my hero

Sometimes I'll be faced with that age-old question: "Who is your hero?"

I've always found that to be a tough question to answer. A hero to me is someone that does something so wonderful to help the cause of humanity, that I can't help but look up to her and feel inspired by her.

Lo and behold, today I stumbled across her on Meta Filter.

Meet Cecilia Fire Thunder, my hero.

Why is she my hero? Because she has pledged to open a Planned Parenthood on the Reservation to serve all of the women in South Dakota. She says, "I will personally establish a Planned Parenthood clinic on my own land which is within the boundaries of the Pine Ridge Reservation where the State of South Dakota has absolutely no jurisdiction."

And for those of you not in the know, you really should see what is going on in the US in regards to abortion. This includes women who are victims of rape.

Update! What to do if you would like to support this endeavor.

signs of spring

Red-Winged Blackbirds

Saw a bunch of male red-wings nosily vying for territory this morning.

[link to stolen photo broken]

asexual

That's how I describe my fashion sense - asexual. Well, except in the summer when I indulge in skirts. But they tend to be either khaki or jean skirts, and I only wear them because I enjoy the breeze that floats up on hot summer days. But barring that indulgence, I prefer jeans, t-shirts, button-shirts, and sweaters. I don't like hair goo ("product" is the name the hair professionals use); I don't like make up (I really hate the feel it on my face); and I don't like smells.

I sometimes forget how non-girly girl I can be. I was reminded of this today at the gym, after my shower. Beside me was a woman who was getting ready for a day in the office post-workout. As I slipped into my longjohns and two pairs of socks, I snuck curious peaks at her morning feminization ritual.

• Vanilla scented body lotion, everywhere she could reach.
  
• Vanilla scented body spray - three squirts.
  
• Anti-perspirant.
  
• Vanilla perfume, a dab behind each ear.
  
• Matching bra and thong, nylons, knee-high boots, silky camisol, blouse, skirt with matching jacket, earrings, necklace, bracelet.
  
• Moisturizer, followed by foundation, blush, eye makeup, lipstick, and mascara.
  
• She hadn't washed her hair, but she brushed it out from a ponytail, and sprayed on some sort of clear fluid. Perhaps something to make her hair shine or a bit of hair spray?
  

And what about me?

• Definitely non-matching underwear (but clean!)
  
• Longjohns.
  
• Two pairs of socks (my feet get cold).
  
• Deodorant.
  
• T-shirt.
  
• Sweater.
  
• Green corduroy pants.
  
• Facial moisturizer.
  
• Lip balm, as my lips get dry at the gym.
  

Ta da. I did blow-dry my hair, but as I mentioned before, I don't like hair goo, so it's au natural and loose today.

Very non-girly girl. I am feeling a bit of pressure.

March 15

Today is:

• International Day Against Police Brutality, first observed in 1997 after Swiss police beat two children age 11 and 12 to death.
  
  
• The Ides of March.
  
  
• David Cronenberg's birthday.
  
  
• Samuel de Champlain leaves Honfleur on this day in 1603 with Gravé du Pont and Pierre de Monts on de Chaste's ship 'Bonne Renommé'; his first major voyage to Canada.
  

observations

There is a discarded couch cushion stuck to the ice in front of the laundry room door. Nik tried to tear it free -- but either it is soaked through with frozen water, holding it fast to the ground, else someone has devilishly Crazy Glued it to the ground. Either way, it feels odd to step out of the laundry room onto pillowy softness.

* * *

I love to swear. I was one of those proper kids (with proper friends) who never dared to swear. "Shiiiii-p", my friend Heather and I used to say, giggling over our perceived daringness for almost (but not really) swearing. I recall having my mouth literally washed out with soap for swearing within hearing of my mother. Bad words are evil, somehow. I didn't understand why; it was one of those weird "things that always are". (And honestly, I still haven't figured it out.)

But now that I am all "growned up" and being responsible for myself (for the most part), I can get away with swearing. Who is going to stick a bar of Dove in my mouth now, huh? So I pepper my speech with foul language, because I love getting away with it. A "shit" here, a "damn" there, and a "mother fucker" when I'm feeling especially peeved. I know I'm being very naughty when I do this, but the imp in me delights in doing it. I love doing what is improper, for shock value only. I'm going to be one messed up old lady, I tell ya. I'll probably insist on wearing string bikinis while being pushed about by some sloth-like orderly, while shouting out curse words at the top of my lungs.

* * *

Today there was a UV index of 4. I think I managed to get a slight burn on my cheeks. I also heard (but didn't see, unfortunately) Canadian Geese flying overhead. And you know what that means!

photos

I am taking a good old-fashioned black and white photography class. Below are some photos for anyone interested:


My pal Angela was so kind to pose. This was taken with my plasticky Holga camera - I can process the 120 film myself!


Nik, the dear, suffers due to my art. Don't mind the smudge at the bottom of the photo -- it's from our scanner's scratched glass.


My bro-in-law, Pedro. He's grinning at his daughter while putting up with my nonsense. Sadly, I lost the negative to this pic, so there is only one print of it in existence (plus this scan).

a tale of small town woe

A true tale I received from a friend today, who lives in a small religious town in New Brunswick. (Names changed to protect the sinners innocent.)

---

I guess I was never much for table manners, but I really killed the mood last night. I went over to the minister's house for dinner with his daughter, Tegan. She is a nice girl, but she is very sheltered, talkative, and VERY religious. Which are all things I can understand being a minister's daughter and all. Everytime I have ever spent time with her I have not been able to get two words in. She rants on about Christian camp and bible studies, you know, all things I am interested in . So she was having a dinner party and invited Richard and I to go. Of course, Richard would have no part in it . That did not surprise me. I went on my own.

At this dinner was the minister and his wife, Tegan, Mara (her best friend) and Mara's boyfriend, Sammy. Oh and of course, me. Now I respect a person's right to choice their religious beliefs and agreed to the pre-dinner prayer to be polite. I mean I was a guest in their home. Everything was going well until the meal came to a close. What I hadn't realize was this wasn't only a simple innocent invitation, but an intervention party for poor Sammy. You see, Sammy, poor lost soul, has not chosen a religion or the "right" religion in his 25 years on this earth. Tegan was there to convert him.

"Oh Yes Tegan, please pray for all lost souls."

They were talking about how much fun church and God is, blah blah, blah. I honestly can't fill in the blahs because I tuned out. Then being the sweet little angel that I am chimed in, "You know Sammy, I took at religious test online that matches your beliefs to a major religion. Maybe you should try something like that."

The room went silent and all eyes fell on me. Of course I could not leave it at that. I continued to explain to Sammy how the tests works by explaining my own experience with it. "When I did the test it showed that my beliefs matched Theravada Buddhism 100%" I did leave out the fact that I only match Anglican and Catholics 15%. I could see their polite smiles melt into horror. A Buddhist? A Buddhist in [small town New Brunswick]? A Buddhist in our home? Oh my!

I was quite pleased to finally be able to not only speak, but speak about something they felt so strongly about. I thought it was valuable input. Well, I was not so prepared for what was next. Tegan stood up and walked out of the room. Mara turned up her nose and snarled, "Is that where you worship that Buddha statue?" I politely explained my beliefs of how everything is connected on earth. I eat living things and absorb their energy (spirit) and in turn I will die and return my energy to other living things (worms and other ungodly creatures), a beautiful cycle of life . I do yoga and meditate daily to center myself and for self discovery. I do not say that I am a Buddhist, but I am learning to be at peace with my world.

The conservation quickly turned to something else after my turn was finally here and gone. Tegan returned into the room and mumbled something about God being in our hearts. She was obviously quite upset.

If she can't handle a little polite criticism from me, how is she ever going to convert Richard? She has been talking about that ever since the day I met her. She doesn't seem to understand that he doesn't want to go to church. I go out of respect for my grandfather. I mean, he is 94 years old and it is a great passion of his. If me showing up for an hour on Sundays makes his week, it is worth it. That might make me a hypocrite in some eyes, but I believe in accepting other people's beliefs. I just don't understand why some people are so pushy like Tegan.

I doubt I will ever be invited to attend another lovely dinner at the minister's home.

[a friend]

PS I am available for any dinner invitation you would like me to attend, I think my schedule will be very open.

cravings

Once again it's "that time of the month", and I'm craving different foods. I think this month's cravings are due partially to my trainer making me intensely work out with weights at least two hours a week.

Right now, I would be more than happy to go to a buffet that features:

• plain cheese pizza with a garlicky sauce
  
• homemade chocolate cake with homemade frosting
  
• a falafel wrap with extra tahini sauce (and don't forget the pickled turnips!)
  
• some fine Indian appetizers (mmm, pakoras!)
  
• my mother's potato salad with homemade mayonnaise
  
• a dish of freshly picked wild strawberries
  
• a mango (I have one at home, waiting for me...)
  
• soft ginger cookies made with molasses

Oh, the torture!

jaded

Where did the magic go?

I remember wearing my shirt with all the pockets. I made sure to fill them up with little child treasures -- a pretty white rock, a bit of string and a safety pin (like Henry Huggins in Beverly Cleary's books, although I was never sure why), a "diamond" ring bought at a yard sale for twenty-five cents, a stubby pencil and a piece of paper (like Harriet the Spy), a whistle, a small plastic dog (and pretend that he's real)...

I remember playing by myself, in the park, while waiting for my sister to finish her swimming lessons. Using my safety pin I'd hook my towel over my shoulders like a cape, pretending I was a powerful witch or that I could fly.

I remember pouring over books full of sasquatches, aliens, unicorns, magicians and dragons, wishing and wishing that these creatures were real. (And hoping that I'd stumble across one some day.)

Where did that all go? How did I end up being a practical-minded atheist who stopped believing in fairy tales?