Feminist rant.

Recently, one of the "big" bloggers announced that she is not a feminist, because equal = same, and who wants to be the same as a man?

For so many reasons, I am upset and disturbed by this, not in the least because many women agreed with her. Many commenters tried to correct the assumed definition of "feminist", but it's been maddeningly ignored.

And I'm frustrated. Because, I know what I mean when I call myself a Feminist. I believe that you, and I, and everyone else, should be afforded the same opportunities and rights without regard to our gender. This is so self-evident, so fundamental to my paradigm, that I cannot understand how other women do not believe it.

BUT! It seems we're speaking different languages; a Feminist says, "I believe in equal rights", and the non-feminist hears, "I want to talk, dress, and act like a man". How do we ever bridge this gap? We must, not just for our mutual understanding, but for the women all over the world who don't have our most basic rights. And, more importantly, for our daughters and our sons, who will either grow into adults who respect and honor individual differences, or who don't.


P.S. Hi, Piper!

Neo-BFFs

Many years ago, my best friend left me for a guy. Really, I never understood what happened, and it's not particularly relevant anymore, except I was contemplating my upcoming birthday and the changes I want to make in my life and I realized I have not had a close female friend since our "falling out". Like, more than 15 years. (Somewhat) Ironically, she and I reconnected on FB (of course) and picked right up where we left off; the wicked sense of humor that makes others uncomfortable, the shared experiences, etc.

The difference now? I can live without her. I didn't know that back then. It really broke my heart, shook foundations of belief within me. She was part of my identity, and she left. Now, I think I no longer have the ability to let anyone that close. I've not been honestly close with another woman since then. I've had acquaintances, co-workers, etc., but if I were pressed to name my best friend, it would be a soul-mate/platonic guy who I only talk to a few times a year. And female friends? A handful of ladies from the past I keep up with on FB. No phone calls, girls night out, any of that stuff.

What is that? Just growing up, maturing? Realizing you can stand on your own (and this is just one of the many things which lead to THAT epiphany!)? Or is this something abnormal and strange that I should be "working on"? I dunno. It's something I'm thinking about.

Anyone else tired of the debate?

I'm watching the fur fly over at another blog about SAHMs vs. working moms. Am I the only one who thinks the "debate" is absurd? Really, how does what one mom chooses to do any reflection on, or of any relevance to, my choice? I just don't care what someone else does; I mean, I care, but I can't see how it devalues or inflates me. Why does it have to be one way or the other? And why can't women stop finding "issues" to divide us? Waste of time and energy, methinks.

I can't stop crying

http://ourdailyblessinglife-amyb.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default

Is there ANYONE out there who can help?

Either/ or, Both

Papa Monkey's cousin (21-ish, student, aaaaalllll the "All-American"-isms) was found in an alley.

I met his mom afterwards; a woman undone.

I cannot and will not imagine what she thinks about.

I will not.

Because I cannot. I can not.

No.


Baby Monkey anticipates JOY.
His first and consistant reaction to anything (everything) new or not, is the SMILE and the BOUNCE... what wonderful thing will my little self now experience?
Imagine that, the expectation of... JOY...


The two situations, the dichotomy, it's messing with me. Big time.

Cemetery, today, the oldest in town. Our Founding Father buried here. My used-to-be favorite haunt. Weird, for me to be pushing a stroller with Sleeping Monkey through here... I start to pull out the (oldworntired) mindpaths, but I've left it far behind... Yet how close it is imprinted on my mind... I haven't forgotten a single grave, a single marker...

Bury me here... someday.... blessedly I tell ya, with Joggers and Walkers and schtooopid dogs, how amazing is this place?


I have to turn my mind back to Now.....

Day is come.

So, camping with the BabyMonkey? Really, he's not quite 9 months. And this is not fun, the camping thing, with all the monkeys; MamaMonkey is doing exactly what she does at home, only having to walk several hundred yards for (questionably potable) water to wash the dishes...

In the early morning, the fog rolls in, erasing first the mountains, then the hills, then the treetops, then the lake, then everything outside of the tiny little flame I lit that lapped up, lapped up, lapped up, chewed into the logs... A perfectly unbelievable thing, sitting in this cloud, little baby nursing wrapped in his quilt, cut off from everything, even the tent that holds the rest of my family... Oh this fog, slithering down the mountains, across the ground up to my very feet, blinding, binding...

Warmth of the babe on my breast, warmth of the fire beginning to crackle, warmth of the coffee in the percolator beginning to burble... The Crane begins its monologue...

Yes, camping with the baby. With any of the monkeys. In any of the circumstances. Finally I can just be overwhelmed, floored into silence, reverent again...