SISTAS

Dont' worry, I'm not going to put two tear-jerking, mushy, posts in a row, but it just so happened that I had dinner with the girls in my book group last Tuesday night... one of the most emotional and vulnerable days of my year. So I think between all the emotions I was trying to conceal, and the arctic temperatures, I was bound to feel pretty delerious as soon as I walked into the restaurant (late) and saw all my sistas sitting there waiting for me. We get together each month to discuss the book we've read; we also talk about our kids, our husbands, our mothers. We talk about all the good things we've done, and the bad things too. We share each others' happiness, but we share in our sadness nearly as often. We can vent to each other just as easily as we can compliment a new pair of shoes. I don't think any of us really knows how important we each are to the group as a whole because I think we get stuck on thinking about how important the group is to us, individually. It has taken me a long time to realize how important girlfriends are. I don't feel like I'm missing anything in my relationships with my kids or with Jeff, but it doesn't mean that I don't need my girlfriends, each one. It's different.

It was Keri's turn to choose our book for January... it looks pretty good. You can check it out over there (look right ->). She also sent us this:



Oooops! I mighta lied. But, there's nothing wrong with shedding a tear or two.

(You might want to pause my music while you watch it)

ALL THE PRETTY FLOWERS

Disclaimer: girlie post.

I'm probably not going to blog about all the books I read in my book group, I am going to blog about "Peony In Love." Peony was supposed to be September's book and we finally had our discussion of it last Thursday. When I started reading, I thought we were reading an epic love story, based on true events (as true as any historical account can be), and when the main character dies after just a few chapters, I put the book down in disgust! To be honest, I'm not a fan of romance novels to begin with, so ghost romance is way down there on my list of stuff to read. Luckily I decided to pick it back up again and finished it anyway. Peony was not the best book I've ever read, but it reminded me of some really important issues... namely the struggles we face/have faced simply because we are born female. It reminded me of how far we have come, but also of how much things haven't changed over the ages. Peony is set in 16th century China just after the Manchus invaded in what they called the Cataclysm. Women had been, for centuries, valued only for their beauty and their ability to produce sons. In order to be considered beautiful and refined, they had to start mutilating their bodies at a very early age. Foot binding was practiced and continued to be practiced in China clear into the 20th century. Yet, women had been writing poetry and had been published by men in China for a thousand years before this time. A strange juxtaposition I thought. So it got my mind turning in a couple different directions.

How much different are we today? What are we, as women really valued for in our "modern" society? If we have become so enlightened and liberated, why do we still continue to mutilate our bodies in the name of beauty? Especially when we know that beauty is so fleeting. True, we don't bind our feet, but we all know what I'm talking about here. And is it possible that our obsession with physical beauty has been our own greatest enemy on our path to equal rights? These are just questions I've had, not conclusions I've actually come to believe. I'm also not absolving any other party from their blame in the oppression game.

Yet, I think we women know that only a handful of us will be remembered through the ages based on our physical beauty. Often those are the women who die young. I believe what we really want in the end is to be heard. Whether it's through the stories we tell our children, our writing, the canvas, in song or deeds, we want to leave something behind. So it made me think that if we are going to continue to push for anything, maybe it should be for our freedom of expression. The freedom to be the women we each WANT to be. The freedom to put our desires into action or art.

Reading Peony reminded me how many women who, at this very moment, still do not have a voice. It reminded me how much I don't say because I'm afraid somebody may not like it, I might offend someone else. Well, at least I have that option! And if I did decide to voice my opinion (and don't get me wrong, I voice it often enough) the worst thing that would happen is that someone might disagree, someone might not like it. So keep talking ladies, keep telling our stories, and keep your opinions coming, because these things will be our legacy.

A SWEETER SISTER...

...I wonder if I could have? My memories of growing up as the oldest of seven are dominated by thoughts of babysitting mishaps, fighting brothers, and crowded bathrooms. With the exception of Clark, who is just a year my junior, my siblings are all a lot younger than I, which meant that I was more of a substitute parent (in other words enforcer) than a playmate or peer. During those years I really didn't get to know my younger siblings as people, they were just the little creeps I had to keep an eye on so that they didn't get into too much trouble when my parents were gone, or so that they didn't get into my stuff. I made them meals, cleaned up after them, fixed their hair, went to their recitals and sporting events, and even took them with me on dates! Once I left the house and started a life of my own, it was easier to start to appreciate them as individuals. It wasn't until I was looking back on things that I started to remember all the fun we had together as a big blended family, with all kinds of ethnicity and backgrounds. Yes, I still remember the struggles and the hardships, but I love to think of the funny things and the bonds we were developing to last a lifetime.

I'm especially grateful for my sister Kara. She is one of the sweetest people I know. I had two sisters while growing up, just a year apart in age. One was connected to me by blood, the other by heart. I still remember the night Kara came to our house, vividly in fact, and how frightened and sad she looked. She was 2 1/2 years old, she understood and spoke no English, and she had been given away by the only mother she had ever known, to come here to find a better life. The days and weeks that followed were so hard on her. She had terrible nightmares, bloody noses, she sneaked food and hid it around the house. She must have been so confused. We tried to love her with hugs and kisses that she refused. She was unable to bond to us or anyone for years, and never liked being coddled or hugged. In the beginning I couldn't see the wisdom in bringing home these extra siblings. They seemed very unhappy, and they made for a lot more work. Now, however, I see how rich and full their lives are. I see how they have grown and overcome their difficult beginnings, how they have become parents and companions. I am happy for them and for the opportunity my parents gave them to be a part of our family. When Jamie died, the blond haired, blue eyed sister who looked like me, a part of me went with her. It's different with sisters, the bond is just different. I don't know what I would do without Kara, without that sisterhood, it's never mattered that we don't look alike. I am proud of the person she has become, and of the great mom she is growing into. She has a giving heart, she's very obedient, she's a good example to me. Love ya sis!