© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
Who's counting? OK, I am. Never one to avoid the 13th floor or the 13th camping spot, I'm ready to celebrate this 13th blog entry. (A definition of celebrate: share quotes, news, and updates.)
1) Love & B.S. (all about Grandpa V)
One of my favorite Grandpa V quotes...
I'd rather sit down and talk with a pig than eat one.
2) The Umbrella & the Runaway Horses (written by Grandma Z and me, sort of)
More about Grandma Z: She remained a devoted pianist until her final days, forgetting words, names, places, and faces, but never In the Garden.
3) Fascism, Ferne, & the Ten Commandments
Holding steady: The Ten Commandments still adorn Hillside Park. Fascism still bedecks the monument, though the graffiti appears to be melting these days. Ferne turned 99 two months ago.
4) Uffda! Barack Obama + Hillary Clinton = North Dakota?
Still seems possible, doesn't it?
5) The Orange Thingy...for Earth Day
One of the neighbors (who had refused a free, CFL, Earth-Day lightbulb from Sierra Club) stopped by the other day. I noticed you're natural types. I thought you might have a use for this lawn sweeper. I'm not using it.
I've been merrily (and freely) sweeping my yard (more weeds than grass clippings) ever since.
6) Nothing in Life is Free, Except this Piano
And this lawn sweeper...?
7) Four Things I Did Not Do With My Rebate Check
1. Frame it.
2. Blow it all on Red Hots.
3. Fold it into an origami tanker.
4. Buy a Barbie.
8) One Quick Recipe for Peace
Another ingredient: Talking to trees, talking to birds, talking to spinach.
9) Top 10 Reasons to Stay in Bismarck, ND
Three more reasons: Trees, birds, spinach.
10) Listening for Voices
For visiting ancestors, I have better luck with dreams than electronics. If anything should change, I'll let you know.
11) Surprises at Fargo Pride
Here's a surprise I neglected to mention: At the outdoor Pride festival, I (subtly) chased after a woman wearing a paper-bag sign attached with clothespins to her back. What did the sign say? “Old woman wearing shorts. Deal with it.” This was, of course, well worth the (subtle) chase.
12) 10 (Sort of) Fun Things to Do With Food Scraps
As Sara said the other day, while discussing whether tarantulas eat people or just bite them, If I had venom, I'd eat humans.
13) Number Thirteen
Thanks for celebrating!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
10 (Sort of) Fun Things You Can Do With Food Scraps
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
When I say food scraps, I mean pits, peels, seeds, stems. The stuff that gets pushed to the edge of the plate, plunked into the garbage, tossed from the window of the car. The stuff that doesn't inspire us, interest us, or nourish us.
Or does it?
1) If I were Kristi, I'd co-create food-scrap art with Karen (who wouldn't be me anymore, because I'd be Kristi). Then I'd nickname it Chipper. See photo.
2) If I were Julie, I'd take elegant photos of food-scrap art, as co-created by Kristi and Karen. See photo credit.
3) If I were Ursula, I'd bury food scraps (i.e. potato peels) in my garden. Then I'd accidentally grow potatoes.
4) If I were Tracy, I'd feed food scraps to a seething mound of worms and then show it off to a class of awe-struck first graders.
5) If I were Bill (at age 3 or 4), I'd stick food scraps up both my nostrils, purely as a scientific experiment.
6) If I were Jim, I'd go ahead and eat the apple core.
7) If I were Brian, I'd go ahead and eat the strawberry stem.
8) If I were Grandpa Z, I'd go ahead and swallow the red grape seeds.
9) If I were Buddha, I wouldn't have any food scraps, surviving on but one grain of rice.
10) If I were me, I'd blog about my food scraps (of course) and then run off to peek on them in their compost bin.
When I say food scraps, I mean pits, peels, seeds, stems. The stuff that gets pushed to the edge of the plate, plunked into the garbage, tossed from the window of the car. The stuff that doesn't inspire us, interest us, or nourish us.
Or does it?
1) If I were Kristi, I'd co-create food-scrap art with Karen (who wouldn't be me anymore, because I'd be Kristi). Then I'd nickname it Chipper. See photo.
2) If I were Julie, I'd take elegant photos of food-scrap art, as co-created by Kristi and Karen. See photo credit.
3) If I were Ursula, I'd bury food scraps (i.e. potato peels) in my garden. Then I'd accidentally grow potatoes.
4) If I were Tracy, I'd feed food scraps to a seething mound of worms and then show it off to a class of awe-struck first graders.
5) If I were Bill (at age 3 or 4), I'd stick food scraps up both my nostrils, purely as a scientific experiment.
6) If I were Jim, I'd go ahead and eat the apple core.
7) If I were Brian, I'd go ahead and eat the strawberry stem.
8) If I were Grandpa Z, I'd go ahead and swallow the red grape seeds.
9) If I were Buddha, I wouldn't have any food scraps, surviving on but one grain of rice.
10) If I were me, I'd blog about my food scraps (of course) and then run off to peek on them in their compost bin.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Surprises at Fargo Pride
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
OK, I confess. I wasn't anticipating Fargo Pride with the full force of enthusiasm that's kind of my trademark. For one, I've attended a lllllllllllllllllot of Pride-type Events in my lifetime. To name a few...
Madison, Wisconsin in 1988.
Michigan Women's Music Festival in 1995.
Chicago, Illinois in 2002.
Bismarck, North Dakota in 2006.
How much more Pride did I need? I mean, really. But you know where I'm going with this. Fargo Pride knocked my socks off. Or something. Here's a sampling of Fargo Pride surprises:
1) The Fargo Police Department had a booth there, staffed by their real, live GLBT liaison, who was giving away (yes, giving away) totally free Junior Police Officer stickers. (See photo.)
2) NDSU had a representative there, who was giving away (yes, giving away) totally free NDSU Pride bracelets. (Rainbow style, of course. Wearing mine now).
3) Barack Obama had a booth at Pride, supporting GLBT folks. Since I didn't see him there in person, I went up to ask, Does he know you're doing this? Sure enough, he does. The Barack Obama Pride pamphlets are paid for by his campaign. (Really?)
4) Two Fargo City Commissioners and one hopeful County Commissioner spoke at the Pride celebration. (And none of them fell into a faint.)
5) Unlike Chicago Pride, none of the floats (as in zip, zero, nil) advertised beer.
6) Two young men stepped off the sidewalk to join our float, hoofing behind us, smiling widely, singing along. (In an alternate universe, I'm pretty sure I'm their mom...)
7) Brandee (age 11) tossed candy from our float with all the exuberance any parade deserves.
8) Though the size of the crowd was nothing like Folk Fest in Bismarck, and though unclaimed candy littered the street, some folks did turn out to watch the parade going by.
9) Rainbow flags decorated the lamp posts up and down Broadway. (This was not guerrilla pride. The City of Fargo OK'd this.)
10) We had a bona fide float (thanks to Lola, Carlie, Ella, Julie, and Brandee) with rainbows streaming everywhere and Kris singing (and singing and singing) into the mic. Now, get this: Our float won second prize!
First prize winners...just you wait 'til next year!
OK, I confess. I wasn't anticipating Fargo Pride with the full force of enthusiasm that's kind of my trademark. For one, I've attended a lllllllllllllllllot of Pride-type Events in my lifetime. To name a few...
Madison, Wisconsin in 1988.
Michigan Women's Music Festival in 1995.
Chicago, Illinois in 2002.
Bismarck, North Dakota in 2006.
How much more Pride did I need? I mean, really. But you know where I'm going with this. Fargo Pride knocked my socks off. Or something. Here's a sampling of Fargo Pride surprises:
1) The Fargo Police Department had a booth there, staffed by their real, live GLBT liaison, who was giving away (yes, giving away) totally free Junior Police Officer stickers. (See photo.)
2) NDSU had a representative there, who was giving away (yes, giving away) totally free NDSU Pride bracelets. (Rainbow style, of course. Wearing mine now).
3) Barack Obama had a booth at Pride, supporting GLBT folks. Since I didn't see him there in person, I went up to ask, Does he know you're doing this? Sure enough, he does. The Barack Obama Pride pamphlets are paid for by his campaign. (Really?)
4) Two Fargo City Commissioners and one hopeful County Commissioner spoke at the Pride celebration. (And none of them fell into a faint.)
5) Unlike Chicago Pride, none of the floats (as in zip, zero, nil) advertised beer.
6) Two young men stepped off the sidewalk to join our float, hoofing behind us, smiling widely, singing along. (In an alternate universe, I'm pretty sure I'm their mom...)
7) Brandee (age 11) tossed candy from our float with all the exuberance any parade deserves.
8) Though the size of the crowd was nothing like Folk Fest in Bismarck, and though unclaimed candy littered the street, some folks did turn out to watch the parade going by.
9) Rainbow flags decorated the lamp posts up and down Broadway. (This was not guerrilla pride. The City of Fargo OK'd this.)
10) We had a bona fide float (thanks to Lola, Carlie, Ella, Julie, and Brandee) with rainbows streaming everywhere and Kris singing (and singing and singing) into the mic. Now, get this: Our float won second prize!
First prize winners...just you wait 'til next year!
Monday, June 2, 2008
Listening for Voices
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
In between sips of Mystic Mayan Cocoa tea, Jan makes this casual declaration: I like my gray hair. I'm sure she's not the first person to utter such subversions. Mama Lola (as she's known to many) has said the same herself: I like my gray hair. I earned every bit of it.
I jump to three conclusions whenever I see a woman with gray hair. She has...
1) Wisdom.
2) Reached the last decades of her life.
3) Enough of #1 to face #2.
Visiting Ferne at the nursing home, sometimes I want to blurt out, But I'm not ready! I'm not ready to be 99! Then I realize I'm not 99, and I feel a little better.
Still, I have to admit, sometimes I fear for the future. For one, I've kind of gotten used to having Mom and Dad around. A phone call, an email, a hug. I'm a sucker for the stuff that parents can do when they're alive.
Annette (from Dragon Jane) has written a piece for her grandmother that simply tears my heart out. (If you'd like to join me in that, please read on...)
From Dear Grandma by Annette Martel:
...Now that you're gone,
I worry about losing my parents.
The hardest thing I've ever done in my life
was to watch my mother
watching you lie in a hospital bed during your last days...
...I remember,
For a moment, I stopped breathing,
When I realized someday,
That would be me standing next to a hospital bed,
Saying good-bye to my mom.
Like Annette, I'm not ready. I'm a thousand miles from Mom and Dad, and even that is too much. After losing all my grandparents, and a friend, and the loved ones of my friends, and various beloved pets, I'm ready to dig my feet in the ground and cry, No! We're not ready!
But, ready or not, Kris and I make our regular hike to the cemetery. This past Memorial Day, we took flowers to Helen and Fred senior. And that's not all. We also carried a tape recorder. (This is true.) Some people promise you can record voices from the afterlife, voices you can't hear until you play them back on a tape recorder. So we spoke our greetings and offered our flowers. Then, with curiosity bumping into skepticism, we shamelessly pressed record.
I wondered what Helen and Fred might want to say. We love you? Kris, tell your dad there's a million bucks hidden under the floorboards? Next time, bring your fiddle and guitar?
Later, we listened back. And what did we hear?
Traffic. Wind. Our footfalls. No voices.
Which leads me to three conclusions:
1) Maybe recordings of the afterlife are a lot of wishful thinking.
2) Maybe Helen and Fred would rather be silent.
3) When it comes to recording, maybe Fred and Helen just aren't ready.
In between sips of Mystic Mayan Cocoa tea, Jan makes this casual declaration: I like my gray hair. I'm sure she's not the first person to utter such subversions. Mama Lola (as she's known to many) has said the same herself: I like my gray hair. I earned every bit of it.
I jump to three conclusions whenever I see a woman with gray hair. She has...
1) Wisdom.
2) Reached the last decades of her life.
3) Enough of #1 to face #2.
Visiting Ferne at the nursing home, sometimes I want to blurt out, But I'm not ready! I'm not ready to be 99! Then I realize I'm not 99, and I feel a little better.
Still, I have to admit, sometimes I fear for the future. For one, I've kind of gotten used to having Mom and Dad around. A phone call, an email, a hug. I'm a sucker for the stuff that parents can do when they're alive.
Annette (from Dragon Jane) has written a piece for her grandmother that simply tears my heart out. (If you'd like to join me in that, please read on...)
From Dear Grandma by Annette Martel:
...Now that you're gone,
I worry about losing my parents.
The hardest thing I've ever done in my life
was to watch my mother
watching you lie in a hospital bed during your last days...
...I remember,
For a moment, I stopped breathing,
When I realized someday,
That would be me standing next to a hospital bed,
Saying good-bye to my mom.
Like Annette, I'm not ready. I'm a thousand miles from Mom and Dad, and even that is too much. After losing all my grandparents, and a friend, and the loved ones of my friends, and various beloved pets, I'm ready to dig my feet in the ground and cry, No! We're not ready!
But, ready or not, Kris and I make our regular hike to the cemetery. This past Memorial Day, we took flowers to Helen and Fred senior. And that's not all. We also carried a tape recorder. (This is true.) Some people promise you can record voices from the afterlife, voices you can't hear until you play them back on a tape recorder. So we spoke our greetings and offered our flowers. Then, with curiosity bumping into skepticism, we shamelessly pressed record.
I wondered what Helen and Fred might want to say. We love you? Kris, tell your dad there's a million bucks hidden under the floorboards? Next time, bring your fiddle and guitar?
Later, we listened back. And what did we hear?
Traffic. Wind. Our footfalls. No voices.
Which leads me to three conclusions:
1) Maybe recordings of the afterlife are a lot of wishful thinking.
2) Maybe Helen and Fred would rather be silent.
3) When it comes to recording, maybe Fred and Helen just aren't ready.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Top Ten Reasons to Stay in (Move to?) Bismarck, North Dakota
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
Are you ready? I'm about to reveal the top ten reasons to stay in (move to?) Bismarck, North Dakota. This is not a joke. Really. A few years ago, I would have burst out laughing at the title of this piece. Top reason I stayed in Bismarck in the mid-90s? I couldn't get a ride to the train station.
But isn't that how I've always been? As a teenager in Kankakee (KANG-kuh-kee) County, Illinois, I had a favorite nickname for the County: Skank-akee. (Skanky meaning something I didn't like...not interesting, not progressive, not vibrant enough.)
And I admit, Bismarck does have its share of skanky aspects. (I can hear certain voices enumerating them right now.) Still, I choose to live here, and in this place, I have a beautiful life.
As a matter of fact, I have moved to Bismarck three times already. This last time, it's as if I was running by, and Bismarck reached up and took me by the ankle. Nearly five years later, here I am. Which brings me back to my Top Ten list. In all honesty, these are only my reasons. (Feel free to comment with your own.) But if you're anything like me (a quirky, tree-hugging, peace-loving type), these reasons may apply. Here we go...
Number Ten:
Last winter, someone put smiley faces of snow on all the tree trunks in Hillside Park. (I've never found out who.)
Number Nine:
If there's such a thing as reincarnation, I plan to come back as the North Dakota Badlands.
Number Eight:
I like the dirt in my garden, and I'm convinced it likes me back.
Number Seven:
If there's such a place as heaven, it's streaming with rivers and kayaks.
Number Six:
As long as I have comfortable shoes and bicycle grease, I can hoof and pedal almost anyplace. And usually, a driver will stop and let me cross.
Number Five:
Does Welcoming Congregation mean anything to you? It does to me. (Thanks.)
Number Four:
There are these crazy, generous people (like the Archibald Bush Foundation, NDCA, and DWAC) who actually place value on the arts in North Dakota.
Number Three:
Urban Harvest has tossed me a life-line to the places I would move to, but now I don't have to.
Number Two:
Dragon Jane Performance Art Company pushes me to the edges of who I can be. (And somehow, I like that.)
Number One:
My North Dakota loved ones and friends nourish my wandering roots. And can you believe? Some of them read this blog!
Are you ready? I'm about to reveal the top ten reasons to stay in (move to?) Bismarck, North Dakota. This is not a joke. Really. A few years ago, I would have burst out laughing at the title of this piece. Top reason I stayed in Bismarck in the mid-90s? I couldn't get a ride to the train station.
But isn't that how I've always been? As a teenager in Kankakee (KANG-kuh-kee) County, Illinois, I had a favorite nickname for the County: Skank-akee. (Skanky meaning something I didn't like...not interesting, not progressive, not vibrant enough.)
And I admit, Bismarck does have its share of skanky aspects. (I can hear certain voices enumerating them right now.) Still, I choose to live here, and in this place, I have a beautiful life.
As a matter of fact, I have moved to Bismarck three times already. This last time, it's as if I was running by, and Bismarck reached up and took me by the ankle. Nearly five years later, here I am. Which brings me back to my Top Ten list. In all honesty, these are only my reasons. (Feel free to comment with your own.) But if you're anything like me (a quirky, tree-hugging, peace-loving type), these reasons may apply. Here we go...
Number Ten:
Last winter, someone put smiley faces of snow on all the tree trunks in Hillside Park. (I've never found out who.)
Number Nine:
If there's such a thing as reincarnation, I plan to come back as the North Dakota Badlands.
Number Eight:
I like the dirt in my garden, and I'm convinced it likes me back.
Number Seven:
If there's such a place as heaven, it's streaming with rivers and kayaks.
Number Six:
As long as I have comfortable shoes and bicycle grease, I can hoof and pedal almost anyplace. And usually, a driver will stop and let me cross.
Number Five:
Does Welcoming Congregation mean anything to you? It does to me. (Thanks.)
Number Four:
There are these crazy, generous people (like the Archibald Bush Foundation, NDCA, and DWAC) who actually place value on the arts in North Dakota.
Number Three:
Urban Harvest has tossed me a life-line to the places I would move to, but now I don't have to.
Number Two:
Dragon Jane Performance Art Company pushes me to the edges of who I can be. (And somehow, I like that.)
Number One:
My North Dakota loved ones and friends nourish my wandering roots. And can you believe? Some of them read this blog!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
One Quick Recipe for Peace
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
I've heard it said a dozen times, a hundred times, a thousand times. As Cookie (age 7) said the other day, A million times. A google. Pretend I just said infinity. In other words, I've heard it said an infinite number of times:
Imagine peace. But I've never known for sure, what do other people imagine? Buffalo storming the prairie once more? Voices always singing? Streets remade into long community gardens?
Probably, we all have our recipes for peace. Christian's (age 10) goes like this:
1. Join the peace gang.
2. Stop mean people.
3. Love!
Most of the time, I use recipes for something yet to come, a dish I plan to make. Something in the future. Still, sometimes a recipe will be rooted in the past. I'll prepare a dish first; then I'll try to figure out how it happened. So here are some of last week's ingredients of peace...
Sunday:
Casting the only no vote in a roomful of yeses, and still feeling heard.
Monday:
Brushing my furry dog (very!). Watching wisps of fur fly. Imagining birds who will claim it for their nests.
Tuesday:
Gathering up the compost. Stink!
Wednesday:
Laughing nicely about being nice girls while pushing each other (nicely of course) at Dragon Jane rehearsal.
Thursday:
Reflecting on words of wisdom I've gained from Ferne (age 99). Then hearing Ferne ask me, What are your words of wisdom?
Friday:
Shaking a maraca in the Band Day Parade with Urban Harvest. Being a Sky Fairy with Aria (age 6), bringing enchantment from the sky.
Saturday:
Waking up to purring cats pressed against my side. Feeling as if my own body is purring.
Sunday:
Having this phone conversation...
Happy Mother's Day! I say to Ramona.
Knowing I want to adopt but don't have the funds yet, Ramona replies, Happy Mother's Day to you, too!
Thanks, I say, laughing, I think.
Then Ramona says, We're all mothers, aren't we?
I like to see my week written down this way. It makes me want to ask you, How was your week? What was your recipe for peace?
I've heard it said a dozen times, a hundred times, a thousand times. As Cookie (age 7) said the other day, A million times. A google. Pretend I just said infinity. In other words, I've heard it said an infinite number of times:
Imagine peace. But I've never known for sure, what do other people imagine? Buffalo storming the prairie once more? Voices always singing? Streets remade into long community gardens?
Probably, we all have our recipes for peace. Christian's (age 10) goes like this:
1. Join the peace gang.
2. Stop mean people.
3. Love!
Most of the time, I use recipes for something yet to come, a dish I plan to make. Something in the future. Still, sometimes a recipe will be rooted in the past. I'll prepare a dish first; then I'll try to figure out how it happened. So here are some of last week's ingredients of peace...
Sunday:
Casting the only no vote in a roomful of yeses, and still feeling heard.
Monday:
Brushing my furry dog (very!). Watching wisps of fur fly. Imagining birds who will claim it for their nests.
Tuesday:
Gathering up the compost. Stink!
Wednesday:
Laughing nicely about being nice girls while pushing each other (nicely of course) at Dragon Jane rehearsal.
Thursday:
Reflecting on words of wisdom I've gained from Ferne (age 99). Then hearing Ferne ask me, What are your words of wisdom?
Friday:
Shaking a maraca in the Band Day Parade with Urban Harvest. Being a Sky Fairy with Aria (age 6), bringing enchantment from the sky.
Saturday:
Waking up to purring cats pressed against my side. Feeling as if my own body is purring.
Sunday:
Having this phone conversation...
Happy Mother's Day! I say to Ramona.
Knowing I want to adopt but don't have the funds yet, Ramona replies, Happy Mother's Day to you, too!
Thanks, I say, laughing, I think.
Then Ramona says, We're all mothers, aren't we?
I like to see my week written down this way. It makes me want to ask you, How was your week? What was your recipe for peace?
Monday, May 5, 2008
Four Things I'm Not Going to Do with My Rebate Check
© 2008 Karen Van Fossan
Four things I'm not going to do with my rebate check:
1. Frame it.
2. Blow it all on Red Hots.
3. Fold it into an origami tanker.
4. Buy a Barbie.
You couldn't mistake me for a Barbie fan, not anymore. Judging by the news, I'm not alone on that. Barbie sales have fallen 12% in the US. Where did I hear this? From Mom. The same mom who wouldn't let her daughter have a Barbie.
This rule, which inspired plenty of stink eye (behind her back, of course), also gave me a glimpse of something way beyond Barbie. I learned, or at least I sensed:
1. Barbies don't look like women.
2. Women don't look like Barbies.
3. It's fine if I don't look like Barbie,
4. Because I can't.
Still, I was a child of the space age, forever awash in aphorisms proclaiming the human potential. School assemblies, pep rallies, graduation ceremonies, all taught me this: Aim high! You can do it! Be whatever you want to be! All you have to do is put your mind to it.
OK, that sounds bitchen! (I never really said bitchen. Not very much.) But who should we aim to be? At pep-rally age, my friends and I dreamed of being Barbie when we grew up. Interestingly enough: Breast augmentation is now the most popular cosmetic surgery in the nation. That's this year. In 2006, liposuction topped the list.
What would life be like, being Barbie? Can we do it?
Women with breast implants are three times more likely than the rest of us to kill themselves. (Not only that, they're three times more likely to die of alcohol and drug abuse.) Could it be that they've had cancer, and suicide seems like the only way out? Well, no. Women who get implants and kill themselves later aren't any more likely to have a history of cancer. The main difference between them and me is...tell me again?
Mom always hoped I'd have a healthy image of my body. I guess she never heard: You're supposed to set attainable goals for your kids.
Her no-Barbie policy (unaltered by the stink eye) was accompanied by others, equally as trying for a three-year-old:
1. Don't just run off to Danny's house. Ask your mother first.
2. Try to eat popcorn without plunging it down your throat.
3. Politely say, More milk, please? Don't slam your cup on the table.
4. No guns, ever, of any kind.
The first rules, though challenging, were doable with practice. But Rule Number Four! Mom, why?
1. Guns aren't toys.
2. Killing isn't a game.
Oh.
I've heard it said that a nation is like a family. The federal budget is a checkbook for the entire US-family, all 300 million of us. I recently went to a program by WAND, a national women's peace organization, that came to Fargo and Bismarck. This is what I learned:
In the US-family checkbook...
For every $1 for education, 7 goes to weapons and war.
For every $1 for ag and the environment, 8 goes to weapons and war.
For every $1 for health, 9 goes to weapons and war.
I suppose the weapons are there so we feel safer. But I don't.
Maybe I'd feel safer with a Barbie.
Maybe not.
Four things I'm not going to do with my rebate check:
1. Frame it.
2. Blow it all on Red Hots.
3. Fold it into an origami tanker.
4. Buy a Barbie.
You couldn't mistake me for a Barbie fan, not anymore. Judging by the news, I'm not alone on that. Barbie sales have fallen 12% in the US. Where did I hear this? From Mom. The same mom who wouldn't let her daughter have a Barbie.
This rule, which inspired plenty of stink eye (behind her back, of course), also gave me a glimpse of something way beyond Barbie. I learned, or at least I sensed:
1. Barbies don't look like women.
2. Women don't look like Barbies.
3. It's fine if I don't look like Barbie,
4. Because I can't.
Still, I was a child of the space age, forever awash in aphorisms proclaiming the human potential. School assemblies, pep rallies, graduation ceremonies, all taught me this: Aim high! You can do it! Be whatever you want to be! All you have to do is put your mind to it.
OK, that sounds bitchen! (I never really said bitchen. Not very much.) But who should we aim to be? At pep-rally age, my friends and I dreamed of being Barbie when we grew up. Interestingly enough: Breast augmentation is now the most popular cosmetic surgery in the nation. That's this year. In 2006, liposuction topped the list.
What would life be like, being Barbie? Can we do it?
Women with breast implants are three times more likely than the rest of us to kill themselves. (Not only that, they're three times more likely to die of alcohol and drug abuse.) Could it be that they've had cancer, and suicide seems like the only way out? Well, no. Women who get implants and kill themselves later aren't any more likely to have a history of cancer. The main difference between them and me is...tell me again?
Mom always hoped I'd have a healthy image of my body. I guess she never heard: You're supposed to set attainable goals for your kids.
Her no-Barbie policy (unaltered by the stink eye) was accompanied by others, equally as trying for a three-year-old:
1. Don't just run off to Danny's house. Ask your mother first.
2. Try to eat popcorn without plunging it down your throat.
3. Politely say, More milk, please? Don't slam your cup on the table.
4. No guns, ever, of any kind.
The first rules, though challenging, were doable with practice. But Rule Number Four! Mom, why?
1. Guns aren't toys.
2. Killing isn't a game.
Oh.
I've heard it said that a nation is like a family. The federal budget is a checkbook for the entire US-family, all 300 million of us. I recently went to a program by WAND, a national women's peace organization, that came to Fargo and Bismarck. This is what I learned:
In the US-family checkbook...
For every $1 for education, 7 goes to weapons and war.
For every $1 for ag and the environment, 8 goes to weapons and war.
For every $1 for health, 9 goes to weapons and war.
I suppose the weapons are there so we feel safer. But I don't.
Maybe I'd feel safer with a Barbie.
Maybe not.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
.JPG)
