I'm gonna say it out loud

Bikinis really bother me. I don't like them. I don't like them especially when I see young girls -- tweens, teens -- wearing skimpy and skimpier versions of them to attract male attention. Lately, I've seen pictures splattered all over Facebook -- or, as some of my relatives call it, "The Facebook".

Take a look at that word now, will you?

Facebook.

A compound word. (You would have learned about those in grammar, that foreign ancient subject in school days of lorn.) First word being face. Meaning that upper part of your body; the front of your head. Second word being book. (For more accurate definitions with those fancy spelling and phonetic thingies, seek out your favourite on-line dictionary.)

On the Facebook, I like to see pictures of happy, sad, grumpy, humorous faces. I like my feed to be a welcome sort of, open book, to the faces and lives of my friends and family.

It's not called "Boobbook".  I don't need to see people's knockers hanging, barely suspended by dental floss like pieces of material. I do not need to see the supposed red carpet pose (complete with duck face), as these scantly clad people stand next to a spruce tree at the local 'beach'.

But, I digress...

It's not just about my Facebook feed. It's about the image that these females are portraying to young men. It's about the seeking of attention... full body, gawking, LOOK-AT-MINE-ME! attention that these females are seeking to draw to themselves. Image. That's it. Maybe it's not the bikinis I loathe, but the foreboding image that comes attached with them... to them.

I have a young daughter. I've felt the need to start talking to her at this early age about bikinis. We talk about why people wear them. We talk about swimming at the beach. The need to be comfortable. The need to be comfortable in the skin you're in. We talk about skin cancer. We talk about drawing unnecessary attention to one's self. We talk about tankinis and how they can show a person's athleticism and can still look "cool". We talk about a lot of things when the topic of bikinis comes up, or when we're at the beach.

Maybe I'm just a prude. Maybe I see bikinis in too much negative light. But, in my value set, I see the need to educate my daughter openly about the choices we make as females, the images that prevail, the images that are portrayed, the hurdles to come, and the hurdles that have been overcome.

And, she and I will visit this blog post 7 to 10 years down the road if we have to.
It's a long road... and as I walk it right now... I don't like bikinis.

What I lawned today... I mean... learned today...

Did you learn anything today?
I did.

It was a long time coming. It was a first for me. But, I did it!
I learned  lawned  learned a few things today:

1. A big orange lawnmower has a clutch that you need to employ before you start the stupid thing.
2. After several attempts at starting the stupid orange thing, and finally engaging it, you will see puffs of black smoke. (Smoke can't be good... especially black.)
3. A lawnmower has a reverse option... which, evidently goes relatively fast out the garage door.
4. When shifting from reverse to forward (using aforementioned clutch, of course),  be sure not to have the other gear thingy at the rabbit. 

5. Hills are not your friend... especially if you're short and not as heavy as your husband. Gravity comes into play lifting one's arse off the seat in a sort of leverage action, which, then, causes the lawnmower to stall because it thinks you have fallen off the seat.

6. Children wave... then laugh and point... when you're on one of these rigs.

Nonetheless, one thing remains...

I did it. I mowed our acreage for the first time...

and I'm sure he'll come home and need to "fix it".

I'm All Glitz & Glamour...

... just look at me now.

I can rock a pony tail for days at a time.
Dark circles? Nah, last night's mascara.
Finger prints tell the stories of my children in the dust on the piano.
No matter how often I ride use my broom, the tumble weeds prevail.
The laundry's done... it just hasn't grown legs to get out of that pile.
There are stains on the couch. (A new one is redundant at this point.)
There are toys on the couch (and every other sitting surface, for that matter).
There's clutter everywhere, even though I de-cluttered 7 spots this month.
I forgot to use those coupons.
I missed the hours at the paint store.
That picture's not hung.

But, in it all, I'm all glitz and glamour because there's happiness... and fun... and spontaneity...




...and we all can clean up when really needed. 

Please remember the little steps...

A lot of people have their soapboxes they stand on. Fine. Good. These people have something that they're passionate about for whatever reasons. Good. Good for them. But, when their mission becomes so narrow-sighted and so self-proclaiming, often all that's left is a loud, beaming and boasting voice that loses it's message... that loses the passion... that loses respect and its audience sometimes, too.

It's when people lose their focus (or maybe some never really had a true one to begin with), that I wish they'd take the time to think of certain aspects of life.

Think of a baby learning to walk. First they need the support of others or other things. They gain confidence. Then, they start to take those little stumbling steps forward. Still with the encouragement and support of others. Finally, before too long, those little steps become leaps and bounds and full-fledged running.

But, guess what? If it wasn't for those little steps... there wouldn't be the running.

Sometimes all people have the ability to contribute (for whatever want or reason) is the little steps. Don't judge the little steps. Don't criticize. Encourage. It's with these little steps that a move forward can occur.

Did you ever hear the pitter-patter of many little feet? What better sound? All of those little steps, moving together toward progress. Toward a movement. Toward something special.

You can't deny the quiet, achieving beauty of the little steps.

Toxic People

When I was younger (in junior high and high school) I used to write poetry. A LOT of poetry. It was my outlet; it was how I dealt with my teen angst, my coming of age, so to speak. I remember one night sitting at my best friend's house and her mom throwing topics at me to see what kind of poems I could come up with based on an idea for a title only.

One of the titles she gave to me that night was "Toxic People". I remember in my naivety having to ask what that meant. (I think I was thinking of acne or something.) However, once she explained what "toxic people" were, the poem emerged. It was an ok poem, by some standards, but I'm sure it showed my limited life experience.

As I've been sitting here tonight, I was reminded of that poem... thinking about the toxic people in my life that I can't escape. I've tried. I've put them aside as best I can. I've risen above. But, the bitter reality is they are always lingering in the background... wandering through some insignificant aspect of my life... creeping into my thoughts, most times when I want them there the least.

I know they are toxic because they have a lasting, unescapable affect. I've tried. Yes, I've tried. But for some things, not even a well-thought of, well-written poem will put them to rest.



image from: http://thetruthergirls.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/leroy-ny-neurological-disease-outbreak-could-be-linked-to-toxic-spill/