Sometimes it's a cabaret, old chum, and that's fine, too
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Image of Syesha Mercado from TV Guide online.My husband and I are invariably behind on watching American Idol. First, our time is pretty tight, and we prefer to watch together. Second, and maybe more importantly, our heart's just not in it that much, any more. The singers we began really excited about---the ones we thought would be really good and who somehow captured our interest---never really delivered the goods and were slowly picked off, one by one, leaving two singers we don't really like, and one who we think is very talented, but a really iffy proposition in this showcase.
Nevertheless, we watched the show last night, only one day late (we don't know the results, so please, no spoilers).
When Syesha Mercado came on to do her second number---the song she picked for herself---a few things finally clicked in my mind.
"What is that?" my husband asked, after her interview, "That super Southern voice, and all that arm waving and clicking? Who is this girl?"
"Well she is from the South," I said.
"I've never heard the deep South in her voice before," he said.
"She's in character, that's what she does---characters. She's an actress, remember. I think she's not very comfortable being herself up on the stage. I don't think Syesha is who she wants to portray for people while on the stage. So tonight she's got a slightly sassy Southern Belle persona."
"Ah ha," he said.
"Well, I mean, I'm not saying she isn't any of those things, necessarily, or that she's faking, I just mean she's, you know, playing up one aspect, like a caricature, a little," I said, feeling very annoyed I couldn't find a way to say what I wanted to, or couldn't say it without sounding judgmental, which gave me pause as to the worthiness of the words in the first place. In truth, I felt more than a little hypocritical, too.
My husband wisely kept quiet.
"I don't really dislike her or her singing," I said.
"Really? I thought you didn't like her. You've been rooting for her to get the boot since the beginning," my husband said.
"I know, but that was unfair of me. She's got talent, just not per se the talent this show wants. So I keep looking for that in her and it's not there. She's not a pop singer. She's too much of a mimic for that."
"What is she then?"
"You know...a Broadway performer."
"Yeah, that Broadway week really clicked it all in for her."
"But then she stayed in Broadway mode and they hate that."
My words proved true. The judges were lukewarm on what was otherwise a really enjoyable performance.
"We don't know who you are," Paula said, "We need more Syesha."
"It was good," Simon said, dismissively, "But just good cabaret."
That's when it clicked for me. I clicked pause on the Tivo.
"I hate that," I said.
"What?" he asked.
"Okay first, that's what she is and why Syesha has managed to stay in the show. She's a performer, a presentational singer. She's all about the performance. She just asks that you enjoy the show. She's giving you the performance, and just wants accolades in return. There's no deeper exchange. A lot of people like that; they just want to be entertained, not have to work or do anything deeper than that. Just enjoy. I mean who doesn't want that sometimes? We all do. So...Syesha is still in because she entertains."
"What other kind of singer is there?" my husband asked.
"Representational. Emotional exchange. That singer loves the music, the lyrics, the emotion, wants you to have the same experience. It's a deeper exchange. It's about the emotion; the singer is trying to give you a sort of mind and heart trip. Sometimes it's more work, but it's also catharsis, and who doesn't want that sometimes? We all do. That's why David Cook is still in."
"He's talented," he said.
"I agree, but it doesn't mean he's better, just a different kind of singer, and all right, maybe better for this venue, this show. That's the part that bothers me, actually."
"Which part?"
"The cabaret comment. Simon called Syesha a cabaret singer, and he said it scathingly as if there's something wrong with being a cabaret singer. I like cabaret singers. I like singers in musicals, too. It might be a performance, but I bet she'd do great getting the audience to relate to her character, feel the story, enjoy it. That's the point there. And nothing wrong with being a cabaret singer. I wish Simon would quit say "singing on a cruise ship," "wedding singer," and "cabaret singer" as if they were insults. That's what some people are, and that's fine."
"I agree, excepting some cruise ship singers and wedding singers. Some are really, really bad," he said.
"I know, but the good ones can be great at what they do. And we all like and want those types of singers---the good ones," I said, anticipating his caveat, "Why do we have to hold up 'modern pop singer' as the standard for excellence and achievement? It's got a lot of superstars who earn big bucks and fame, but why is that the only point worth appreciation and respect? Not many people get there. The others, even the cabaret singers, are worthy, too, valuable too."
My husband agreed, and we both sat quietly for a minute. Then I turned the show back on, and we watched to the end.
"What do you think?" my husband asked.
"I don't know, not sure I care," I said, sort of weary of the competition, overall. The three remaining singers are so different it's not even apples to oranges; it's potatoes to oranges to blancmange (and fans know which one I mean with this one).
"It's just down to arbitrary now," he agreed.
Even our fanhood of David Cook has cooled. We tried to figure out why; maybe it's us. Maybe we're just tired of seeing too much around us that's a competition to the last man standing. Maybe we're just tired of it seeming like, no matter what they go on to do, those cut are done. Maybe we're tired of thinking that those cut aren't good enough or aren't the best, and only the best are worthy. Maybe right now we're both in competitions, professionally, and---having lived through tight times like the current ones---we both know all too well the struggle to stay in the competition, and what it means to get cut. Maybe it's just not fun, anymore, to watch this type of thing.
"I'm just tired," I said, as an excuse, "But I'm also tired of such a narrow definition of what's valuable coming at me from every media source. I think it's like when you say the same thing over and over and it becomes meaningless, but ingrained."
"Yeah."
Sometimes it's a cabaret, where you find your spot, and that's the kind of singer you are.
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
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Labels: American Idol, cultural issues, culture and society
posted by Julie Pippert @ 5:16 AM,
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Walking out of stride
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
BADLY DRAWN BOY "Walking Out Of Stride"
You and me we could never hide
Too busy walking out of stride
You and me could never hide
Too busy walking out of stride
Take 1,2,3 then 4 or 5
People talking keeps us alive
You and me could never hide
Too busy walking out of stride
Take 1,2,3 then 4 or 5
People talking keeps us alive
What does it mean to you: walking out of stride?
Does it mean at cross-purposes with yourself, or is it more of a cross-purposes with the norm, with general expectations? Is it a light issue or a deep one? Do you embrace walking out of stride? Endeavor to stand out? Or are you more the type of person who does your best to keep pace, remain part of the anonymous crowd?
It's said that the desire to stand out from the crowd is innate. When I researched this, I found just as much written about the other side of the coin: the fear of standing out is innate.
I thought about this for a while and it really is two sides of the same coin in my non-PhD in any social science whatsoever mind.
Does standing out equal extraordinary? Or is it just a flash of attention?
Is that what we really desire: attention, or is it something more significant?
I think that we all really desire something more significant, but settle for attention. Like a snack cake, though, it provides a momentary delight but isn't fulfilling in the long-term. That's because I think many of us want to be extraordinary, because then we'll be valued---and at heart, I think that's what we really desire.
It seems like a lot of us feel out of stride with this sense of being valued, and I wondered why that is. Is it truly that culturally we are out of stride with valuing the ordinary?
The valued people, it seems, stand out from the crowd, and are extraordinary, so it's natural to think that's the path to follow.
I believe that we are conditioned to expect that we will each stand out from the crowd in some way. It's reinforced for us that we should---that each one of us personally has the potential to stand out.
Then some percentage of us seek that while the other percentage endeavors to hide from it---and yet, either way, it's all about thinking that we have the potential to stand out.
Yet, so few of us ever really do stand out, and those who do stand out, rarely do so for a prolonged period or in a extremely significant way.
Our attention, as always, is focused on the masses, on the big time---our name in lights somewhere.
It's possibly all a desire for meaning, for reason, for significance---why do we have life, if not to achieve something? Then, of course, our culture is so attached to the idea that only Grand is a true achievement. We watch, riveted, as people do things that seem extraordinary to us, even if only because it is outside our own experience or perceived capability.
Have we ever valued the ordinary or the middle?
I've been thinking about this a lot, as a person and a parent.
I spent my life up to this point thinking that each of us had a gift, something that made us extraordinary, and somehow, in my mind this translated to standing out, receiving acclaim. I believed the cliche that we all get fifteen minutes of fame. Fame is huge, and it often goes along with fortune.
With such an ingrained cultural notion forming my mind and principles, and a father who was typical of the time and who believed the best way to make me my personal best was to remind me how much more I could and should be, how much further I had to go, how where I was simply wasn't quite good enough...I've been struggling with the middle.
I've felt very out of stride recently.
What is it, exactly, that I'm supposed to be striving for here, and when do I know I've done as much as I can?
I've gotten a bit high and mighty and snappish about the issue.
My husband was assuring our oldest daughter the other day that she could be anything she wanted to be.
"Pssst, pssssst," I hissed at him, gesturing like a crazy woman, "Come here!"
"What?" he asked.
"You can't tell her that!"
"What? Why not?"
"Because it's not true!"
"What!"
"It's. not. true. None of us can be anything we want to be. I can't, you can't, she can't. We have to wait to find our gifts, our thing. Even after we find it, we might still just be average. It's good to try---you know, to find your thing, and then to try your best at it---but we're not all made equal or extraordinary. We don't all have the same aptitude. I just don't...I don't want to set her up that way. Then one day she'll be nearly 40 and wondering how to adjust her expectations from success to just getting by, and how to keep from being broken-heartedly disappointed and geez louise just...I want to try to keep her therapy bills lower. I want her to be okay with just being herself. Even if that is just average."
My husband looked at me pityingly. He does that when he thinks I've lost my mind. So...once or so a day?
It's true, though, isn't it? Not that I've lost my mind but that perhaps I've found it. The odds of any of us shooting to the top are pretty slim.
I'm not even sure that all this Olympic parenting does us any favors, either.
It's possible we are preparing our children for average and ordinary, but I can't see that we're stunting them. Patience is 6; if she had some savant ability it seems like it would have reared its head by now. She's been exposed to music and pianos, in a family of musicians. She's had art classes, nature classes, regular school, soccer, and more. So far...she pretty much prefers to create recycled art, write stories in little flip books, and play Barbies.
I'm satisfied with that, too.
She's not the top cat in any category society values, that we know of.
To us, though, she is amazing. I imagine that's the most any of us can ever hope for: that we find people we love, who love us, and we all find that and recognize and value what makes each of us special, if not extraordinary. Somehow, we have to help our children find a measured stride for that idea, though, that they are amazing to us, but perhaps not all people will find them so, and that doesn't diminish her importance, where it matters. Somehow we have to make this about being special, not better than. And possibly there are those who will shake their heads at this, secure in the belief that providing a sense of entitlement will enable their children to crush their way to the top. Maybe they are right, but to be honest, I'm not sure the top is really a goal for me. Any longer.
I'm more concerned that my children find their stride and walk comfortably within it.
It takes time to find your stride, with yourself and with others, and it's rarely a life with an even pace. It takes time to figure out what is special about a person, in general.
I'm reminded of the time in 8th grade when a popular girl, who sat next to me in language arts, stared at me for a while, and I simply ignored that, and her. Finally she said, "Huh. You know, if I look at you for a while, I see you're actually kind of pretty. I always thought you were sort of plain. But you've got some nice features---heart shaped mouth, good cheekbones. Huh. Who knew."
Two other girls nearby gasped, "Oh my gosh, that's a horrible thing to say!" one said.
I didn't worry about it, though, because I knew already: we rarely take the time to look at someone close enough to know their beauty, what makes them special.
Few of us possess attention-catching personalities, eye-catching beauty, ear-catching musical ability, or one of the other showy and obvious talents that we don't have to stop and think about to understand and admire.
The rest of us, though, still have that innate desire to be seen. Yes, I think so, even the ones who fear it.
I do think we all want to be appreciated, and that, at heart, is what it is.
So, as a parent, I endeavor to make my children feel valued, admired and appreciated. That's what moms do. I want them to feel seen in their family, understood. Okay.
As a person, I want to do that with the other people around me, too.
In Nick Hornby's novel, About a Boy, the main character, Will Lightman, is an ordinary man trying to be both important and invisible, a little choked under the yoke of his father's reputation as a wonder, even if only a one-hit wonder.
Isn't that the case for us all, a little bit? Even if it's not our direct parent, but simply an overhanging idea or ideal?
Like Will, maybe we learn that it's a balance, and that appreciation is like happiness---more of a way point and highlight, rather than a state of being. Contentment---walking in stride with contentment. Maybe that's the best gift we can pass along to our children.
So...what's your stride, and your take on this?
Think about it, and then write it up for next week's Hump Day Hmmm. Link to here, and come add your link in Mr. Linky. I'll be back in stride with the Hump Days next week. I promise. Ordinarily.
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
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Labels: culture and society, Growing Up is Hard To Do, humanity, Hump Day Hmmm, sociology
posted by Julie Pippert @ 10:13 AM,
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Intersections---the point at which different perceptions and realities collide
Monday, May 12, 2008
Photo by Chris De Lucia, "Tiny animal tracks criss-cross the dunes early in the morning, before the midday winds blow them away. Clearly mice or some other diminutive sand-dwellers had a lively night."
The children had finished eating and asked to be allowed to leave the table. Their request granted, they hopped out of the chairs, and the younger ones played a "rescue the toy" game beside the table. It was the second time in as many days that we were eating out, and at a place that, although it appealed to families, wasn't specifically designed for families.
We had chosen an outside corner table. If we get a choice, we do our best to opt for something where we aren't adjacent to other tables on all sides so we have a little "private" area the kids can use. I don't expect kids my children's ages to be able to sit at a table as long as adults who have come together to socialize will. It was a buffet brunch and we all took our time with multiple courses. We were there nearly two hours. We chose a family-friendly restaurant in anticipation of this. We chose the corner, by the grass area in anticipation of this. It was perfect. While waiting for dessert, we all leaned back, stretching our full bellies. I took the chance to move my attention from my own table to the other diners.
As it was Mother's Day, there were many, many children. Most children belonged to multiple families, together for the special occasion, all crammed around multiple tables pushed together to accommodate the parties of 8 or 10 instead of the more typical 4.
One of the tables near us held a couple, no children. I had the sense that they were in a routine because they seemed very comfortable, very settled, needed no explanations of the buffet by the waiter. I imagined that they had brunch at this restaurant every Sunday. I remembered the days before children, how we had routines like that too. I remembered how after lunch we'd run do some things we wanted or needed to do, without a care. I watched this couple reminiscently, a little fondly, thinking how enjoyable a day we were all having in our own different ways.
Then she turned and, not seeing me at all, shot That Look at the children. You other parents know the one I mean: the "may your tongues fall out and your vocal chords freeze and your legs and arms quit working because your mere existence is irritating to me and I shouldn't have to tolerate you" look.
My my my, I thought, so she's annoyed because, from her point of view, a bunch of breeding interlopers have changed the atmosphere of her favorite brunch spot. Apparently we weren't all enjoying our days in our own different ways.
I tried to study the children from her point of view, tried to think back to being childfree and how I felt about children in public then. I can't remember ever being annoyed by the mere sight or sound of children. I accepted that public space was public and we all had to share it, somehow. I also couldn't see that the children were being anything other than pretty good. They stayed by our table, no racing through tables, bumping waiters or anything obnoxious like that. They played with one another nicely, sharing a toy Patience brought, and chatting and laughing.
I could only think it had to do with unrealistic expectations. Sometimes, you want what you want, with no idea if that is at all reasonable as an expectation. Someday, you just might be in the other position, lesson learned, and understanding, now, later, how out of line it all had been.
I suddenly remembered a flood of times I had thought things along the lines of "when I'm in that boat, I'll always....or I'll never..." not catching that the absolute should have been my first clue that the expectation was unreasonable.
Sometimes you know...you know you are probably asking too much of someone, but your need or want overwhelms that.
That's the intersection and is when the perceptions collide.
I've been noticing a lot of intersections, lately. Some have to do with children, some have to do with other parts of life, such as politics, how to drive on the road, how to balance the different areas of life, and so forth. In the end, it's all about how others' expectations of us waltz with what we can do or will do.
It can be a struggle, and I have begun to theorize that you hit more intersections during transition times in life. I think that's why I've been noticing a lot of intersections lately.
By coincidence, or maybe not, last Thursday my husband and I were talking about work, and work expectations, and I stated that I believed, in general, that people can tolerate things they don't like from the beginning better than having those things come out later on. Because then, I said, it's a change, and we really don't like it when people seem to change, especially if we don't understand why.
We talked this idea through, pondering that it is about change and new expectations, and having to find a way to adjust to both, to new boundaries. We considered some obvious and general examples.
"People call it the terrible twos," I said, "But I've yet to meet a parent who doesn't think three is a much more challenging year. Why do you think two gets such a nasty rep? It's because it's a big change. It's the time when babies suddenly grow from mostly pliant* little bundles to sassy, walking talking oppositional people, people with needs that differ from what their mom and dad say or want. You hit the first big conflicts, and even though it may not be as deliberate as three, and so not as challenging, necessarily, in general, it's the first big intersection."
(* I know babies aren't pliant, really, and assert their needs, but honestly it's not like dealing with a two or three year old, or even older. With babies, it is mostly about needs. Later, that will comes into play, those wants, those differing opinions.)
It seems cliched and a statement of the obvious, but I think life is very dynamic. I can't say whether it is more so these days versus in the past, but it does feel a bit like that. It seems like we move around a lot more; big moves, as in from house to house, but also among expanding different opportunities. There's just so much we can do, so many chances we can take. Our culture tells us to grab opportunities when they come, and so we often do. I think we crave it, too. But somewhere, deep down, we also crave stability.
This just might be the biggest intersection of all.
I think the more intersections we reach, the more chance we have of collision. I'm not sure what I think of this.
What intersections have you noticed lately?
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
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Labels: Growing Up is Hard To Do
posted by Julie Pippert @ 5:45 AM,
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The Duggars and the Mother's Day Ferris Wheel
Friday, May 09, 2008
To find a perfect example of disproportionalism in life, look no further than motherhood.Motherhood: that state so many of us desire, and yet, despite 8th grade health lessons, is not so easily achieved.
Motherhood: that somehow oh-so-public state that drives people to ask intensely personal things
Motherhood: that state held up for public commentary---sometimes idolizing, sometimes demonizing
Michelle Duggar is quite the mom. We watch her and her family like ants in a habitat: how does she do it? 16 kids! We discuss and dissect her methods. 16 kids! Can it be fair to any of the kids! "Another Duggar on the way," said the Discovery Health email I received this morning, "Happy Mother's Day!"
Of course, I thought, she can have as many as she likes, healthy and lovely, whenever she wants. It was much more matter-of-fact than you might think. I have accepted---mostly---that life is not fair, is disproportionate, and this includes fertility and motherhood.
When---after a little over five years of marriage, and the end of our 20s---my husband and I decided to make the leap into parenthood we expected it would Just Happen. That seemed to be the way it went. So, expecting it to Just Happen, we started making plans and decisions based on the Expected Event. The trying part took a lot of years, pain, heartbreak, money, effort, indignity, strength, courage, procedures, people, science, art and more.
I can't think of too much that offers such a preparation for parenting. Infertility is the parenting trial by fire.
We had so much time to think about becoming parents, the sort of parents we'd like to be, why we wanted to be parents, life as parents and how open we were to different paths we could take to become parents.
The funny thing about a disease is that we all expect a cure, and, once allegedly cured, we expect to leave it behind us. Infertility is a disease. Like any disease, it doesn't have a perfect cure rate, and is not really something you leave behind.
We knew better the second time around, were better prepared, but it didn't make it sting any less.
To this day, fertility and fecundity initially hit me like a slap. I recover faster and brace myself less, but still, the immediate assumption that our family planning is normal and public can hurt.
Because we have two girls, we are often asked if we are trying for a boy.
No, we aren't, we just thank God every day that we got two beautiful children. I cry in my mind. We long ago lost the arrogant assumption that we could ask and receive. We are more like beggars who are not choosy.
I don't know if we would have been choosy about the baby's sex. I wanted a girl for me, I wanted a boy for my husband. But we let loose of that ages ago. When the doctors told me I was losing Patience, I did not ask God for anything other than to not let that happen. I was greedy: I begged him for a baby and then I begged him to let me keep her and when that prayer was answered, I begged him to let her be healthy and know a joyful life. I even offered myself in exchange.
That is motherhood, and it is the first moment I knew it.
I first knew motherhood in anxious hope, in joy, in fear, in greed for my child, in selfish dreams and selfless offering.
There is no better preparation or description of motherhood than that.
Five days ago I went shopping. In the checkout line the clerk deduced from my groceries that I had a family. This feels like an invasion of privacy. We all do it, that covert stare and quick speculation based on the contents of someone's shopping cart. But it's meant to be secret. We don't let others know we have them figured out, at least on this level. In the grocery checkout line I prefer to keep it impersonal---the weather, the local goings-on---while the items that tell who I am, who my family is, roll by on the conveyor belt.
But there is always one, and five days ago, I got her. She quizzed me as she scanned items. "You like organic, huh, is it worth all the extra money?" she said, whizzing my plain organic peanut butter and hormone free dairy across the scanner. "Oh, on a diet, huh, you look fine to me," she said, quickly swiping my Lean Cuisines. "How old are your kids?"
"6 and 3," I said, feeling a little put out, but unwilling to be anything other than friendly.
"What do you have?"
"Girls," I said, biting back the snarky children I half wanted to say. I knew where this was going. I have heard it enough times.
"Oh are you gonna try for a boy?"
"We're very happy with our girls," I said, definitely biting back the but my body won't work, and we wouldn't dare think to be so arrogant as to expect the exact sort of baby we want.
I suppose you might think I ought to be kinder, more generous in my understanding. I suppose you might think I ought to be over it by now. I'm cured, I have my girls.
It doesn't work that way, if for no other reason than nothing is that simple. Life isn't fair; fair is not a state of being, it's a place you go to ride a Ferris Wheel. Once you've been on a Ferris Wheel you don't forget the sensation or the motion, and after a while, you begin to realize that life is like one long Ferris Wheel: little jerky sometimes, starts and stops, ups and downs.
"I'm pregnant," friends cry, and sometimes, you cry too, especially for how it happens for some people just like they want it too. Even though you want that for them. You don't wish your journey on anyone.
Even though you don't really unwish your own journey. I don't, not really, because that is how I got Patience and Persistence.
When the last doctor told me it was over, there would be no more trying, I grieved. Lost hopes and dreams are as real a loss as anything else. With time, though, I have adjusted and am happy with just two, just girls, just the four of us plus the dog. I am happy baby times are behind, although sometimes I can't resist a round baby cheek. I am happy for sleeping through the night and independence, although sometimes I see a certain sort of little toddling girl and I get a bit wistful. I am filled with joy to have two girls, that my girls have sisters, but now and again someone says, "My son..." and shares a story of boys, and a little corner of me remembers the dream.
But.
That part of my journey is behind me, and I'm at peace with that. Mothering my girls is ahead.
So when Mother's Day comes around, I try not to think about how hard it can be and has been: how hard it is for me to mother, personal challenges I have to overcome to mother as well as I'd like to, and the difficulties I had becoming a mother.
But it's impossible.
I do think of it. I think of how many days I wondered if I'd ever get to celebrate being a mother, and how ecstatic I was on my first mother's day...until I saw the lady at the nearby table staring at my baby, and my heart broke. I knew that look, the one from the broken aching wishing heart. Her eyes teared up and the couple quickly left, food barely eaten. I felt equally glad I was beyond that and equally sad someone else was suffering. Overjoyed and guilty, as only a survivor can be.
Each mother's day is a little bittersweet. I think I am a little more grateful than the average, and a little more aware. I thank God that I get to experience the complex and beautiful state of motherhood, and I say a little extra prayer of hope, strength and mourning for the women who ache to be mothers but still have empty arms.
So..this Mother's Day...happy day to all the mothers, fathers and children who make up the many combinations of families there are, the many beautiful families.
And to the people who are still wishing...hopes and wishes to you, too.
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
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Labels: mommying
posted by Julie Pippert @ 8:35 AM,
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The Mystery of the Running Blackberry: How nature teaches lessons about learning and the benefit of plants
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
The bush along the bike path to school first sprouted bright red berries about a month ago, right when the rolie polies came out in force. My children, naturalists of course, spotted them immediately.
They also immediately wanted to put them in their mouths.
"Raspberries!" they shouted, grabbing at the bush.
"Wait!" I said, uselessly.
"Ouch!" they said, stabbed by thorns.
"YUCK!" they said, spitting out the partially chewed berries, and as much taste as they could.
"Sigh," I said, as usual wondering when they'd ever learn to listen to me and why the entire myth of natural consequences began.
"Step back from the bush," I said, "Close your mouths and open your ears."
They hesitated, and looked back at the bush.
"Before you grab at any plant or bush, you need to know what it is. Some plants can make you sick or give you a rash."
"I know what that bush is!" they said, "It's a raspberry!"
My children are like most children: they believe that what they assume is what they know, and they also believe they know it all. "I don't need tap lessons," Patience said to me the other day, "I already know how to tap, see?" She shuffled her feet. I sighed and tried to explain, for the 10 millionth time, that nobody is born knowing how to do anything. We all spend our lives learning and that usually means learning from someone who does know, for example, in a class. Patience gets it now and again, especially when it comes to reining in her perfectionism, so I have hope.
"That's not a raspberry plant," I said.
"It looks like a raspberry plant!" they said, betrayed.
"Does it? Did the berries taste like raspberries?" They narrowed their eyes, looking for the trick. "Look at the berries, they are smooth. Raspberries have little hairs. And are sweet, not yucky."
The children pondered.
"Hmm," said Patience, "That's true. They are also harder, and a different color of red."
"True," I said.
"So what is it!"
"I don't know," I said, "But I know who to ask."
I believe it's important to live by my words, and admit when I don't know something, then model how to find out. So when we got home, I called my neighbor. I described the bush and its fruit, and she immediately knew what I meant.
"Dewberries," she said, "They're coming ripe now. My daughter and her friend picked so many in the woods today we have enough for jam and pie! You can find wild bushes all over the place."
"How are they to eat?" I asked.
"Not as sweet as raspberries, about on par with blackberries. It's all the same family," she said, "But don't eat the red ones. Dewberries turn black when they're ripe."
I told the children what I'd learned, and we did a little more research online. Dewberries are also called running blackberries. The children loved that---a plant that runs. They giggled and joked. Also, we learned that most of the plant is edible. Brewing the leaves into tea treats diarrhea. You can eat the shoots (if you peel them) and the fruit.
"That's so interesting," Patience said, "I never knew you could make drinks from plants, or that you could eat more than fruit off of plants!"
The next day, after school, we stopped by the dewberry bush and looked for ripe black berries. "Here's one!" we kept calling to each other, this time mindful of thorns as we picked, and selecting only high berries. Leaving low berries means less chance of well, animal urine, among other things, and also makes it easier for birds and squirrels to get fruit, too.
This is more advice my friend---the real naturalist---provided.
Our excitement around the bush attracted other children, and we told them what the bush was and what we were doing. They dared each other to try the berries, and the brave ones reported the taste the others, who also stepped up to try it.
"Dewberries," they said to one another. "Watch out for thorns!" "It's like a vine, more than a bush," some observed. "It's sour!" "No, it's delicious!" "Only the black ones!" "Watch out for that spider web!" "Don't hurt the spider or web, they eat mosquitos!"
I thought about how my friend and others worry about kids being so separated from nature. It's a small thing, one thing, but in that moment, kids were right in with nature, seeing what it offers. And that made me smile.
That's also why my daughters and I were so upset yesterday when we walked our bikes to the dewberry bush and found it...gone. Chopped down at the base.
"It was a weed," the landscaping guy said, "We didn't plant it there."
I wondered if he or his crew had ever gone dewberry picking in the early summer, in the morning, on the way to school. I thought that maybe if he had, he would have carefully skirted the bush, leaving it for the kids and woodland creatures.
Later, we'll go look in other spots and try to find a new dewberry bush. An adventure to follow a mystery, solved.
Note: You'll notice it's Wednesday, and I have no Hump Day Hmm. I just didn't get it pulled together this week. If you have interest and/or suggestions, please send them my way. I'll try to get it going again next week if you like. :)
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
Also blogging at:
Julie Pippert REVIEWS: Get a real opinion about BOOKS, MUSIC and MORE
Julie Pippert RECOMMENDS: A real opinion about HELPFUL and TIME-SAVING products
Moms Speak Up: Talking about the environment, dangerous imports, health care, food safety, media and marketing, education, politics and many other hot topics of concern.
MOMocrats
Labels: helping kids grow up, kids, mommying, nature in all its glory, Patience, Persistence
posted by Julie Pippert @ 8:33 AM,
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Goddess versus sex goddess: It's all in the vision
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Do you ever wonder whether you've been a little trained, like Pavlov's dogs?
I do. I get so used to the pat and stock things that usually I accept them, unquestioningly. But when a moment comes that I do pause and ponder, I wonder why this idea or this image is supposed to be so representative, either of a concept or of something I'm supposed to like or want.
It happens all the time in marketing and advertising. Every day I'm bombarded with images and messages directed to me (the marketing bucket of me, anyway: middle-class, practically middle-aged mom with two kids and buying power): laundry detergents that power through stains, clothing that makes me look hot, cosmetics and creams that make me look young again, ads about weight loss, and so forth.
I wonder, which came first: the chicken or the egg? Did I look at my teeth one day and wonder about their color or did an ad tell me I needed to whiten my teeth?
TV, radio, billboards, Web sites and yes, even magazines. All of these bundle their pleas to my buying power with attractive and appealing packages that are designed to capture my attention and interest. Sometimes the appeal is through information, and sometimes it's through images---images that just might be designed to titillate my prurient interest.
I have it, and so do you, this prurient interest.
But what I am is fatigued by a constant barrage of appeal to it. It's not my only or my chief interest, it is merely my base interest.
I'd so much rather my other interests appealed to, on the whole.
But we seem stuck in this mode of appealing to prurient interest, and from there I think we forget to think. We're back to that trained dog feeling I get every now and again: where I'm just meant to react and not think.
It's probable that the first time some phrase was used or image was shot that it was unique, interesting, original and mind-expanding. That success, though, launched a formula, that after a while might end up as meaningless as a cliche. So people keep trying to think of ways to freshen the formula, push the boundaries of the formula---never quite grasping that they've trapped themselves inside a box of an idea and that what is really called for is fresh ideas, not fresh angles of the tried and true but stale formula. That pushing though, means that eventually the formula might be deployed harmfully.
I think that's happening a lot right now for young people (ignoring the issue for children right now), as clothing, ads, images, and so forth has pushed that "bring sexy back" formula onto them. We forget that or wish to forget that these young people are so much more than sexual awakening.
We limit the face and dimensions of them, and thus, forget to think of it. We forget that growing up and maturing is much, much more than emerging sexuality.
I wonder if this is what happened to Annie Liebovitz. Has she gotten as caught up in the idea of "quintessential Annie Liebovitz" as her fans and employers? Has she gotten so caught up in it that she didn't even see the individual in front of her---the unique person named Miley---and instead saw only a commodity, with a whisper in her ear from the magazine that skin sells? That sin sells?
Did Miley---bombarded her entire life with the message that sex sells---have any idea that there can be bad publicity, and that a suggestive post-coital-implied photograph might imply something well beyond her age or stage of maturity? Did she have any other example before her, something to hold if she wanted to say no, "No, I don't prefer a sexy shot that's exploitative, I don't think that's the way I want to grow up for America and appeal to a larger audience. I'd rather show another side of myself, an accomplishment..." or some such.
Are we all guilty of the same thing?
I argue that we become so used to---so comfortable and familiar with---the ideas and images continually placed in front of us that we forget to question their value, their worth. We no longer wonder what they mean---we simply, unquestioning, or desiring to not "make a big deal" accept them, at face value.
In fact, a number of people told me it was simply a provocative photo, rather than exploitative and suggestive, as I said in my recent post. Plenty of people told me it was simply an artistic photo that captured the transition from girl to woman. Because I try to keep an open mind, I paused and pondered.
As I did so, I ran across the exquisite art of a local artist. I was meeting with her husband and he showed me his wife's art Web site to demonstrate a point, which I sort of missed because I had instead tuned in to the eye candy in front of me.
I give you an original, truly exquisite piece of art that really captures that time when girls mature into women:
The Making of the Blue Goddess by Mele Florez-Avellan
This is art. It's evocative; it both asks for and gives emotion. We have the amazing pure line of youthful skin, uninterrupted, but it is backdrop, texture, a line...it means only beauty, nothing more. You have a sense that this girl is not insignificant. You have a sense of this young lady, an idea---right or wrong---of who she is, because so much of her is in the piece.
I see a girl who thinks and feels, in fact, possibly so much so that she keeps a journal. Despite the seriousness in her face, I see laughter, also. Her mouth is straight yet light, upturned slightly in the corners, as if used to smiling. I want to ask her questions---find out what makes her gaze off in the distance, what made her choose this pose rather than the more typical "gaze at the camera and tip her head with a smile only the young have" sort of pose. I want to know if her soul is truly as old as her eyes imply.
I'm curious why the artist, Mele Florez-Avellan, who knows this young lady, opted to obscure one eye and make the eyes less prominent, while opening her mouth slightly and putting more color to it, drawing our eye there, instead.
What is so powerful about her mouth?
In short, it's a powerful piece.
That's a goddess, my friends.
That's artistic.
Mele Florez-Avellan does it again with this piece:
A different subject and a very different portrait. I have yet another, different sense of this girl. I have the sense that the artist caught a moment that this girl rarely allows people to see. I see a girl who shows a light face to the world, a face that doesn't reveal too often how deep the mind and heart behind it go. Letting the artist see that implies a trust.
Revealing one's soul is so much more intense and trusting, so much more evocative, than revealing one's bare back.
The art says as much about the subject as the artist.
This art makes me want to pick up a magazine and read a story because they are so individual and unique, and I expect, then, that the story will be equally personal and personalized.
Step back from mass market and pause and ponder---is something truly beautiful, or merely technically proficient and what we've been trained to like and expect?
Does it capture your eye, and from there engage your heart, and then your mind?
This art does that for me. It is significant, not trivializing.
(I included a few links to the artist. If you like art, click over and scan her site. She has quite a range, but all in her own style. I find it fabulous.)
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
Also blogging at:
Julie Pippert REVIEWS: Get a real opinion about BOOKS, MUSIC and MORE
Julie Pippert RECOMMENDS: A real opinion about HELPFUL and TIME-SAVING products
Moms Speak Up: Talking about the environment, dangerous imports, health care, food safety, media and marketing, education, politics and many other hot topics of concern.
MOMocrats
Labels: art/photography
posted by Julie Pippert @ 9:57 PM,
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Troubled with but one devil, I am. The one about the uninsured children's crisis in the US
Friday, May 02, 2008
I? Have been busy. But at least when I'm busy I'm troubled with but one devil (versus the thousand that would plague me if I were not busy...allegedly.)
What makes me saying that any different from everyone else who says it, and what makes this week noteworthy versus others?
This week has been truly busy and absorbing, but it's not been all about me. In fact, I've felt like more of an instrument---which feels more powerful than you might think.
My house is a mess, my kids have gotten away with murder (of two rolie polies, as a start), my hair hasn't been out of a pony tail in five days (other than to be washed, which YES, I did wash), I made three innocent children tardy because I forgot my daughter's bike at school, and we've subsisted on starchy dinners all week (mac-n-chz for the kids and loaded potatoes for me and the hubs---have you ever done a Tex-Mex potato, with sour cream and salsa and black beans and cheese? YUM!).
But I'm happy.
This week I've indulged in my passion---learning, politics, writing, editing, and do-gooding.
All week I've been fast and furious with the MOMocrats, riding the amazing trip it is to have a powerful senator who is vying for the Democratic Nomination for President pause to do a Q&A with us.
All that we did and accomplished made me see how very powerful a small number of targeted regular citizen voices can be. It made me see that there is an enormous disconnect between big media and regular citizens, and I realized the relief the engaged voter feels when they are offered substantive discussion about the issues.
I also realized how defensive and possessive big media is of their perceived ownership of the market---and how very afraid they are of citizen journalists.
I learned a lot this week about business, marketing, and the power of the Internet to make a success of a well-run and concentrated effort.
Now, I am taking that and doing my best to funnel all of it into a cause near and dear to my heart: health care coverage for kids.
At Moms Speak Up today, I'm doing what I can to promote the Cover the Uninsured week.
I discuss the Campaign for Healthy Kids, include an interview with Laura Guerra-Cardus of the Children's Defense Fund, and share personal stories about kids and families struggling with health care coverage (such as KayTar, Kyla's daughter).
That's only the beginning.
I know everyone has an opinion about how to solve---or not solve---the problem of health care coverage for uninsured children.
The real problem is the misunderstandings. There are so many misunderstandings about who currently shoulders the burden, who should shoulder the burden, how government programs are funded, and what is happening to kids who lack insurance.
Can I ask you a few favors?
1. Will you keep an open mind and come over to Moms Speak Up?
At the very least, read my interview with Laura Guerra-Cardus, or skim down to the bottom and read the quick and short attached fact sheets.
2. Will you take the time to engage in a productive discussion about this issue? Whether this means simply leaving a comment, stating your opinion, sharing your own stories, or asking a question, I welcome it. Here or at Moms Speak Up.
3. Will you help promote this issue and spread information---encourage dialog about it---by posting a link to any or all of the articles on Moms Speak Up on your own sites?
Whether you realize it or not, you are paying for uninsured children right now. You are paying with higher local taxes, higher service rates at health care providers, higher copays and deductibles, and so forth.
But that pales in comparison to what uninsured children and their families pay.
Come join in discussion about this issue.
I thought I knew, but even I've been surprised by things I've learned.
And it's only committed me more deeply to helping the 9.4 million children---4 million new this year courtesy of President Bush's veto of both bills to help CHIP---who lack health care coverage.
Thanks.
Let me share a few teaser points. Did you know?
Medicaid and the State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP) currently provide coverage to over 30 million children.
9.4 million children do not have health care coverage.
90 percent of those 9.4 million live in working households and a majority live in two-parent families. See a breakdown in charts and graphics of who the uninsured are by clicking here.
31% of uninsured children live in families who earn between ~$20,000 to $40,000 annually.
Many of these families lack insurance because the base cost is 30% or more of their income, plans don't cover their children's health care or special care needs, or private and group plans deny them.
The current Medicaid and SCHIP programs are confusing and burdensome to navigate. Enrolling is complicated, time-consuming, and slow. The programs are understaffed, suffer chronic budget shortfalls, and are restricted by wild variations in eligibility.
The All Healthy Children Act---which passed both the House and Senate but was vetoed---had solutions.
Tax credits carry a variety of risks.
According to the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, "Nationwide, the amount employees pay for family coverage increased 30 percent from 2001 to 2005, while family policyholders’ income increased just 3 percent over the same period." Additionally, "...the average cost of family coverage increased nearly $2,500—from $8,281 in 2001 to $10,728 in 2005." Further, more people are working in jobs that do not offer health insurance benefits, and plans are cutting back coverage.
Copyright 2008 Julie Pippert
Also blogging at:
Julie Pippert REVIEWS: Get a real opinion about BOOKS, MUSIC and MORE
Julie Pippert RECOMMENDS: A real opinion about HELPFUL and TIME-SAVING products
Moms Speak Up: Talking about the environment, dangerous imports, health care, food safety, media and marketing, education, politics and many other hot topics of concern.
MOMocrats
Labels: health, healthcare, kids, Social Justice
posted by Julie Pippert @ 11:12 AM,
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