chicago sun times

One of my cuties in the paper:

Chicago Sun Times

When I was there last we went ice skating, and she fell down and got right back up every other second. It was exhausting just to watch. But she never wanted off the ice. Tenacity? Drive? Competitiveness? Brain-stem level survival skill? Living up to her older sisters-ness? Trust that her leaders are pointing her in the right direction? That's the beauty of being the baby of the family - unquestioned, undoubted, unchallenged faith that everyone is looking out for you. You're always in good hands.

She's called her sisters 'my guys' since she could talk. As in - the game is in my guys' room, or my guys and I were outside, or my guys won't let me play with them. Like walking around in an embrace.

imagine

Imagine. A beautiful morning. A Saturday. Snow on the ground outside while you're safe, cozy, warm inside. Having awoken at sunrise because you were satisfied with sleep. A cup of your favorite coffee. And in the presence of beauty that no volume of pictures can ever fully capture.

A humble attempt:

commuting (cont'd)

And I mean everything. Even these two* guys. Where could they be going?

*No magician mirror involved

commuting

Every day we all get where we're going. There's room for everything in this city.

you can stuff your sorries in a bag*

Screw you, Armstrong. Admitting to doping after all that. Pathetic! Posing as a winner! An ego driven to such extremes, where lies are considered essential for survival. How sad and empty you must be inside.

*George Costanza in Seinfeld

all in

Check it out.

Metis

not alone

I recently discussed in some detail my thoughts on short books. It's not that I dislike long books (despite the fervor of my rampage) or that I'm too lazy (might I dare say 'with lassitude'?) to get through endless stories (I always, always, with the exception of 3 books, trudge through), it's that I believe in the beauty, art, superiority, amazing awesomeness of perfecting short novels (and yet I don't care much for short stories or poetry). There are many reasons for this - the clarity of mind it demonstrates, the skill it exhibits when one's tools (words) can be used so nimbly and with such control, the space for silence it offers. But mostly, the non-presumptuousness it suggests when one shares an idea one values but does so with respect and humility - without taking up too much time, without stepping on toes, without overwhelming one with unnecessary details.

A wordy (lengthy) explanation that is captured simply (shortly) in Better Off Ted:

That was French AND funny. In one syllable, which makes it smart.

Ha!

the drive

* do not attempt while driving

defenseless

Do we ever feel weaker than in that moment in which we are overwhelmed by love?

You can't be strong in that moment because, by definition, the moment exists only in utter vulnerability.

The paradox, in a sense, is that the person who makes you weak is the person you ought to be with.

armor

I have been thinking about body armor. For men, they can bulk up, puff up their chests, physically become bigger and face the world from behind their armor. What about women? Besides getting fat or loud, what armor do we have?

In All About Lulu, the dad was a body builder, and I remember some line about him deflating at the end when he'd stopped body building. A friend's therapist proposed to her that she is letting herself be overweight to feel more like the mama bear. Strength in size.

What options do women have? In the corporate world a strong suit (of armor), an expensive handbag, pointy heels. What is their real purpose? To look good or to feel more powerful? The female body armor.

These thoughts have been coalescing following conversations about equal pay, strength in femininity, strength AND femininity, appropriate dress in the corporate world, female presidents, Nancy Pelosi dressing better than Hillary Clinton, tight shoulders in yoga from lifting weights, mate selection, woman valuing big tough over vulnerable, etc.

But, again, the main issue is not one of aesthetics (those are valuable on their own), but more about what's happening behind it all. The questions around being a woman, dressing as a woman, feminine, sexy in the right context, and having that be strength. Owning all of yourself.

I wonder if things may have turned out differently if the Indian girl had gotten on that bus without her boyfriend, how she may have been punished for self-identifying as a sexual being, how in so many places and for so many cultures, being a sexual woman is expected to be done in secret, perhaps in shame, if at all.

What can I do as a 5'6" woman? How can I create an illusion that I am bigger than I am? How do I show my strength and be taken seriously while still being a woman, dressing like a woman, not denying any aspect of my womanhood? At least I have crazy hair and a deeper voice.

time for a revolution

There are certain events that trigger revolutions. The Tunisian man who set himself on fire and started the Arab Spring. The Indian girl who was raped on the bus. She died over the weekend. I'd say more if it didn't tear me up so much inside. Here's the BBC story.

life