Feminist's Confession

Feminist’s Confession

Bless me, Mother, for I have sinned:
It has been nine days since my last Confession.

By taking Pride in my feminism, I have ignored the problems of those who lack access to it.
By giving way to Envy, I have competed with my Sisters.
By Gluttonously taking more than my share, I have denied resources to those less fortunate.
By seeking to fulfill my Lust, I have slept with the enemy or encouraged the enmity of the enemy of my enemy.
By giving way to Anger, I have limited my human resources.
By Greedily seeking the material, I have denied my faith.
By my Sloth, I have left many tasks undone.

For my penance,
I will cultivate humility, and “in humility I will listen”.
I will focus on the Goal.
I will forgo privileges, that others may enjoy rights.
I will evaluate my reasoning and choices.
I will open my mind to others’ ideas.
I will ignore the worldly in favor of the world.
I will be my own motivation to work against the Right, for what is right.

In the name of the Mother, the Maiden, and the Crone,
Amen.

June Bugs

Does anyone else remember playing with June bugs? For some reason, the memory popped into my head today. When I was a kid, we lived just up the hill from my mother’s parents, and in their yard, at one side of the house, June bugs flourished every summer. I and my sister and my younger aunts and uncles, along with any visiting cousins, etc., got a big kick out of playing with June bugs. If you don’t know what a June bug is, think of a Japanese beetle, about three times bigger – all slick green and hard, with black, scaly legs. They made wonderful toys – they didn’t even need batteries. Mamaw would cut off a length of stout thread – about two feet, I guess, and you’d catch a June bug and tie the thread to one of its legs. If you were squeamish about it, Mamaw would tie it for you. Then you’d fling the bug out, holding the other end of the string, and fly it like a short kite. The bugs made a loud, angry buzz as they tried to get away from the string, and we spun in circles or ran across the yard, pulling them through the air. Sometimes your bug would take a notion to land on you with its scratchy, clinging legs, so you’d have to shriek and dance until you made it take off again. If you had to go to the bathroom, or if you ran through the patch of fallen chinquapin needles and had to sit down and pick them out of your calloused foot, you could just tie your bug to the doorknob, where it would usually hang, resting for a few minutes before rising up again in its funny, zigzag flight. This game could go on all afternoon – none of us ever thought about going inside until we had to – and by the end of the day, the bugs were worn out, way more than we were. Sometimes they got away; other times you got hold of a weak playmate who couldn’t last all day, so had to be discarded and replaced, quite casually, with a fresh one.

I know that many, many people talk about “the good old days” and how much different it was for kids “back then”. I know everyone has heard it a thousand times. But it really is incredible to me when I see and hear of how kids “play” now. The toy must be electronic, it must be the latest version, it must be expensive. I think of the play of my own childhood: picking wild berries and honeysuckles, gathering mown grass and molding it in a plastic butter bowl to make a bird’s nest, catching lightening bugs, twirling around with a June bug on a string. The next time you or your kid is bored, when all the video games have been played to death, or, god forbid, the internet connection is down, try catching a June bug. Don’t mind the scratchy feeling on your palm – I promise the bug can’t hurt you. Hold it firm with your thumb on its back and your forefinger on its belly, and have someone tie a piece of heavy thread around one of its back legs. It has to be tight, now, or the leg can slip out. Take a firm hold on the thread and throw the bug up in the air, and take a few steps back. Feel the vibrations hum through the string to your fingers; see how long you can keep up the flight. . .

List 2

Works I Wish I Had Written

Poems:
This is just to say
Recuerdo
The Weather-Cock Points South
Matilda, Who Told Such Dreadful Lies and Was Burned to Death

Songs:
Drops of Jupiter
Feed Jake
Hand in My Pocket
Collide

Literature:
The Open Window
March (or, I really just wish I’d thought of the idea)
Summer Sisters
Cold Sassy Tree

list

Things I Really, Really Liked That Are No Longer Available to Me Because the Universe is Against Me

Chicken McSwiss
Choc-o-lite candy bars
Richard’s homegrown produce
Sizzelean
Dairy Queen’s small cheeseburgers
My great-grandmother’s chicken dumplings
Planter’s Cheezballs
Steak-Umms wraps (bacon cheddar)
Ephedrine
Dairy Queen’s cherry shakes made with that awesome syrup (I think it was grenadine), not that slimy, disgusting sundae topping
Krystal’s cherry shakes (ditto)
Orange Hooch
Zima XXX Hard Orange
Zima Citrus
Holly Hobbie & Strawberry Shortcake dolls not dressed like gansta hos

which one of these people do you want to be?

"Now, in the days of petticoats, there were three different ways you could tell a girl that her petticoat was below her dress. You could tell it as a kindly friend who felt it a duty to help get matters righted as soon as possible before anyone else noticed it, but who felt a sympathy with her as the victim of an accident which might happen at any time to yourself. You could tell it as a disinterested onlooker who had no real concern with the affair but wanted to do as you would be done by. Or you could tell it with a certain suppressed venom and triumph, as if you rather delighted in catching her in such a scrape and wanted her to know you saw the fatal garment and had your own opinion of any girl who could be so careless." ~L. M. Montgomery, A Tangled Web

poem about patience, faith, and logic

Waiting

I have a cat
That I don't have yet.
Her name is Rhiannon,
'Cause I love Stevie Nicks
And it sounds like something
A cat
Might say.

a grins fairy tale

Cinderella Meets Sappho & Southern Baptists

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, in the deep, deep South, there lived a young woman in overalls named Sindy Ella Deere. She called herself Sin, for short, and lived with her stepmother and two stepsisters. Sin's stepmother, an enthusiastic Freewill Baptist, had reared her natural daughters to be likewise, but had never had much success with Sin.
One day Sin answered a knock on the front door and found Mrs. Stickles, president of the Missionary Society. Mrs. Stickles pushed briskly past Sin, asking if her stepmother were home. Sin called to her up the stairs, then sat in the corner next to the fireplace and began tinkering with broken radio. Presently, Mrs. Deere came downstairs and cordially greeted her caller.
"I knew you'd want to know," plunged in Mrs. Stickles, "you, and your girls, that Widow Prince came back into town yesterday, and has called for a special assembly tonight at the church. She's going to show slides of her work in Mexico, and she says she'd like to pick a young girl to train with her and Lila for a few months here, to go back into the field with them." She paused for breath, instantly rewarded by her neighbor's keen interest in the news.
"One of our girls, a missionary?" Mrs. Deere asked eagerly, a light glimmering in her long, narrow gray eyes. She was hard put not to lick her lips.
"Yes. She said she wanted a wholesome companion for Lila, and that someone from her old hometown would feel more like family than a total stranger from the mission. I thought of your Esther and Ruth in a minute."
The ladies moved toward the kitchen and Sindy Ella, unnoticed by either of them, sat very still and thought hard. Lila Prince was back in town. Sin hadn't seen Lila in two years, since they had finished school, and Lila had gone with her mother to carry the True Word to the poor Catholic Mexicans.
After Mrs. Stickles had gone, Sin's stepmother called her two daughters to her and told them about the meeting.
"Praise Jesus!" slurred Esther through her extreme overbite. "She'll pick me, I'll bet; I've been praying for a chance to serve the Lord, now that I'm out of school."
"You dropped out of school," said her chubby, wiry-haired sister scornfully. "Mrs. Prince needs a smart girl like me, and so does the Lord."
"I think I'll go to the meeting, too," said Sin, startling the other three, who had forgotten that she was there in the corner. After a gasp and a spit of silence, they laughed derisively.
"You – go to a Missionary Society meeting?"
"Don't be absurd, Sindy Ella. You haven't even been to church in years."
"Do you have to be a church member to go? It's a public meeting, isn't it?" asked Sin with a toss of her short, dirty-blonde hair.
"Well, yes," admitted her stepmother reluctantly, wrinkling her long, drooping nose in distaste at the thought of this gangling, blasphemous tomboy walking beside her into the Freewill Baptist Church. In truth, she didn't want to walk anywhere with Sin. Eyeing the girl's faded overalls, she had a saving inspiration.
"You can't possibly go," she said firmly. "You don't have a dress to wear, and it would be completely unacceptable for you to show up in overalls."
Sin thought rapidly. What her stepmother said was true enough, but she just had to go to that meeting.
"If I get a dress," she asked, "can I go?"
"You cannot get a dress," replied her stepmother coldly, without really answering the question. "I won't buy you one to wear just once, and you can't borrow one; you're a foot taller than everyone else." She swept from the room, wishing to avoid further discussion.
"Sindy Ella in a dress!" hooted Ruth by the window. Looking through it, she saw a tall, slim, delicate-looking man tripping gaily up the walk. Making sure her mother was out of earshot, she squealed, "Look, Sindy Ella, it's your godfather, the fairy!" Then she ran away before Sin could smack her, dragging Esther with her.
Sin opened the door for Mr. Leon, who had been her mother's hairdresser and dear friend. Mr. Leon looked into Sin's face and shook his head with a "Tsk, tsk, what's wrong, child?"
Sin told him of her wardrobe troubles and her desire to go to the church that night.
"Why this sudden missionary zeal?" asked Mr. Leon, much amused.
Sindy Ella grinned. "No reason at all for something that doesn't exist. I need to see Lila Prince."
"I see," he answered quietly. He crossed his arms and tapped his chin with an absent-minded finger. He eyed the six-foot, slender girl thoughtfully, looking her up and down. Suddenly deciding, he took her arm. "Come with me, my dear."
Inside the apartment above Leon's Loveliness Emporium, Sin stood speechless. Mr. Leon held before her a long, elegantly simple dress of lavender silk. The girl in overalls stared at it in amazement. She had seen very little silk, never lavender, and seldom not cluttered by the stiff, silly falsehood of lace. She'd had no idea a dress could be like this.
"But why do you have this here?" she asked Mr. Leon.
"Never mind," he answered with a wave of his hand, "just try it on."
Sin slipped into the cool embrace of the silk. It hugged a little at the top, but otherwise fell to her calves in a smooth, graceful line. After locating the matching slippers – they were only a little too narrow – and brushing the girl's hair into gentle waves, Mr. Leon circled her slowly, admiring his handiwork.
"Hair like honey, eyes like tea, behind like a fourteen-year-old boy's." He snapped his fingers in the air for emphasis. "Girlfriend, you are there! And I'm an artist ahead of my time."
"Thank you, Mr. Leon," said Sin, kissing his smooth cheek. "I'll take good care of the dress."
"One more touch," said Mr. Leon, skipping to a small box he'd put on a table. He took from it two sparkling spheres, and clipped the heavy glass earrings to her earlobes. He reflected that while no one would call Sin beautiful, they'd certainly want to look twice.
Inside the church that evening, Sin stuck to the shadowy sidelines of the crowded sanctuary. The only people who recognized her at all were some of the girls of her own age, who paused to look enviously at her dress. Thankfully, none of them spoke. She'd managed to avoid her stepmother and stepsisters, though she'd seen them come in. She'd seen Mrs. Prince and Lila, too, at the front of the room, surrounded by enthusiastic females. Lila stood decorously beside her mother, her smile shy, her eyes modest, her posture deferential.
Sin looked around for an inconspicuous seat, and lost sight of the missionaries. As she tucked herself into a dim corner in back, a voice from behind her made her pause.
"I never thought I'd see Sindy Ella Deere in a silk dress at a Missionary Society meeting."
Turning, Sin saw Lila right behind her, now looking much more like Sin remembered her. Her dark eyes danced in her heart-shaped face, and the corners of her full cherry lips twitched with mirth and impertinence. She motioned for Sin to follow her, and they went out to the side of the church.
"Why did you come tonight, Sin?"
"I wanted to ask you something," answered Sin with a smile.
"Go ahead," said Lila, stepping closer in the semi-darkness.
Sin looked Lila in the eye. "Do you remember?"
Lila grinned wickedly. "I do."
Sin took a deep breath. "How do you like missionary life?"
Lila shrugged, gracefully. "It's okay," she said. "The money's pretty good." Then she laughed outright at Sin's shocked expression.
Both girls stiffened at the sound of "Lila! Where are you?"
"It's Mother," whispered Lila. "It must be time to start." She suddenly stood on tiptoe and brushed a soft kiss on Sin's cheek, gave her ear a playful tug, and ran inside. Sin crept back into the church and sat down. The meeting began.
Mrs. Prince did a marvelous job. Lila cranked the knob of the projector, her pose now back to ingenuous, showing the crowd blurry pictures of Mexico. Her mother spoke of the dreary, poverty-stricken populace, and the rapture on the dark faces as they were converted to the True Word by her efforts. Halfway through, many of her audience were swaying gently in their seats, closing their eyes, and wagging their heads. Soft, half-whispered exclamations sounded from the front seats. "Amen," "Thank you, Jesus," "Yes, Lord."
Widow Prince began speaking about a new soul to join their crusade, a pure and pious young woman, strong in the Lord, and sturdy in Baptist theology. The vocal explosions from the crowd grew in pitch and volume.
"Show us, Lord!" sang Mrs. Prince, waving her arms. "Lead me to the one you choose, to walk with us in righteousness and spread your holy Name to the unsaved . . ."
Suddenly Lila jumped from her seat. Her arms lifted toward the ceiling and her eyes blazed.
"Thank you, Jesus!" she shouted. Her mother and the audience fell silent. Running a few steps forward, she bent and seemed to pick up a small object from the floor. Turning to her mother, she spoke in a breathy, rapture-rich voice. "Jesus has shown me the way!" she declared.
A curious, excited murmur arose from the seats. Everyone looked at Lila, who turned to face them.
"The Lord spoke to me. He said our new angel should be smart and strong, and also someone who can be helped to find Him while she helps others . . ."
"Child!" ejaculated Mrs. Prince, who already had in mind the tractable, malleable girl she wanted to choose. She began to protest, but couldn't be heard above the noise of the crowd.
"Praise Jesus!", "Thank you, Lord for speaking to us through this child!", "Glory to God, He is with us tonight!"
"The Lord has told me," sang-shouted Lila, "that the one we must choose to help us continue His work is the one who wears the mate to this!" She held up a round glass earring and let it glimmer for all to see. The people began talking and turning in their seats, looking at their neighbors' earlobes.
Before Sin knew what was happening, the wrinkled, stringy woman next to her grabbed her arm, shrieking, "Here she is! This is the girl!"
There were shocked firecracker-like syllables from those who recognized Sin, joyful shouts and amazed, thankful whispers from those who did not. Sin found herself surrounded. On the platform, Mrs. Prince bitterly gave up trying to regain control. She was confused and angry, but she couldn't very well accuse Jesus of choosing the wrong girl, any more than she could declare her daughter and partner a liar.
The frantic people pulled Sin to her feet and lead her up the aisle to the platform.
Lila jumped down and met her halfway, exclaiming, "Welcome, my sister!" She embraced Sin joyfully. They looked at each other, glad that their exultant expressions could be interpreted as spiritual uplift. While they couldn't speak freely in the crowd, their eyes told each other that they would live happily ever after.
The next Sunday, Mrs. Deere, Esther, and Ruth joined the Methodist church.
the end

Blood and Milk

Blood and Milk

We learn from these bodies
What The Experts never will, and never can
Teach,
And wouldn’t if They could.

The interpretation’s open – literally – at both ends.
We learn from the courses, the oozes, the juices, the sluices and the streams
And the screams.

We know the trickles and the tickles and
Deluges and leaks.

Assaulted with stoppage – with pills and pads and plugs and Shame;
Stripped of our choices, like we’re stripped of our names;
Invaded by science, by popes and fathers and pumps and husbands –

Let it go – let it flow,
Let it feed.

It is right – it’s our birthright.

Claim the Produce; claim the Cause,
The creation, the undulation,
This Life-Stream that WE OWN.