By the hands of our mothers: An argument for how feminism has hurt women

Women have a place in the world, as do men. And because we were conditioned to put too tight a constraint on defining just what that “place” is, there is also a place in the world for feminism. Feminism recognizes that people have unlimited potential and capacities; so, for a person’s role to be defined by their sex is severely limiting. For many years, women have been fighting to achieve equal rights, unprecedented freedom and greater opportunity and there have been some unarguable successes in these endeavors. (WIC). In 1920, Congress passed the 19th Amendment to the United States Constitution, which states, “The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.” (United States Constitution.) During World War II, American women served in the Army and Navy. The Equal pay Act of 1963 gave women the right to earn the same as any man performing the same job and the Equal opportunity Commission, set into place in 1970, ensured women against sex discrimination in the work place. (WIC.) The ruling of Roe vs. Wade effectively put an end to back alley abortions and sanctioned a women’s right to choose whether or not to continue on in her pregnancy. The rights and their effects that feminism has allowed are great and are evident today with so many women in the workforce, in respectable and well-paying positions. They are evident in the availability of birth control pills. So, it would seem that we, as women, have overcome many of the prejudices against us. But at what cost have these rights come? Just as it was limiting for women to have their place, subjected to the role of mother and caretaker with little-to-no options provided, it is equally limiting to argue that for women to find her place she might cast aside the notion that a her aspirations are in tune with the role that she is biologically designed for. At least, with how far our rights have come, one would expect that women would be happier in their freedom today than they were in the prohibitive 50s. It seems though, that while the reasons have changed, women are still trapped. The irony is that in attempting to free women from the confines society set upon them, feminism has taken part in building the cage.

Feminists have fought for “equality”. They have fought long and hard but what is this equality and why do women want it so badly? As defined by the Oxford Concise American Dictionary equality is: “being the same in quantity, size, degree or value; (of people) having the same status, rights or opportunities; evenly or fairly balanced”. (Concise Oxford American Dictionary, 302.) So, which of these definitions of equality are we striving for? Men and woman are not the same in size or quantity. Women are generally smaller than men in stature and muscle mass. So how about value? This is certainly a more open question. Who is doing the valuing and what is it based on? Feminists argue that women are equally valuable, and as an example, offer that (In the assessment of men being stronger) “(People) ignored the fact that caring for children and doing such tasks as milking cows and washing clothes also required heavy, sustained labor.” (WIC.) This example only sustains the idea that what is valuable is equality as sameness, meaning that what men do is important (like heavy lifting), but woman are equal because they are capable of the same. But they are not the same; they are not mirror images of each other they are built differently because those differences are balanced and valuable. It is fair to say comparing men and women is like the cliché of comparing apples to oranges. The fruits are similar. Their basic shape is the same and they are equally valuable, but one is sweet and one is savory. No one argues that this difference makes one less than the other. No one needs to start a movement insisting that oranges can be baked in pies too. One has the right, the opportunity, to bake an orange pie, but it doesn’t make the orange any less valuable to never be baked in a pie. "Pretending we are the same as men –with similar needs and desires- has only led many of us to find out, brutally, how different we really are” (Crittendon) We do not try to define an orange with the qualities of an apple. We appreciate an orange for the qualities of an orange. So why does feminism try to define equality as sameness? Feminists declare that women are as smart, as strong, as disciplined as men and then cite examples in which women are acting as a man would. Men and women are not the same and never will be. In trying to prove our "sameness" we only brought attention to our differences. In that light the differences sometimes appeared as inadequacies. Had we simply agreed that though we are quite different we are equally valuable we would not be at the same crossroads, trying to prove just how tough, how strong, how equal we are.

Another place where feminism has become restrictive to women is in the guilt women feel for not availing themselves to what their foremothers fought for. If women seem ungrateful it’s not necessarily because they don’t believe in the ideas and ideals of feminism, it’s more that those things have become commonplace to the newer generation of women who grew up in households of working mothers. They grew up in a culture where feminism already existed. (Crittendon). Women know it’s a viable option to get an education and a career in a field that wouldn’t have even been considered possible 40 years earlier. They need only make a phone call or quick visit to the doctor to obtain the birth control pills that their mothers battled to have available. The younger generation does not (cannot!) appreciate these rights so much as they take advantage of them and it’s easy to see why. These young women were never involved in the fight. They were not impassioned by protest. They were simply handed these rights in the same way most of us know the right to go to school which is so easily available that not only do most not appreciate it, they are at times actually resentful of the right. The fact that these liberties are now taken for granted is bound to offend those who were part of the movement. The realization of that on the part of the younger generation only causes guilt over not making the proper choices with the rights they have been afforded.

It is not just guilt that the modern woman feels in the wake of the feminist revolution. She is also feeling torn. Every opportunity is available to women today. They actually have more opportunity than men, considering that a woman can fill nearly every professional role that a man can but a man can never take over a woman’s original role- as mother. Feminism made it so women to have every choice available to them and now they feel completely overwhelmed by all the choices. It is undeniable that feminism has provided us with more opportunity, but it’s also fair to say that it has made things more complicated. It is no longer a question of ‘Can I go into law?’, instead it’s, ‘Can I prepare for the LSATs while working part time to keep my three-year old in daycare so I can assure she’s being taken care of while I study?’ And, at the same time, ‘Am I ignoring what’s really important?’ Being all things leaves most women feeling that though they’ve been able to strive for a lot, they can never quite reach those goals. There are no longer one or two goals- raising healthy children, keeping a happy home- there are four, maybe six “main focuses” to a woman’s life- having the career and moving up in it, raising the happy family, keeping a clean house, preparing homemade meals and dealing with guilt over not appreciating how wonderful it all is.

Guilt and pressure aside, there is still a greater impediment that feminism has created. That is the devaluing of “women’s” roles. Motherhood has, for centuries, been women’s most significant profession until feminism fought for women’s right to be more “significant”. This movement implied that child-rearing is a less significant role. We were formed to fulfill the role of mother. Our bodies create new life within them. We birth this life. Our bodies make milk to nourish this new life and yet society still values "men's roles" -as businessmen, as leaders. It’s not that feminist didn’t tout the importance of what a woman, and only a woman, can do. It’s just that they simultaneously fought for women to be afforded the right to do what men do. This, in effect, is like saying ‘we want to do what you do because what you do is better’. In her book, What Our Mothers Didn’t Tell Us: Why Happiness Eludes the Modern Woman, Danielle Crittendon writes, “Should men and women be trying to lead identical kind of lives, or were there good reasons for the old divisions of labor between mother and father, husband and wife? If so, do these divisions make us “unequal?” (Crittendon) Feminism, in its quest to prove woman were equal, taught them to become "like men" to hold a valuable place in society. Feminism asserted that women can be bankers, but it didn’t tell them how. So those women looked to the only occupational role models they had, men, and modeled themselves after them. Women, in their quest for power, didn’t recognize it within themselves and instead tried on the proverbial “clothing” of a man, perhaps taking the term “power suit” a bit too literally. Singer and song writer Damien Rice makes a case against women making this mistake in his song “Women like a man”, in which he sings,

“You want to get boned. You want to get stoned. You want to get fucked like no
one else… You want to be a woman like a man… We’re bad what we do, stupid
fools.”

Rice is, in a sense, speaking out to the women treading in the wake of the feminist revolution. Women today are not just fashioning themselves after men in the work place. Most of the women Cittendon interviewed for her book expressed casual attitudes towards sex. Sexual freedom affects women in different ways both emotionally and physically as Cittendon points out: “There are 18-year-old girls who believe they can lead the unfettered sexual lives of men, only to end up in an abortion clinic or attending grade twelve English while eight months pregnant.” (Crittendon).

There is still the question of who adopts the women’s old post? Men are not clamoring for this kind of role reversal. Women still have to play the "old role" as well as the new-playing dual roles, living dual lives as both man and woman.

Maybe it wasn’t equality feminists should have been fighting for. It was integration, because in some ways the fight for equality caused disintegration of worth of women’s predetermined role. Men and women are different, equal in value but not the same. It was important for women to be able to do anything, but it should have been made clear that they didn’t have to do everything. Feminism was striving to fight the injustices put upon women instead of celebrating that they were already justified by the balance that nature intended to exist between men and women. Working as a whole; men and women, separate but together, create that balance. That balance is important to all things but feminism wants to fight against it by arguing that woman can do it all. The truth is there is no “one side” that can do that. There is no balance to yin without yang, no balance to light without dark, and no balance to good without evil. So, why would women be any different? Even feminism cannot create that balance and make women be both sides, all on their own.

Annotation Paragraphs for review

The Christian Right reaction to Piss Christ-

In 1989 "Piss Christ" caused great upset within the church and among Christian right politicians. Christians found the artwork offensive by consideration that Serrano had profaned a sacred object. Since it's likely that all Christians would consider the crucifix a sacred object, it's likely they would all view the work as blasphemous. (Casey.) "Serrano, they might consider, has in effect pissed on God." (Casey.) On May 18th of that year Senator Alphonse D'Amoto tore up a copy of the photograph inside the chambers of the U.S. Senate. This act thrust Serrano and "Piss Christ" into the limelight and spawned a culture war. Serrano became a pariah. He received hate mail and death threats. (Fusco.) When the Christian Right politicians took aim at the National Endowments for the Arts (NEA) for helping finance a $15, 000 grant to Serrano, the NEA revoked the grant. (Vogel.) Serrano's "Piss Christ" was the center of controversy again, nearly a decade later, when Dr. George Pell, Catholic Archbishop of Melbourne, applied to the Supreme Court for a prevention order against a gallery show that was to feature the art. The injunction plea was unsuccessful but the director of the national Gallery of Victoria, where Serrano's show was to be held, cancelled the show claiming concern for the safety of his staff. (Casey.)

Artist Intentions for Piss Christ-

Andres Serrano never intended to offend the Catholic Church with his photograph, "Piss Christ". The piece was originally just part of a series in which the artist photographed statues of different connotations submerged in various fluids. The idea evolved from an interest in social taboos and an obsession with religious symbolism. (Fusco) The use of bodily fluids parallels the church's preoccupation with "the body and blood" of Christ. (Casey.) Serrano uses the symbols of the Church because he is drawn to their aesthetics. (Fusco.)"I have always felt my work was religious, not sacrilegious," (qtd. in Fusco.)Serrano said when discussing the Christian Right's assertation that Piss Christ was offensive to the church. "The best place for Piss Christ is in a church," (qtd. in Fusco.) the artist declared. Serrano tells that he is drawn to Christ but takes issues with the Catholic Church. In a letter to The National Endowment for the Arts, Serrano wrote, "My Catholic upbringing informs this work which helps me to redefine and personalize my relationship with god." (qtd. in Casey.)

Interpretations of Piss Christ-

Piss Christ is a color photograph that depicts a crucifix lit with an amber, hazy glow. The amber light shines down from above onto the blurred figure. The effigy is somewhat obscured but immediately discernable since the crucifix itself is one of the most recognizable symbols in the world. The photograph is taken at an angle and the positive space is aglow save for shaded areas on the figure's face. The negative space employs shadow to outline the body and perimeter of the cross. The image is, without a doubt, striking, but it is still a fairly simple, ambiguous image. This description seems to be like much of the ecclesiastical art that one might find in Church, but Serrano's piece gets its amber glow from the artist's own urine. The beauty and simplicity the art countered with the use of an "offensive" bodily fluid make the art ambiguous and open. It is the title, Piss Christ, which makes the piece declarative. But even this “declaration” is open to interpretation. The title may be a literal "pissing on Christianity." (Casey.) Others may say that the urine represents our wasteful culture. Daniel Casey takes a different approach to the art, hypothesizing that because criminals were executed outside of city limits "(Christ) was literally expelled from society." (Casey.) In this sense the urine is a representation of the crucifixion itself.

Is shock art ART?

What is art? Is there any definition of art that tells us it has to be nice? If not, why is it that many groups and individuals feel strongly that art that offends should not be considered art. Some have called shocking art, such as "Holy Virgin Mary", "filth" or "obscene". Yet others have called these works "thought-provoking" and "cutting-edge". (Silberman) In 1997,in a gallery in Sweden, seven photographs depicting lurid sex acts from Andres Serrano's "History of Sex" show where destroyed by protesters. The attack was caught on tape, filmed by someone who came in with the attackers and later posted the video interspersed with images of Serrano's work and type over it reading "is this art?" (Vogel) The prominent debate seems to be whether or not "shock-art" like Serrano’s can really be considered art. The Concise Oxford American Dictionary defines art as "the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination...producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power." (Oxford 43). Still, "art" remains one of our languages most controversial words to define. That controversy has been centered on shocking art, or "shock art" for some time. People are used to experiencing shock. It is everywhere in the media and in a sense society has become numb to it. We have come to expect it. In fact, our society is so shock driven many artists feel the need to use shock to draw attention to their work. This is not a new tactic. Gericault's 1818, Severed Limbs and Goya's 1801, "Saturn Devouring its own children" were as shocking in their day as any "shock-art" works are today, but their "shock value has been "diluted over time."(Silberman) Today these works are viewed as artistic masterpieces and no one disputes whether or not they can be called "art". Artist may use shock to draw you to the work, but generally there is a deeper message beneath the shock or the shock is a method toward evoking powerful emotions. (Grayling) When asked about his work being reduced to shock value for right wing politicians, Serrano says, "I think that’s the dilemma for them. My work does more than just shock. It also pleases" (qtd. in Fusco)

What is Andres serrano's inspiration/ outlook on his artworks?

Serrano describes himself as a "conceptualist with a camera”, “an artist first and a photographer second.”(qtd. in Fusco.) He admits he is not technical with his photography and has no real interest in it except as a means to getting the final image. (Fusco) He began producing professionally in the 1980s. His earliest work concentrated on reworking Catholic iconography and throughout his career he has used symbols that are relevant far beyond the confines of the art world. Serrano's 1990 exhibit, "Nomads", featured 13 homeless people in New York City, most of whom were African-American. The show also featured a collection, titled “Klansman”, depicting members of the Atlanta, Georgia chapter of the KKK. The two exhibits together implicitly referred to each other. Serrano said he “liked the idea of people reconciling their feelings for one group against their feelings for another.”(qtd. in Fusco) Serrano presented these extremes together they became cyclical symbols in the sense that each could stand for the outcome of the other. Both stand as symbols for outcasts of society. It is through the implications of his symbols that Serrano approaches social issues. Serrano’s work deals with "the ambiguity of the abject and it's relation to the sacred." (Casey) Serrano strives to confront his public with social dilemmas, sometimes using blood, semen and menstrual blood (Fusco) and even corpses (Casey) in his work. Serrano likes symbols because although they are clear they are still open to interpretation. (Fusco) This suits him and his own feelings of ambivalence and confusion. If there’s one thing Serrano doesn’t like about symbols, it is being one, saying, “One of the things I am happy about in my life as an artist is that I am not a Hispanic artist. I am just an artist. (qtd. in Fusco.) Serrano is trying to connect with people in a positive way and have an impact on them. "I like to give people what they want and what they don’t want." (qtd. in Fusco.)

Text wrestling: Why Parents Hate Parenting

I'm not sure this is is the assignment! (?) the summary is in there somewhere. hopefully it's clear where the article is being cited. I have editing like grammar/ spelling/ etc to do still. Thanks for any comments, critiques, suggestions!

     "Life would be a lot easier if you didn't have him." my friend says of my infant son. I am appalled and give the mother of four an exaggerated frown in defense of my baby. I tell her I love my children and would never want to give them up. " Of course you wouldn't", my friend says, "but you have to admit it would be easier!"

It's true it's not easy being a parent.  In her article, All Joy and No Fun- Why Parents Hate Parenting, Jennifer Senior notes  "From the perspective of the individual, it's a mystery (why people have children)." Senior cites a number of studies wherein the general consensus is that parents are less happy than their childless peers.The studies found many reasons for this "hatred" of parenting. For instance the pressures of parenting are very different from what they used to be. One study claimed the dissatisfaction was due to the transition of children from workers and helpers to subjects of privilege. As one sociologist said, (they are) "economically worthless but emotionally priceless." The author also states that parents today spend great amounts of energy helping their children to succeed, perhaps,  feeling more pressure than the child does to become successful. 
 

     The article contains parental upsets such as guilt over their own absences, loss of freedom, trouble defining a course of action for parenting and also plain disappointment in the role. The author says that although parents today spend more time with their children than parents in past generations, they still feel  that they don't spend enough time.  Also, having children is one of the biggest changes a person can experience and for modern couples having a child is a great loss of "freedom...(and)...autonomy." Furthermore, Senior tells that for modern people there is already experience of professional discipline where there exists a right and wrong way. Child rearing is not so black and white so parents have trouble figuring out why their old method of operation isn't working. And then there is the issue of parental expectations, notes Senior. Couples who wait to have children often see them as a "reward" and can be surprised to find how difficult and unrewarding the "reward" is. 

     Senior does provide that the results of these studies "violate a parent's deepest intuition" that they will fall in love with parenting. So why would studies prove dissatisfaction when parents obviously want to be happy with the role? The author goes on to say that some believe it is the lack of strong welfare systems. If government took off some of the pressures of living, parenting would be less stressful and more enjoyable. Senior also relates that none of the studies  showed "the love (a) mother feels for her son" or the little, pleasurable moments parenting may provide. One study that Senior cited stated that the most depressed people were absentee parents, making the point that, "Technically, if parenting makes you unhappy, you should feel better if you're spared the task of doing it." One of the last points the author makes is this: The things that in the moment lower our moods can later be a great source of nostalgia and delight. In other words, parenting may be difficult now, but once the stress is forgotten, parents will look back on these times with joy.

     Senior says that most studies show people are unhappy, or at least less happy, as parents  and there are a lot of reasons why they could be. Then she tells us perhaps these studies are inaccurate for their inability to see the bigger picture. So, is the author's point that parents do hate parenting or that what seems to be a dislike of parenting is simply outside stresses taking their toll on the parent-child relationship? Is Senior's defense of parenting that studies are just incomplete?

      Maybe it is Senior's article itself that's incomplete. Senior cites studies and the opinions of "experts", which makes me wonder where  all the real parents are. Had Senior sat in on a Mommy-and-Me class or just stopped parents on the street to ask them how they felt about parenting, I'm sure she would have seen for herself how many people enjoy their role. I know if she were to ask me how I felt about being a parent, I certainly wouldn't give the impression that I "hate" it. Maybe Senior would recite findings from studies and I would have to tell her I agree that parenting is stressful. I do feel pressure and there is a loss of freedom and I don't mind. I love being a parent regardless of those things and I know plenty of people who would echo that sentiment. The closest Senior gets to this idea is when she offers that a psychologist suggested that the question of parental happiness comes down to how you define happiness and  perhaps in retrospective evaluations of one's life they find that there actually was joy there. But I think there is joy there now. Senior forgets to observe the look on a mother's face when she's coming down a slide with her son. Senior forgets to account for the thrill a father feels letting go of his daughter's bicycle as she rides on her own for the first time. Senior fails to capture any of this joy, this fun, these moments of... happiness!

     Expert opinions and study results have a value, but they cannot validate the emotion of everyday life of a mother or father.  There is more to the life of a parent than the minor stresses and disappointments Senior's studies describe. So parenting isn't all joy but most parents still have fun. Even if, as Senior states, "moment to moment happiness is elusive" in parenthood, most of us aren't miserable.  Ultimately, Senior’s sources came down to charted responses; studies with fill in the blank sentences that cannot possibly describe what it means to live a life with your children. I don't blame her. I can't describe it either. Parenting isn't "no fun" and it isn't "all joy". It is in between and changes from day-to-day, parent-to-parent. So, if we as parents can hardly describe it, the experts can't tell us how it feels. Jennifer Senior can't tell us either. Each parent must describe it for themselves. But I like to think a lot of parents feel like I do. "It" would be easy if if I didn't have children. "It" would be free. But that freedom and ease couldn’t buy me the pleasure I find with my children. No, "it" wouldn't be much of a life at all.

Annotation- Piss Christ--- NEVERMIND! It's just funny translation now

*This blog has been moved to be torn apart and put back together as a reasonable annotation (maybe)....

Here's something to look at in the meantime... Something was lost in translation here... I HOPE.

Shocking!

Andres Serrano is a "shock artist", a photographer who captures uncomfortable, distressing, sometimes inciteful images. Naturally, I thought one of his photos would make a great piece for the annotation project.
There was one piece I was already familiar with, but I thought maybe there was another equally provacative image that I'd rather write about. There are. Many. Unfortunately for me, Mr. Serrano has many works that are deserving of the adjective "shocking". I thought I was tough to shock.

I'm not.

It was the morgue pictures that got me.

babies.

I wrote a friend an email to try to let go of what I saw. it worked, but only for a moment. As soon as I hit send I was flashing the images in my head, again and again and again.

I meant to get an assignment done, but now I am just in tears.... which means two things:
I won't get anything done tonight.... except crying/ watching comedy central to stop crying
and
I HAVE TO do my annotation on an Andres Serrano piece. Just not one of those

Quick Break

This was called KILLING TWO BIRDS

This has nothing to do with my assignment at all. But it made me laugh...

Ethnography of Nine Year Old American Girls

Reflecting on my childhood, I recall a time of great wonderment. It reads in my memory like a beautiful fairy tale. Once upon a time there was a little princess. Her days were full of rainbows and laughter. Then, something happens. You must have seen it coming, this something, because every story needs some conflict. I recall that conflict, when, at the age of nine, some beast or fiend (time) magically transformed me from child to....something else. This "something else" was certainly not adult, nor teenager, nor even "tween"- a term used to describe per-adolescents between the ages of 8-12. It also wasn't child. Not anymore. That sudden switch from joyful innocence to something indescribable was a bittersweet recognition of change and loss. There was the realization that "childhood" was a definitive time period. I would not live in my dream world "happily ever after." For the first time, there was loss, not just excitement, associated with growing up. That was not the story I'd been told before bed at night.

If this time in childhood is not the fairy tale I had thought or hoped, what is it? What is the reality of it? I couldn't call upon my memory to answer this question. I'd be biased, and besides, that was a long time ago. So I asked the only one who could answer that question. No, it was not a magic mirror, but a child. A girl. A nine year old girl who could answer what it is to be a nine year old girl as she grows up- not in some land far, far away, but in a small, American town.

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess
Gianna has green eyes and a dirty-blond bob. She is petite, proportionate and perfectly comfortable in her body. She can do impressions of her friends and television characters and likes pointing out advertising tricks in commercials. She speaks quickly and punctuates thoughts with her hands when trying to explain an idea. She dances around the house and sings Regina Spektor's "Blue lips" with great confidence and way out of key. Regina is her new favorite singer, or at least one of them. Other favorites include Demi Lavato and Lady Gaga. Gaga sings, "that boy is a monster.... there's a monster in my bed"

"This song is about sleeping with a boy in your bed", Gianna tells me. I ask her how she got that idea. "She tries to hide it, but she says that he IS a monster and then says the monster is in her bed, which means the boy."

In a Land Far, Far Away
Welcome to the world of the nine-year-old female
Somerset is a small town in Massachusetts 44 miles south of Boston and 20 miles southwest of Providence. Gianna lives in a three bedroom cape on a corner lot in a quiet neighborhood. Of the 18,234 residents of Somerset, 9,599 are female. The town is 98% white. There are 5,320 family households. 1,964 of the households are families with children under 18 years old. 686 are households are held my females and 287 of those households had children under 18. Gianna lives in this place with her mother, baby brother and grandparents. She has moved three times in the past three years, but this has remained a constant HOME. Her father lives in an apartment in a neighboring town just ten miles away.

Gianna's backyard is her playground. The small pool serves as trampoline, wave machine, stage, and sometimes, another world. Gianna and her friends practice flips, hold handstands and volley beachballs.Sometimes children from the neighborhood ride their bikes over, towels in tow, to splash around in the pool. Usually though, these play dates require parental planning- and transportation. Her friend, Lexi, is dropped off by her father one afternoon, saying he'll come back to get her when the girls are done swimming, which could mean 9:00 pm. The girls live on the same block and are sometimes allowed to meet on their own to walk to each other's houses.

At Gianna's house, if they aren't in the pool, they are likely to be found in the clubhouse- a room above the shed equipped with screened windows, carpeting and electricity. Christmas lights are strung from the ceiling, casting a warm, comforting glow against the blue painted walls. The little room is lined with miniature furniture- a locker, a camp bunk and a Victorian day bed. Hung above the camp bed is make-shift hammock. All this is just big enough for her "girls"- her 18" American Girl dolls, Gianna's most prized possession. American Girls are fashioned after girls from different periods of American history. They come with a library of books about their history- fictional characters and circumstances in historic settings. Available for purchase with the dolls are historically accurate props. The company offers a teepee for Kaya, a Nez Perse Indian girl. Gianna rifles through the catalog, circling her wish list of items for her girls. She has three others apart from Kaya: Elizabeth- a colonial girl growing up in 1774 Williamsburg, and Julie and Ivy- two best friends in 1974's San Francisco. The dolls are kept in immaculate condition, and on many nights Gianna changes them into their nightclothes and tucks them into their beds. When her cousin, Rachel, comes over she brings her two American Girl dolls and duffel bag of accessories. They sit in the clubhouse for hours with the dolls. I am not allowed to take part in this ceremony. In fact, Gianna and Rachel are very quiet after they change the dolls' clothes and brush their hair, until finally Rachel turns to me and says, "Ummmm, can you please leave so we can play?"

Rachel has short brown hair, doe eyes and a solid, athletic body. She lives with her dad, mom and two little sisters, ages 7 and 3. She has a 22 year-old, half-sister whom she sees "twice a month". Her home is a modest, two bedroom ranch. The three girls share a bedroom. Rachel's sisters bother her and she will occasionally leave important things- like her American Girl Dolls- with Gianna so they won't be abused or damaged by her sisters. Rachel is passionate about softball and claims she is closer to her father than she is to her mother because "He lets me play softball and coaches my team". She thinks fathers, in general, are more fun and can associate with daughters better. Gianna disagrees. "Mothers are girls, so they understand. They've been through it all before", she argues.

Mirror, mirror on the Wall
self reflection
Adolescents are described as being self-conscious. If that's true, then these girls are still children.There is nothing that Rachel can think of that she would change about herself. She considers herself different from the girls at school because she likes sports. Gianna wouldn't change herself either. She considers herself "cool and fun" because "I can mess around but people still trust me". I ask Lexi about self-esteem as well. She considers the question about wanting to change herself. "Ummmm", she reflects longer than the others, maybe trying to find something. "Nah, nothing really," She finally answers. They are not completely unaffected by a new understanding of how they appear to others. They are much more aware of themselves and the impressions they make on people than they were at 5, or even 8. "I get embarrassed when I kiss Mommy and Daddy at school in front of my friends", Rachel confesses. For Gianna, it is just generally embarrassing to be around older kids and teenagers. "I feel really kiddish, so I just get real kinda quiet."

Stepping through the looking Glass
perceptions of loved ones
The girls don't yet seem to be at the point where they recognize the flawed, human side of authority figures, especially parents. At least not fully. If they do notice, they don't let on that they know. Nine-year-old Rose lives with her grandparents. Her mother lives next door to them. Rose sometimes wonders why she can't go live with Mommy all the time again, but doesn't appear to view her mother negatively because of it. She's been told her mother just needed a rest. "Do you see her a lot?" I ask.
"Um, not really. She works a lot" she says of her unemployed parent.
"How do you feel about that?" I ask, wanting to know if she has resentment that her Mommy doesn't mother her like she once did.
"I miss her, but she's just busy" she says simply. Then she walks away.
Gianna echoes this simple, unaffected attitude toward her parents' break-up: "Me and my dad have a very good relationship. He teaches me stuff and cheers me on at softball... I feel happy around him.He let's me do what I want. He doesn't punish me cuz he's not around much."
How come? I ask
"Cuz, Mommy and Daddy don't like each other. Well, Daddy likes Mommy, but Mommy only likes Daddy because Daddy likes me. They broke up 'cuz Momma wasn't feeling the love"
When did they break up?
When I was four or five. We lived in Fall River.
Then what happened?
Daddy still liked Mommy but Mommy didn't like Daddy because he didn't treat her how she wanted to be treated"
Then what?
Momma and me moved in with Vavo and Papa. Daddy moved back to Fall River.
He moved from Fall River to another place in Fall River?
No, first we all moved to Somerset together.
You moved to Somerset together after Mommy and Daddy were broken up?
Yeah I think so
So what made them move away from each other after that?
I don't remember.
Gianna gives up. It doesn't seem that she's been told all of these answers, but it also doesn't seem that she's really thought them through for herself either.

The Princess' New Clothes
fashion and other trends
Media influence plays a HUGE part in the behavior of 9-year-olds girls. Trends spread through the school halls like flames and right now, what's hot is SillyBandz. They are colorful, nylon bands that come in every shape imaginable. There are purple fairies, red peace signs, blue Red Sox logos, all of them stretched around the girls' wrists. They collect and swap them, maybe trading one of the boys a dolphin shaped band for a baseball bat band. One girl expresses her disgust with the trend. "all anyone wants to talk about is SillyBandz! It's so annoying!" She has a kaleidoscope of the stretchy bracelets running up her wrists. The girls want to look "cool". I make the mistake of telling Gianna she looks "cute" in a denim jumper. "I don't want to be cute" she tells me. "I want to be cool" I attempt to explain that by cute, I mean cool, but she interrupts that babies are cute and unless I'm implying that she looks like a baby I shouldn't describe her this way. They dress casually, mostly in jeans and t-shirts. Rachel and her friend, Julie, are big into mis-matched knee socks with different patterns, maybe one rainbow striped, the other: black and white polka-dots. Gianna likes to look "different", pairing a denim pencil skirt with a faded character t-shirt. She says everyone dresses differently and doesn't think there's a general style for 9 year old girls. "Some are sporty, some wear just pants and no skirts, some wear just skirts and no pants." All the girls say their mothers still shop for the clothes, but they have more freedom than they used to when it comes to dressing for the day.

Fairy Godmother Waves her Wand
how culture and society shape the 9 year old female
The girls' speech is quick, light and lilting. Lexi speaks so quickly, I need to ask her to repeat herself numerous times. The language echoes that of Disney Channel characters or stereotypical teenagers. "Peace out", Rachel says when parting ways with her friends. Gianna starts telephone conversations by asking "what's up?" and in tween fashion- Lexi holds an affinity for the word "like". When I ask her if she thinks her name suits her, she answers, "No.... cuz it kinda sounds, like, always sweet and always, like, always kind and always, like, nice and everything." The last three words of the sentence are so rushed I have to pause to make sense of what words the muffled sound may have been. Gianna is fond of asking "What the chiz?", meaning what the heck. She has no idea where the phrase came from or what chiz is, but it doesn't matter. She uses the phrase with out a hint of self-consciousness.

It is not just the fashion and music of pop culture that influences the girls. Their opinions also reflect today's general attitude toward differences of race and culture. I ask Rachel and Gianna about President Obama to see what they know or hear about our president. They don't seem to have any thoughts on the job that he does, just his race. Rachel answers the question like she's writing an essay on equal opportunities: "I believe that we in the United States of America should have men and women from other cultures that should be president"

Oh, Is President Obama from another culture?
Yes.
What culture?
Africa. I think he's an African.
Gianna is less diplomatic. "Yes, I like him. It's good to have a black president. Blacks are better than whites".

We Followed her to School One Day
education and social grouping in third grade
The school the girls attend is one of four elementary schools in town. Both third grade classes have 20+ students. School is "not fun", testing is stressful, homework is worse. They took Massachusetts Comprehensive Assessment System (MCAS) tests for the first time this year. "That's what we did every class: learn about MCAS."

There is "a lot of drama" at recess. "There is drama with Lexi and the boys" I ask them what drama is and am told I "don't even want to go there". Gianna immediately does her best impression of a girly-girl, saying in a high-pitched, breathy voice, "OMG! (Oh-My-God) Meet my boyfriend" and then in a deeper, casual tone says, "OMG! Meet my girlfriend."

"The drama is HORRIBLY bad" Gianna tells me and Rachel nods in agreement.
"Yeah, it's pretty bad, everyone's like 'I like someone should I ask her out?'" Rachel mimics.

Gianna agrees,"Yeah, like Caitlin and Ryan said they were dating and I said 'Oh yeah? Did you have a romantic dinner under the moonlight?' "

Fights make Rachel sad. "Casey pretends we're not even there". Casey is in their "group", one of about 6 girls who play together at recess. Depending on which girl you ask, the group members vary. Rachel claims an athletic looking brunette named Danielle is part of the group, but Gianna never mentions her name. Lexi, who names Gianna as her "best friend" lists the names of their group. Gianna, Jill, Casey (and two others), leaving Rachel out completely. Not only do they have a tendency to flip-flop friends, they sometimes don't even like them. Gianna names Casey as a friend she doesn't really get along with. Lexi names another girl, Lauren, as a "friend" she doesn't like. "cuz shes mean and tells lies about me and tells people I'm tough and to stay away from me". Then she stops and adds with a shrug, "sometimes we're friends."

The Little Mermaid's Treasure Trove
gadgetry
Two of the girls in class have their own cell phones. "Jenna has a cell phone and texts Danielle", Gianna tells me with absolute contempt. It does not seem to come as jealousy, but more of a parental judgment. Then she reasons that maybe she just has it for emergencies, which, apparently, is acceptable. Even though Rachel and Gianna don't have their own phones, they know how to do everything on them. They are like walking, talking user guides. When i tell Gianna I can't text in all CAPS she picks up my phone and within a minute has figured out how to do what I hadn't been able to in the four weeks I'd had the phone. Later, Gianna borrows her grandfathers phone and texts me. The technologically archaic phone requires Gianna to press one of the numbers up to three times just to type one letter. For instance, to type an L she must press the corresponding key, the 5, three times. "Lets go in the clubhouse" she types with intimidating ease. When they aren't borrowing cell phones they have other ways of communicating. They "talk" to each other on Pictochat. Pictochat is a text messaging program on the Nintendo DS- a hand held video game device. Rachel can't think of one kid in school who doesn't have a DS. The newer ones are "interactive" which means they have built in cameras. The devices can only send messages between them when they are within about a hundred feet of each other, but the girls are happy with that. They lie side-by-side on the clubhouse floor, quietly typing to each other a plan for watching a movie. It would be easier to just say these things to each other, but it wouldn't be as time consuming- or as fun. The point isn't really to communicate- it's that they CAN communicate. It's private and it's just theirs. Try as I might to spy on them, I can't involve myself in a Pictochat session the same way I can eavesdrop on a talk, and that's exactly what they like about it.

They can't remember a time before they used computers. They were playing PC learning games by the time they were three and are familiar with computers in ways most of their grandparents aren't. Rose and Gianna spend hours playing together on a web site called Poptropica. It is an interactive online game that assigns players an avatar to travel around Poptropica- a fictional set of islands- solving puzzles and getting various items and outfits. Players can change clothes, accessories, hairstyles, and facial expressions from other citizens of Poptropica with the click of the mouse. If they see someone they'd rather be, they click that Poptropican and choose which of their characteristics they'd like to take on. "Oh! i want to be her", rose says when she spots a Grecian goddess Poptropican. She clicks the character and chooses her hair, robe and plump pout, instantly becoming her doppelganger.

Meet Prince Charming
Perception of romantic relationships
Gianna has a crush on Cameron, a boy in class. "You know when you get that feeling, like someone just talks to you and it makes you so happy you tingle, like pins and needles? That's what my body does when i think about Cameron." He likes her too and had his friend ask her if she would be his Valentine last Valentines Day. She told him she would like to say yes, but her Mom wouldn't let her have a boyfriend. She confesses to me that she was somewhat relieved to be able to give that answer. "I don't want to hurt anyone", she says. She knows there is another boy in class who has a crush on her and she doesn't want him to feel bad. She kind of likes them both but learned from a bad experience in first grade, when she liked two different boys, that these things can get messy. In first grade, her boyfriend found out that she had accepted this other boy's Valentine. He "dumped" her and continued to hold a grudge through all of second grade. "it's not like I belonged to him" she defended. "But, I don't want that to happen again anyway. I don't think I want a boyfriend".

Rachel likes a different boy in class but gets upset when i ask if he is her boyfriend. "No!" she yells. "I'm only nine! Nine year olds don't have boyfriends". I look at Gianna to gauge whether or not she has taken offense to this. She gives me a big smile and raises her shoulders. Rachel does want a boyfriend someday. She will marry "someone I love" when she grows up. Gianna will marry "a kind, rich man"
Is married life hard? I ask them.Rachel says it is "very difficult." Gianna says it is "amazing and not lonely". Her future-husband "let's me go out"

Rachel: Like a GNO- Girls' Night Out? (this is the title of a Miley Cyrus Song)
Gianna (to Rachel): yeah
me: You need permission to go out?
R: You have to get their permission cuz they might have something to do that night"
G: If my husband is going out with a girl I don't know he needs my permission cuz I don't want him cheating on me"
me: What does cheating mean?
G: It's when you love someone and then they go and love someone else. It's loving two people at the same time who aren't blood related.

I want to question Gianna about where she heard about cheating and if she knows anyone who has cheated, but the comment sparks some different thoughts in Rachel: "I've been thinking about blood relation. When God zapped someone down and they had a baby the babies grew up and had babies together. So, we are all related." I can't ask about cheating after that. The girls are laughing, lost in the thought that all their classmates are related. Their eyes are wide as the rattle off a list of boys; possible suitors, who are also, as it turns out, their brothers.

Facing the Big Bad Wolf
fears
Psychologists say that by adolescence, children have exchanged irrational fears, like boogie-men, for rational ones like natural disaster, violence, rape and kidnappings. Rachel is afraid of "a lot!, spiders, thunder, strangers. I'm afraid of Halloween. Uncle Tony decorates his house with all skeletons and spider webs and sits outside dressed up like the Grim Reaper. I don't want to walk by it." Gianna thinks life was better when she was younger, "because I didn't know about things like LNG (liquefied natural gas) or lightening." Lexi can't think of anything she's afraid of at first, then finally says "sleeping over Gianna's". I ask what scares her at Gianna's. "Oh, I don't know, like ghosts or, like, monsters."

The House is Made of Straw
understanding consequences and learning to build with bricks.
These girls, at age 9, have an understanding that there are consequences to their actions. The three girls name tests as something that makes them nervous. Lexi, who is passionate about Karate, wants good grades so she can gain approval from her Shihon. Bad grades would be a sign that she's not applying herself to her studies. If she gets "too many bad grades" she could be suspended from participating in Karate. She didn't used to think about it. This year, the threat of consequence has kept her actively trying to maintain good behavior and good scores.

It isn't just the immediate future that they are now able to consider. The girls have much more realistic dreams of their future selves than they did just a couple years ago. As 7 year-olds they had dreams of becoming a professional soccer player, a singer or an actress. Now, Lexi and Gianna have hopes of becoming teachers, Rachel- a meteorologist. Rachel has even been considering what college she'll attend. "I'm going to Providence College after I graduate High school. It's only a 20 minute drive from home"

Happily Ever After, After All
(at least for now)
Rose and Gianna find a black beetle in the pool, bobbing and diving in the water. They scoop it up and quarantine it in a bucket, watching it closely. "What if this is some species no one discovered that's been around forever, like dinosaurs?"
"it might be worth, like a thousand dollars"
"A million!" Rose corrects her. They want to keep the bug in a tank until they find out what it's worth.

Only children have such hope- though as adults we have "adult hope" about "adult" things, like finding a soul mate. Adult hope is approached with a win or lose attitude and cynicism, already resentful of the knowing that this thing just isn't what we hope it will be. The grown woman wants Prince charming, but knows he doesn't exist.

As it turns out, this isn't an insect from the paleolithic era. It's just a regular bug. "People already know about it? Darn!", Rose says, still smiling. "I guess we don't get a million dollars," Gianna says, looking at Rose. They dump the bucket out and the beetle scurries away and disappears. "Let's go in the pool!" They run off, onto the deck and cannonball into the pool and spend the rest of the day as Fairy-Mermaids. Magical. They flutter their wings, treading water. Then, holding their breath, they dive down under the water. They see how long they can stay there.

Going to start the ethnography.... now-ish

ok, so maybe I just HATE beginning the writing process... I have these great ideas that NEVER get off the ground... ok, maybe they aren't even great ideas, but I wouldn't know because I don't know how to see them through.

I'm going to do my ethnography 9 year old girls. I actually have some notes already because a certain 9 year old girl has decided she does not want to have conversations!!! and I've begun giving her "assignments".... to type her feelings.

off to observe and interview...

hope they don't bite!

Assignment One- The Personal Essay

The tightness in my abdomen woke me. The wait was over.

In the bathroom downstairs, I filled the tub high with warm water and submerged as much of my body as I could. I cupped water in my hands and poured it slowly over my swelling belly. This thing that I'd watched take shape inside of me for all this time was now leaving. The little death this new life would greet me with was not mournful. It was like saying goodbye to the night as I welcomed the morning sun. I was not sorry for the sun, for it's radiance and warmth, but I saw that my world was changed. I would never have that night back-the quiet, the stillness, the rounded dark of the sky; I had to say goodbye.

There was a deep pain, a pulling like tendons being torn in half, that I labored through on all fours, every two minutes as it came.

I phoned him. "We are going to go soon".

************************************************************************
Three months earlier I visited the facility he'd been in for 22 days. I parked on the side of the gray, rectangular building. It had utilitarian feel, like a small factory where they make nuts and bolts, or some other little, cold, metallic thing that, alone and without purpose, is useless. On the side of the building was a chain-link enclosure with barbed-wire budding from the top. The enclosure was crammed with men, minimally unmuzzled and smoking cigarettes. They were like a kennel full of dogs at an over-crowded pound. Smoking hounds with sad, droopy eyes flapping down to their filters and pit-bulls with cigarettes speared between bared teeth, stopped barking as I came near. I shielded my accessible belly, averting my eyes toward the thick cloud of smoke hanging over them.

I sat across from him in a long room lined with chairs. The counselor pulled a chair between us. "Do you want to tell him your boundaries?" he asked.

Boundaries?... My money... My body...My time... My money... My thoughts... Everything had become a boundary. I wanted to name every thing in existence, item by item, until he understood that as much as he'd taken from me should be off limits to him. "You can't come into the delivery room unless you stay sober," I said.

At the sign-out desk a scrawny, tired woman was arriving to see her son. He'd been brought in last night, she told me, to detox here instead of in jail. She pitied my belly with her eyes, "Congratulations", she smiled. "When are you due?"

************************************************************************

One-hundred and twenty seconds to rest, then the pain pulled me back onto hands and knees, like a kid twisting limbs and calling "Mercy!". He arrived at the house hours after I called him. Muscles contracted. Fear gripped, digging deep, then released, pulsing, beat by beat. Overcome, I surrendered my boundaries on that bathroom floor. I just wanted his hand to hold. I raised my head and yelled to him.

He didn't answer.

I thought he would have been there by my side, desperate as he said he was to be there for the birth. I heard water run in the upstairs bathroom. Maybe he was nervous and sick to his stomach? He was up there a long time and I began feeling desperate and panicked. We would never get to the hospital. I needed help. When was he going to help?
Finally he came downstairs to hug our little girl in his giant, father-of-the-year embrace and calm her fears of seeing Mommy writhing as she was. I kissed her too and we made our way out to the car and left.

With no anesthesia, I felt everything.

When my son was born, I did not cry. I kissed his palms. I cradled him to my chest. I nursed him. I wrapped his little cherub hand around my finger and kissed him more. His father sobbed.

For two days, life was suspended in a tiny room facing west. The television set the walls ablaze with blue, green and white flickering flames. There was no such thing as night, only purpose.The shade stayed closed even as light prismed in through the slit. He slept on a cot under the window. His white T-shirt was tinged gray. It was impossible to rouse him. The tight, white room was strewn with debris; clothes, empty cups, crumpled papers, all littered around his cot. Disgusted, I lifted myself carefully from the hospital bed and shuffled over to clean up his mess. His filthy khaki shorts, the ones I'd washed week after week for ten years, were in a heap by his feet. I picked them up to fold. Their weight was unnerving. My arms ached against their weight, the dread and excitement. Buzzing, I wanted proof to hold in my hand. I wanted the lies to come to a head like a pimple, and burst right there in my hand. I wanted to finally allow myself feel the impact, no matter how grotesque the run-off. And I didn't really want any of that. I tucked the shorts against my flaccid belly and advanced uneasily to the bathroom.

Behind the closed door, my gut flipped in anticipation. From the first deep pocket I pulled a baseball belt, a pack of Newports,and a lighter. I held my breathe. My hand lunged at the second pocket. The room was pulsing with adrenaline. My fingers flicked against something plastic- an open 50-pack of syringes, their orange, plastic caps aligned in 5 imperfect rows. Deeper inside were two loners, their caps swimming loosely beneath them. The missing were discarded in a garage somewhere or maybe in the hospital parking lot. At the bottom of the pocket were two little folds of blue paper. Sweat beaded my lip. My heart beat banged against the bathroom walls so loudly I though the nurse would fly in. I unfolded both little papers, prepared to flush their contents. They had already been emptied.

I wanted to buzz the nurses, show them, call the police, have this dark mass removed from my room. I wanted to run in and pummel him, bruise him, break him. I wanted him to be punished. Rage was flooding my veins. I looked at my hands to see how hard they were shaking but they were perfectly still. I took a deep breath. I didn't want to deal with police or doctors or social workers. I didn't even want to deal with him.

My baby would be waking soon, craving. With precise fingers, I reloaded the pockets, folded the shorts into a perfect, neat square and set them on top of the bedside table. I straightened the room until the only thing out of place was the gray-skinned man sleeping on the floor. I stepped over him and made my way to the other side of the room. My son was folded in a white blanket, his origami arms and legs tucked in under the covering. I scooped him from his pram and sneaked him into my bed. I cuddled him. I kissed his full moon face a hundred times. I sang him a lullaby and pressed my lips against the folds of his fat little arms.

We were leaving the hospital late in the day. I just packed what was mine. The mess he made wasn't my concern anymore. We drove home in my car- Mommy, Daddy and baby boy- the little family on way to their new lives. When we got to my house he helped me unload my car, then he got back into it and drove away. It didn't matter.I didn't need that car. The autumn air was crisp and clean. Fresh. New.I inhaled deeply and let it go. My daughter, my son and I swung on the porch swing. "Hello little baby", she whispered into the delicate, pink shell of his ear. The sun would be setting soon. My world was changed. I held my children close and welcomed the rounded dark. I thanked the night. I said goodbye.

I posted on the angel site that I was feeling unsure about using "negative" experiences to write about, and Professor Pappas posted this: http://meredithhall.org/biography/interview1

All I had to read was Miss Hall says, "those obsessive images (the ones she sees in her mind over and over)... are about difficulties in our lives... these images are jarring to us because we're not at peace with them...writing is a way to come to terms with that."

That makes my mind up for me, that little comment, because I feel like this is something I want to take the time to dwell on for one selfish, uninterrupted moment and just purge my system. I'll just have to purge little by little. I wouldn't want to get it out, only to look down and realize I'd only made a mess of the page.

I feel hopeful, because really considering putting my time into this hurts my throat with a swelling so strong I had to bring my hand to it. I'm not expecting that the reader will be moved in the same way... but, if nothing else, I can put my hand down.

How about it...

What to write?... What to write?...What to write?

I told a friend I planned to write about my pregnancy with my son and going through a breakup at the same time. My friend said, "everyone writes about breakups."

"Yes, but not a pregnant breakup!" I argued

He suggested I write, instead, of how my relationship with my daughter has changed since my son was born. Yes, I'm sure more "readers" would be able to relate to that situation. But, here's the thing...if I write about pregnancy I get to throw around biology terms and "use" them to kind of "back up" the emlotional element (if I can pull that off!)

so, we'll see. I'm going to get started "researching" and see what comes up.

What to write...

I am playing around with what to write for the personal essay. I'm afraid I don't know how to not be overly dramatic when dealing with any mildly dramatic material. Maybe I just won't write about anything dramatic....? Is the point to bore your reader to tears? If so I think i'll write about what I spend my days doing. I can't even been funny about it, like those cool moms who make horrified confessions that they can't, after all, be perfect and despite their best efforts they gave in and let their kid have the toy/ binky/ happy meal they swore they wouldn't get for them. I spend my days doing dishes. running errands. taking care of my kids and not having anything close to a revelation about how perfect or imperfect I am as a mother. So, what shall i tell you about? Ironing? Would you like 500 words on my skills as an ironing-maiden. Kill me, why don't you?

No drama-rama. No bore/ snore. So, what are my other options? If I have to be entertaining.... I'm going to have to get a new life... and fast. I have to live it AND write about it by Sunday!

I'd better get going.

Sentences

Our class assignment is to post sentences. I signed on here to post sentences. I tried to accept the invite to post sentences. Guess what I can't do???

Yup, you guessed it. Juggle.

or post sentences on the class blog... because I can't accept the invite. So, for now, i'll post my sentences here:

"The deeper the sorrow carves onto your being, the more joy you can contain." -Khalil Gibran

"Ever since happiness heard your name, it's been running through the streets trying to find you."- Hafiz

"When I was little I had a mood swing set"- Steven Wright

"Man is a complex being; he makes the deserts bloom and lakes die"- Gil Stern

"People in a temper often say a lot of silly, terrible things they mean'- Jane McCabe

"The best mind-altering drug is truth"-Lily Tomlin

"Everybody knows that you've been faithful give or take a night or two" -Leonard Cohen

Most of those are "sunbeams" from the Sun magazine http://www.thesunmagazine.org/

I could go on forever. But. I will wait until I can ramble properly, on the page that I want to.