Thursday, January 31, 2013

Siestas for the Soul? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Siestas for the Soul? | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Napping reclaimed. :)

Soul Siesta's

Somewhere along the way, I lost the knack of the nap. In fact, the last nap good nap I took, I lost a gall bladder. I have a friend who has perfected the art. The entire world, including salesmen and the mailman know that she is napping every day between two and 4-ish. There were several times I forgot what time it was and called during the sacred siesta. I hung up promptly when she answered with "This damn well better be good." Seeing as she was my best friend and I couldn't talk to her for two hours a day. I eventually started taking a nap myself. I concluded during my kid's teen years that both bath's and naps subdue the inertia of daytime drama. I convinced myself into believing that if I didn't know about it, it didn't happen. The house was always unnaturally quiet upon waking, but I didn't smell smoke and no-one was bleeding. Impasse. I didn't ask questions, they didn't offer answers. I believe that they presumed (as well as I) that whatever did happen during naps was partly my own fault for laying down on the mom job. As the kids got older, they delighted in telling me all the crap that they got away with in my down time. During my daily intermission's they smoked cigarettes, sucked all the cheese out of the aerosol cans of Easy Cheese and took joy rides down the dirt road. I perfected the art of napping so well that I fell asleep at a Mc D's drive through once when I missed my midday slumber. I was so embarrassed that I drove on through without ordering. I passed the pick up window with my visor pulled down, sitting high in the seat so they couldn't see me. My nap sessions began waning as the years went by and culminated into something really weird. I would have lucid, horrendous nightmares within minutes after drifting off to sleep. One of the nicer ones; I was in the hospital and the nurse was putting my new bundle of joy in my arms. E.T. Yes the extraterrestrial. I eventually quit taking the naps, except for an occasional Sunday afternoon and often even then I would jump startled to the floor. I found myself alone on the couch this week. Tired of reading, I put my book down and closed my eyes. The patio door was open, the sun and breeze had already knocked out our Lab Snowy. Kicking my sandals off, I pulled my feet up on the couch. I recalled situations and moments of the best naps I could remember. A swing outside hung from an ancient oak tree, The gentle rock of a boat in a quiet covey, the sound of fish tails softly slapping the water. Lying down with my baby brother, my child or my grandchild to put them to sleep and falling asleep myself with their fingers curled around mine. My lips pursed the silent mantra "I'm not going to sleep, I'm not going to sleep, I'm not...." The whir of the ceiling fan blades and tic-tock of the grandfather wall clock droned me to the zone. "E.T. Go Home"

Monday, January 28, 2013

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Radical Parties, Civil Unrest | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC

Radical Parties, Civil Unrest | Charlestongrit.com | Bold. Smart. Local. Now. | Charleston, SC A little imaginary experiment to show the difference between extremism in politics and the normal populous.

Civil Unrest

I believe the current tone of our nation was first breathed into existence with the exhalation of the phrase "politically correct." The parsing of words slowly fanned the flames of civil unrest and we're now in a new civil war... of words.The blues and the grays again, is it possible? Maybe not with musket rifles and cannons, but the division to our country through words can be as detrimental as the bloody war of 1863. Town criers push extreme agendas with rabid fervor? Their numbers are few, their ideals extreme. Yet, they claim to represent a whole group. I'm not happy with either political party and now declare my views "dormant." Let's do a little imaginary scientific experiment. We'll pretend that blood is drawn from both non-radical political parties and injected into lab rats. Let's say the experiment goes something like this. There's a large glass-covered maze with a entrance in the middle on the side. There is a big chunky block of cheddar cheese on one end that is tethered by twine to the side of the maze. The other end of the maze has a very teeny tiny, almost invisible piece of mouth-watering buttery brie sitting so that the mouse can pick up and move at will. The door is lifted and the rats go to their perspective party dwellings. Ostensibly, the liberal rat will hit up the bigger piece, even though it's tethered and not under their control. The conservative rat will pick the other piece of cheese, small and risky, but theirs to do with what they will. Now, let's inject the rats with blood from the radical political parties. Only this time, both politically juiced-up rats get to decorate their previously meager abode. Hmm…Now the left winger mouse house has a comfy Lazy Boy recliner, big tv, cable, brie, government-issued cheddar, and pre-paid cell phone. The right winger mouse house has its conservative tiny piece of cheese, a rocking chair, 75 tiny Ak-47 rifles, a spit cup, six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a Bible. Can you see how easy it is to imagine the extremes of the parties? Yes, there are lazy people who suck on the teats of the government. There are also wild-eyed radical antagonists. The majority of people don't fall into these categories, but by political affiliation they are classified as such. I'm not saying that we should or even could all sit on a mountaintop, drink Coca-Cola, and teach the world to sing "Kum Ba Yah." But, maybe we should concentrate more on what holds us together as Americans rather than what divides us. We shout because it's our right to do so, we shout over each other in viciousness and bitterness and anger. What kind of example are we to those who don't have a voice yet? Who are we going to blame when one of our children comes home crying because he or she didn't get invited to a manicure/pedicure party because they are a Republican or Democrat? Recently, a friend listed her most admired character traits in people on Facebook. Someone expressed astonishment because honesty wasn't listed. I absolutely loved her reply. "Honesty is good. But I'd take all the others first. Someone who has those is not likely to be harmfully dishonest." Harmfully dishonest, I love it. Because we are all truthfully a little dishonest, aren't we? Maybe a little less truthful about our convictions than we say we are? Let's say a family member of mine was extremely ill, and I was told that there was a treatment that would cure them. The catch? It costs $75 grand, and the procedure couldn’t start without equitable proof. I am sick to death, I may lose my family because I don't have the resources to save them. But then I am told that there's a government subsidiary that would pick up the bill in this extreme situation. What do I do? Do I swallow my pride and bend my beliefs a tad to save my family? Maybe just this once. Let's say on the other hand I am a staunch advocate for peace and am totally against guns of any kind. The house alarm goes off at 1 a.m. There's an intruder in my daughter's bedroom. Do I really want to defend her with a bottle of lemon juice and a butter knife? I squirt the lemon juice at the intruder's face, he drops his Smith & Wesson, and I retrieve it just as he is lunging at me. I’m out of lemon juice. Do I shoot him in self defense to save my daughter? Maybe just this once? Are our values so staunch, so self-righteous, that we don't bend a nano millimeter either way? Or do we pick and choose our fights? Maybe truthfully we are a little of both party and a lot of one: the human race. Note: No rats were harmed in this imaginary scientific experiment.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Monkey Business | Mount Pleasant, South Carolina | The Moultrie News

Monkey Business | Mount Pleasant, South Carolina | The Moultrie News

Don't Count Out The Lefties

Ehud says to the fat king, "I have a message from God for you" before he plunges his knife into the fat belly. Judges 3 vs 20. I still marvel at how I can read these passages over and over and find a story that I didn't see before. I started thinking about what Pastor David McGee taught one Sunday. "When you see something in the Bible that looks insignificant,it's usually the opposite." I got so much more out of this passage because I looked past the ~insignificance~ of this verse. Judges 3 vs 1 ~But when the sons of Israel cried to the Lord, The Lord raised up a deliverer for them, Ehud the son of Gera, the Benjamite, a left-handed man. Hmmmmm...What does being left-handed have to do with anything. I delved into the word and God revealed one of those nuggets of gold that he leaves all throughout his word. Benjamin (which comes from the Hebrew name Binyamin which means "son of my right hand", "son of the right hand", or "son of the south.") Ironically the name suggest a right handed person to start with. During these times of hand combat, most men were RIGHT handed and were encouraged to be so. So when a man moves with his right hand to his left thigh, it would trigger a defensive impulse as most men would use their right hand to swiftly draw a weapon. Hence Ehud moving with his left hand for a weapon would not alarm the king. But the providence of God in raising this man was so much more than the death of the fat king. Here is the line of Benjamites after Ehud. The actions of this left handed judge may have preserved a line that led to the apostle Paul. Here are the Benjamites after him. 1. Ehud, the left-handed Judge and Liberator who killed King Eglon and drove out the Midianite invaders; 2. Saul, the first King of Israel who rebelled, apostatised and was deposed; 3. The son of Saul, Jonathan, who was David's loyal friend; 4. The great prophet Jeremiah who suffered so terribly in the last days of Judah; 5. Brave Esther who married the Persian Emperor to save the Judahites and Benjamites from extinction; and 6. The apostle Paul, who began life as an enemy of Messiah and then became His bravest supporter and the faith's foremost theologian

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Monkey Business

I love the internet, I love Face book, but I also love Michelin tires. I can love damn near anything, except daytime television. I never watch TV until night time and even then it is usually ritualistic. News, Wheel of Fortune, Jeopardy, Football and occasionally- Shark Tank. So while dusting the other day, with a foreign hand gesture, I picked up the remote and tried to turn on the television. After a few minutes of button mashing/smashing (I assure you there is a difference, one requires potty words) I considered calling Comcast. My logic was, it's their remote they can tell me what to do with it. We don't really own televisions do we? We lease them through servers, the big black boxes are just dust magnets without them. I didn't really expect to talk to a person. I just thought there might be a ~press this button~ for idiots option. But, wah lah...with some sequence of button smashing and the correct expletive, the TV came on. Then I carried the lunacy up a notch. I sat on the couch in the middle of the day and watched TV! I flipped channels and landed on the beginning of a show with a cute baby monkey. It was ETV's airing of Project Nim, an amazing documentary film. I watched nearly all of it but had to turn it off near the end, red face and sobbing harder than John Boehner. To set the stage, It's the 1970's, a baby chimp is taken from his mother's side and raised for the next years with humans (solely) in scientific research to conclude whether chimps have the cognitive ability to grasp the English language and express it in sign language. The film was extremely well made, combining substantial actual footage coupled with the narratives of the participants nearly 40 years later. When Nim was taken from his chimp mother he was placed in a home in NY. The adorable baby chimp played with his human siblings, slept in a bed and even nursed from his adoptive "mother's" teat. Ok...that's a whole new blog. Well Nim eventually wreaked chimp havoc in the home and was taken away and placed in the experiment described here. Nim was schooled by several in house teachers, most of them were either current or ex-lovers of the project leader. The prodigal chimp of the 70's, Nim even smoked pot. Which could possibly have led to his inability to focus??? Long story shortened, the chimp in him bled through. They clothed him, raised him, fed him, bathed him walked and talked with him like a human. More than five years later however, Nim was still a monkey. Although Nim learned signs, it was repetitive, not stemming from his own genetic makeup as a chimpanzee. He was tranquilized, put on a plane and sent to a farm where he was thrust into a cage with the very species that he was supposed to be, but didn't know how. In 1982, he and most of the other chimps were sold to a medical research laboratory for Aids and hepatitis vaccine experiments. In one of the most harrowing moments of the film, former lab staff recall the moment they realized that a few of the creatures, apparently led by Nim, were frantically using sign language to communicate with them through the bars of their tiny cages. Nim didn't adjust well or at all, if it weren't for the kindness of Harry Hermann, a lawyer and animal rights activist, Nim would have died there. Nim actually had his day in court. He was freed after Hermann's argument that a chimp that had been raised as a human had a right to plead its case in court like a human. Desperate to avoid his court turning into a circus, a judge agreed. Nim spent his final years at an animal sanctuary in Texas by himself. Other chimps were introduced, but Nim preferred people right until the end. Chimps normally live 60 years in captivity. Nim only lived 26. I told Don that evening at the table. "People are killing each other every time we watch the news, some stories so gruesome I can't watch or listen. But somehow, I am able to tune it out to a degree as the norm???? Yet, there's this little chimp that I can't get out of my head." When I told him about the documentary, he shook his head and said. "It's because you can at least relate to the horrific things that humans do to each other, you know that they have done this from the beginning of time." I was taken aback at first and then I thought about his statement. How bereft of emotion must we be as humans to take an animal that trust us as the dominant species on earth and manipulate that trust with abuse; physiological or physical. It is said that Nim died of a broken heart. He had loved his human counterparts and when human expectations of him weren't met and his chimpanzee bled through, he disappointed them, and they discarded him. I think of an incident in my high school American History class. Our end of term exam would be to memorize and list all the US president's, chronologically and their tenure. I studied for a week, could sing them like the alphabet. The day of the test, I was so surprised when a friend told they hadn't studied at all and asked me to write the answers on the bottom of my shoe and hold my foot up in class so it could be seen. I did it. I got caught. The teacher told me that he ~was disappointed~ in me. But, then he did the most profound thing. He took my unfinished paper, pointed me to a desk and he asked me to finish it. I meekly handed it back to him. He took the answer sheet from his desk and poured over the data. I didn't have a single error. He gave me the paper back with a 100 on it. He told me, "People will filter in and out of your life influencing it for good or bad. But, who you really are will always bleed through." The friend didn't fare so well. Expulsion, flunked the semester and had to go to summer school. Not surprisingly, I recently read that my teacher progressively advanced through the years and is now a well respected community leader. So, back to Don's suggestion that a crime against the animal kingdom could be worse than what we do to our own kind. Planetary reasoning prevails. I go back to the cheating incident. I had the opportunity to comprehend my actions in the cheating incident with my species. I was able to reason the disappointment that my teacher had with me and he in turn was able to recognize and reason with my motives and human inadequacies. Nim the Chimp didn't have this opportunity. Once again, it is possible for them to teach us thing or two. Namely, sometimes who we are isn't nearly as important as who we are not.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Some Things Are Gender Specific..Period

I toyed with the idea of writing this for a few days. A little voice in the back of my head nagged "You will never write in this town again" Obviously I didn't listen. Now, if that voice would have said, "You will never write for money in this town again, well..that's a whole new ballgame. Anyway, it's all in jest. It all started this past weekend. There are some things a woman feels the need to wake her husband up from a full sleep to tell him. Specifically, "You drank all of the milk for the coffee and then put the empty container back in frig. Or...."You left the seat up on the toilet." Then in fairness, there are likewise pressing questions that a hubby feels he needs to wake wifey up from a full deep sleep to ask. ex. "Do I have any tobacco? Is there any more wine? Do you know where my black pen is?" When I found the empty milk carton in frig, I decided to stay gender neutral. I took the high road for fear of later reference to ~It must be that time.~ Actually, I prefer to be in charge of when and how to blame my hormones. Using the malady mainly for sympathy or my desire for chocolate. Believe me, I am fully aware of ~that time~ Mostly, I have managed to get through without hurting anyone. Yet, there are some ~times~ when I feel the call of old, the old biblical reference to sending myself to the outskirts of town for three days. I've heard the cries of the women in the tents outside town. "Men don't know what it's like to go through this, or have babies." I've never been a sympathizer. I don't want my husband to screaming 3 octaves higher than me in labor, nor do I want him crying at Old Spice commercials. No worries though, creation itself leveled that playing field. Though the man doesn't have a cycle, bear a child or go through menopause..he PAYS for it much longer. Over the last decade man has now indeed acquired his own malady excuse if he so chooses to use it. Low T? HighT, Low T, HRT, PMS, all touted as newly discovered ailments. Men or women can choose their own acronymous ailment, each with a 30 day script saddled with warnings of symptoms similar to and worse than the condition. If you'll allow me this short sentence to go all ~King James on you.~ These conditions go way back. E.g, Jonah,(Low T). King David, (High T), Jezebel, (PMS or HRT), or both. Though the cures may vary, all are legit conditions. As for us, separate bathrooms cured the toilet seat dilemma. Chocolate and Merlot reign king as the Holistic ~keep mama happy~ elixirs. If all else fails and I feel the snippy need to "Tell hubby something he doesn't know about himself every thirty days" Ron White, per my hubby. I will then pack my bags and head to the tents at the edge of town for a spell. Wifey gets to the tents at edge of town and unpacks bags… “Awww shucks lookey here, I accidentally packed the remote control.“