E-Strange

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 15:07:27 +1000

I am about to revisit a research project I started some time back on family estrangment - am looking to connect with people who have experienced estrangement in their family of origin who may be interested in the project. Please spread the word!

http://estrangedfamilies.wordpress.com/

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Beauty & Bones

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 11:40:23 +1000

Beauty

"Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone."
— Dorothy Parker

She spent a lot of time
looking fine,
believing in those lies -
if the package
looks pretty enough outside
no one notices what's inside.
A real friend, or a mirror
might dish the real dirt
on the outside she may be porterhouse
but inside, she's rotten meat.

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Love and Laundry

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 11:17:29 +1000

Sixties Housewife

"Love is mental illness going in and mental illness coming out. In between, you do a lot of laundry."
— Steve Lopez

This 'mental illness' is in every kind of loving. We commonly think of 'love madness' occurring, maybe with the great passion of romantic love, but I assure you - madness is in the love found with a lover, a spouse, a parent, a child. This madness of attachment keeps our heads in a whirlwind of perpetual questioning; am I doing it 'right'. is it 'good enough', am I 'good enough'?

Repetitive tasks, like laundry, give us room for the doubts that accompany all forms of love.
Ironically, at the end of love, there is a lot less laundry.

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The World is Full of Poets ...

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 15:28:31 +1000

04 The Art Of Suicide

The world is full of poets
We don't need any more
The world is full of singers
We don't need any more
The world is full of lovers
We don't need any more...

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The Secrets of Radishes

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 13:43:48 +1000

From your album:
"The Un-Secret Garden"

The secrets of Radish

There is something so earthly, about growing good things in the garden.
You plant, you water, you pick out the weeds, you do what you can to promote good growth.
Often, you are rewarded.
.....

A radish, you grow in five weeks, and it responds gratefully to your efforts ... good dirt, water, freedom from weeds, trust and confidence in the natural order of nature -- given good circumstances, a radish will be produced.

A radish will be pulled from the earth, and find itself, along with a little bit of salt, in someone's mouth - grateful for the immense privilege of being grown, as well as for the gastronomical gratitude of its eater.

Compare this to the task of growing people.

A radish will not pull itself from the earth, before its time, run across the world and complain that your gardening sucks.

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Cake

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 13:54:21 +1000

On Your Wall

I want to tell you, that my heart is broken.

It has a door, which does not close properly,

its chambers have been left open to all sorts

Of bad influences and dangerous things.

I want to tell you to check your own heart -

to keep it in good repair,

because this is what

mothers do.

You open your mouth, as though you have heard

nothing, because this is what children do.

And my life depends upon getting this warning,

Just right. But of course, I do not.

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Bad Mommy

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 03:24:58 +1000

Puppies not children

Shocking?

I see it, out front, no one can miss it, but I can't believe I am seeing it. Some cutesy card, "I have puppies instead of children. I'd rather ruin my carpets than my life". I find myself looking around me. Does anyone else see this? Do they SEE this?!

Like so much that passes for humor, maybe this is funny, because, somewhere inside, it resonates .. it rings true.

We will deny it. Mothers do. If you ask us, to our faces. But in secret ... is it a different story?

Once upon a time ago, Ann Landers ran a poll, "If you knew then, what you know now, would you have children?" The resounding answer +70% (anonymous to be sure) was "NO". Current researchers are predicting those numbers would be much higher today, despite a cultural throw back to idealizing the institution of motherhood.

Authors such as Shirley Radl, in her book, Mother's Day is Over - took the plunge and talked about the less than glamorous realities of motherhood and whilst many of us are grateful for such pioneering honesty, the subject is still largely verboten. Let's face it, to speak disparagingly of ones offspring is socially hazardous. The only thing worse, is to generalize your experiences, and thus, criticize the entire institution of motherhood. Go this route, and like many articulate, educated, socially conscious, mother-writers, you may find the sanctimonious, mommy police at your door.

Stephanie Wilkes and Jennifer Niesslein, speak compellingly of the 'costs of motherhood:

Given all the hits a mother is liable to take, is motherhood worth it? To be honest, it's a rhetorical question. Because you can't ever tell what version of motherhood you'll get. We all want to be the mother who reaps the rewards and isn't much affected by the risks. But despite our best hopes and efforts, we could all easily be the woman who slips into depression, whose marriage falls apart under the weight of this life, who cannot raise a whole family up out of poverty on her own, whose fatigue is just overwhelming. Just as we can't know what kind of people our babies will grow up to be, we can't know what cards motherhood will deal us.

Or check out this preview of, The Mommy Myth; The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined Women. “We have a long history in this culture of mother blame,” said Susan J. Douglas, author of above. And boy oh boy is she spot on! Not only is 'mommy blame' a cultural legacy, it is also a familial one, which can be handed down inter-generationally. It is the height of irony as a mother, to reflect that your own mother, probably felt much the same way, and probably at some point in her life, reflected that her mother did as well. A view also shared by Ayelet Waldman, author of, Bad Mother, who says of her own mother, "I wish she'd had a different life". I cannot help but wonder if, in letting our own mothers 'off the hook', we also give ourselves a little bit of wiggle room, to if not get off the hook, at least make it a little more bearable. Maybe when we wish our mothers a different life, it is our way of saying we wish we could have the same.

BadMommy

For myself ... I feel as a mother I have been through the wringer, inside out and on more than one occasion, with more than one child, more than one father, and more than one staunch family underminer. Is it worth it? I don't know. I have worked my ass off and parented with consciousness and integrity - very often single handed and in process, sacrificed many, many things.

There is something utterly heart breaking, and completely demoralizing when you hear the words, "You're a BAD mommy" or their derivatives, when truly you've played the game the best you were able, loved with all you have and then have to accept, your performance is apparently well under par, especially when so much of the game was never in your control.

Would I rather have puppies than children? Hmm ... frankly after being a parent for the last 20-odd years, puppies sound like an awful lot of work too. So do house plants. I'd settle for a clean carpet and some guilt free peace.

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A Snap Shot

nobody@vox.com(Fiona) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 23:05:18 +1000

IMG_9607

Today, life is snap shots. Precise. Isolated. Freeze. Framed.

So.

The dead crow on the curb, will never fly again. Cawless. It lays, disregarded - if indeed 'it' can be said to be 'it';
no longer sensing weather warnings.

In a book store, I browse, I buy. Two books. Taking Pictures by Anne Enright and Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger. I speak to the shop woman. I even smile. Two minutes. Before fragility. So much is obscured.

So.

On the way out the door, free postcards. I love these. My daughter was in the habit of picking
[paper bouquets] and bringing them home. For me.
Before. Before.

I order one skinny latte. I sit. Outside.
My turn on the curb.

And the sky. I wait for my husband, watching his storm brew. The clouds are slap marks against the sky's face.
Purple welts.
So,

Cup, warm in my hand; Like hope.
Like nothing like before,
I cry.

Like so.

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