There is something comforting about living in a house where your uncles, grandfather, father and brothers built the kitchen cupboards from scratch out of pine. We haven't always lived here though. My grandfather was the youngest of 9 children. He was born in this house he told me; just as my mother was born in the last house I lived in. He grew up here. But he had moved on, as had everyone else who grew up here, save two single uncles whom I never knew. Earl and Charlie faithfully kept the Jersey dairy until their health failed and they died. My grandfather had established himself elsewhere when he inherited the place. Many times, I heard stories about the boxes of overalls in the attic - that Earl and Charlie wore the same ones, never washing them, until they were unusable, and then stored them in the attic. And about the smell of tobacco spittoons. Grandmother tried to clean up the house, but they rented it for years. The farm grew over in multiflora rose bushes, a briary weed.
Until age 11, I grew up in a transient way. My parents were teachers, trying to advance their careers by moving from district to district throughout Ohio every few years. The summer I completed 5th grade, they decided to settle themselves on the family farm, however, and we moved here. We bought a Jersey calf, and my father set about attempting to restore the farm of his childhood. I spent Saturdays in the orchard crawling under rose bushes with a chain and wrapping it around the woody, thorny base so my father could uproot plant after plant with his tractor. I went to school in the fall after a summer on the farm with scratched, wirey, skinny arms from haymaking. My disco-happy 70's preteen classmates thought I was "poor." Until I had a slumber party in the hay loft, atop my pride and joy - the loose hay pile I'd helped put there. And then I was cool.
I didn't stay here. Like all kids who grow up on a farm, I wanted to get far away from the work; the yelling; the "oppression." I went to a state university and played too much. I got married, had children and divorced. Alas, my parents aged, and no longer wanted to stay. But they didn't want to sell it either. So I moved here to "keep" it for a few years. And I'm still here. After being out in the world - out where people tend to move every year or three and follow jobs around the country; where new houses are built; where food comes mostly from the grocery store, there is something comforting about being here. It feels like the responsible thing to do to keep such a place; like something sacred.
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A Quaker Sort of Lent
Difficulty is created in avoiding the holidays. I've tried it. Years ago, I took on a somewhat sarcastic approach to Lent, but it was also a very spiritual one. After the dissolution of my first marraige and in the midst of intense counseling to regain my self-worth, I decided to give up meat for Lent.
The idea of doing this was centered around the exploitation of women. It all fit together in my complex mind. Where does exploitation stop? If men can justify the way they treat women, does that have something to do with our justifying eating meat, or even plants? It was a particularly spiritual time for me. It was sarcastic because I don't, and have never prior, cognitively observed Lent in any meaningful way. Lent was a convenient 6 weeks at an opportune time for me to delve more deeply and to concentrate on mulling over this new-found focus. Most Christians would understand without too much questioning, if I told them I had given up meat for Lent; even fish. Except Fran Taber, and other Quakers - they of course raised an eyebrow.
I came out of this time renewed. I slowly worked with my parents to take on the management of my father's family homestead so they could move to a retirement home, and embarked upon a somewhat idealistic and inexperienced path of attempting to raise at least some of my own food, including milk, eggs and meat.
After this entire spiritual process, the subject of raising my own meat comes up occasionally among coworkers in particular, in conversation. They most often seek to end the conversation with the statement, "Well, I couldn't eat something I raised." In the years preceding these inevitable conversations, I have learned to take note of who brings in carry-out or fast food from where, to prepare myself for this ultimate statement. And I never let them off the hook. While I understand the apathy of the American public, I will not accept, in my attempt to be true to my own convictions, a statement from a person who eats at McDonalds, that they couldn't eat an animal they had raised. If they must hold me accountable to ease their apathetic conscience, they too also must be held accountable.
In following years, I chose to give up New Years Resolutions, and to give up nontraditional things for Lent. Two years in a row, I gave up elevators. I work on the 7th floor of a hospital 4 days per week, so this was a significant sacrifice. I've NEVER given up chocolate, and don't think I ever will.
This year, I began Lent early. I devoted myself to an 18 week training program for a half marathon. Ash Wednesday came and left after I had begun, and so will Easter. I saw the ash on my husband's forehead when he came home from his Presbyterian church. There was a woman walking through the hospital with ash on her head. It reminded me of the year one of my coworkers took some dirt off her tire before coming in from the parking ramps and did her deed in her rearview mirror. I might not go quite that far.
My occupation these past 3 years has centered around taking care of people having cardiac events. My trips through the Burger King drive through have lessened. My apathy in worrying about what I eat has become uncomfortable. I still eat meat, but I make different choices about what meat I eat.
I'm not planning on winning the half marathon; not even close. The goal for me is to make it to the end of 13 miles with an average pace of faster than 18 miles per 15 minutes, so I don't get pushed onto the sidewalk. I'm 6 weeks in, and have just met that pace last week. I'd also like to be able to say I ran in a half marathon; maybe even a whole marathon someday. The choice didn't have anything to do with Lent. It had more to do with the fact that 4 of my girl cousins have already done this, and I felt left out and wanted to join them this year. And it had to do with my weight and my health. As people at work talk about the health improvements they are making for Lent, I have been feeling rather Quakerly in beginning in January and ending in May - if I do end it. I've come to like running. I'm doing a mega-Lent, at thrice the time period.
The idea of doing this was centered around the exploitation of women. It all fit together in my complex mind. Where does exploitation stop? If men can justify the way they treat women, does that have something to do with our justifying eating meat, or even plants? It was a particularly spiritual time for me. It was sarcastic because I don't, and have never prior, cognitively observed Lent in any meaningful way. Lent was a convenient 6 weeks at an opportune time for me to delve more deeply and to concentrate on mulling over this new-found focus. Most Christians would understand without too much questioning, if I told them I had given up meat for Lent; even fish. Except Fran Taber, and other Quakers - they of course raised an eyebrow.
I came out of this time renewed. I slowly worked with my parents to take on the management of my father's family homestead so they could move to a retirement home, and embarked upon a somewhat idealistic and inexperienced path of attempting to raise at least some of my own food, including milk, eggs and meat.
After this entire spiritual process, the subject of raising my own meat comes up occasionally among coworkers in particular, in conversation. They most often seek to end the conversation with the statement, "Well, I couldn't eat something I raised." In the years preceding these inevitable conversations, I have learned to take note of who brings in carry-out or fast food from where, to prepare myself for this ultimate statement. And I never let them off the hook. While I understand the apathy of the American public, I will not accept, in my attempt to be true to my own convictions, a statement from a person who eats at McDonalds, that they couldn't eat an animal they had raised. If they must hold me accountable to ease their apathetic conscience, they too also must be held accountable.
In following years, I chose to give up New Years Resolutions, and to give up nontraditional things for Lent. Two years in a row, I gave up elevators. I work on the 7th floor of a hospital 4 days per week, so this was a significant sacrifice. I've NEVER given up chocolate, and don't think I ever will.
This year, I began Lent early. I devoted myself to an 18 week training program for a half marathon. Ash Wednesday came and left after I had begun, and so will Easter. I saw the ash on my husband's forehead when he came home from his Presbyterian church. There was a woman walking through the hospital with ash on her head. It reminded me of the year one of my coworkers took some dirt off her tire before coming in from the parking ramps and did her deed in her rearview mirror. I might not go quite that far.
My occupation these past 3 years has centered around taking care of people having cardiac events. My trips through the Burger King drive through have lessened. My apathy in worrying about what I eat has become uncomfortable. I still eat meat, but I make different choices about what meat I eat.
I'm not planning on winning the half marathon; not even close. The goal for me is to make it to the end of 13 miles with an average pace of faster than 18 miles per 15 minutes, so I don't get pushed onto the sidewalk. I'm 6 weeks in, and have just met that pace last week. I'd also like to be able to say I ran in a half marathon; maybe even a whole marathon someday. The choice didn't have anything to do with Lent. It had more to do with the fact that 4 of my girl cousins have already done this, and I felt left out and wanted to join them this year. And it had to do with my weight and my health. As people at work talk about the health improvements they are making for Lent, I have been feeling rather Quakerly in beginning in January and ending in May - if I do end it. I've come to like running. I'm doing a mega-Lent, at thrice the time period.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Responsible Only For My Own Actions
Many people surrounding me seem to think I am responsible for them.
My neighbor seems to think I have begun a feud with him, since we stood firm in disallowing 4-wheelers on our property. That rule has been widely known since 4-wheelers were invented. His son showed up one day unloading a 4-wheeler, and did not ask, but told my husband he was driving it across our property. My husband told him that he was not going to do that. This neighbor, his son, his wife and his mother-in-law, now seem to think they need to hold me responsible for their own actions in retaliation for this longstanding rule, and the ill feelings they now have towards me. They also are purposefully making my entire family less comfortable by disallowing us to park during winter weather at the end of our lane on what they perceive as their property, but according to the most recent 2 surveys I obtained from the county engineer's office, belongs to another neighbor who has given us explicit permission that we can park there. When the lane leading to our house was paved, my father and grandfather asked them to pave a small section at the top of our lane specifically for the purpose of parking at during the winter for those who lived at the bottom. I don't think this neighbor knows about that. I've been told that I "started this." Whatever "this" is.
My 18 y/o daughter has worked hard and made many accomplishments, but she has begun to make choices I don't agree with. I like to reward my children. I like to give them more than what I had. The privileges I have given her, that happen to cost me much money are not as easy to maintain as they used to be. Her child support is gone. The government feels that at the magical age of 18, or at the end of state-mandated education, that noncustodial parents should no longer be held responsible for financial support. Since we homeschool and her child support is her father's SSD necessitated by a course of events that would take another post to describe, her child support ended last month when she turned 18. I would continue with these privileges at a greater expense to myself without too much complaint, but for the choices being made that will be detrimental to there being an end in sight for my slave labor. Since it appears that nobody is accountable but me for her actions, I've decided to relieve some of my accounting issues until she makes some better choices.
My 18 y/o daughter is not happy. One of her friends joined a Facebook group entitled something like, "Parents are just grown-up kids with money." She herself joined a Facebook group with a bunch of teenage hedging answers that went something like, "Silent treatment: Yeah mom, okay mom, um, yeah, okay, BYE." So I must assume I'm on the receiving end of "silent treatment." And that my daughter may soon be telling me goodbye. I may be misreading that.
I planned and worked very hard to be able to have what I have. It wasn't given to me. When someone has no concept of what that took, to be able to provide them with what I have, I can give them the benefit of the doubt for young ignorance. However, when they begin to act like they are entitled to what I give them, and hold me responsible for their ill feelings that I will not give my blessing on certain things, I begin to feel taken advantage of.
Money doesn't just fall out of the sky. I'd say it doesn't grow on trees, if I didn't recall hearing that too many times myself. I was looking for some group on Facebook to join that was equally derogatory towards teenagers, and found VAST ill-willed cache of just more nasty teenager groups. The majority said stuff like, "Parents think they understand teenagers but they don't." Oh yeah? I'm laughing out loud. Parents have been teenagers. When teenagers try their hand at parenting, I'll be more inclined to consider the idea that I don't understand.
The best I could find was, "Support Group for Parents of Hormonal Teens." I came a fingertap's length from joining, but I stopped myself. I love my daughter, and I really don't want to insult her, although it is tempting. As with my neighbor, I'm going to stick to my guns. My actions are not vindictive; they are based on stewardship and concern for what is best in the long haul. If someone else is inconvenienced, I am sorry, but it was not to intentionally hurt or insult them - it is for the protection of what is good and right. Ethically I cannot condone certain paths that I have seen time after time change lives for the worse for so many people. I do understand, all too well. My resolve might not be so strong if I didn't have to tighten my belt so hard. But I just cannot carry myself and all that baggage across the deep river. If she wants to make choices that are going to cost me more money, she is going to have to shoulder the bill.
What others do about my choices is on their own conscience, and the consequences of those actions is on them, NOT me. I am entirely willing to give and to provide; to love and to support, but my back is only so strong. When it begins to ache from the weight, I am not taking on more.
My neighbor seems to think I have begun a feud with him, since we stood firm in disallowing 4-wheelers on our property. That rule has been widely known since 4-wheelers were invented. His son showed up one day unloading a 4-wheeler, and did not ask, but told my husband he was driving it across our property. My husband told him that he was not going to do that. This neighbor, his son, his wife and his mother-in-law, now seem to think they need to hold me responsible for their own actions in retaliation for this longstanding rule, and the ill feelings they now have towards me. They also are purposefully making my entire family less comfortable by disallowing us to park during winter weather at the end of our lane on what they perceive as their property, but according to the most recent 2 surveys I obtained from the county engineer's office, belongs to another neighbor who has given us explicit permission that we can park there. When the lane leading to our house was paved, my father and grandfather asked them to pave a small section at the top of our lane specifically for the purpose of parking at during the winter for those who lived at the bottom. I don't think this neighbor knows about that. I've been told that I "started this." Whatever "this" is.
My 18 y/o daughter has worked hard and made many accomplishments, but she has begun to make choices I don't agree with. I like to reward my children. I like to give them more than what I had. The privileges I have given her, that happen to cost me much money are not as easy to maintain as they used to be. Her child support is gone. The government feels that at the magical age of 18, or at the end of state-mandated education, that noncustodial parents should no longer be held responsible for financial support. Since we homeschool and her child support is her father's SSD necessitated by a course of events that would take another post to describe, her child support ended last month when she turned 18. I would continue with these privileges at a greater expense to myself without too much complaint, but for the choices being made that will be detrimental to there being an end in sight for my slave labor. Since it appears that nobody is accountable but me for her actions, I've decided to relieve some of my accounting issues until she makes some better choices.
My 18 y/o daughter is not happy. One of her friends joined a Facebook group entitled something like, "Parents are just grown-up kids with money." She herself joined a Facebook group with a bunch of teenage hedging answers that went something like, "Silent treatment: Yeah mom, okay mom, um, yeah, okay, BYE." So I must assume I'm on the receiving end of "silent treatment." And that my daughter may soon be telling me goodbye. I may be misreading that.
I planned and worked very hard to be able to have what I have. It wasn't given to me. When someone has no concept of what that took, to be able to provide them with what I have, I can give them the benefit of the doubt for young ignorance. However, when they begin to act like they are entitled to what I give them, and hold me responsible for their ill feelings that I will not give my blessing on certain things, I begin to feel taken advantage of.
Money doesn't just fall out of the sky. I'd say it doesn't grow on trees, if I didn't recall hearing that too many times myself. I was looking for some group on Facebook to join that was equally derogatory towards teenagers, and found VAST ill-willed cache of just more nasty teenager groups. The majority said stuff like, "Parents think they understand teenagers but they don't." Oh yeah? I'm laughing out loud. Parents have been teenagers. When teenagers try their hand at parenting, I'll be more inclined to consider the idea that I don't understand.
The best I could find was, "Support Group for Parents of Hormonal Teens." I came a fingertap's length from joining, but I stopped myself. I love my daughter, and I really don't want to insult her, although it is tempting. As with my neighbor, I'm going to stick to my guns. My actions are not vindictive; they are based on stewardship and concern for what is best in the long haul. If someone else is inconvenienced, I am sorry, but it was not to intentionally hurt or insult them - it is for the protection of what is good and right. Ethically I cannot condone certain paths that I have seen time after time change lives for the worse for so many people. I do understand, all too well. My resolve might not be so strong if I didn't have to tighten my belt so hard. But I just cannot carry myself and all that baggage across the deep river. If she wants to make choices that are going to cost me more money, she is going to have to shoulder the bill.
What others do about my choices is on their own conscience, and the consequences of those actions is on them, NOT me. I am entirely willing to give and to provide; to love and to support, but my back is only so strong. When it begins to ache from the weight, I am not taking on more.
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