Congratulations-It’s A Girl

A busy Saturday afternoon filled with laundry, household chores, and kids was interrupted by a ringing phone.  I had no idea that answering the phone that day would bring such unexpected news.

“Hello”

“Hello, is this Cathy Atchley?”

“Yes it is.  Who is this?”

“Um, My name is Jill and I am a friend of your mother’s.  I am in town visiting and wondered if she was living back in Charleston by some chance?”  My mother hadn’t lived in Charleston since I was a very young child.  I was confused by the question and wondered why a friend of my mother’s would think such a thing.

I explained that my mother was still living in Nevada.  The young woman on the other end of the phone asked a few more puzzling questions and then asked for my mother’s phone number.    I explained that my mother’s job took her to different sites during the week.  Phone service was often limited.  I offered to take her information and pass it on to my mother the next time we spoke. She gave me her address and phone in Chicago, Ill.  Again, I was confused.

“Thank you for your time.  Oh, may I ask you on more question?  What was your maiden name?  I paused for a moment.  That’s an odd question.  I answered without questioning why.

“Hard question to answer,” I laughed.  “My name was Altman but before that I was Keaton.  I was adopted by my grandparents when I was 4 years old.”     There was a long silence and then a rather hushed goodbye.

I told my husband this was the strangest phone call I have ever had.  It made no sense.  My mother has been married several times and I wondered if perhaps it was one of her ex husbands trying to track her down.  I imagined other scenarios as well when the phone rang again.

“Hello.”

“Hi, This is Jill.  I wanted to tell you the REAL reason I called.”

I paused and said, “Well, I didn’t believe the reason you gave me on the first call.”

“Claudia Sheldon is your mother, right She used to be Keaton?”

“Yes, that’s right.”  I still had no idea what was coming.

“Well, Claudia is my mother.”  I wasn’t sure I heard correctly.  She must be talking about someone else.  I  have one brother and my mother’s “female” problems prevented her from having more children.  Surely I would know if I had a sister.

“I’m sorry.  Did you say Claudia is your mother?  Are you sure?  I don’t understand.”

Jill told me the story of her birth and adoption.  The dates and times  fit.  I had  a new sister.   We talked  for about an hour.  We decided to stay in touch.   A call later that night with my mother confirmed Jill’s story. I already had a wide array of half and step siblings so Jill was added to the mix. Since that time we have built a friendship and claim each other as sisters.

Bag Lady

I was 15 when I got my first purse.  It had a long strap that allowed it to hang at my waist.  It looked like something a hippie, flower child would have.  My grandmother bought for my trip to California.  A small wallet held my new driver’s license, a card with emergency numbers and $10.00 emergency money.  My passage into womanhood had begun.

As a young wife beginning my working career, I made the switch to more grown up and conservative purse.  It held a wallet along with a brush, lipstick and my checkbook.  As I added children to my life, my purse became much larger. Style was not important.  Cheap vinyl and many pockets were all that mattered.  It held the basics and crackers, a small bag of Cheerios, Kleenex, band aids, and an assortment of small toys.    I always had paper and pen to entertain the kids.  The onset of panic attacks in my life added a bottle of Valium to the mix.

As my life became complicated and I slipped into addiction, my choice of purses changed as well.  I needed much larger bags now.  Style wasn’t as important as functionality.  The wallet held the usual items as well as rolling papers. Mini bottles of booze along with cigarettes and a lighter were required items.  Breathe mints, eye drops, bottles of pills, and spare deodorant were needed items.  Organization was lost and things were thrown into the bag without thought.

After sobriety, life changed along with my purse.  I still preferred larger bags with lots of pockets.  Over time, I became more courageous and chose vibrant colors and designs.   Now the more essential items were my meeting schedules, antacids, and candy.  My wallet once again contained money, a checkbook, pictures, and credit cards.

Today I carry a smaller satchel type bag.  I have a huge wallet that holds all the basics along with 20 key cards for discounts stores.   The wallet comes with a detachable strap so I can carry it alone.  A pill box is a necessary addition.  One of the most important things in a purse is an outside pouch for my cell phone.   Inside the purse is a phone charger, extra hidden car keys car, a small notebook to capture ideas for writing and a variety of pens.  Since I am a college student now, I also carry a huge backpack/book bag .

I wonder what my purses will be like in the coming years.  I am getting older and I am sure the changes in my life will bring changes in my purse and the treasures inside.  I imagine I will always own a purse even if I don’t get out much.   It holds so many things that are important in my life.   They say that to dream about a purse represents secrets, desires and thoughts that are being closely held and guarded.  It symbolizes your identity and sense of self.   You know, I think that might just be true.

There’s No Need To Hide

I saw the headlines, “Pastor Rick Warren Asks for Prayer Following Son’s Suicide.”  I read the articles detailing the struggles of the 27 year old son who had battled depression most of his life.  I was grateful to see that Pastor Warren expressed such love and understanding of the tremendous battle this young man fought and finally lost. I read nothing of blame nor lack of faith.  Sadly, it is a common theme.  You can overcome depression or any other form of mental illness simply by prayer, self will, and choosing to be strong.  Some will go so far as to say that mental illness is the work of Satan taking over because your faith was not strong enough to fight.

I kept my own mental illness a secret for a very long time.  It was an example I learned at a young age.  We didn’t talk about my great grandmother’s “problem.”  They sent her to a state mental hospital and lied to everyone.  My grandmother felt that mental illness was a weakness.  Prayer and just the right amount of church services and tithing could fix it.    We never talked about my grandfather’s alcoholism to anyone.  Our Pastor was the only one that knew.  He came once a year to “talk” to my grandfather and pray for him.  He only did it because my grandmother insisted.  When I showed signs of depression and anxiety disorders as a child my grandmother became angry.  I learned quickly to hide and lie.  I found ways to cope that had to be unlearned as an adult.

I am grateful to two amazing therapists who helped me learn to manage my life and my illness. They both helped me find my way back to my faith.   I am grateful for the medications that keep me in balance.  I am grateful for friends and family that allow me to share my world with them.  I have bad days just like everyone else. No one in my circle of family and friends comes running in to ask if I am taking my meds or if I need to see my psychiatrist.  The amazing thing is that they would do that if they truly were concerned.  I talk about these things because there is no need to be ashamed.  Yet, many people still talk in hushed tones about mental illness.

I read a blog post today and I wanted to share a  part of it here.  Here is the link if you want to read it in full.  What Christians Need to Know  About Mental Health by Ann Voskamp

“There are some who take communion and anti-depressants and there are those  who think both are a crutch.

Come in close — I’d rather walk tall with a crutch than crawl around insisting like a proud and bloody fool that I didn’t need one.

I once heard a pastor tell the whole congregation that he had lived next to the loonie bin and I looked at the floor when everyone laughed and they didn’t know how I loved my mama. I looked to the floor when they laughed, when I wanted them to stand up and reach through the pain of the flames and say:

Our Bible says Jesus said, “It is not those who are healthy who need a doctor, but those who are sick.” Jesus came for the sick, not for the smug. Jesus came as doctor and He makes miracles happen through medicine and when the church isn’t for the suffering, then the Church isn’t for Christ.

I wanted them to say it all together, like one Body, for us to say it all together to each other because there’s not one of us who hasn’t lost something, who doesn’t fear something, who doesn’t ache with something. I wanted us to turn to the hurting, to each other, and promise it till we’re hoarse:

We won’t give you some cliche –  but something to cling to — and that will mean our hands.

We won’t give you some platitudes — but someplace for your pain — and that will mean our time.

We won’t give you some excuses — but we’ll be some example — and that will mean bending down and washing your wounds. Wounds that we don’t understand, wounds that keep festering, that don’t heal, that down right stink — wounds that can never make us turn away.

Because we are the Body of the Wounded Healer and we are the people who believe the impossible — that wounds can be openings to the beauty in us.

We’re the people who say: there’s no shame saying that your heart and head are broken because there’s a Doctor in the house. It’s the wisest and the bravest who cry for help when lost.

There’s no stigma in saying you’re sick because there’s a wounded Healer who uses nails to buy freedom and crosses to resurrect hope and medicine to make miracles.

There’s no guilt in mental illness because depression is a kind of cancer that attacks the mind. You don’t shame cancer, you treat cancer. You don’t treat those with hurting insides as less than. You get them the most treatment.

I wanted the brave to speak Truth and Love:

Shame is a bully and Grace is a shield.  You are safe here.

To write it on walls and arms and wounds:

No Shame.
No Fear.
No Hiding.
Always safe for the suffering here.

You can be different and you can struggle and you can wrestle and you can hurt and we will be here. Because a fallen world keeps falling apart and even though we the Body can’t make things turn out — we can turn up. Just keep turning up, showing up, looking up.”

Life On Life’s Terms

“Being sober isn’t just about not using. Being sober is about the joy a life of clarity and living by spiritual principles can bring. There is nothing greater than that. Forget drugs….. Forget everything. We are living to experience the undiluted amazement of life on life’s terms.”  Tweak by by Nic Sheff

I finished reading the book “Tweak” by Nic Sheff.    It was intense to say the least.    It is the story of his life of addiction and recovery.  There were times it was very difficult to read because I “felt” his pain.   I understood his struggles with recovery.  It doesn’t matter what the drug of choice, addiction destroys you from the inside out.  It takes your spirit hostage first and then attacks your mind.  It leaves you with a body that has been taken over by the alien force-addiction.

I am quickly approaching my 26^th sober anniversary/birthday.  In recovery, we celebrate our “belly button” birthday as well as celebrating our sober birthday.   I haven’t celebrated the past few years.  I acknowledged it and even wrote about in my blog.   Please understand that I am truly grateful for my sobriety and all it has meant to my life.  I just haven’t celebrated.

A certain sadness comes this time each year.  Birthday and anniversaries bring reminders of the past.  I think about my life before recovery.  We keep the memory “green” to remind us who we used to be.  The promises from the Big Book say, “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.”   We share our stories to keep the memories alive for ourselves and to share with others.  We share not only the story of our addiction but also the story of hope and faith through recovery.

I am also reminded of the people who are no longer here to celebrate my journey.   Before Jan died, she was such a big part of my recovery and celebrating each year.  Her memorial service was held just a couple of days before my anniversary and the two seemed intertwined.   I think about my “Papa” Paul who died just last May.   Stan, Tommy, Mikey, Rachel, JoJo, and more all died sober.   I can’t begin to list those who died because they couldn’t stay clean and sober.

I miss the people who have been through so much with me in this journey and now live so far away.  Donna has been with me for 25 of those years.   Cathy has been there for 22 years.  One is in Vermont and the other in Nevada.   Peggy, Juana, Jack, Dee, Ann, Mary, Jess, Mark and more are all scattered across the country.  I know they will be with me in spirit but I want to hug them, laugh with them, see their eyes…..

I know someone is going to quote the Big Book page 449 so let me do it first.

Acceptance is the answer to ALL of my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation- some fact of my life- unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing, or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept my life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes.

I write this knowing full well that I need an attitude adjustment.   I decided to write this and share it in spite of that because this is where I am today.   I know what I need to do to get that attitude adjustment.  I need to focus on acceptance.  I need to make a gratitude list.  I need to reach out and do something for someone else.    Thanks for letting me share my thoughts today.  Here is one last quote from Nic’s book:

“And though I have done many shameful things, I am not ashamed of who I am. I am not ashamed of who I am because I know who I am. I have tried to rip myself open and expose everything inside – accepting my weaknesses and strengths – not trying to be anyone else. ‘Cause that never works, does it? So my challenge is to be authentic. And I believe I am today. I believe I am.”   ― Nic Sheff, Tweak

It’s Just Like Riding A Bike

I don’t remember learning to ride a bike, but I do know how to ride one. I remember spending a lot of time circling our neighborhood with my friend as a kid. It was a special kind of feeling so be so free flying around on two wheels. I remember the joy in helping my children and grandchildren learn to ride. I watched them experience that first sense of freedom. Throughout my life I have owned bikes from time to time. It is true, you know-you never forgot how to ride a bike. In fact, there is a well-known cliché that says, “It’s just like riding a bike.”

This morning I walked into the office building where I worked until last September. It had been a huge part of my life for a very long time. I am going to be working there again part time. I saw a few old faces as I entered the building. One of the women and I joked about the elevator that seems to have a mind of its own. I made my way to my office area and walked in to a truly familiar setting. Honestly, I have been a little nervous about coming back. I wondered if I would remember everything. I made my way to the desk and logged into the appropriate software for the different systems. I sat back and was ready to go. The Executive Director walked by and said, “It’s so good to see you here again. Sorry I have to run but I have a meeting. Love you.” I laughed as I replied, “Nice to see nothing has changed.” Another coworker arrived and we began chatting about some clients and ways  of dealing with them. We talked about old times and caught up for a bit. There were only a couple of technical things I needed help remembering. It felt good to be back.  It’s just like riding a bike.

In January, I became a freshman at the College of Charleston. I am a bit older than most of the students; actually I am bit older than many of the professors. I haven’t been in a college classroom in over forty years. I took some classes at a technical school years ago, but that was nothing like this. I have had to remember how to read schedules, find classrooms, take notes, study, do homework, write papers, and more. I wondered if I would remember everything. So far I am doing pretty well. I am making much better grades than I did in high school.  It’s just like riding a bike.

In September last year, I became single again. I have had to learn to live single. I am very fortunate to be able to live with my daughter, son-in-law, and grandson so I am not truly alone. There is an old country song, “Sleeping Single in a Double Bed,” and that is a change. I have to think about things like work, car repairs, paying bills, taxes, retirement, and health insurance by myself. I buy groceries for one and I cook for one, that is if I ever cook.  I spend a lot of time with friends and we eat together often.  I wondered if I would remember everything I needed to live single. I am adjusting and finding my way. It’s just like riding a bike.

March is the month of two significant losses in my life. Today is the anniversary of my “other” mother, Mamma Pearl’s death and earlier this month was the anniversary of the death of my best friend. As I look at my life changes I know more will come. I know that close friends and family might move away and some may die. I know there will financial challenges, physical problems, issues with aging, and life challenges. I have faced them all before. I have had some huge obstacles to overcome, but I did. I have a God, friends, and family who never give up on me. I wonder if I can remember everything that has helped me get here when those times come. I think I will. After all, it’s just like riding a bike.

Remembering An Old Friend

I looked at the updated syllabus covering the rest of the semester. Our academic writing professor didn’t want to overwhelm us with what was to come next so he only gave us assignments up until Spring break. The first thing that caught my eye were the instructions to read chapters 1-5 of Catcher in the Rye. Catcher in the Rye is a book that holds some very significant and bitter-sweet memories for me. My mind raced back to my senior year in high mmschool.

My grandparents sent me to a very small, private Baptist high school. Most of my classmates were affluent and many had been in elementary and junior high together. I was just as much a misfit and outsider here as I was in other areas of my life. I ate lunch with a small group of three girls. Our conversations were often strained and usually boring. In my junior year, I became friends with Eileen. We took Driver’s Ed together the summer before our junior year and, we both had a crush on our instructor. It was truly a bonding experience. Her mother was the school secretary, so Eileen attended school for free. That made her a bit of misfit as well. She was pretty and smart but still an outsider. I loved having a friend at school. It made my last two years more tolerable.

The first day of our senior year we met the new English teacher. Miss Foster was young, and this was only her second year of teaching. I was immediately drawn to her. She paid attention to me in class and encouraged me. Most of my other teachers classified me an underachiever. “She is so very smart but just doesn’t apply herself,” was the verdict. No one ever bothered to ask why I didn’t apply myself. Miss Foster said I could be a writer.

Eileen stayed after school everyday waiting for mother who worked until 4:30pm. I walked about ten blocks to my grandmother’s office to wait for her. Most days I stayed and hung out with Eileen for a while. We started going to Miss Foster’s classroom at the end of the day. We would all sit around and talk. She told us we could call her Bitsy after school. We even convinced her to be a chaperone for us the next summer on a cruise to the Bahamas. Our senior class wasn’t going to be able to take the traditional Bahama cruise. The school’s administrators decided it wasn’t a “wholesome” environment, so our class was going to New York City and Washington, DC. We thought our parents just might let us go together if we had a teacher go along. We never did ask them.

Eileen was out sick one week, so I was able to have some one on one time with Bitsy. She told me she wanted to talk with me about something important.

“I have something I want to give you.” She pulled two books from her satchel.

“I want to give you these two books. They are different from anything you have read before. I think you will get a lot out of reading them. You are so smart and I know you will understand them. I must warn you; they have some ‘four letter’ words in them. If you want them, I have to ask that you never show them to anyone. Keep them as something private, just for yourself. If someone does see them, you can’t tell them where you got them. If anyone knew I gave you these books, I could lose my job. Do you think you can keep this secret?”

“Yes, I promise I can. I would really love to read them.”

I had no idea what the books were about and I didn’t care. I would read anything Bitsy gave me. I would go to any lengths to protect her. You could have tortured me and thrown me into jail and I wouldn’t have budged. I imagined myself much like the Apostle Paul being martyred for the sake of the Gospel, only I was doing it because I wanted to keep her in my life. The lonely little girl in me saw her as a mother figure. She had no way of knowing that I was a champion at keeping secrets. I had kept secrets since I was old enough to talk.

What strange titles for books- Franny and Zooey and Catcher in the Rye. She was right. I had never read anything like them before. I devoured Catcher in the Rye much as a wild animal devours its prey. Lines like, “Mothers are all slightly insane,” made me love this book. I was infatuated with Holden Caulfield. I knew that had he been a real boy we would have been the perfect couple. I knew he would “get” me. Bitsy laughed when I rushed in after school the next week and asked her if there were any other books like these I could read. I told her that I found something in them that was real and that made sense to me. She promised to find others for me.

Just two weeks later we were in class when the principal came to our room and asked Miss Foster to come to her office. My heart sank; Could someone have found out? I would deny everything if asked. Miss Foster returned just before the end of our class. She was carrying a bouquet of flowers and it was obvious that she had been crying. A man in a military uniform followed her into the classroom. We all knew she was dating a man in the Navy. They announced their engagement to the class as she showed off her new ring.

That afternoon Eileen and I went to her room to find out all the details. She had an unusually sad look for someone who had just been engaged.

“I have to tell you both something. You can’t say anything until it is announced on Monday to the rest of the school. I wanted to tell you this myself.” My heart was racing. I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and say “lalalalalala” and pretend I couldn’t hear her talking. I had an idea what was coming next.

“I know you remember how unhappy I was because Micheal was being transferred to Virginia. He came to propose to me because he wants me to go with him. I am going to be leaving in three weeks to go with him. I am going to miss you both more than you can imagine.”

I put on my brave face and congratulated her. I told her I was going to miss her very much. Inside I was screaming’ “Please don’t go. Please! I don’t think I can survive the rest of high school without you!” I cried myself to sleep that night and for a week after she left. I was used to losing people in my life but it never got any easier.

I hid the two books away. I kept them on my book shelf for many years after I left high school. I never opened them or read them again. I have known that Catcher in the Rye was on our list of required books since I registered for the class. Even though I ordered all of my other books early, I didn’t buy that one until yesterday. I stood in Barnes and Noble holding the book and for a few moments I became that scared, wounded sixteen year old girl who fell in love with Holden and the book. I didn’t know if I was ready to meet Holden Caulfield again, but I think I am. I thought about Bitsy and how much she changed my life in just a few short months. It’s one of the things that amazes me most about my life; the right people show up just when I need them most.

“Among other things, you’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You’re by no means alone on that score, you’ll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You’ll learn from them—if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It’s a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn’t education. It’s history. It’s poetry.”
― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

The Sky is Falling–Again–For Real

Tonight Feb 16

27^°Low  Rain / Snow Showers Early    Chance of precip: 40%

Rain and snow tapering off this evening. Clearing overnight. Low 27F. Winds WNW at 10 to 20 mph. Chance of precip 40%.

I live in the south…the real south.  We have sweet tea, beaches, Palmetto trees, moss on trees, and the finest seafood around.  We are polite (to each other but not always behind your back), we say Y’all  (yes, it is so cute), and we will defend our southern ways to the death.  We are used to dealing with rain, thunderstorms, and even hurricanes.  What we don’t get is snow.  We do not know what to do when the weather channel and local weather stations say that dirty little four letter word.

We have a weather forecast including the word snow tonight.  It will not stick to the ground and there will be no accumulation.  Most people will be peering out of their windows waiting for those first few flakes to appear; if they can see them that is.   As soon as one is cited, the cell towers will be buzzing with the news spreading from one person to the next.   We will question each other to see if it is “sticking.”  We will just pray the roads stay clear.  The truth is those pesky bridges can become dangerous in wet, freezing conditions.  Haven’t you seen the signs?  

I made a trip to the store to pick up a prescription and it took a long time to find a parking spot.  Once inside I saw people lined up at the deli counter and the bread isles were low on product.  You see, if we lose power from the massive flurries we must have food that doesn’t need electricity to prepare.    Strangers talked with each other about the looming dangers.   I could pick out the “Yankees” among the crowd.  They looked lost and confused.  Had they perhaps missed some weather alert from the app on the phone?   They whispered to each other and laughed.  They know what it means to have snow and this wasn’t it.

I made a quick trip to get what I needed and returned home to snuggle in my Sponge Bob Snuggie and settle in for the night.  I will miss Saturday afternoon and evening with my friends because while the snow doesn’t worry me,  the cold bitter weather is no match for my bronchitis ridden lungs right now.

I have lived in West Va, Maryland, and Reno, NV.  I know snow.  I have been in blizzards, shoveled more snow that I ever care to again, used lighters to heat car keys to unlock the door, scraped ice and snow off windshields, helped my daughter find her car in a huge snow drift, and put tire chains on my car.   I understand that no matter how wonderful your four-wheel drive SUV is, it is no match for ice on the road.    I am a southerner who isn’t afraid of the white stuff falling from the sky.

I have to admit that I do miss snow.  I miss making snowballs and snow angels.  I miss dressing up in 5 layers to go outside and play.  I miss sliding down hills on inner tubes.  I miss the beauty of the freshly fallen snow that leaves a blanket of white on the ground.  I miss it just enough to want it to snow on a Friday afternoon and linger throughout Saturday and then go away.   I don’t know if I will see any flurries, but  I will be one of the many who will be watching out my window to see if the sky does indeed fall tonight.

Time to Take a Stand

In 1994, Congress passed the Violence Against Women’s Act. (VAWA) You can find information about the VAWA online if you want to know more about it. Here is one such document. Basically the act provided $1.6 billion to offer community based responses, investigation and prosecution of violent crimes against women, allowed civil suits if prosecutors failed to prosecute a case,and established the Office of Violence Against Women.

It was reauthorized in 2000 and in 2005 with some expansion each time. Statistics show that there has been a marked decrease in the rate of intimate partner violence and deaths. More cases are being reported and more victims are being supported in recovery. All states now have laws in place to provide for warrantless arrests,  “rape shield laws”,  laws concerning date rape, and stalking. This act has had a major impact on changing the way violence against women is viewed and handled. In 2011, Congress failed to reauthorize the act.

Here are the reasons the House Republicans oppose the re-authorization of the act.

1. The act gives limited powers to tribal authorities to prosecute non-Indians accused of assaulting their Indian partners on tribal lands. Currently, non-Indians who batter their spouses often go unpunished because federal authorities don’t have the resources to pursue misdemeanors committed on reservations. **39% of Native American and Native Alaskan women will be abused physically or sexually in their lifetime. Most abusers go prosecuted.
2. The act would extend the definition of violence against women to include stalking. **Many states have established laws for stalking, but this would now be included in the VAWA definition . Republicans say this “dilutes” the definition. Really?
3. It would also allow some battered illegal immigrants to claim temporary visas. **It seems this provision is being dropped by Democrats in an attempt to appease the Republicans so this act can pass.
4. It would include same-sex couples in programs for domestic violence. **Again Republicans say this will “dilute” the focus on domestic violence. I think not passing this act dilutes our ability to protect all victims of domestic violence, but that is just my humble opinion.

Some have gone so far as to imply that the money used for rape crisis centers and domestic abuse hotlines, etc. is really going to support feminist programs. They say this act increases divorce, causes marriages to break up and is set up to cause the hatred of men. If a woman is in a violent marriage then the marriage should break up and divorce is a viable solution. I don’t hate all men. I dont’ hate men at all,  although I will admit I don’t always understand them. I just hate the violence inflicted on women by men.

And, before you go postal and scream that women can perpetrate violence against men, I will concede that you are correct. Men typically have access to more resources to leave and the ability to protect themselves. I dont’ want that debate to get in the way of why we don’t have a VAWA in place after documented evidence that the act saves lives. Also, part of the reason the Republicans are opposing the act is the language inferring that men could be recipients of help from this act. Oh my, that would be just dreadful.

This is my view and my opinion. All I am asking is that you look at the facts. Do some research. Get involved. If you find that the VAWA is valid, and saves lives, and helps your community, your city, your state, and your country, then PLEASE do something about it. Write your congressman/congresswoman. Call them, email them. Do something. Don’t just sit back and say, “All this violence a bad thing.”

We often stand in horror and disgust as we hear stories from other countries of women being mutilated, tortured, and baby girls being killed because baby boys are the only ones of value. Slavery was abolished in our country a long time ago, yet girls are sold into slavery around the world every day. We ask how these other countries can allow such atrocities to occur. Yet, we stand by while our politicians squabble over language in an act that prevents death and violence in our own country.

I am a Christian. Yes, a church attending, praying, Bible reading Christian. I stop just short of wearing the WWJD bracelet. Jesus showed us the way to treat other human beings and that included the women in his life. I dare you to read Luke and not come away seeing Jesus treat women with respect, caring, and love. WWJD-What Would Jesus Do?  I will let you answer that question for yourself. For those of other faiths reading this blog, I challenge you to look into your own beliefs and find answers about these issues.

I don’t believe we can be rid of all violence in our world.  I am not a Pollyanna.  I do believe we can effect change.  We see evidence of that all around us.  I don’t believe the VAWA is going to rid our society of domestic abuse, violence, or rape.  I do believe this act can make a difference.  Yes, I was once a women who lived with abuse.  I lived with child abuse in many forms as a child and as a woman I lived with abuse in my marriage.  I found help and a way to live my life free of violence.  I hope this act will be reauthorized and other women find help as well.

“Great opportunities to help others seldom come, but small ones surround us every day.” Sally Koch

Alien On Campus

What do you think about when you hear the words “high school?”  Do you have wonderful memories of friendships, proms, sports, and good grades?   On the other hand, are you one of the people who would rather forget that time altogether?

My grandparents sent me to a very small, private, Christian high school.  I had only 42 in my graduating class. My insecurities and lack of self-worth followed me into those high school classrooms.  I felt like an alien who had been dropped into a community without the benefit of a handbook to understand the rules.

The school was downtown.  We all lived in different parts of the community so we didn’t have much opportunity to socialize outside of school.   There was no football team or cheerleaders.  The only sporting activity was basketball.   I didn’t have the grades to hang out with the smart kids.  My clothes were often handmade or those purchased were less than stylish.  I didn’t come from an affluent family, as did many of my classmates.   I spent much of my high school life trying to hide in the middle of a classroom.

I struggled to get passing grades.  My teachers labeled me an underachiever.  The teachers said I was very smart and the standardized testing proved them right.   They said all I needed to do was apply myself.  As an adult, I would discover the underlying problems that attributed to this dilemma, however at the time I didn’t understand. (You can read more about that here.)

Mandatory events and simple things like lunch made school even more difficult.   Classmates typically gathered in groups of three or more.  The laughter, whispering, and intense discussions of the clusters made the isolation even more evident.    I usually ate lunch with two other girls who seemed as much out-of-place as I did.  We mumbled about the food or our teachers; we never talked about anything more insightful.

I rarely pull out my yearbooks.   We had to pass our yearbooks around the classroom and everyone was supposed to write something. The heartfelt comments from classmates don’t make me yearn for the memories.  “Have a great summer.”  “It has been a fun year.”  “Good Luck.”

My college classes are only a few blocks from my old high school.  As I entered my first college classes just a couple of weeks ago, I was not ready for the flood of memories and emotions from my high school days to come rushing back.  I sit in rooms filled with students from 18 to their early 20’s.  They gather in groups to laugh, whisper, and have intense discussions.  I feel everyone stare as I walk into the classroom.   I see the fear in the eyes of my classmates as the professor dictates partners for a project.  “Please don’t give me that old person for my partner,” I imagine them thinking.    Yes, once again I feel the alien beginning to show.

Yet, somehow, this time is different.  I have come to like the alien in me.  I may have some different challenges than my classmates, but I also have the benefit of life experiences most have yet to discover.  I know that time is precious, friendships are to be cherished, pain is inevitable, and life is to be lived to the fullest.  I know there will be a few who take the time to get to know me; what an amazing surprise they have in store.

You may have guessed that I am one who would rather forget about those good old high school days. I can’t go back and reclaim them.   I can choose to make this time in college something I will look back upon with wonder and amazement.    Maybe I am just an alien on a mission.

Nowhere am I so desperately needed as among a shipload of illogical humans.     Mr. Spock in ‘I, Mudd’ Star Trek

Pens and Paper

When I was in high school, we used pens (or pencils) and paper for homework, tests, and taking notes. Granted I was in high school a long time ago, but things have certainly changed in the last 40 years.

We had the choice of blue or black pens.  They all looked very much alike other than the ink color.  Notebook paper and notebooks were fairly standard.  Shopping for school supplies did not require a lot thinking or a trip to the mall.

Today, however, we have pens in every shape and size imaginable.  We have ink in colors from black to fuchsia and many shades of purples, reds, blues and more.  We have pencils that can be erased while you are working, but in 48 hours they become permanent like ink.  We have pens that only work on special moleskin notebooks that can be uploaded to your computer.

Those are all available if you need to use paper and pen.  If you walked into some of my college classrooms you would see more laptops and tablets on the desks than you would notebooks.   There are still some professors who will not allow the technological monsters in class.  Students are forced to kill trees and use notebooks.  There is a more expensive alternative if you choose to purchase notebooks made with organic paper.

I must admit that I am guilty of opting for computers more often than pen and paper.  My handwriting has become more difficult to read over the past few years. I blame my computer keyboard for that.  Since entering the world of academia, I have purchased a number of notebooks, folders, and pens.  I am relearning to take notes.  Taking them is easier than making sense of them at home.  Fortunately,  our written papers for class are expected to be done using the computer.

As I “type” this post on my laptop, I am waiting a reply to a text message. (Yes, I use text messages more than I talk on the phone.) I sent a message to my friend who is a student at the college I attend.  I have my first test on Thursday and the professor didn’t give us any instructions.  The syllabus tells us everything but doesn’t say anything about tests.  I messaged and asked her if  we took tests with pencil or pen and did they provide answer sheets or do we bring notebook paper?   It may seem like a “Duh” sort of question, but I really don’t know what to expect.

There are a lot of things about going back to school that are a challenge this first semester.  I know it will get easier.  I had to figure out the online system where the professors post their syllabus, study guides, and more. I had to decide if I was going to buy new books, used books, or rent books.  Finding my way around campus is getting easier but I have no sense of direction and get lost easily.   The amount of reading, paper writing, and studying is more than I anticipated.  I didn’t study much in high school so I have to learn how to study.  And my book bag is heavy!

Just a few months ago I worked in a profession where I was well-known and respected.  Everyone knew me and I was comfortable in the office, meetings, workshops, etc.  People sought me out for advice and support.  I am now a bit of an oddity.   I feel like an outsider.  I am often very much alone in the midst of hundreds of people.

College has been a dream for a very long time.  I feel alive when I am in class.  I love being on campus.  I want this more than I have wanted anything for a very long time.  So, I will buy some pencils, put pens and notebook paper in my book bag, and study.   I just hope the professor can read my writing.   Wish me luck!