Flamingos

The nice thing about life is that you never really know what is going to happen. You may think you do, but really, you don't, especially in the long run. Some people make projections and some of those projections are accurate, but they can't predict the quirky turns life takes; the little mistakes, the little triumphs, the leaps of faith or magic moments that do occur. The decisions that people make and then follow through on. The happenstance meetings or stories you read or hear that inspire and result in a change. The chances you take. The bad thing that turns out well, the good thing that goes bad. Everything changes. That's both good and bad. If you are happy now, you must know that something unhappy is in your future, because the universe is not static and everything changes. If you are unhappy now, it will not last forever, unless you make it so. Even you change. Every 7 years all of your cells are different.

I love flamingos. They eat shrimp. They nest in alkaloid lakes where nothing else lives. They are pink. Their knees are backwards.

I love flamingos. They are improbable.

I love flamingos. They remind me that life is not predictable. You just never know, even when you think you do.

30 Days of Night

I read a story today http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21886273/
about a settlement between the Jesuits and 110 Alaskan natives who were sexually abused as children. According to the story, these people, in this remote and desolate area of the world, were systematically abused by priests and assistants to clergy who were known to be doing this and were given free reign. Other coverage (Newsweek) about this disgrace indicates that many victims committed suicide. Several children were fathered by these criminals- (it's not just a sin it's a felony) and one girl was instructed to have an abortion and say that her own father had impregnated her. As I read about the destruction these crimes (let's call the behavior what it is) have caused to the individual victims and to their families and to their native culture, I began to comprehend that it is almost beyond description. What happens to a community when every male child is the victim of sexual abuse? When most of the children have been raped? When every family has children who suffer from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder? It boggles the mind.

Some months ago, I saw a movie, "30 Days of Night". It was a gripping, terror film based on a graphic novel. The plot was basically that in an Alaskan town, there is a period every year when it is dark for 30 days. Taking advantage of this, a band of vampires invade, take over and decimate the population. With modern special effects the vampires are quite horrifying.

When I read the news, all I could think of was the movie.

Wax and Roses

Recently, I found a lovely vintage glass chandelier on e-bay which was just like the ones I've been eying for a year, but I got it for half price. No one loves a bargain like me, but as usual, nothing is simple. One of the arms broke in transit. The seller generously sent me new ones, but then everything had to be re-wired. It came with cardboard candle-covers. Th0se are the little white tubes that cover the electric socket that the bulbs screw into. Since I knew my husband was going to re-do the wiring and all, I thought I would replace the cardboard with plastic so it would be easier to clean. Onto the internet I went and found a bunch of these little tubes. Some were plastic and some were wax. I thought this very odd. Why would anyone put wax tubes around electric lights? Wax gathers dust and doesn't tolerate heat. I was appalled to read that these tubes are scented, so that when the lights are on, they fill the room with a "lovely"? scent. Because when people are eating, they want to smell perfume instead of food?

It is definitely not the most wonderful time of the year. It seems like everyone has a new bottle of perfume or 10. For some reason they feel the compulsion to bathe in it. Imagine my surprise when I walked into the ladies room the day after New Years and found an array of creams, scented soaps and even a bottle of spray cologne on the counter. It was all I could do to keep from chucking it all in the garbage. Later I found out that a friend had brought it in; her Christmas presents. She didn't get it at all when I smiled weakly and said, "It's a lot of different smells".

We are likely the cleanest America in history. We bathe and deodorize daily. We wash and press- Most of us don't labor. Why do we need all this fake smell? Fully 10% of the population has asthma. But suggest to someone that they do without their perfume, cologne, scented hair products, scented laundry detergent, scented fabric softener, scented lotions, scented deodorants, scented room sprays, diffusers in their cubicles and they look at you in horror- what do you mean you want to breathe? You don't want to be nauseous, you'd rather not have a migraine? Wow, You are too sensitive. I guess so.

Packaging

When I was first pregnant, a very long time ago, I wanted a daughter. I thought it was because I wouldn't know how to raise a son, because I am, after all, female. I got a son, and after a while, I figured out that this was a good thing, because if I had a daughter, I would have wanted her to be everything I was and everything I wasn't too. That would have been an awfully heavy burden to put on such a tiny being. So I had a son and he taught me that it didn't matter what I wanted, because he was who he was and that is so wonderful, I didn't really care anymore. So then, when I was pregnant again, I wanted a daughter, because I had a son already. I thought it would be perfect if I had one of each and it has been. My daughter is who she is and is everything she could ever want or need to be. She is far beyond me in everything I have ever done that was important or clever or even interesting. It's a good thing, because she knows I love flamingos and she put them here for you to see.

New Hampshire isn't Iowa

Today, my boss asked me what I thought about Hillary's win in New Hampshire. I told him: New Hampshire isn't Iowa. Wait until Super Tuesday. My boss has the advantage of having once actually participated in the Iowa Caucuses and he's been to New Hampshire. He feels neither is representative of the country in general. I simply think it's not over until it's over. I've heard a dozen theories from the geographical to the conspiracy. It's not over til it's over and it ain't over yet.

At the same time, you have to feel bad for Hillary. I don't think she'll win, no matter what she does. Too many people hate her for no reason at all. It's not fair. I swear, if Hillary turned water into wine, she'd be criticized for alcoholism. If Hillary healed the sick, she'd be charged with practicing medicine without a license. If Hillary walked on water it would be dismissed as proof that she's out of touch with environmental issues. If Hillary wins, it'll be more than a miracle, it'll be the second coming.

A Sense of History

A few days ago, Barack Obama won Iowa. People were surprised. I was surprised too, though not necessarily for the same reasons "people" were. What surprised me more was that it took rather a long time for the media to note what an historic achievement that win was. Hilary's third place was also an historic achievement. The media pretty much missed that. We've just been sitting through it for so long we've lost the sense of it. A black man and a woman; it's easy to lose sight of just how amazing an achievement that is. Today my daughter came home from a "family party" at a friend's and said that some members of the friend's family declared that they would move to Canada if a black man became president. While we smiled and declared it was devoutly to be hoped, it's easy to forget that these attitudes still exist. Unlike Mitt, I will not lie and say that I saw my father march with Martin Luther King but I remember seeing those marches on TV, the black and white images on the screen of Selma and Chicago and Washington. I remember the dogs and the firehoses and the uniforms and nightsticks. I remember seeing the perfectly reputable-looking marchers, men in suits and women in hats and gloves with nice purses and wondering what all the fuss was about. A child only sees what's there I guess. And there was an awful fuss, for years and years. And lest we forget, there was bloodshed, plenty of that too. And now, Barack Obama wins Ohio and there's not so much fuss. Could it be that we are judging this man by the content of his character? That would be something, wouldn't it?

Starting Over

The nice thing about a new year is the new part. Around here it is certainly is not the weather which is God-awful. It seems like we regularly need a new starting point, just like the cupboards need a spring cleaning. A way to mentally begin again. I was talking with my incredibly cute intern today, who noted that she does not make resolutions, because when she finds something she needs to correct in her life, she does it right away. Which is, of course, what we would all like to do, but in the great scheme of things, we do not. At the same time, there is a flow to the small things, and we don't notice, except when we sit down and take stock. Then patterns surface. It will be interesting to see what happens and what doesn't. January is always full of possibility.