Blogging 201: Three Blog Goals

I talk often about how I feel like my generation missed a boat or two. We don’t have a cutesy nickname like Baby Boomers or Milenials or even GenXers. It’s like time forgot us. We are sometimes a sandwich generation taking care of parents and kids but that’s about responsibility; there is no community.

We are in-between generations. We are in-betweeners. Eh, not loving it.

The people in my age group went to college, got jobs, had kids, some stayed home, some stayed in a career and both got crap for it. Pensions disappeared, job security became non-existent. We ignore illness until it can be ignored no more.

I’m 48 and the first time I felt at home with friends was in 2011 where our ages ranged from 20-45, experiences ranged equally, only two marriages in the group, one with kids. I fit.

But I also kind of fit with the PTA set; most there were about ten years younger than me, but it still worked.

I also fit with my church where my closest friend just turned 85.

I’m at home on Tumblr when most of my age group thinks it’s a gymnastic group.

I’m equally opinionated on politics and fandom, and I haven’t found a place that blends my passions; that’s what I try to do here. I’d like to continue that, but I’m not sure how to describe it without using potpourri, which I don’t want to use.

I write conversationally, but I also want to be taken seriously, especially in the areas that I consider myself an expert or authority.

I try to balance family, depression, church and writing plus whatever else pops into my head. I’m trying to form a new generational home seemingly alone.

And this is only the part that spewed out this morning on this very bright, white snow day.

Last fall, I started a new format for my blog/website. I gave myself a series of weeklies. Monday through Thursday, I post on a topic – I offer prompts for writing or reflection, a photo, a quotation and the recs that I think help many. I try to collect them all with a weekly theme (beginning this year), so my goals are mainly continuing that.

In September, I began to use a Mead day planner to plan out my site and that’s been working well.

Goal 1: In addition to the daily serial post, I’d like to post a second one related to the theme that I’ve decided on for that week. This week’s theme I’ve titled Groundhogs, Spring is just around the corner. On Fridays, I want to try writing a Reflection each week.

Goal 2: I’ve been published in local small-presses, and self-published a chapbook and a variety of newsletters. I would like to write for money. I’d like to start by monetizing my blog, but I’m not sure how to go about that. I’d like to learn.

Goal 3: Increase my quality of photography and writing and continue learning my craft to gain readers and continue growing as a writer. As an aside, I’d like to expand into travel writing.

BDSM? Or Abuse?

As I recently said on my Facebook, I try not to pass judgment on people’s likes and dislikes, especially when it comes to books, music or movies. However, Fifty Shades of Grey crosses the line from problematic to dangerous.

What worries me about Fifty Shades is the amount of young people who want to try something new sexually but aren’t experienced enough to realize what’s abuse and what’s normal BDSM play. They go into relationships with a superficial idea of a curiosity and what they want to try out, but don’t always know how to stop something they might not like.

These are two links I found today that are worth reading and keeping archived for future reference, especially if you’re a parent or close relative of a young person starting out on their intimate relationships. This also holds true for more experienced people who are confused by what’s okay for them and how they can say no when they mean no.

Fifty Shades of Grey in its own words describing why it’s glorified abuse

A chart showing the difference between abuse and BDSM

Blogging 101 Exercise (Page 82 of Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins)

I watched the first two Hunger Games movies, and then my middle son got interested, so we rewatched them together. It was a nice Mommy-G moment. After that we had been waiting for Mockingjay, Part 1 to come to our cheapy theatre ($5/adults, $3.50/kids) so we could go together. (This movie theatre is really the only way our entire family could go out to the movies all together, all five of us, which we are lucky to do more often than we would be able to.)

While we were waiting, hanging on every trailer, I unfortunately read a spoiler that I regretted (spoilers almost never bother me, but this one knocked me down). I decided to read the third book since it would be weeks until the movie got to our theatre.

I managed to borrow it from the library for my kindle, and as a YA novel it was a very fast read. I wasn’t sure how it would go because I’d never read the first two books, but I dove right in.

I really enjoyed the tone of it, Katniss’ voice. I’m certain that it helped to have seen the first two movies. I think it was written with that in mind, not that it would be turned into a movie, but with the pacing of watching a movie. (I often write like that, so it was very familiar to me.)

I could easily picture the characters through their actors’ voices. It was very vivid, and even with my ritual of pausing at each chapter, the intensity and the suspense remained and kept me riveted.

For the Blogging 101 challenge, I was asked to pick up the nearest book, turn to page 82 and read the third sentence.

I’m trying to think of a witty comeback, when Boggs says brusquely, “Well, don’t expect us to be impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear.”

For Katniss this was the moment where she softened on Boggs. She said as much in the next few sentences of the chapter. I missed that this wasn’t in the movie. I understand that there isn’t room for every favorite incident from the book to fit in the movies; there just isn’t enough time, but I really liked this one.

I thought it not only made a District 13 person more human, less machine and more humane and I immediately liked him right before Katniss did, but it also made the District 13 bodyguard much more than one-dimensional. Up until that moment, he was a cardboard cutout. Suzanne Collins did a good job of giving him a physical description so I could picture him in my mind, but up until then I was waiting for a shoe to drop.

Would Katniss try to escape from his constant guard? Would he betray her to his district’s higher objectives? Would they be at odds for the rest of the book?

After this, there were other shoe dropping to look for – the inevitable conflict Boggs would have between his loyalty to his President and home district and to his newfound loyalty to Katniss, not only all that she represented as the Mockingjay, but as a person he really liked and cared for.

This was the moment when he wasn’t just doing a job; he was her ally, and I loved that about this subtlety.

I won’t give any spoilers on how the book turned out, but even knowing the end, I can’t wait to see how the next half of the movie will be!

Rethinking the March for Life

In his Evangelium Vitae, Pope St. John Paul II said, “In giving life to man, God demands that he love, respect and promote life.”

I realize that today is a day to remember and pray for the unborn child. However, I would submit to you that while that is a noble and admirable cause, it does not translate into protesting and marching against abortion.

When abortion debates come up, often forgotten is the mother. Her physical health is ignored. Her mental health is ignored. Her economics are ignored, as are her support or lack of it.

Instead of marching or protesting against abortion, which should remain safe and legal for anyone who wants or needs one, perhaps we could promote life in other ways, like volunteer at a women’s shelter, donate to rape crisis centers (with time as well as money), provide for the already burdened lower economic family who has the number of children they want, give back birth control choices to the women getting pregnant since we know that access to birth control reduces abortion. Put comprehensive and accurate sex health education in the schools since we know that sex education done properly reduces teenage pregnancies and abortions.

Stop co-opting the word choice when you only want to provide one option.

Stop murdering doctors and terrorizing already fragile women at their moment of crisis as they follow through on one of the most difficult decisions they will ever have to make.

Of course pray for women and babies, but don’t forget about the ones who are post-born, the ones struggling daily under stresses and health risks and abuse. Standing on a street corner protesting only scares already scared women. There are other, more positive ways to follow your heart. Didn’t Jesus call those who prayed out loud and in public hypocrites? Didn’t He think there were other ways to pray, contemplatively instead of as a show to their neighbors?

We should rethink these acts of terror we put upon women at their lowest low, and pray and care for all life even those whose choices and lifestyles we disagree with and not abandon the women and children whose lives we are trying to affect.

I Remember…..

I went to elementary school in Bayside. Queens, New York. I was there for kindergarten through fifth grade. That would have been 1971 – 1977. I remember my kindergarten teacher taking away my grandfather’s pocketknife when I was playing with it in class one day. She never gave it back. More than likely, it wasn’t a knife at all, but a shiny silver colored nail clipper in a black case. It was cool. My grandfather had died around then or just before, and she never did give it back.

I remember being in first grade with my cousin who was in second grade. It was a multi-age classroom that they were trying out.

I remember forgetting my glasses at home and my Dad, who was home resting after back surgery came to school to bring them to me. I hated my glasses. I think the school nurse gave me a guilt trip about making my Dad bring them.

I remember my principal, Mr. Picelli asking me if I had a twin because my picture was on his supervisor’s desk. She looked exactly like me. Exactly.

I remember the Bicentennial. It was kind of a big deal.

The $2 Bill returned to circulation for the Bicentennial. We almost never used them, but collected them. My husband still carries one on his wallet.

I only remember a handful of friends from those days in elementary school. We moved at the end of fifth grade out to the suburbs and another elementary school. Two of the boys in my class stand out; one for his outgoing, loud and friendly ways and the other for his quiet manner and the postcards he sent after he moved. It was either third grade or fourth grade.

As a kid I didn’t notice bussing when it happened. It is only in hindsight that I discerned the change from all white classrooms to mixed race. I don’t remember my parents ever talking about bussing or Black kids coming to school. I think the label African-American still hadn’t come into convention; not until people began to reclaim their pre-slavery heritage.

It was a new school year, and it felt…normal; no big deal. It must have been a huge deal for the kids pulled out of their neighborhood schools to come to ours.

The new kids blended in with the rest of us. I knew they took buses to school when I walked, and they didn’t live in my court. I knew our court, the playground behind our apartment, the big road where I wasn’t allowed, the post office where my parents worked, Joe’s Pizza, and the Chinese restaurant. There was also the drug store where we bought my parents cigarettes (Pall Mall) and my doctor’s office. That was my neighborhood: a handful of shops and about two dozen families.

Once when the bus passed us, I waved to Lonnie. In my memory, he looks sad, but it was probably more that he was quiet on the bus rather than his usual gregarious self in the classroom. In the class, I remember him hopping from one desk to the next, touching everyone with a pat, on the head, on the arm, laughing that he was giving us chicken pox. I laughed too and told him I’d had them already. He had a light complexion and a flat face. His hair was everywhere, not tall or high hair, but big. I don’t think I’d ever seen an afro that wild. I loved it. I remember that he bothered some of the kids in the class but he didn’t bother me. If he were in school today, I’d think he had ADHD, but the possibility is there that he stood out so much on his own because he didn’t want to stand out.

Robert, the other friend I remember, was the exact opposite. His hair was short, cut close to his head, and his hair and skin were so dark, the color of night, and I thought beautiful. I had a crush on him. He was kind and soft-spoken. About halfway through the year he and his family moved to Africa. I remember it as a going home but it may have been an extended vacation. I don’t know. He sent us two postcards, but I only remember the one: the orange burst of a sunset in a place I thought I’d never see.

I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear

Earlier this weekend, my son asked why we have to celebrate Martin Luther King Day? I was a little appalled at the question. I asked how he felt learning about George Washington. He felt the same way. Part of me was glad it was his dislike of history rather than some kind of bias. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to him other than that it’s important for everyone to know what he did, what others like him died for, that the civil rights movement was ongoing, even today.

It might be good news that he didn’t think it was a big deal because for him there is no question about equal rights between the races. No one’s told him any different and for him, the civil rights movement is history; it isn’t a current event for him. Like most white Americans, he lives in a post-racial America. It’s very different for Black kids his age and older. But in our house, we do know who Trayvon Martin is; who Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice are.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

The last presidential election, when I heard Rep. John Lewis of Georgia talk about voter disenfranchment I got chills listening to him, a living icon of the civil rights movement. I’m in the middle of reading The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson about the Great Black Migration from the South to the North and West that took place from 1915 to 1970. Knowing the history and recognizing some names in passing, cities that will always stand out, like Birmingham and Selma, and Little Rock; this book moved me to tears when I was least expecting it. I have to pause at each chapter to absorb what was going on in the lives of Black men and women at those times, and still today. I needed time to think; to reflect on something I sometimes think I can relate to, but I can’t quite.

Growing up Jewish I always felt a connection to African Americans, and civil rights. I was proud to have Sammy Davis, Jr. and Rod Carew as two of my people. I think it was the parallels of slavery that drew us together in the first place, outsiders looking in, natural allies, and I’m more than a little saddened at how the two groups who should be standing up for each other seem to have moved apart in recent years.

Martin Luther King Day should be a day to commemorate Dr. King’s life, his works, and his assassination, but it is also a time to regroup; to reevaluate how far rights have come and how far they have yet to go. It’s time to realize the steps back and reclaim them.

The movement is not over; it is still moving forward and Dr. King reminds us that the way is not finished. Each generation picks up its part and carries it further. These are not Black rights, or white rights; these are civil rights and they’re for everyone.

When you make rights available for more people, they do not get more rights; you do not get less rights; everyone gets equal rights and that is what we should all be striving for.

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.

New Beginnings – A Reflection

I was going to repost one of my memoir pieces titled, New Beginnings. It took forever to find and when I reread it, it wasn’t something that I wanted to share again. It was hard to recollect and be reminded of some of the things I wrote at the beginning of 2013. It’s hard to look at where I was then and realize how far I’ve come but also how far I have to go.

I wrote then:

“I start 2013 in so much a better place than one year ago.”

I listed a few things that remained intact and speculated on a couple more.

I find that two years later I am in a similar place. 2014 wasn’t perfect, far from it, and there will always be downs to go along with the ups. There will always be things to overcome, health issues still to accept and turn around, career, if you can even call it that, to rise to, learning how to parent an adult, keeping my middle child from feeling like a middle child, teaching my daughter the things I’m still strays if so she won’t be; still searching for me in the vast emotional wasteland that is my head, body, and soul.

I am definitely in a better place now than then and in a better place than a year ago. I am still searching for better than that and a serenity that fits me.

In the last year, I took more deep breaths. I went on two spiritual retreats and one spiritual enrichment. I put more of me into my writing. I wrote more. I found Jesus without losing what I already had that was working with G-d. I believe more. I forgive more. My meds seen to be settling into my body chemistry and smoothing me out, repairing what needs to be but not losing who I am inside even as I still look for the rest of me.

I have several points during the year for my new beginnings. Previously, they were Back to School, Rosh Hashanah, and New Year’s Eve/Day.

I think this year will be a new beginnings appraisal every few weeks to check and discern and understand whether I’m still on the right path. If not, begin again.

You never run out of chances.

Blogging 101 – Assign 4 – Words in Space (Etheree Poetry)

Blogging 101 Assign 4: Write for your Dream Reader and use a different style.

I am in a writing workshop that meets once a month and this month’s topic is to write a poem in the Etheree style. It’s a series of syllables (1-10, then 10-1). Visually, if centered I think it forms a diamond; left alignment forms half a diamond.

I’ve been hearing and writing about quiet spaces and I thought that was a good place to start this new project.

I’ve titled it

Words in Space:

Space

Quiet

Quiet space

Belonging space

A page from a book

A solitary bench

Quiet in a noisy space

Can noisy spaces be quiet?

Thoughts in the quiet, thoughts making words

The pen scrapes the paper, the ink flows red

The blank space of the page is blank no more

Outside the writing can be quiet

Inside is raging and spinning

Words spewing out going fast

The mind is too fast for

The pen to keep up

Words are rushing

The quiet

Away

Now