Lydia Schoch

Here is this week’s list of blog posts, poems and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

Cadence via vlb. The best description of what it feels like to ride a bike that I’ve ever read. This is one of those poems that drags you feet first into the action and doesn’t let go until its spits you out on the other side!

A Psychological Optical Illusion. I’m a little skeptical of this site’s claims, but the picture is an interesting optical illusion.

Me Against the World, and by World, I Mean Doorknobs. Have you ever walked into a public restroom only to discover that someone has locked the door to one (or more) of the stalls from the inside and then crawled out underneath it? I’ve always assumed this was a dumb juvenile prank, but Megan gives a much more sympathetic explanation for it.

Private Ceremonies. An essay written by an abortion clinic counsellor who miscarried a pregnancy she’d been trying to achieve for a long time. The juxtaposition between her quest to become and stay pregnant and her clients’ need to end their pregnancies was gripping.

Why It’s So Hard to be Good via SatyaRobyn. I love the low pressure approach in this article. There is a real freedom that comes with gently acknowledging areas in your life that could use some improvement without feeling like you have to instantly fix everything and become perfect. (Thanks for sharing this link, Daphne!)

From We Have Always Fought:

Language is a powerful thing, and it changes the way we view ourselves, and other people, in delightful and horrifying ways. Anyone with any knowledge of the military, or who pays attention to how the media talks about war, has likely caught on to this.

If You Find Me is a story about surviving. When Carey was four years old her mother abducted her. For a decade they lived in the woods with virtually no contact with other people. Carey raises her younger sister Jenessa while their mentally ill, drug-addicted mother drifts in and out of their lives. Sometimes the girls spend weeks or months on their own. We first meet Carey and Jenessa when a social worker and their father show up at their dilapidated hut one afternoon.

What I loved about this book was Carey’s reaction to the simplest pleasures in life: a kind word, a clean shirt, or a plate full of anything other than beans (which was often all their mom fed them).

What have you been reading?

Photo by BKP.

 Note: Seph at The Woven, Jewels at According to Jewels, and I are blogging about this question today. We purposefully did not share our responses with one another ahead of time. After you’ve finished this post go check out their blogs! I can’t wait to see what they have to say about this topic.

My one word answer: penises.

Half of the population has one, but no one wants to be surprised by one while in a vulnerable position.

What is it about penises that western society finds so frightening, you ask?

North American men are assumed to be predators until proven otherwise. From advertisements to pop songs to abstinence-only sex education, we learn early on in life that men’s sex drives are strong and difficult to control. Men are stereotyped as people constantly interested in sex who would do almost anything to sleep with someone new.

Allowing men and women to use the same bathroom, then, would send dangerously mixed signals

While defecation would almost certainly take place in the stalls, most men’s rooms also have urinals. In mixed gender bathrooms women run the risk of seeing stray penises every time nature calls. If men’s sexuality is as unpredictable and dangerous as we’ve been taught, then, this is an invitation for sexual assault.

After all, you have to unbutton your pants or lift your dress or skirt in order to urinate, and much more skin must be shown when you defecate. People fear that some folks won’t be able to differentiate between undressing to void your bladder and doing so for sexual purposes.

As we’re also fed the lie that rape is completely “preventable” if you take the correct steps, sending men and women into the same bathroom is an untenable position.

What I find really interesting about these arguments is that they assume everyone is heterosexual, only men can be rapists, and only women can be raped. No other possibilities are considered. This is a good thing in the sense that sexual orientation has absolutely nothing to do with needing to use the bathroom, but it seems odd that our cultural hangups are so specific.

Readers, what do you think?

Photo by Lamont Yoder.

Just tuning in? Catch up with parts one, two, three, four,  five,  six,  seven, and eight of this story.

Two adults in their late teens stood up and approached the table.  Daphne forced herself to take long, deep breaths as the trial began. Her heart thumped so wildly she was sure the other ombudsmen could hear it.

“I understand you two are separating?” Lucio said.  They nodded. Separations were rarely cause for involving the legal system, but both Kiva and Gabriel wanted sole custody of their toddler.

“It didn’t work out,” Kiva said. “I’m going home to Prescott, and I want to take Julius with me.” After her mother’s death Kiva assumed the responsibility of raising a house full of boisterous younger siblings while their father managed the crops and goats.  When she met Gabriel on a diplomatic mission four years ago she thought he was her ticket to adulthood, but she was working harder now than she ever had before. Kiva had lived in Mingus Valley for three lonely, exhausting years and was looking forward to going home again. Her siblings were older and more independent now. Maybe she could even get her younger brothers to care for Julius so she could go back to travelling on occasional town business with their mayor?

“He belongs with me,” Gabriel said. “If she takes him away I’ll only see my son a few times a year, and fathers have a right to their children.” It was true he’d left most of the physical labour of raising a baby up to Kiva and the other women in the family, but now that the boy was walking and talking Gabriel had begun looking forward to seeing what his son learned next. In a few years Julius would even be old enough to begin working alongside his parents.

Lucio asked the plaintiff, defendant, and the rest of the public to wait outside while the ombudsmen debated in private. Aunt Lucy sighed and poured herself a glass of water as Lucio and Daphne dragged their chairs closer to her.

“I don’t know why we’re debating this,” she said. “The law is clearly on Gabriel’s side here. Women have the right to petition for a divorce, but men are always awarded custody of the children.”

“Well, not always,” Lucio said, glancing at Daphne. “There have been cases where mothers keep their children.”

“Only in extenuating circumstances,” Aunt Lucy sniffed. “Gabriel might be young, but there’s no evidence of him harming the child. He would have his mother and sister to help out, but Kiva would raise Julius and her last few siblings with no guidance from anyone.” Daphne felt a fine layer of perspiration form on her forehead.  She had to say something.

“I raised my boys alone,” she said in a deceptively quiet voice. “It wasn’t always easy, but they’ve turned out ok. I think Kiva should keep her son.”

“Well, you had the option to give them more parents,” Aunt Lucy said. “Would it have been so bad to live with MacArthur?” An old anger sizzled in Daphne’s chest.

“I think we – ” Lucio said before Daphne cut off his train of thought.

“Yes,” she said just a little too loud. “He never thinks the rules apply to him, and he has no problem manipulating people into doing things they’d never do otherwise.”

“There’s no need to dredge up the past,” Lucio squeaked into the conversation before Aunt Lucy interrupted him again.

“You could have said no if you didn’t like the terms of his arrangement,” she said. “You didn’t have to eat his food or drag his name through the mud when you realized there was a baby on the way. He would have taken care of you.”

“It was either that or starve!” Daphne said as her anger boiled over. “He knew Naomi and I didn’t have any food left and were too weak to hunt, and he took advantage of that. I couldn’t let my children be raised by someone that selfish or cruel!” If she lived to be as old as Aunt Lucy she’d never forget what it felt like to realize his offer was all that was standing between her and almost certain death when drought destroyed almost all of her crops that fateful spring.

“Let’s bring this back to the matter at hand,” Lucio said.

“No, I’m done debating,” Daphne said. “I vote for the boy to return home with his mother. His father can always move with them if he’s that attached to the child.”

“That isn’t what the law dictates,” Aunt Lucy said. “Kiva gave no compelling evidence that she should be awarded custody, so I can’t agree with breaking with tradition on this case.” Daphne stood up and shook the wrinkles out of her skirt.

“I have to agree with Aunt Lucy,” Lucio said. “I know it’s difficult to separate your experiences from this case, Daphne, but the court made an exception for you. We can’t make exceptions for every flighty woman who changes her mind.” In his most private thoughts he agreed with Daphne, but Lucio believed that their responsibility as ombudsmen was to preserve traditions, not tear them down.

Daphne slammed her chair underneath the table and flung the front door open as she stormed out of the courtroom.  The crowd parted as she stomped her way home. In her anger she didn’t even notice the soldiers standing at the edge of the crowd.

Here is this week’s list of blog posts, secular saints, poems and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

From Softly, Play Me via Fumanchucat:

I am the harp
in your hands

be schooled
be gentle

softly
play me

Our Lady Of… Secular saints for geeks of all ages.

Depression, Exercise and Twitter. The same could be said for so many other diseases.  I really try to never judge other people’s lives based on the small slivers of information I’ve collected about them, and sometimes I actually succeed at it. 😉 Remember, what you find extraordinarily easy to accomplish or overcome might be one of my biggest hurdles (and vice versa)!

Trapped in a Bubble via StoryRoute. Cathryn has such a heartwarming blog. This particular link is actually a guest post by a man named Rick Hardman, and his final line is a must-read.

In Which Dippy Does Not Make New Friends.  My family once had a dog named Cubby who loved gnawing on carrots and rubbing his butt on the carpet.  Occasionally us kids would be attacked by a nefarious enemy that disguises itself as ordinary bubbles. Only Cubby could save us  every time they tried to lure us into their soapy little spaceships. Little did we know that his teeth were the only object in the universe capable of penetrating their destructive vessels.  😉 If reincarnation were real Cubby would almost certainly be living it up as Dippy the antisocial cat.

I’m a Trans woman and I’m Not Interested in Being One of the “Good” Ones. An interesting essay about the conflicting expectations society has of Trans women.

From Slender Man – We Made Him and His Family What They Are Today:

But the curious thing I heard about Slendy is that he may LITERALLY be created by the mind. That is, his popularity in the public consciousness is so great that he has become a thoughtform, a tulpa, that he was imagined into existence and now he is REAL….

Nope, I don’t really believe this fantastic stuff but the tales grow taller on down the line. Is it a case of an evolving creature that draws life blood from our minds? Sort of. He’s a meme(Dawkins, 1976, yes THAT Dawkins, invented the word ‘meme’), he does change to suit the environment. Thanks to existing mostly on the web, where he has replicated and been passed on, Slender Man has traveled all over the world.

This week I’m thrilled to recommend Daphne Purpus’ new book, A Year of Haiku. Daphne beautifully captures the small triumphs and setbacks of daily life. While a few poems deal with death, grief, chronic illness, and other serious topics, most are about living in the moment. I particularly loved her descriptions of the slugs and other animals that visit her yard.

Daphne gave me permission to print one of her poems here. I chose this one because it made me laugh:

the cat

stealing raw spinach

nearly a full moon.

What have you been reading?

This isn’t the same patch of grass, but it’s a great illustration.

It was an ordinary patch of grass, but as soon as I read the sign asking passersby not to walk on it I felt a sudden urge to take off my shoes and socks and run around in circles.

One of the few advantages of maintaining a field of something that cannot be eaten, worn, or sold for profit is that it’s an ideal place to spread out a picnic blanket, sunbathe, fly a kite, or play frisbee.

I was going to add picking dandelions to that list as well, but this particular patch of grass was sadly flower deficient.

I’m sure the people who maintain the grass and paid for the sign had good intentions. The lawn might have been recently sprayed with pesticides, or there could be gopher holes that have caused other pedestrians to sprain their ankles.

Maybe they don’t want their grass to be trampled, or they’d rather not have to pick up after irresponsible pet owners. Or maybe that little, unassuming patch of grass is actually an ancient portal to fairyland.

In any case, reading the sign made me want to do the exact opposite of what I’d been instructed. It’s human nature to balk at rules that don’t make sense or serve a useful purpose.  Several years ago this was actually my response to an even more authoritarian sign that ordered us to keep off of a different lawn. I only touched one toe in the forbidden zone in quiet protest of a nonsensical rule.*

If they wanted to dissuade visitors they could have planted a row of hedges or built a little fence around the perimeter of the park. Either one of those options would communicate the same message without erecting an unfriendly sign or making me want to disobey it.

*Yeah, it’s probably good that I’ll never have children. They no doubt would have inherited my contrary streak.

Here is this week’s list of blog posts and other tidbits from my favourite corners of the web.

The Girl and the Flower. A fairy tale about a woman who would do anything to save her dying husband. Prepare to suddenly need to wipe something out of the corner of your eye when you read this.

Closer to the Sun via @jtvancouver. A poem that sent chills down my spine.

Great Graphic Novels for Seniors. This is actually a great list of recommendations for anyone who isn’t interested in traditional superhero tales but likes the look of graphic novels.

Cabinet Containment. If only all politicians could be humanely given away this easily. One of my college professors once warned us that most readers don’t pick up on satire. Her words echo through my mind every time I read this blog.

Kindness in a Cruel World. I love this.

Excuse Me, Can You Leave? It’s Just That I Was Studying First. An amusing story about a student who really doesn’t want to share “his” bench. This exchange reminds me of Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory.

From Food Bank:

“Look,” he said, pointing to the buildings, “A food bank! If you want, we can drop off those leftovers so you can withdraw them later.”

“Um, I think food banks give your food to other people.”

He feigned shock. “Then that’s a horrible bank!”

Between 1854 and 1929 abandoned children in the U.S. were sent out west in an attempt to find new families for them. Back then there were no social workers or foster homes as we know them to protect neglected or abused kids, and orphan trains were basically the only  alternative mistreated children had to growing up homeless on the streets.

Orphan Train is a novel about an Irish girl eventually (re)named Vivian Daley who experiences the best and worst of this social experiment. Eight decades later a biracial teenager named Molly slouches from one home to another. Her foster father claims to love her, but Molly has long since learned the hollowness of that word. When they meet under unusual circumstances in 2011 old secrets are revealed and painful memories finally laid to rest.

This early bird stayed up reading past midnight because I was so enthralled with the vivid descriptions of the worlds they lived in as well as how many similarities there were between Vivian and Molly’s childhoods. I wanted to dive into the pages of this book and bring both girls home to live with me.

Fair warning: a few scenes describe physical and (attempted) sexual abuse from the child’s point of view, but these experiences are not the crux of Molly and Vivian’s stories. If anything, this book is about how beautiful life can be after you’ve acknowledged that something really shitty happened and vowed never to perpetuate the cycle of abuse.

What have you been reading?