What is a Woman?

She casts new life.

She establishes new people.

Neglect her, and she sinks.

Harm her, and she’ll freeze your bones.

Found her.

Sister Zita

Today is St. Zita's Day, my patron saint.  I went looking for her ripples in the world as part of my celebration and found this sister who persevered under Communist oppression.  You can learn more about this nun and many others at the Interrupted Lives Exhibit.

I found lots of nuns who identified with St. Zita and it's amazing the things they've done.

My Personal Fab Five

Everybody needs good advice from their friends.  These literary figures have long been my good friends, so much so that I call them Aunt or Uncle depending.  These are not my favorite saints.  That's a whole different thing.  This is more about camaraderie than hero worship, though I'll admit to a little hero worship.

Tante Corrie (Ten Boom)
The consequences for her sympathy for others are horrific, but no matter how much else she lost, she never lost this basic instinct of caring for others in trouble.  I want to be as brave and forgiving as she was.

 Auntie Jane (Austen)
She pushed herself to write for publication, but never lost her own voice.  I want to be published.

Aunt Flan(nery O'Connor)
She woke me up and made writing seem like something worth doing.  I never understood what redemption meant until The Violent Bear It Away.  Now I can't stop looking at it--through parted fingers, but still.

Uncle Jack (C. S. Lewis)
His tape started running in my head when Dad started reading me The Chronicles of Narnia at two and finally left off reading me Lewis with That Hideous Strength when I was off to get married at twenty-three.  I marvel at how he shapes my mind, down to a fascination with medieval literature.  I hope to learn his kindness.

Uncle Frebby (Frederick Buechner)
He is my only living model, which was quite a comfort when I was lonely.  He is so patient with his faults and honest about discussing them.  I grew up in a world where flaws were hidden or everyone was too intimidated to state the obvious.  I want to be that genuine. 

Anti Virgin

Diana's innocence has lost it's value and is now sold as regrettable inexperience. Kate's experience as a live in lover is pointed to as wise and helpful. It does seem that Kate will be doing a better job since she's lived the demanding life she has married into, but I can't help regretting the loss of respect for purity.

Diagram of a Woman's Mind

A friend sent this to me. I can't figure out how to post it so it is animated like the version she sent me, but the idea is right on. All those little blue balls are ideas or decisions a woman has to make. We seldom have the luxury of thinking about one thing at a time, so we've made a strength out of managing whatever presents itself. I had a lot of fun with this thing.

Thinking

My ideas about God are fairly simple. I believe He exists. I hope He is good. By definition He is incomprehensible. If He is good, then He cares about me. If there is a God, He is good and He cares about me, then things must be better than they seem, even if that is incomprehensible. You don't have to be a Christian to believe that. I choose to be a Christian because if I were a being like God I would make a gesture like Jesus. I would let you know that just like the suffering is killing you, it is killing me too, and just like it wasn't really killing me, it isn't really killing you either. If God is the kind of being I hope for, then He has demonstrated His compassion. He has shown us the truth. Things are better than they seem.

Confessions

When I was six or seven years old, the school I attended announced a poster contest. Students were to create posters about their adult ambitions and the most artistic effort would win. I knew what I was going to draw. Me at a podium speaking into a microphone with a gigantic flag as a backdrop. I wanted to be the President of the United States. Before the ink was even dry on the mental version of my poster, I was informed that such roles were reserved to men and that God didn't make or gift women for leadership roles such as President of the United States.
Here we are thirty years later and we have a woman seriously contending for the office I coveted in grammar school, and I have to confess I'm sorely tempted to vote for her as a way of finally voting for myself. I won't though. She's pro-abortion, and we can't have that. I would wonder why there isn't a woman of right conviction to oppose her contending for the Republican nomination but it is obvious that its because the same men who discouraged me fill the ranks of the Republican Party.
Women have so much more to contribute than the fundamentalist groups within Christianity are willing to admit. Sometimes I think one of the strongest pulls of Catholicism is their firm conviction that Mary's little yes was anything but little, and that the most powerful event in history took place because a woman said yes. I love how my new church is filled with women, women leading. No, there won't be a female pope, but there certainly are female saints and personally I think they count for more than popes anyway.
God does make and gift female leaders, and I'm one of them.

Miss Ford

"My teacher is the most beautiful teacher in the whole world." Trissa made this declaration a week after school had started. I had heard that they'd hired a new second grade teacher, but I hadn't had the chance to make her acquaintance yet. My husband teaches sixth grade at St. John's where Trissa attends second grade. For several years, Bill has driven our neighbor's daughter to and from school so that her mother could work in the city. This year Trissa spends an hour with us each day after school. I enjoyed Trissa's chatter as much as she enjoyed my cookies and milk.
Trissa was full of gossip about the elementary school. The new music teacher had introduced some gospel music which had Sister Angelica riled up. One naughty boy had peed in the teacher's water fountain. And, of course, Trissa had endless praise for the most beautiful teacher in the world, Miss Ford.
Miss Ford has thick black hair she let the children brush for hours and hours every recess. Miss Ford told the best stories and played the most exciting games. Miss Ford had warm brown skin the color of toffee candy. The way that Trissa described it I wondered if she handn't been tempted to taste her teacher. A sweet blush told the answer.
I questioned Bill about this divine being and he had barely spoken to her. "She seems nice enough. She has excellent control of her classroom." and that was all Bill had to say about Trissa's goddess. The less Bill said the more intrigued I became. I began to press Trissa for details which she was delighted to supply. Miss Ford has deep brown eyes like Barney. (Barney is Trissa's basset hound.) Miss Ford packed her own lunch and it always smelled delicious. One day she had shared her chocolate cake with Trissa and Trissa had never tasted better cake.
What did Miss Ford wear? Miss Ford wore lovely, flowing gowns in floral prints. Trissa wasn't sure but she thought Miss Ford sewed them herself. Miss Ford had beautiful handwriting. I saw it on all of Trissa's papers. There was always a sweet note and a doodle at the top. The coup de grace was Trissa's field trip. Trissa's class was making the annual pilgrimage to Ye Olde Tyme Village to study the pioneers. Because Trissa's mother worked and couldn't drive, Trissa was given the exalted priviledge of riding with Miss Ford. No preparation for this miraculous event was overlooked. My offered cake was turned down in favor of extra Oreos. Trissa though of Oreos as the food of the gods and only Oreos were fit to share with her divine teacher. The right outfit, a floral print, was carefully laid out. Trissa barely slept for days before the trip. Bill's class was going as well, so I asked if any of his students were similarly excited.
"No," he'd said. "They've all been the the Village before and they're busy feigning boredom. Sixth graders aren't given to hero worship though a few of the boys are sweet on Miss Ford." Here Bill smiled a funny little grin that set my radar off.
"Do you need extra chaperones, sweetheart?" I asked.
Bill raised his eyebrow. Sixth graders give me hives. After a disasterous, class camping trip early in our marriage we'd agreed I needn't pretend to love his students. Bill happily shuttled between his two worlds and before this year I'd had no interest in school. Trissa's little infatuation had changed all that. Bill's co-workers had all been married or nuns previously. I'd never worried about any of those sensible, unpretentious ladies, but Miss Ford, the divine, had me worried.
I packed Bill's lunch for the field trip extra carefully, including a generous slice of my triple decker, chocolate and raspberry cake. The slice was big enough to be a generous treat, but not big enough to share. I made a perfect tuna fish sandwich wrapped in wax paper just the way his mother had done for all his school lunches. I included a thermos of coffee and a frozen juice box to keep everything fresh. It was quite the feast, and I lingered over our goodbye kiss in ways I'd neglected recently.
Bill kissed my forehead gently. "I'll be back at 3:30 on the dot, dear."
"I'll be waiting." I said.
Truer words I'd never spoken. The morning crawled toward lunch and the inevitable comparison of lunches. Of course mine would triumph, I had five years of fixing Bill's favorites. I knew what he liked. Still Trissa had praised that woman's cake to the high heavens. Maybe Bill was tired of his mother's tuna fish. My anxieties grew all afternoon until it seemed that 3:30 would never come--until it came, and went. No Bill, no Trissa, no reassuring tales of Miss Ford's disaserous first field trip. It was just me and way more of that chocolate raspberry cake than I care to admit until Trissa's mother came by at 4:30 and we both began to worry.
We piled into her Chevy and drove over to school where we were both greeted by an ecstatic Trissa who'd had a lovely day. Bill's car had broken down, so she'd been waiting on the playground for him to return or for her mother to come.
I hugged Trissa and thanked her mother for the ride. I'll stay and wait for Bill." I said.
Trissa's mother gave me a knowing smile. She'd heard more about Miss Ford than she cared for too.
It'd been a few years since I'd visited St. John's. The playground seemed in good repair, but I didn't feel like sitting on the teacher's bench. I wandered into school and over to Bill's classroom. Like everything of Bill's his classroom was tidy and efficient. There was some clutter that was obviously field trip related. I sat for a while until my curiosity was uncontrollable, and I walked down the hall to Miss Ford's second grade classroom. A woman's touch was everywhere in the room. Sunny yellow curtains billowed in a gentle breeze that ruffled the little pots of marigolds the children were growing. Spring themed bulletin boards abounded. The children's desks were in cozy clusters and Miss Ford's desk was as neat as a pin. She was remarkably professional for a first year teacher.
I decided to head down to the office in hopes of some news about Bill and his car. As I headed toward the office, I bumped into a new secretary. She was very professional in her appearance, well, for the most part. I found the Hawaiin print mumu a bit much, but her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and she had a warm smile.
"You must be one of Mr. Walker's parents. I have been trying to locate his class list so that I could call the parents for the last half-hour. I have never felt so completely inept. I didn't even write down which students were riding in his car. I have a student of my own waiting on him for her ride home. I'm just going down to check on her now. Come along with me and I'll fill you in on all the details. I'm Evelyn, by the way, Eveyln Ford. I transferred over to fill the second grade vacancy. St. Ambrose was a little sparse this year."
It was a good thing Evelyn like to talk because I couldn't seem to find my voice at this shocking moment of revelation. Trissa's goddess was a short, squat, middle-aged woman in sensible shoes. My rival offered me a ride home which I gratefully accepted.
We found Bill at home bewildered by my absence. I invited Evelyn to stay for dinner, but she had other things to attend to.
Bill kissed my forehead. "Feel better?"
"You could have told me." I said.
"Told you what, that Evelyn is a lovely woman and an excellent teacher. I thought I did." he teased.
"Oh, shut up, and kiss me."

great stories for girls

The Ordinary Princess This book is one of the beloved relics of my childhood. I love the story because it is the princess' ordinariness that makes her so extraordinary. While all of her sisters are the protypcial princess, Amy, the seventh princess, is gifted with ordinariness by her fairy godmother. The story is enriching because it teaches young women to value themselves just for themselves.

The Princess Knight Some of us were raised to be like the boys. We know how to fight like a man. Here is a cautionary tale for the fathers who raised us so. Don't expect us to forget all that and ride happily off with a man in a tin suit.

Knuffle Bunny Fathers occassionally underestimate the importance of various possessions or talents to their daughters and sad mishaps of the sort dramatized here take place. Learning to listen when it's only Knuffle Bunny at stake can save all sorts of trouble later.

Harriet the Spy (book)
Harriet the Spy (movie) This is an Ur text. If you want to discover what happens when you try to deprive a gifted young girl of her outlet, this is your book. Not only does Harriet fall apart she takes her world with her. Never underestimate the power of a girl.

The Quest for Camelot This undervalued gem exhalts a balanced relationship between the sexes. A young girl with dreams of knighthood dancing in her eyes finds the true fulfillment of her childhood dreams in partnership with a blind knight. The story is a little overambitious tackling environmental causes as well as gender equity, but still a very worthy tale on an undeveloped topic.

Dreamer My father introduced me to this movie. Though the part was originally written for a boy, the change of gender enriches the story. The power of a young girl's faith to carry her father's dreams is inspiring, and Dakota leaves us certain that she'll also be able to reach for her own. This is a powerful story brought to life by a powerful actress. A warm family feature that gives girls a real boost without dishonoring the contributions of fathers.

Dummies

for Virginia Woolf

I called myself dumbme
It was too early for mumme
insignificant difference

I was sent off to studhe
It was called debriefing
you could miss or Miss

I chose to Miss
It was just pretendshun
he Mrs'd me so

I thought their voices could speak four me
You may call it infancy
dumb misstake

I heard my cryit amplified
It was childrend
mum was the word

Dumbmes studhe ventriloquism.

Baby Barrage

I have been carrying around a baby shower invite in my purse for several days. I do so because it's the only way for me to remember something so out of my norm, and because it's such a treasure. I don't understand the current rolled-eyes cynicism of women toward baby showers. Granted, the genre could use some livening up. I could personally pass on the mini-diapers with fake baby poo pins that were part of the charm of my last baby shower. Then again, 10 years straight of daily diaper changes has really killed any buzz baby poo may have held for me.
That conceded, baby showers are still wonderful. You have the neophyte mother, her adorable belly squirming with new life. You have the supportive friends, equal parts jealousy and pity. Finally the soon-to-be grandmothers who are happy to be getting a baby without all that labor and delivery. There's cake and ice cream, and hilariously useless gifts. I love these. I love watching the mother who was really hoping for the baby wipe's warmer force a smile as she opens yet another package of receiving blankets. I get a little teary when she tries to seem pleased when that box she was sure was the video monitoring system is really a giant supply of homemade cloth diapers in a dazzling array of cartoon character prints.
Personally, I favor buying gifts for the mother. The baby will get what the baby needs. Babies are notorious for getting their wily little way. Mom though is often neglected. I recommend a basket of stuff for after she gets home from the hospital, or if you are a close friend or relative a small gym bag full of treats for the hospital stay. If you've been through child-birth and it's aftermath, you know what she needs. A quick and easy shower gel and scrubby that can convey some of the comfort of a good soak when you're really just lucky to get wet is helpful. A supply of nutritionally sound cookies for late night nursing is a nice personal touch. A pair of books explicating both the let them holler until they give up method and the give up and take 'em into bed with you method of getting some sleep will meet needs she doesn't know she has. Finally, a sophisticated blank book in which she can safely record some of the darker musings motherhood will inspire may keep past-partum depression from blooming.
To sum up, we can stop rolling our eyes at baby showers because we can also stop creating showers based on male perceptions of the impending event. We don't have to waft around on artificial happiness. We can embrace the savory reality of motherhood, and gift accordingly. Ya-Ya.

My Way

For most women my age it's their biological clock that's suddenly gotten noisy, but for me it's my ambition. I already have five children. That just might be all the noise I need. I decided somewhere in the midst of college to put reproduction first and career would come after. There was some research that indicated that women's careers didn't really take off until their 40's, and by then logic would indicate that sexual harassment should be slowing down, so I planned my life exactly backward according to conventional wisdom. So far, it's been a great plan. The kids are all well and healthy. I really love being a full time mom, but forty is getting closer. It's going to be time for me to start focusing on a career. I'm almost certain what I want to do now that I'm growing up, but it's still a little fuzzy. The thing I overlooked as I planned was the insecurity I feel just getting started now when everyone else has been out there establishing themselves. My friends have terrific resumes, and I am just getting a clue. On the other hand, I can savor the process in ways I wouldn't have. I already have a position as a person of value, my career will simply be icing. I'm not overwhelmed by twin demands because I have some experience managing home and family. I can create a career to fit my life instead of trying to fit a baby into an established career.

When it all becomes boggling, I remember that this is a rare opportunity I've been handed. I have had the chance to choose my own life. For better or worse I got to make my own plan and so far, I've been able to see it through. What other time in history did women have such freedom? If my life is a failure at least I got to try it my way. Most of the time that's more than enough.

Double Minded

A Woman's Touch

reach for the moon
let it bleed through your fingers
leaving only the stain of ambition

Ambition

A book of verse before the hearse
To comfort mankind, I leave behind