Shooting Myself in the Face

Maybe that's what I'm doing with this post. Who knows. With this issue of 'transgender identity' becoming a HUGE thing over the past few years over media and social networks I've been doing my best to duck my head and steer clear. Everyone has an opinion, that's their right, and people will do what people will do. I guess I only decided to speak up after that video with the 14 year old getting estrogen patches that haven't been properly tested for a 14 year old to use; and all the side effects that can come from pumping a little body full of hormones that can lead to real health issues later in life.

I guess to me it's no longer an opinion thing, it's turning into a health and safety thing. So here are my two cents. Here, I'll shoot myself in the face.

I identify as 'me.' It has never been about how the inside and outside have been incongruous. I am a woman physically. I grew up wanting both baby dolls and action figures. Micromachines were the best thing ever invented and Legos, oh my god the Legos! I wanted a lot of things and was told they were for 'boys.' Brownies (girl scouts) was probably the most boring thing I ever forced myself to do. And yet I make quilts for babies and am fiercely maternal.

I am simply who I am. A lot of things about me are masculine. I carry the need to be emotionally aloof, to be strong (by being strong I mean not crying). I carry the need to use my head equally with my heart, not one over the other. Hell, we even joke about me being the man in the relationship. You will never hear me say "honey we need to talk" and you will totally see me cringe when my husband says that to me. I prefer pants and jeans, and it doesn't hurt my feelings when I get grease in my hair. I feel like makeup can be a form of black magic, I'll never ever try that hard nor apologize for not liking to have my nails done. There are few female stereotypes that I fit into, and that's never upset me, it's never made me feel that I was 'made wrong' or 'put in the wrong body.'

There was a time in middle school I wished with all my heart I was a boy. Honestly, with the wisdom of hindsight, it was because I just wanted to fit in so badly and didn't. The boys saw my body and couldn't get passed that I was a 'girl' not 'one of them.' We won't talk about the girls and what they thought of me.
It was only when I let go of this need to fit into a mold that I finally felt free, not cutting my hair (which I've done), wearing masculine clothing (which I still do), talking in a deep voice, and getting testosterone fed to me to fit into a different mold. I AM ME! My body is mine, my mind is mine, and you can boil your head if you think there's something wrong with that.

I'm about to have a kid, which is freaking amazing! If this kid is a boy who loves dresses and high heels and makeup I'm not going to assume anything. He might like colors, patterns, and textures; lets face it guys clothing hasn't changed in... ages... and it can be quite boring.
Also, have you seen the things men wore in the Victorian era and just before the french revolution. Did you know that high-heels were originally a MASCULINE fashion statement?! In Japan it is still not a big deal for men to wear flowers on their clothing. Pink is not a girl's only color in most of the rest of the developed world! (I could rant here forever, so I'll move on while I still can)
I'll teach him to sew and teach him that it's fine. If he wants to make dolls and paint their faces, that's amazing! We'll be making some dolls. If he's a boy who likes to make pretty things, then he's a boy who likes to make pretty things. It doesn't mean there's anything 'wrong' with him. It doesn't make him a girl on the inside. It's how he's unique and awesome and himself; he should never apologize for liking certain colors or games. He should never feel like he's failing as a boy because he doesn't care about foot ball or feel the need to hide how he feels.

I don't get it! Are we so narrow minded a people that in trying to shatter these outdated ideals of 'masculine' and 'feminine' that we are grinding them in harder than we ever have before? Why does our 'sexuality' matter so much that we mark 11 year olds, 11 YEAR OLDS!!! as gay or straight or bi. They shouldn't even be thinking about sex or what they want out of it. These are kids; and kids are notorious for not caring for or understanding a lot of the arbitrary rules of society, it's why they're so awesome and refreshing.
And here I see people tying them down before they've even hit the god-awful place where we wrestle with and start solidifying who we want to be as people; middleschool.

If there is nothing wrong with a little girl wanting to be an Engineer and liking blue, there should be nothing wrong with a little boy wanting to be a Nurse and having a favorite flower. We shouldn't be thinking about these things in a way that makes people so very uncomfortable with themselves that they think there is something fundamentally wrong with how they were built!!!

I will highfive the guy who has balls enough to wear a dress to WalMart and it would never occur to me to label him as anything other than "A guy lost a bet, or likes that dress." If my husband told me that he'd feel loved if I bought him flowers once in a while the dude will be getting flowers! Why is who we are personally tied so close to what we are physically? Who decided that? It wasn't me.
In my mind it shouldn't be you, either.

So, I will probably continue to be flummoxed and frustrated by anything that pops up about transgender issues. Because dammit don't shove me into your box!

Maybe if our hearts were a little lighter these things wouldn't have grown to the proportions they have. Till next time my lovelies~

Baby Weight and Stretch Marks, Eeeee Gads!

Let's just start with the fact that I am absolutely loving all the positive body image stuff that's been tossed about on the internet recently. I feel like people forget to add the tagline *as long as you're healthy* but I guess the pendulum has to swing hard at first if it's going to get anywhere at all. So Yay!

That's probably why it makes me sad how absolutely obsessed a hefty chunk of women are about baby weight and stretch marks. How do I get my old body back? How do I make stretch marks go away? What diet, cleanse, wrap, oil, product, miracle should I buy to be what I was before but better?! 

Pregnancy is crazy; you don't know how your body is going to change. Chances are you'll have to combine a lot of advice and mix and match story bits from others to match what you will go through, and if you are blessed enough to have another baby that pregnancy will probably be completely different than the first one was. It really grates on our modern sensibilities, our need for solid, unchangeable courses of action. Our need to become this unattainable ideal of what a human body should be.

As women we have it bad. I don't know who did it to you, I don't know why they did it, I can't tell you when it happened to you, but I remember the moment it happened to me. When the 'self image' monster ate my courage and logic and left me with an issue I might have to carry and fight till the day I die. 

I was 5 or 6, my sister had just cut all the hair off my brand new barbie doll that I'd gotten as an Easter gift. As a poor kid I didn't get a lot of new toys, this doll was the most awesome and beautiful thing to me and my little sister had ruined it. While crying and yelling at my little sister my grandmother came in the room and tried to console me. I would not be consoled; I was justified in my angry sadness and I would cry! She turned me to face the vanity mirror over the dresser and said words that are burned into my mind in perfect clarity. Even now almost a quarter of a century later I can hear her voice as if she still had her head over my left shoulder looking in the mirror with me. "Look at that ugly face. A pretty girl like you should never make a face that ugly."
To this day I cannot cry in front of another person without hiding my face. I will run away to be alone, I will hide, I will do the ridiculous to keep people from seeing my 'ugly face.' If Jex and I are arguing and I get upset enough to cry I cover my face with my hands so we can keep trying to resolve the issue but so he can't see my ugliness. 

Pregnancy is the great inflater. It takes these things and makes them more real, harder to ignore, bigger and heavier than they are. Women who would like to have lost a pant size and eat healthier are now absolutely horrified at their waist measurement even though that waist has another human being growing inside of it! They loose their minds when they have to eat saltines and coke for a day because they're too nauseated for anything else. These perfectly sane women are distraught over the marks that will forever 'ban' them from cute swimwear for the rest of their lives. They focus so hard on the weight they're gaining (Is it too much? Too little?!) and the flaws they're getting, or might get, on their skin. It almost becomes an obsession. 

It breaks my heart. 

Baby weight and stretchmarks, the price we pay for precious babies, become scars instead of badges of honor or rights of passage. Sure, if we lived where we could afford good food and traditional diets we might not be so bad off. But the fact of the matter is we don't. We live in our world, however imperfect. We need to remember that a little extra weight makes our laps more inviting to sleepy children and comforting to our hurting and confused middle-schooler. We need to remember that our stretch marks are proof of our babies' life inside of us and the strength we had to carry them for as long as we did. We need to remember that we are human and there is no such thing as 'perfect.' 

We need to allow ourselves to be good enough and let go of the idol ideal that screams at us in magazine adds and covers, that people fight against in strange and extreme ways, and be who and what we are without shame. Doing our best to be better every day. To let our hearts be lighter than before. 

My mom's lap is a comforting place to be, she is soft and warm with arms strong enough to protect me from anything. Her stretch marks look like fire, and remind me that if she loved me before she could see me or know me, she can love me even now. 

Remember my lovlies, The light heart lives long. 

Thoughts on the "Mommy Wars"

22 weeks! Yay!

So at this stage of pregnancy I'm trying to figure out important things like which pediatrician will treat me like a sentient being, if I should save for a pump, and where to put the baby gear. I do know that most my plans at this point will go flying into hyperspace as soon as the little human is around, but it doesn't hurt to have a plan.

One of the things I'm trying to decide is whether or not to spend the time to make a nursing cover. In this endeavor I have run face first into what is affectionately called 'the mommy wars.' Yeah sure I saw that formula commercial, but I thought it mostly summed up parenting forum trolls not the more reasonable masses. Honestly, I'm a little shocked at how quickly and sharply people get their nickers in a twist.
I saw a response post on one of those fancy popular blogs, about breast feeding with a cover and how the bloggess' children stopped tolerating it at about 4 months old, that was well written. The woman didn't point fingers or call names. She simply stated some scientific facts that she'd read somewhere, shared an experience she had with a nursing mother in a restaurant and her 7 year old daughter, and said that that she didn't understand why covering was so hard unless the kid had gotten into a no cover routine at home. Simple, straight forward, not trying to be a jerk. She had some 'scientific facts' and was trying to join the conversation. Nice.
Not so nice were the majority of the responses. It was like she had dropped a nice bit of troll bait in the comment box and they came rolling in from every corner of the internet. Some were trying to be nice, oh they were trying, but for the most part people just let their comments fly because they were confident and convicted. Being me I've been contemplating the phenomenon much more than I probably need to.

It frustrates me because I don't deal with this crap. Arguing over the internet is about as effective as writing a letter with an apple. Because of my aversion to trolls I don't feel like I can join any of these mommy forums (I'd get too upset at people treating others with disrespect). Which frustrates me more because, look a goldmine of knowledge and experience that might help me... but the floor is made entirely of fresh manure and broken glass, and wouldn't you know I'm wearing moccasins.

Over the years, and surprisingly mostly in the last 10ish weeks, I have lost a lot of my tolerance. Maybe that's why there are so many women who jump on each other when one of them states that something that's a personal choice is 'the worst possible thing.' Our tolerance for most everything gets eaten by our unborn children or something?
Really though, I'm kind of afraid I'm going to be the jerk. If it's the truth I'm probably going to blurt it out. I see it going kinda like this:

Random Stranger (RS): "You need to cover up or go to the bathroom, your boob is making us lose our appetite."
Me: *blinks at person owlishly* "Is this really happening right now?"
RS: "You should have some courtesy for the people around you!"
Me: "Like the courtesy you're showing me?" *looks down at nursing baby* "You could see more of my boobs in a V neck that what you're seeing now!"
RS: "That's not the point."
Me: "Then what is the point?"
RS: "Just please, cover up or go to the bathroom to do that."
Me: "Would you like to eat your meal in the bathroom?"
[this is where I imagine it devolving into sarcasm/ cursing/ or pissing off RS badly enough they either leave or bring restaurant management into the (non)issue]

I don't see myself as a judgmental person. My husband tells me I'm too accepting most the time. I don't really care if someone has an opinion different than mine (though I do get mad when people blow off strong evidence in favor of their own beliefs, that's annoying). We do our best to understand and move on. Even better, I have some one to ask questions of when I don't understand something that comes from that vein of thought.
Maybe it's a flaw, but the moment some one tells me that I'm wrong, need to be like them, and they're going to talk at me (notice the word 'at') till I concede to their correctness I turn into something straight out of Labyrinth; a sarcastic stone wall. Which will, in all likelihood, only add gasoline to the raging fires of the 'mommy wars' and that's the one thing I really don't want to do.

Till next time my lovelies!
~ The light heart lives long.

Oh Winter, how I missed thee.

Not kidding guys. I actually have missed winter. REAL winter, not this dreary grey, bipolar, thing the South calls winter. The ice storm, while slightly inconvenient to cook in the fireplace, was pretty and made me happy. I loved walking around crunching on the ice and seeing light refracting from a thousand crystalline trees.
We ate Naan bread and cheese, apples with nuts and beer. No worries about going anywhere because at the mere mention of snow our town completely shuts down for days at a time. Unless you are unlucky enough to work at the Wal-Mart you got the day off.
A day to drink hot coco and play board games, in our case, by candle light. Sleep by the fire all curled up in fluffy blankets. It's what I imagine it's like to be a cat, and I loved it!

Now all the snow has melted. We have power which will be nice, till I get the bill. *laughs* I'm already missing winter. At least it came to visit for a little bit; even if it did cause more than a little havoc as it passed by.

Till next time my lovelies,

The light heart lives long.

But... what would we do without Facebook?

It's something a friend asked recently.

Facebook has almost single-handedly taken over the internet in my opinion. Only a handful of years after it's creation did other websites start emulating their super post modern minimalist design. MySpace died a horrible death; I liked MySpace. *sadface* But for some reason a page with less options, less customization, less... well everything... exploded and eats up more of people's hours than anything but the Google search engine.

And they're getting scary. First it was the maps thing that tracked where you were posting things from by examining your IP location. I don't know where that thing has gone, but I hope it's far away and forever. Now their app is going to have the option to listen to you, aaaand I really just hate having to reset all my preferences every few weeks. It never fails that something turns itself on to email me every hour, pages I've never been to show up in my "liked" feed, people wondering why I posted something so incredibly right wing when all I did was like a picture of a kitten my friend shared that gave some political page the right to post for me for some reason I can't fathom... *deep breath* Then there's just the crap.

I've been thinking about saving all the pictures I've been tagged in that I don't have personal copies of, like my sister's wedding, and bailing off the Facebook ship.
But... it's so easy to see what people are doing and share little tidbits and pictures and Facebook owns all our content and... and... and... what would we do without Facebook?

What we did before it ever existed! We'll post blogs and use emails for more than spam catchers. Maybe, just maybe, we'll actually call one another to tell some one about our day. Also who said you can't put short posts on your blog?
Imgur is full of fun pictures and the Google engine is more than capable of finding all the memes. I don't see why Facebook has to be the center of our online socializing universe.
I have made more real relationships with people on forums than with people who I've met in real life and been Facebook friends with. I miss you FPians! I'll come back soon... I hope.

I don't need to shout things into the internet in short bursts of fire, my life is not an assault rifle. I don't need to have people click a little button approving of my choice of content to share. We don't need Facebook to keep the friends that matter to us.
I don't mind social networking. Honest. I just don't understand how we've let it blind us to the fact that we have other options, that if we really don't like it we can leave.

... then again that worked out really well for me and the blogger... didn't it? *laughs*

Till next time lovelies,
~the light heart lives long

Talking to my self

Ever have those days when it feels like you're talking to yourself?
I'm not talking about not getting comments on your blog or being ignored by your spouse; I'm talking you're staring at the bread in the Grocery store and you realize that your thoughts are no longer silent.
You realize that while analyzing the contents of two competing whole wheat breads that your mouth butted in on your private conversation and decided to alert the whole world. It's like that part in those kids movies when the inventive  and capable hero kid hits the on button on the intercom so that the evil bad guy's words are broadcast for all to her. Yay! the dictator is toppled there's confetti, ribbons, and cake.
Only it's not that fun in real life. Of course when you glance around there's some big white lady giving you the 'oh-my-god-i-hope-i-don't-catch-crazy' look and some young mother shielding her child from your ravings. Or worse, a really nice dude who just smiles at you hoping that you merely smile back and turn away so he can escape before you try and talk to him.

I don't know if this happens to you, but it's happened to me a lot recently. I hate my mouth.

Also the people I talk to randomly disappear. Well, not really disappear so much as they wander off in the middle of talking to them.
For example I'm doing dishes and talking to Jex who's sitting at the computer table close by. He's totally responding. So I continue, hear nothing, then turn to find he's gone.
Or even worse, what you say gets totally ignored.
This I blame on society though. We're all bent on what we have to say rather than what others have to say... not that I can say much about that without being a complete and total hypocrite; I'm a blogger. *nervous smile* But really when you say "Wow it's really grey out today. Do you think it'll rain?" and the other person responds with. "Let me tell you if that **** doesn't call me back I'm gonna kill him. You know how frustrating it is to wait on some one else before you can do anything?"
"I'm a military wife, so yeah."
"You have to put yourself into .... blah blah... two whole days.... blah blah blah..."
"You just want to complain don'cha?"
"blah blah I can't hear you blah blah blah."

I'm convinced that I'm crazy or I blink out of reality for these moments. What other explanation is there... other than that I'm boring... which is probably true.
What?
I'm in my 20's and I quilt. The vast majority my friends in the area are over 50 (which I maintain is totally cool but other people find quite strange). I write stories I tell no one about because, well, I tend to run off to lala land and talk waaaaay too much about them.

But I'm going to fix that.
How? By dying my hair blue! That will fix everything! lol

No not really.
I think the next time I realize I'm talking to myself I'm just going to weird out everyone even more by turning it into a play.
Oh yeah, the epic bread duel. Only one will make it into the cart! Only the best with rise! Take that fiendish unbleached enriched flour take my whole grain fury! Oh but what's this Corn Syrup! Noooooooooooooooooooooo! *ala~luke skywalker*

When people disappear I'll keep talking as if they never left and I have schizophrenia... no better yet I'll turn to my imaginary friends Iv'gar the purple dragon and Fiffle the fire breathing fox and tell them about how rude the other person just was. (^_^) Then continue my conversation with their very pleasant, if a bit mythical, company.

Then when I comes to the latter I've decided to reply with sentences that make no sense and counting how many I can get away with before they noticed I'm not playing along.
Like this:
Ignorer: "If I don't get a text in the next 10 minutes we're done."
me: "And I'm sure the flying pig would agree, applesauce."
Ignorer: "I mean really is this how you treat people? It's just rude."
me: "So are mudkips I hear." *nods sagely*
Ignorer: "Two whole days and not a word back. Seriously."
me: "Even the magic academy isn't that capricious."
Ignorer: "Capricious?"
me: "I think I used that word right."
Ignorer: "What the hell are you talking about."
me:*smiles brightly* Two points for me!

But the boring thing I am going to fix by dying my hair blue. People with blue hair are much more interesting than people with normal hair colors. No really. I'll put up pictures with ISpy this coming Thursday.

The Light Heart Lives Long~
till next time my lovlies

P.S. I will finish telling you about the Sunshine Trip. This was just on my mind today... or rather on my mouth as it began flapping about halfway through the thought. lol

Adulthood Ho!

The S.S. Ashes, adrift on the sea of child- ish likeness for most of the year, has pulled into port on the Isle of Adulthood. The crew is split, the joyful against the uncertain. This place is new and strange and not to be trifled with.

Yeah, I feel all grown up today. Almost everything I need to get done is done. Save taxes, which I'm afraid of messing up. But those will be done by the end of the week. All that's left is to watch the clock tick down to the week of implosion known as PCSing with company.
Oh you don't know what this concept is?
It's moving to another state, all the while having friends visiting/helping. A time of unparalleled fun and stress crammed into 7 days. With the final day being a 5k mud race for breast cancer. Oh yes, we're all mad here.

All that's left to do is get a new car. Jex wants a Subaru Baja. I think it suites us... we're a little odd too.



One of the things that has come with pulling into the bay of "realization" off the "cape of I'm too old for that" is all the stuff I tried to do but never really followed through with.
Like the Vlog.

Betcha didn't know that I started my blog not to write but to keep in touch with my family in a way that would be better than letters. Jex and I moved so much, internet has been spotty at best, and we lived in hotels for the first half of our marriage. Letters and e-mails weren't an option. And my family lives in the U.K. giving them a call really isn't much better. Videos seemed like the best option. A pictures worth a thousand words; then a video should be worth a hundred thousand! Right?
Eh, not so much.
I found out real quick that my personality, though shiny and fun, wasn't really cut out for the camera. Though witty and sarcastic I need time to think things through or I sound like a dork... and I say Uhhh and ahhh and ano and hmmm waaaaay too much.
If you're curious a lot of my first posts are videos.
Recently I've seen a lot of stuff that not only has made me miss my friends, but has sparked a new interest in the Vlogesphere. Now I'm not going to run off with my camera and never come back, but from time to time I'll document stuff without text.
Who knows, it may even make you smile.

Identity

Identity is a big thing. It's how you get a job, credit, how people see you, and how you see yourself. The word is loaded with so much emotion: contentment, happiness, frustration, and so on depending on where you are in life or who help up their own mirror to your face.

My identity was secure; despite the statistics of home schooled military brats. Eventually I learned that your outward appearance is such a huge part of one's identity. More than my little introverted brain ever considered. I didn't learn this till I cut my hip length hair to my shoulders and went to school only to have a great deal of people not recognize me.
My dad had always said to never slap anyone in the face because 'it's an attack on the person not just the body'.

My identity got challenged when moving back to the states, and then nearly shattered after getting married. Growing up as I had my place in the family was a HUGE part of how I defined who I was. Now that had all changed. I was living with some one else, with different (for lack of a better word) duties and concerns. I even had a different name!

In then end, though modified, I'm still Ashes.
I'm still a dork. I still read way more than is healthy. I watch cartoons and get too loud when I get excited or over joyed. Part of me wishes I could be badass but the other half of me is resigned to the fact that I'm 'cute'. I have the same scars. The same fears still stalk me (I'm working on beating them into submission). To this day I confuse the crap out of people with my clothing, yet some how pull it off.
I'm still a flower bud, changing colors as she blooms in the garden of life with my sisters, brothers, and the thorns that pop up around us.

What makes you 'you'? What do you see when you look at yourself?

An Epiphany- 22 july 11

I think a lot, and deeply. Often times this thoughts come and go like the ebb and flow of the sea, normal, daily, beautiful but ultimately nothing noteworthy. Today though I happened to catch a snap shot of something I hadn't noticed before, where my waters gravitate.

For the most part my peers make me nervous. I've never really fit in here, be it when I was a teenager, now, even when I was a small child. I gravitate towards those wiser than me. Maybe it's because my grandparents are the age of most my friends great grandparents. (My Grandpa is with God, and my Grandma is 85, yeah) The cousins I spent the most time with are 14 years older than me. Maybe it's because I had so much responsibility as a kid. Whatever reason I feel more at ease listening to an older woman than trying to key up a conversation with some 20 something woman.

Maybe it's because they have so much more to say. Not more as in quantity (oh god no) but everything they say is seasoned with time and the deepness that comes from fighting back at everything life threw at them so that they could stand were they are now. These women, with their battle scarred hearts, faces lined with laughter and the ghosts of frustration, and eyes so full of a kind of understanding I can't fathom at this point in my life are my hope, my heroines.

To see them I know that I don't have to become my mother, or my aunt, or any other female relative that I can get through this as Ashes. That whatever grips me in the middle of the night and doesn't let go will one day be little more than a brief annoyance. As they stand their ground and tell their stories I have hope that one day I can stand with them in that glowing grace that wiser older women have about them. Maybe I can be some young woman's hope when she feels like the world is going to eat her alive no matter how hard she tries or how fast she runs. When all the personal hell has been trudged through, step by burning step, I'll stand on the other side like high quality gold.

I've been kind of lonely lately. After moving back to the states I've had a lot of transitions to make, and maybe I won't be able to let go of some of the things I miss most. One of them being the inclusion the older women on the Airbase gave me while over seas.

Mrs. Hillary Detmers, Mrs. Rhonda, Mrs. Maisha, Akiko-san, Grandma, Cyme, I miss you guys.
Chicken, Queen, Dazee, and Mama Fargo thanks for being on the internet and sharing your stories with the rest of us. God knows us confused little girls need some one worth looking up to for the important things.

I haven't completely tuned out the awesome bloggers close to my age group, I love you blogger chicks too! But this was mostly an ode to our 'big sisters' on blogger.

America...

Every time the 4th comes around, and I avoid watermelon like the plague, it's fun. With sparklers and beer, and friends, and the taste of smoke on all my food.

After the 4th I'm usually really contemplative.

I became an adult on military bases overseas, in two of the three countries that were once called the Axis powers. So after being all 'American' I always feel a little weird. My first job paid half in Dollars and half in Euros. American money looks weird to me still(why is it all green?! Do you know how hard it is to find the right bill when they're all the same size and color after living in countries that do differently?! Gah!) sometimes.

Sitting here enjoying left over Japanese potato salad (recipe here for anyone who wants a nice change in the potato salad routine. I add a dollop of sour cream or mayo to make it smoother) it occurs to me that I both hate and enjoy being a third culture kid. I made JAPANESE potato salad for an AMERICAN celebration. (everyone together now: d'oh!)

Sometimes I don't know what it means to be American. I know what it meant to my host cultures while growing up. It meant being loud, rich, stubborn, and hopelessly prideful, but ultimately good despite all our glaring faults.

I think being an American might mean this:

1. Constantly messing with the English language. (with words like Epicosity, gnarly, and using things like 'bad' to express things that are 'good')

2. Competition, or a competitive spirit in some area. I think this is something our ancestors passed on to us.

3. Television. I dare anyone to disagree with this. It's a huge cultural thing to talk about what we saw on TV. Whether it's some drama, scifi, or news scoop, we probably didn't read about it or hear it on the radio.

So, what do you guys think makes America what it is and it's people who they are?

If a blogger blogs and no one reads it...

...is it worth the time it takes to type?
If a ninja falls in the forest does it make a sound?
If Ashes is in CiCi's pizza will she keep score of everyone's pizza crust as if it were some kind of SuperBowl game?

Anyway...

My husband and I have had an interesting few days. Between waking up to a scorpion crawling where nothing has business crawling about, losing Jex's phone for 3 days, finishing an epic nerd game (yes I play dungeons and dragons), having little internet, and then finally Jex getting tuckered out by a 3 year old.

Story #1: The Scorpion.

Technically Jex and I are still considered newly weds. If you can be newly weds after being best friends for nearly 6 years. So, after the usual I was half asleep in bliss when I felt something crawl on my butt. Brushing it off I thought it was just the covers sticking to me a little. Then I felt it on my leg, which was weird, but I still thought it was the sheets. Then I felt it where no bug should ever crawl and there were no sheets there. Something with multiple legs, and roughly the size of a 50 cent piece, was crawling on me under the sheets.
Jex says I was flipping out like a little girl who just saw her doll get eaten by a lawn mower, but I felt like I was flipping out like an adult woman who'd just been violated by a creepy crawly while in her safe place. Somehow while the flipping out was going on I'd flung the creature onto Jex at which point he did a little dance and kicked all the covers back to sit on the end of the bed.
"Turn on the light so we can see what it is." His voice of reason sounded more like a choke.
Oh... right... the light. Reaching overhead I clicked on the light to see...

[[Background: There are only 4 things that reduce me to a flailing screaming mass of girl jello. Jumping spiders that land ON ME. Spider webs (or anything weird) to the face, I'm not talking just a string of web; I'm talking the whole freaking web. Ticks. aaaand.... ]]

... a scorpion crawling around in our bed like it owned the place. I instantly started looking for something witch which to kill it. Jex was more calm and chill about the whole thing. After a second of staring at our midnight assailant Jex asked for my coffee cup (I don't know why it was in the bedroom either), scooped it up, and flushed it. For some reason it didn't have the top half of it's tail, which saved me from a nasty sting as I was shooing it off of me in the covers.
Needless to say I had issues getting back to sleep.

Story 2: Jex's Houdini Phone

It's pretty simple really. My husband and I came in from Sprint training. I started laundry and dinner while he cleaned and rearranged Will's porch. He had his phone when he walked in the door... we have no idea where it went after that. For 3 days it was on, but it wouldn't let me call it. For 3 days we tore apart the car, the bedroom, and the living room. We looked under all the couches, in all the drawers, the bathroom, and under the porches. We dug our hands in beyond the space under cushions and recliners. No matter where we searched it wasn't there.
Today, I was messing with Will's recliner and asked if Jex had checked it. He said he did. Will noticed something reflecting that looked a little weird... it was Jex's phone, chillin' between the upholstery and the cushion where no hand had reached.

Story 3 will be posted on my nerdy blog: epicfailanoobstail for anyone who cares about the Nerd Kingdom.

Story 4: Abri-girl and Jex

Witchy has a granddaughter that has recently come to live with her and Daddio. Her name is Abri-girl, though I just want to call her Bumblebee. She's 3, has a speech delay and super loves Jex. To the point where she monopolizes his time.
As soon as we arrived at Daddio's she had him chasing her around, giving her horsey rides, and generally exerting energy. My husband, the master of play actually had to take a nap.
It was cute. If we ever have kids he'll be a good dad... if he can stay awake. *haha!*

Japan: the site of Earth's temper tantrum

I don't know if everyone heard it on the news.
Charlie Sheen may have crowded it out unless you're an avid news listener/watcher.
Japan got hit by a Tsunami and then several earthquakes. I was told twitter was the best place for news. But, I had a hard time figuring it out and I can't read kanji, or quickly enough to keep up with the updates from the 82bazillion people who 'tweeted'.

Here's what I could gather: In the wee hours of our morning (I got a txt @ 1:35AM) an 8.8 magnitude quake hit in the water just off the coast a little north of Sendai. Then a 7.1 farther east of the first not long later. Not even an our ago a 6.6 was off the coast of the Akita and Aomori prefectures. For those of you who don't know me very well, I used to live in the Aomori prefecture of Japan. As you can imagine, when a earthquake is off shore a tsunami is the result. Seems something like 1,000 people are presumed dead. (here's the link)

Frighteningly for me I still have friends over there and family in Hawaii and California. Two places that the after shocks of the Tsunami wave were bound to hit. For a horrifying hour or two I thought the majority of everyone close to me was going to get wiped off the earth.
At the risk of sounding corny and speaking christianese (bleh) Thank GOD everyone is ok! I won't have to beg my husband for travel money to go to funerals. I still get to tease my Jonatan, and make my Kai laugh, and think deep thoughts with my Norie. There's only one person I haven't heard from; Masako.
Hopefully Des will have heard from her and I'll get a little text chime to let me know all is right with my little world.

Thinking of that involuntarily brings little shudders of how I'd feel if it wasn't. My heart goes out to the Japanese people who have lost loved ones: children, spouses, parents, grandparents and friends. I'll pray for them; give the red cross some money.
Ya know. I kind of wish I was there. Maybe I could do something to help. Maybe not. *laughs*

Peace and Solace to the Japanese, and those of us pulling for them spiritually and emotionally. ~Ashes

An Award?!

On Feb 17th I got an award from Chicken. It took me 6 days to find it. XD!
That's pretty good considering that since my husband took the little japanese toy that meows off of my key chain I've lost my keys every day... and once for nearly three weeks. I think he got tired of me walking around running into everything every time he asked me to go to the store.

Here's my Award!!!Isn't it beautiful?! It's my first one too! I love it and the words that went with it were the cake. Yes, the award was just the icing, or cherry for those of you were aren't fans of buttercream. mmmmmmm.

Now I'll have to pass it on to some one else.

I think I'm going to have to give it to my lovely Norie. Her blog has encouraged me to deal with my third culture/ reverse culture shock head on instead of simply longing to go back overseas.
Norie, gambatte! You're soul is so bright, your heart is so kind, and your head is so wise you can make it through everything. I'm sure of it.

Okay something you don't know about me?
Hmmm... I only buy shoes I can run in or have the potential to be used as a weapon. I can run in all three pairs of heels I own.
What else? I watch Dr. Who every chance I get.
Brittish comedy makes more sense to me than other forms of comedy.
I can still remember the theme songs to Captain Planet, Gummy Bears, Digimon, Sailor Moon, My little Pony Tails, and Darkwing Duck and sing them on a regular basis.
Most of my personality is linked to the Cartoon Mighty Max. No really... it's scary.
I was a Virgin till 2 months before my 22nd birthday. And I still do my best thinking After the Fact. (^_^)Y

Again, thanks so much Chiken. You totally made my week!

Oh and here's the link to the whopping 2 pictures from the fashion show. I have one more that my husband took that I haven't wrestled with his camera to extract. But I will.

So I was inspired by someone... who I don't even know.

Being inspired by another makes me think of what is actually a 'true' inspiration. Something that creates itself from pretty much nothing. Like the Earth and the Universe; sometimes even mankind.

I watched the movie Inception and thought about the idea of true inspiration for all of 3 minutes before the plot of the movie erased most of that train of thought. But today, as I was inspired by another mid-twenties woman's words, I can't help but wonder what 'true' inspiration is and if it actually exists the way we think of it.

For example: When I was 13 I had this HUGE complex because despite my hip length auburn waves I had the body of a boy. Late bloomer as I was I didn't get anything resembling real boobs till I was 17. I'm still growing hips to this day. Anyways, I had this thing about hiding my imperfectness and hated shorts with a passion. But, damn if it doesn't get HOT in Texas. So I had this great Idea! I'd cut off a pair of pants just a few inches or so below my knees and wear that instead.

Feeling all proud of myself I soon realized that I was not the first to think of this solution. My grandmother (who was born in 1925) called them Pedal Pushers, my aunt (who survived been a 20 year old in the 60's) called them Highwaters, and the very next summer they came out in mass as something called Capri's.

To this day, ever now and again when I have nothing better to think about, I wonder if everything has already been thought of. Maybe all those lost thoughts are floating around in our genetic memories, or the ether, or whatever lingering things on this planet float in, only to land on one of us like a peculiar dandelion seed.

What is needed to make inspiration true? When I thought up my solution for shorts 10 years ago I felt truly self inspired.

All this brings to mind something that I've read a few times over the years: "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one can say: "Look! This is something new!"? It was here already, long ago, before our time."

Really, I don't mind not having a 'true' or a 'new' inspiration. Just being inspired feels me with an amazing feeling of possibility, hope, and purpose. In this case the pro's are worth the con's.

What do you think?

Thoughts about Love

It's just a word. A word that has an endless depth. A depth greater than any ocean; as vast and as beautiful as the universe itself.

Love.

Over time it's meanings in American English have come to encompass any great feeling of happiness or intimacy with something. "I love my new shoes." and "I love my family." Two completely different emotions expressed in the same word.

Love.

A word as light as it is dark. One that holds not only the greatest ecstasy for the soul but also the most dire misery. Its dual nature a mystery that has drawn the human race from the beginning. We will never be tired of Love, and Love Lost in some way crushes all who hear of it.

True Love.

Since the simple word Love has come to bear so much English speakers have had to add another word to express the weight and purity of Love. A word that is a facet of God himself; Truth.

A True Love never fails, even when it is lost. A True Love encompasses and accepts all the light and dark of it's deep being. A True Love is the most important part of God. The thing that initiates Sacrifice and Loyalty, Patience and Forgiveness, an embodiment of all that is worth fighting for and through.

True Love.

What everyone yearns for, whether they know it or not.

Jex I don't know if you read this... but for the whole world to see... I Love you, I Truly Love you.

"Death cannot stop True Love, only delay it for a little while." ~Westley (man in black), The Princess Bride

Me and Myself

I was sitting down today thinking that I needed to change the back ground of my blog to fit my mood better. You know maybe a splash of color or something.

I sat and stared at my blog for a long time trying to come up with alternative designs and patterns and styles. Honestly I came up with a lot of them. But as I went through them they were all very changeable. If I chose one of them I'd probably change my blog style every other week, or something.

Then something hit me. A realization I hadn't quite grasped. I really didn't want to change my blog style or picture or any such thing. I wanted to change something about me.
Because, as I sit and stare at the picture I chose as the head of my blog I realized something. My blog is the image of myself.
I don't know when this happened or why. I just know that the way I styled my blog is a mirror of what I see when I look on my insides. (no not my guts and bones, my spiritual and mental insides)
Actually, it kind of made me happy that it was so serene, even if it got a little dark sometimes. Just stare at the picture of the temple ruins I have on my blog and see what you feel.

Maybe it's just the picture that's a mirror.

Either way, somehow as I did this I found an acceptance of myself I hadn't had before. And it feels really really good.

Written Words

I'm going to try harder to update my blog.
Life has found a pattern for me. This is why I do not often write. I feel like I am only reiterating things already spoken. Wearing down thoughts till they are only a stub of the monumental discovery they used to be.
I move, I don't have a kitchen, I find a happy place, there is much disappointment. I study culture and language and learn more about myself.

Recently though, something did happen to me that was out of the cycle.

I was stupid and got scammed. Yes, some one took my money and I let them because I wasn't paying attention. However I have since then reversed the damage and kept any farther loss from happening.

This lesson that I have learned is both humbling and empowering.
I am humbled, knowing that my intelligence isn't as far reaching as I once thought. So now I can be kinder and not judge others I deem to have 'done something stupid'.
I am empowered, knowing that though I am sometimes unintelligent I have the ability to somewhat undo the damage of those poor choices. The bad things I do don't have the power to drag me down as long as I fight them.

Keeping this new experience in mind I'm going to try to fight my negative emotions. Often times I feel like the dark feelings are a big steam roller and I'm the road. On the contrary I am me, I can run, dodge, move out of the way, and maybe one day take total control of that big rolling mass that is my dark side. I feel confident, though it make take many years, that I can do this now.

In other news, I'm writing a Novel for NaNoWriMo (national, something, writer's, month) and I'm super excited! I love the chaotic idea my friends and husband helped me come up with.
*come closer*
*whispers* You see, I'm writing about Zombies and Dragons. *giggles* Figure that one out.
The plot is fairly simple and straight forward, I didn't want to get tangled up with too many loose ends seeing as how I'm writing my first draft in only 30 days. I have to admit I'm really loving the light stress of it. I fell behind a little yesterday and didn't get a chapter done like I'd planned. So, today, I'm going to catch up by writing the rest of the chapter I didn't finish and try for two more chapters.

If you want I can post little excerpts of the text here so you can get a feel for the book. Just keep in mind that this is a rough draft. I'm more worried about getting the ideas onto the page than it looking or sounding very smart.

I wish all my friends, and whatever random readers stumbles on to this, the best of luck in life, love, and learning.
*HUGS!*

Georgia Summer

It's hot and humid in Georgia, night or day, rain or shine. It almost feels as if you're walking through an invisible cloud. Everything feels damp, hair, clothes, the things you touch. I wonder how it can be so hot with so much water in the air. If it gets any more humid will I get water in my lungs?
The sun sets green and gold over the lake near my father-in-law's as my husband and I walk hand and hand in the warm evening breeze. I can hear our dog, B'rux, panting as she trots beside us. Her ears perk from time to time and she cocks her head from one side to the other as fireflies wink in and out of the blue shadows between trees and beneath Kudzu vines. The Cicada's wake up to click their distinct cries into the fading light.
And I find that I'm okay here. With my hand in my husband's bigger, hotter, hand and even as uncomfortable as I am (I really don't like being damp, wet or dry please) I'm okay. I don't need anything, but maybe a glass of cold water when we get back to the house. I'm not dwelling on the things I want, like a decent plate of Sashimi, fried Tako, or a bowl of creme of asparagus soup like they made in Germany. I'm okay here.
Tomorrow I'll wake up, exercise till I cry, and hate where I am, want a place of my own and wish for the food I ate overseas.
But for now, I'm okay, my soul is calm.
It's a nice change... I think I might just like it. (^_^)