investing in evidence-based public health programs could substantially reduce health care costs in Colorado. One study estimates that an annual investment of </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">$10 per Coloradan in community-based prevention initiatives could save more than $232 million annually in health care costs after five years... .</span> </blockquote>
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Beginning April 1, Colorado Medicaid will be providing funding for preventive dental procedures, including *drum roll* ROOT CANALS! I still have to wait and see if I'm deemed eligible for the expanded benefits, and then whether or not my individual case with this tooth is approved. But I'm one step closer to saving my tooth, and for a few minutes, my faith in humanity is bolstered. I watched my parents die slow, torturous deaths because they could not do the things that their doctors recommended to prevent their deterioration; they had to wait until each new problem developed, and then simply have it treated, while we screamed as voices in the wilderness, "This is costing the tax-payers much MORE money!" without ever being heard. Indiana still doesn't hear that voice of reason. Thank God, Colorado has begun listening.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-30354383662409482562014-03-17T13:36:00.000-07:002014-03-17T13:36:22.803-07:00Monday Moment 7<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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In its many variations and convolutions, the Ohio River dominates the contours of my home. Our entire region is simply one of its attributes, another feature of a natural inhabitant that provided sustenance and transport in days gone by. We are "the Ohio River Valley," a beautiful place where allergy sufferers go to slowly, miserably die. Despite its pollen-heavy air, I love it.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ykxjchqDZCA/Uydb18EEHyI/AAAAAAAADuk/b_RDd4NuxHQ/s1600/Sarah+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ykxjchqDZCA/Uydb18EEHyI/AAAAAAAADuk/b_RDd4NuxHQ/s1600/Sarah+7.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"River and Sky"<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was sitting in a riverside café on the Ohio River and this is what floated past the window. This is a little town called Magnet, Indiana, so named because the river currents used to push the boats on to the opposite bank like they were attracted with a huge magnet.</span></blockquote>
Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-7410560267283712152014-03-14T11:30:00.000-07:002014-03-18T06:42:36.899-07:00Homeless 13.5: And on the third day...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SNLQCu0_rgs/UyM9zqGZReI/AAAAAAAADt0/E-E1zJLRDS4/s1600/Pi+Day+Mini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SNLQCu0_rgs/UyM9zqGZReI/AAAAAAAADt0/E-E1zJLRDS4/s1600/Pi+Day+Mini.jpg" /></a></div>
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In <a href="http://eclecticismjncl.blogspot.com/2014/03/homeless-13-how-i-got-here.html" target="_blank">my previous post</a>--the writing of which was a harrowing experience--I predicted that it would take me 72 hours to pull out of the siege of panic I was under at that moment. By now, I know this pattern pretty well. Nothing about those three days was fun, but it's nice to have it confirmed for me that my instincts are good, and that 3 days is about standard now. It used to take about 2 weeks. This is definite improvement of my own mental abilities to fight back, and in the long-term recovery from my traumas.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LZxaZDcJrcI/UyNJQhjXVdI/AAAAAAAADuE/mfmedjXsAXM/s1600/Day+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LZxaZDcJrcI/UyNJQhjXVdI/AAAAAAAADuE/mfmedjXsAXM/s1600/Day+1.jpg" height="200" width="192" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Day</span><br />
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You read Day 1 in real time--shear, unmitigated, relentless terror. Going to bed at the end of it is the best that Day 1 gets.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-20tkAStZaFY/UyNJTZtUW8I/AAAAAAAADuM/V_8kJIYF0KY/s1600/Day+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-20tkAStZaFY/UyNJTZtUW8I/AAAAAAAADuM/V_8kJIYF0KY/s1600/Day+2.jpg" height="200" width="192" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Day</span><br />
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I wake up dreading a repeat of Day 1, but reminding myself all the while that dreading panic is the surest method to experience it. As a certain level of normalcy returns, this is the point at which the frustration really sets in, the fury at never knowing for certain what set me off. Mental wellness is a constant patchwork of bits that all have to be working at once in order to maintain stability. Are my meds out of balance? Is my potassium low again? Is my glucose (blood sugar) level far enough out of alignment to have triggered this? What's the date today--is an anniversary of a traumatic event coming up, or just passed? (You'd be astonished how often this factor is all it takes to explain an episode. This case, however, was an exception.) But the frustration doesn't help, either; it alone can exacerbate things, so let's get back to the business at hand. Watch how you're breathing, Jennifer. Yep, as I expected, you're taking quick, shallow breaths. Wonder how many days I've been doing that? I often don't realize, until the panic is upon me, that I've been anxious for some time, growing more and more fearful without consciously realizing it because fear is my normal state. Exercise your mind, Jennifer; force yourself to calm down, to recognize that there is no new threat, to choose peacefulness. All day long.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AcaopOwifAY/UyNJWJkkqQI/AAAAAAAADuU/0HBgMZoxNe8/s1600/Day+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AcaopOwifAY/UyNJWJkkqQI/AAAAAAAADuU/0HBgMZoxNe8/s1600/Day+3.jpg" height="200" width="192" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Day</span><br />
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Light through yonder end of tunnel breaks. My rate of breathing has returned to a healthier state, and with it my adrenaline-crazed fight-or-flight instinct. I can feel panic at the edges of my consciousness; I know where to find it if I wanted to experience it again, but I'm back in some illusory control. My psychiatrist says that every panic episode is a chance to exercise, to practice these mental skills, to keep them sharp and in readiness. In other words, we've reached the "maintenance level," the point at which you know what to do when you get temporarily debilitated. And for many of us, folks, that's as good as it will ever be again. I live and I deal. But my body will never un-learn how to have panic attacks for no obvious reason. I did it, again, and each time helps me grow a little stronger. Now, if I just didn't have to do it at all...Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-82820745612112187772014-03-11T19:58:00.000-07:002014-03-11T19:58:36.323-07:00Homeless 13: How I Got HereHorrible nausea.<br />
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It's the nausea that starts first.<br />
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It has always been one of my worst triggers, and to this day, no one knows if the nausea or the panic arrives first, which is causal and which simply an aftershock. All I know is that when this pattern begins, the only possible relief is to weep until it passes. Crying doesn't make it go away; it just ameliorates it a bit. I feel slightly better if I sit, sobbing, than I do if I sit, dry-eyed and sure that any second I will simply come crashing out of my own skin. I'm issuing forth loud, bitter sobs as I type this. God, it feels better.<br />
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Dizziness, also.<br />
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That's another major trigger.<br />
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I think the dizziness may actually have been the precursor I tried to ignore, yesterday afternoon, when this bout was in its infancy.<br />
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By today, the stark, naked terror had begun full-force. Nothing had dramatically changed in my life in the past two days. Whatever damnable alchemy ignites anxiety, depression, panic, PTSD and all its fellow demons, is simply marching triumphantly back through my body and brain. They have set up a squatter's camp in which to dwell while wreaking as much havoc as possible before finally being banished by drugs, therapy, and my own slow but sure techniques of battling my way back to daylight. For anyone who thinks that people like me "don't work" because we're unemployed, I defy you to do this for the 48-72 hours that loom ahead of me right now, and scrabble your way out, still alive and sane, on the other side. This will be by far the most hellishly difficult work I have ever done, as it is every time I have to do it.<br />
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If science and medicine knew why it happens, they would certainly stop it--I am by no means the only person in this country who is laid low by these attacks on a regular basis. There are millions of us in the US alone, all at the mercy of the kind of mental wellness issues that routinely take a massive bite out of the national workforce every year. After a lifetime of fears and trauma, any brain will eventually announce that it has had enough, that it demands some rest, and those of us who merely cry and feel genuine terror without any genuine threat are among the lucky ones. Some go to a place from which no one can ever help them return.<br />
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More of the secondary symptoms come into play now--hot flashes and sweats, waves of shame and guilt, fear at the stigma attached to these issues. There are reasons that I have never before written my way through one of these attacks. But how else can I ever share with you what this truly feels like, as nearly as you can grasp it without experiencing it for yourselves? And believe me, there is no one in all of human history on whom I would wish these sensations. Last week, on this very blog, I advised myself to write through anything, through everything, as a way to defuse self-defeat, as a way back to sanity no matter the hurdle, so I have written it out, and bared it before you all. The factors of my situation feel as if they form a bewildering, impenetrable web around me, and I often wonder how I will ever break free, but fundamentally, <b><i>this </i></b>is the reason I am homeless. Very generous employers these days still give smoking breaks to those trapped by nicotine, but I have never met one who felt comfortable giving breaks as needed to someone who has to sit in a corner, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself, crying.<br />
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I am not crazy. Depression. Anxiety. Panic. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Look them up. I am not insane. But something broke, and we live in a time when therapists still tell clients on a regular basis not to reveal any of these maladies to prospective employers, because they will be turned away, no matter how many laws supposedly protect them. Too much pain, too many years of waiting for someone to die, too many memories of a flood that saw boats drifting down Main Street, too many fears that I was doomed to hell because I wasn't good enough for "an angry God". Something broke, and until a merciful God and medical professionals and I can fix it, even finding a job is not my biggest problem.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-22968889180085401692014-03-10T15:24:00.000-07:002014-03-10T15:26:32.278-07:00Monday Moment 6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5oZgfxlCnoU/Uu-_oKDr_AI/AAAAAAAADg4/p6S2UTWEh8o/s1600/Monday+Moment.jpg" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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Today, my friend and the blog's resident photographer, Sarah, brings us an image for all those of you who fear that this winter may never end. Bask in this image, and feel the return of hope.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YaEQy8hhKvY/Ux46picQcAI/AAAAAAAADtc/e3YO0zncOBw/s1600/Sarah+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YaEQy8hhKvY/Ux46picQcAI/AAAAAAAADtc/e3YO0zncOBw/s1600/Sarah+6.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer Blooms<br />by Sarah Graybill-Greene</td></tr>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: #f7f7f7; color: #3e454c; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.359999656677246px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This was taken on a warm summer morning's walk down a country road.</span></blockquote>
Whenever I miss my home, I need only look at one of these extraordinary compositions to imagine that I'm there again.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3461918020713520686.post-62845513325289164212014-03-07T11:17:00.001-08:002014-03-07T11:17:56.278-08:00Indiana of All Places<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a2VsMXPn9Z4/UxoYlk5mF8I/AAAAAAAADtM/d4bBmfbwrnQ/s1600/Indiana+Rainbow+Flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a2VsMXPn9Z4/UxoYlk5mF8I/AAAAAAAADtM/d4bBmfbwrnQ/s1600/Indiana+Rainbow+Flag.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, <a href="http://www.lgbtqnation.com/2014/03/four-couples-file-federal-lawsuit-challenging-indiana-gay-marriage-ban/" target="_blank">THIS</a> just happened!<br />
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Yes, according to the <a href="http://ap.org/" target="_blank">Associated Press</a> and <a href="http://www.lgbtqnation.com/" target="_blank">LGBTQ Nation</a>,<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, san-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
[f]our couples from southern Indiana are asking a federal judge to force the state to recognize same-sex marriages from other states and issue marriage licenses to gay couples.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, san-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
The couples are suing the state of Indiana in a lawsuit filed Friday in federal court in New Albany that seeks to overturn an Indiana law that declares same-sex marriages void, even if another state recognizes the union.</div>
</blockquote>
Two things glare off the screen at me in this report.<br />
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1. New Albany, Indiana, is a 30-minute drive from my hometown. I could take you there in my sleep. Some of my best friends in the world hail from New Albany. My father's family were all originally from there. It is part of that region of Indiana which was the last place in the country to succumb to Daylight Savings Time (and I'm still pissed that we gave in on that). We are the ultra-conservative, uber-isolationists of the state, and basically of the entire country. If this issue was finally going to erupt in Indiana, New Albany--and southern Indiana generally--is NOT the place I would have expected. Indianapolis. Absolutely. But not New Albany.<br />
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2. In every single instance of a federal judge ruling a gay marriage ban unconstitutional recently--and there have been a surprising number--someone FILED A LAWSUIT. Even the most liberal of our courts do not take action on an issue unless someone has the courage to put a case before them. God bless all those willing to make themselves vulnerable before the world on behalf of us all.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18370649604625989367noreply@blogger.com0