ashsparks's Xanga

Of titles and small sweet things

Sun, 13 Jul 2008 03:11:56 GMT

It's strange to use the term "fiance." I've been playing around with it in my interactions with strangers. My prejudice makes itself known in the uncomfortable way the word rolls around in my mouth--I feel so pretentious! But I try it anyway.

I think I'll start using the term "betrothed" as well. You can thank M.M. Kaye for that as I've just devoured her less famous novel, Shadow of the Moon.

It's not strange at all, however, to introduce you to our little Gummy Bear. These were taken on June 10th.

What IS strange about all of this is how invisible Derek has become to most of the people we know. We'll walk out the door together and the neighbors, who Derek has known longer than me, and despite the fact that Derek has just asked how they were doing, look right past him and ask how "mama" is doing.

My family members are the only people I know that actually ask after him as an individual capable of independent thoughts, feelings, and decisions. The irony here is that I've never been one to discuss my personal affairs with acquaintances so I'm ready to just talk about me and my cramps, vomit, exhaustion, and my vacillating (D's word) hormones, moods and calorie intake when I get to the house. Meanwhile, my folks are asking after Derek's health, work, latest disc golf tournament, and that friend he was just talking about the other day. I love them for it.

One last tidbit: My mom told me today about how my Grama had thought she was dying of throat cancer during her first pregnancy because she didn't know what heartburn was.

I can relate to this. I am convinced that I've got breast cancer. I'm convinced in the way that a child is convinced the monster in the darkness will eat them if they leave a single body part out of the covers and I recognize the childishness of it. ...but I know we won't find out until it's in its latest stages and I'll either have to go through immediate treatment (obviously not a choice while I'm pregnant) or forgo treatment (and thusly forfeit my life and leave my only child to live without their mother).

Now that I think about it, my great-grandmother did die of throat cancer and mine has been bothering me lately... A mother's worries start early, I see.

Ramblings On Judgment

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 01:11:44 GMT

Derek thinks I'm too hard on others when I'm mulling over the whole 'life's rules' thing. It's quite possible. I certainly look down on people whose lives are governed by the silent rules others have created for them. It's judging, I know. I'm working on my judging.

And still I'm left with a sour taste in my mouth after every conversation that's filled with awkward pauses and sentences unfinished because someone is uncomfortable with their own judgments of me. I'm going in the wrong order, I should be working--especially considering the situation I've gotten myself into, etc. It seems being giving, thoughtful, caring, hard working is not enough. One must also be fastidiously scrupulous with the thoughts others might have of one's actions (and even one's thoughts!) at all times.

I find myself wary of other people's motives, even Papa Smack's.

I know I have expectations for others. After watching this joyous event be secretly twisted and gnarled into invisible aches of stress to fester in the back of my mind, I think I'll work on being more aware of what those expectations are and how they affect the people around me.

Reading Pride and Prejudice again sounds like a good place to start. =o)

Farmers' Market

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 17:59:15 GMT

The small town girl in me comes out every Thursday during summer. I plan my entire day around being in downtown Sparks, NV by 5pm (though sooner means better parking). I plan out what fruits and vegetables I want, plan a route to walk around the booths on Victorian Ave, and make sure a stop at the lemonade stand is part of the budget.

I also plan what I'll wear. It has to be comfortable but I have to take into consideration the possibility of running through the fountains with my niece. Whites aren't generally an option.

Then there's dinner to be considered. I buy strawberries that were grown without pesticides so I don't have to worry about washing them if I need something to munch on. But sometimes the soft plumbs or the sweet peaches call to me so I have to make sure I've at least had a snack before leaving.

Then we take our goods back to my parents house and sit in the back yard to nibble a bit. We generally drink iced tea if the lemonade's already gone. One of us will chop up the lemon halves from our drinks and add them to the mulch bin.

I may pine for the bigger cities and all they have to offer the rest of the week, but Thursdays are reserved for my home town.

Life's Silent Rules

Sun, 25 May 2008 19:38:23 GMT

Be yourself.
Hide things.

Don't tell ANYONE you've had a miscarriage.
Don't tell anyone you're pregnant because you can't tell anyone you've had a miscarriage.
Children only exist if they're born to married parents.

Probability of divorce is not to be taken into account when one is pregnant and contemplating marriage.
Marriage is a tool one should use to make one's self unhappy.
Love is wonderful

Deceit and mischief are the preferred methods of communication between society and women who are simultaneously single and pregnant (though not if they're only one of the two).
Greed is sinful except where golden rings and diamonds are concerned.
The bride's family will pay for everything.
Don't say the word "dowry"

Follow your beliefs.
Make everyone happy.

Celebration isn't allowed without alcohol.
Go in this order or the world will explode: ring->father's permission->proposal->spend gobs of money->marriage
The vows have to be personal, unique, and binding (until the divorce).
The vows only count if everyone else is there to hear them.

Wear something you like.
Choose a diamond.
Wear a white dress.
Make it your own event.
Order matching outfits for all the pawns.

Be strong.
Follow the rules.

Reminiscent

Sat, 29 Mar 2008 04:37:49 GMT

Two years ago, I was in the midst of a break down. I had tried--and failed--to live out my naive dreams. I was bitter, resentful, and in a dangerous place. I was drowning. There was no safe haven I could create for others--I had no safe place for myself.

Sleep became my escape, but only for a short while. Even that was lost as I learned that for every dark oblivion I could hide in there was a time when I would have to open my eyes and try the same horrible day again.

I was sore and tired. I often felt my nerves were too raw to do the simplest of chores. And yet, through the miscarriage of my ideals, I was offered moments of healing.

I was once so overwhelmed with emotions and illness that my skin felt like it was charged static electricity. I was in the restroom with a co-worker and I found myself afraid to wash my hands. It was going to hurt--I knew it. I scrubbed twice as long to prove to myself that it was all in my head but my skin ached afterwards. As we talked that day, my newly acquired friend offered compassion I hadn't heard in a long time and some of that tingly and aching in my skin was relieved.

2 months later, I spent days in the fresh air only a cool river can afford and I made eye contact--the real kind when two people really hear each other--for the first time in a long while. Actually, several times. I flirted, stretched my muscles, laughed with strangers, and smelt the sunshine on the rocks.

I did all of this, even as I tried to put on the persona I thought I'd need to wear when I got back home. How could I change from the New, broken Me to the Old Me without them catching me in the act? How could I ever be happy as either one?? I recognized the same struggle in the people around me.

It's taken me until now to be able to look back and it's taken this long to learn appreciation for those moments of support, understanding, and connection but I'm glad I'm finally able to do it.

She-Man Woman Haters Club

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 15:51:18 GMT

I’ve been thinking about the roles women play in our society. This was prompted by Hillary Clinton’s race for the White House, though I only had idle thoughts before several women I know told me “I’d vote for McCain if Obama lost. Hillary’s just ugly.”

Ugly. Not stupid, not immoral. Bad looking. This is the criteria women between the ages of 18 and 65 are using to judge a woman fighting for their rights to equal pay, equal treatment by employers, equal choices in medicine.

Two months ago, I was often told Hillary was despised because she didn’t leave her husband when he cheated on her. I heard “Never mind about Obama’s affair [in his first marriage]. Hillary didn’t leave.” And now she’s just ugly.

When confronted with the accusation of hating women, the response is generally, “Well… but she is ugly.”

This has me thinking about the times I’ve seen women I know treat other women just as poisonously. A woman my mother’s age has all but disowned her 19-year-old daughter because it appears she’s sexually active. Her own daughter!

But my real concern is not in her judging her own offspring so harshly. My concern is that her son has been sexually active—and explicitly so—for several years yet there are no repercussions for his behavior. He’s loved excessively, helped financially, and only receives the highest praise from both of his parents. Meanwhile, the mother drags her daughter’s reputation through the mud with cruel words.

What’s more is the mother’s peers see very little of her behavior as inappropriate. Unhealthy mother-daughter relationships are simply accepted and then we all look the other way to fix our hair.

Is a woman’s virginity that much more important than a man’s? I’ve known about the stereotypes but I hadn’t realized how deeply they permeated our society. It’s accepted that men will have sex but women are expected to shun such pleasures or be shunned for enjoying them.

I’m afraid the work strong women have accomplished in the last 200 years has only fixed problems on the surface while the bigotry runs deep beneath. I’ve no idea how to fix problems so deep most people can’t see them.

I think therefore I struggle

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 15:40:32 GMT

I've been asked to attend my sister's next therapy session. I don't really know why--discussing things before the session really defeats the purpose, I suppose--except that "communication" is likely to be a topic.

I was resolved not to practice things to say but 7 days' notice leaves too much time to erode my determination and bare my bad habit of running all possible conversations through my head before they can actually occur. The result? I've had 6 or 7 therapy sessions in my head over the last 48 hours.

If I keep this up, I'll be all talked out come therapy day!

ENERGY!

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 23:12:22 GMT

My entire family participated in the caucus today, including 3 year old Lex.

The most interesting thing? We were all seated at the back of the Clinton group. When the "permanent president" of the precinct asked who would volunteer to count the group's votes, everyone turned to look at our family! My family then looked to me.

Now I had started to raise my hand, so it wasn't a bad thing. It's just very interesting that 50 other people looked to my family to lead and act. We weren't being particularly boisterous or bossy, either. In fact, we stayed put and chatted with the people around us to keep from overwhelming the room (as we sometimes do).

It turns out I was a good choice. I only had to speak a few times but when I spoke, the group listened. I'm very glad I want to be a teacher. How else could I utilize this skill?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Something else:

I spend a great deal of time helping my kindergartners learn to get in line, etc. When we counted the entire precinct, we got into lines of 10 facing the bleachers and then those lines marched onto those very same bleachers when they'd been counted.

FIVE adults marched in the wrong direction. RIGHT, LEFT, even BACKWARDS!

I can't decide if I've been putting my energies in the wrong place or if our education system needs to create new Line Walking programs.

Sheesh!

'Vivid Verbs'

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 07:20:14 GMT

I sometimes find myself with overpowering words and nowhere to put them. They come to me at inappropriate times--times when I can't possible use them like when I'm driving alone in the car. They're always meant for a specific person; I wonder what I should do with them.

"Hello, I'm calling to say you've changed my life and I'm so very grateful."

"Hi! I can't sleep, I'm so wrought with worry for you."

They then become the orphaned emotions of Ash.

I'm left with the words and haven't a use for them, save plotting a scenario that might be found in a Jane Austen novel.

Maybe I'll become a writer for Hallmark.

"A Daughter's Funeral"

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 02:48:34 GMT

We're required to do a "creative project" in my humanities class. A woman my age got up to be the last presentation 15 minutes ago. "I'm Sara. I wrote a poem," she said, and then she sobbed.

My professor asked, "Do you need someone to help you?"

"Yes!" she sobbed again. Then she lay the papers she was holding on his hands and rushed from the room. We were suddenly fish out of water, our mouths gaping and our eyes wide.

"Well... uh... can--would anyone...?" but he was frozen with the papers lying limply in his hands.

I grabbed the papers from him. I started for the front of the class but stopped for a moment. "I mean... unless someone knows her..." but no one was forthcoming.

A small voice asked, "Well what's it about?" A Daughter's Funeral sat on the top of the page.

The poem was touching. This young woman had lost her mother (though it never said so specifically). The stanzas told of her own death during--and after--he funeral. Her heart withered away as the people around her spoke of her dead mother as though the form in the casket was the same woman that had loved them all.

"...And holy cow." The fish stared at me. My heart ached for Sara. I handed the papers back to my professor and stepped out of the room to give her a hug.

I asked her, "How long?"

"Thanks Giving," she said.

"Holy cow."