Saturday, April 24, 2010

Waxing Optimistic

Lately, when I've been telling people about our upcoming move to Texas, the first thing they ask is, "And how do you feel about that?" Perhaps honesty is not really the best policy, but I'm also not the best liar, so I tend to stick with what works for me--the truth. I try to keep my explanation brief, but I'll usually give an answer that includes how disappointing I've found the town, how other people I've met who have lived there also hated it, and how I'm concerned about opportunities for socializing and employment.
However, lately I've been ending my diatribe with a casual upbeat comment along the lines of "but we're going to make it work!" or "it's going to be good because we're going to make it good!" I didn't know how much I actually believed it, but I figured the power of positive thinking couldn't hurt, and perhaps would put me into a helpful state of mind in time for the move.
Some days ago, a friend suggested I look online to see if there are any "MeetUp" groups in the Killeen area that I might take advantage of in order to meet new people. I don't know a lot about these groups, but have heard that they are all the rave in some of the bigger cities, so I took the plunge this weekend to see what good ole Killeen might have to offer.
And my how I was surprised by how much there is to offer there, at least in terms of MeetUps! The first group I saw listed was one for Natural Childbirth/HomeBirth supporters. This means a lot to me since my next go-round with pregnancy will involve trying for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesaerean-section). I had thought I would have to come all the way back to Michigan for the last few months of my pregnancy so that I could labor and deliver at the birth center here. It's nice to know that if I get pregnant in Texas there are some options for me.
There is also a very active MeetUp group for Knitters and Crocheters, so I won't lose my weekly knitting group after all. And I found a MeetUp group for Aetheists and FreeThinkers, as well as one for Mothers and Families. My heart is leaping with hope and enthusiasm to know that perhaps life won't be as dull as it had seemed when I was out there.
This is not to say, however, that I won't miss my current friends terribly once the time comes for us to move. But I am so, so, so glad to know that I can take with me the many lessons and values I've learned from my friends here, and will be able to continue nurturing them in my new town. *Gentle sigh of relief*

Friday, April 23, 2010

Happy Every Day?

I noticed all the Facebook posts yesterday screaming "Happy Earth Day" to the masses, and the pointed little notes folks made about what they planned to do that day to celebrate the occasion. At first, I got a little nervous, wondering why I hadn't remembered it was Earth Day; I mean what kind of environmentalist am I anyway? But then I thought about the fact that I try live everyday as though it's Earth Day, and I felt better. I don't need to go meatless, or recycle a load of beverage bottles, or start a compost or think more about my energy consumption just because it's Earth Day; I already do all of those things, and more. Listen, I'm not perfect; I love long, hot showers and now that I have Bryony, I use the car much more often than I'm used to, but I would venture that I am more Earth conscious than the average person is. But I don't think that's saying much considering a lot of people I know can't be bothered to separate their recyclables even though their garbage service provides them with a special recycle bin.
I came across this blog post today that really describes me to a T, so I thought I'd share the link. I think Jess Riley is my long-lost twin in Bizarro world. Anyway, here's the link; enjoy: http://jessriley.blogspot.com/2010/04/happy-earth-day-yall.html

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Avocados, Sloppy Joes, and Fish

Yesterday I compared myself to an avocado in front of a large group of seniors. I made some vague reference to being healthy, versatile and having "good fat." I then compared my pint-sized daughter to a sloppy joe, saying something about her liking to make big messes. In my defense, I was part of a discussion about nutrition and health, and the first exercise was to describe which food you most identify with. In hindsight, I kind of wish I hadn't shot for clever and instead had said something boring, like "cauliflower" or "radish". I have a feeling all of the old men will be eyeing my "good fat" from now on.

A lot has been going on lately, namely that I cannot seem to go to sleep at night. It's been taking a good 2 hours or so to finally fall asleep, and boy, does that wear on me come morning! Especially since Bryony still wakes up two times a night for nursing. And here, I am, typing away at 1:06am, when I told myself I was going to be in bed before midnight tonight. I'm totally going to pay for this in the morning, particularly when Bryony decides she wants to play roll-all-over-mama at 6am. Ugh.

I've had a particular issue on my mind and I'm curious for reader response. I know this topic is likely to stir the coals a bit, but since I'm conflicted I'll ask anyway. I recently had a long conversation with a friend of mine about appearances. This friend is totally of the mindset that one (mostly meaning women) should not feel a need to alter their appearance by means of shaving, plucking, coloring, straightening, etc., to fit society's expectations of beauty or to please a man. After all, why present a picture that is misrepresentative of the actual person. Also, why are women expected to do all these things and yet men need not do anything?
On the other hand, I know the counter argument: if shaving or plucking or styling or straightening makes a woman feel good then why should she not do it for herself? And, let's be honest, ladies. For those amongst us who are still "looking" for Mr. Right, I think we all can admit that men are visually-based beings who are attracted to they see in the moment, not the deeply fascinating, thoughtful and sensitive master chef he could one day get to know. So, if you're hoping to hook the guy and reel him in, maybe he needs a little eye-bait to take the bite?
What do you think, folks? I welcome input from men and women alike, especially since I agree with both arguments.

I had a couple other things I want to talk about, but it's 1:30am and I am falling asleep. Still have to brush my teeth, too. I'm outta here.

Monday, April 19, 2010

The Race Card, Part Two: Good Hair

I've been waiting to write this post until after I watched Chris Rock's documentary, "Good Hair," especially since I stole his title. I'm glad I waited, not only because it definitely validated a lot of what I was already going to comment on, but I actually learned a lot about things that were pretty foreign to me!

So, the title of the movie comes from when Chris Rock's five-year old daughter came to him and sadly asked, "Daddy, why don't I have good hair?" He was pretty stunned to have his beautiful little girl ask him a question that seemed rooted in a culture of self-hate. So he decided to research and investigate why black women go to extremes to make their hair more "white-like" instead of allowing the natural tight curls to reign. It was a very insightful movie. He traced some of the historical issues surrounding straight hair versus "nappy" or "kinky" hair (I personally hate both of those terms; I think there is an inherent derogatory tone attached to them both). I think the two things that surprised me most about the movie was a) how so many black women--from celebrity actresses and models to low-income working class women--spend thousands of dollars on weaves, and b) how truly harsh chemical straightening relaxers are on your hair and scalp. With respect to the second point, Rock met with a chemist who demonstrated that the active ingredient in chemical relaxers can dissolve an aluminum can in a matter of hours. That was scary, especially because so many women in the movie admitted to allowing the relaxer to stay in their hair past the point of burning their scalp beyond belief, with the hope that their hair would be that much straighter. Regarding the weaves, I see shops all around for weaves and braids and haven't thought much about it. Little did I know that women can stay in the chair for 5-7 HOURS getting a weave put in, at a cost of $1000-$4000, or even more if you're wealthy.

I don't want to ruin all of the gems in this movie, so I'll leave it there for now. However, if you're in the mood for a good laugh, and a lesson in black culture, too, rent this movie. I'm black and it was eye-opening for me.

The sad truth is, I totally understand where Rock's daughter is coming from. From an early age, I thought that God must not love black girls as much as all the other girls in the world, because we were the only ones who got stuck with this "difficult" type of hair. As young black girls, my sister and I had to suffer through the hot comb, a thick metal comb that my mother would heat on the stove top burner to straighten our hair. God forbid you moved a muscle or the hot comb would sizzle and char a little bit of your skin. And once it was all said and done, you didn't want to get caught in the rain, or go swimming, or get sweaty, because your hair would "go back," meaning revert to its natural curly state. I SO envied all my white girlfriends who could jump in the pool without a second thought, their long tresses dangling wet and beautiful down their backs. My mother made my sister and me wear a bathing cap, which really only kept my hair out of my face but did little to keep my hair from getting wet. So, as soon as the cap came off, my big bush of curly hair puffed out into a big Afro, much to my embarrassment, my friends' confusion, and my mother's chagrin. It just seemed like nothing could go right when it came to my hair.

Then there were the questions. In hindsight, I've realized that the questions really were more out of genuine curiosity and confusion than from malice or antagonism, but as a kid, I hated being the different one that had to volley all of them. Questions like, "Why does your hair stand up like that?" and "You really don't need to use hairspray???" or "Do black people wash their hair?". Oh, and the floodgates opened if I got a straightening relaxer or got a different hairstyle: "Your hair looks so different! I didn't know your hair could do that!" or "You mean your hair never moves??" It was exhausting and frustrating, particularly during my adolescence when all I wanted was to fit in, to constantly feel like I was the odd man out because of my hair. I used to fantasize that one day a magical solution would come into the market that would allow my hair to grow out of my head bone-straight like everyone else. I just hated the fact that my hair in its natural state was not considered attractive or valuable by mainstream America. After all, when was the last time anyone saw a black woman on tv or in the movies sporting natural locks (okay, other than Whoopie Goldberg)?

Sometime around the age of nine or ten, my mother came upon "gentle relaxers" made especially for children. After trying to avoid burning our ears with the hot comb for so many years, we were all anxious for another alternative to straight hair. Even so-called "kiddie relaxers" are harsh on hair and scalp, however, and we would sit through the application process, waiting out the burning scalp so that the relaxer could work its magic. And, voila!, straight hair was the result. But even relaxers weren't a cure-all. Because they are so damaging to hair and scalp, my mother had to spend long periods of time applying special hair oil. This involved sectioning our hair and rubbing oil into the scalp and hair to make things soft and "healthy" again. Once again, we had to wear shower caps when showering, and bathing caps in the pool, because God forbid you washed out the hair oil that had taken an hour to apply! It seemed like this blasted hair was keeping me from being normal like everyone else.

By junior high school, I had taken some autonomy over my hair. While my mother still applied the relaxer, I was fully responsible for washing it every week, setting it in rollers every night before bed, and styling it every morning. I had even gotten to a point where I appreciated my hair because it had gotten longer and I could do more with it. I still had to deal with questions from folks from time to time--like if there was a slumber party and I had black-girl-variety-bed-head the next morning--but overall I was feeling more comfortable in my own head of hair. I went to university and life with my hair was relatively normal, despite having to explain my hair to my dorm roommates and various friends. My mother still gave me relaxers when I went home for the holidays. Then, in 1998, something changed. I was a junior at New York University, and I had gotten accepted to a study abroad program in England for a semester. I didn't think much about my hair until after I'd already gotten there. I began to realize that my natural roots were slowly starting to grow in, a far cry from the straight relaxed hair I had enjoyed for so long. I didn't know what to do. I'd heard horror stories from women who had gone to salons for relaxers and permanents and been forgotten about by the stylist, only to have their hair fried off their heads. I knew there was no one out there who would take care of my hair like my mother would, and so I made the decision to wait out the relaxer until I returned to the States four months later. This was kind of risky, in more ways than one. First, I didn't know what to do with natural hair, since I really hadn't dealt with my own natural hair as a young woman; I'd always dealt with my hair chemically relaxed, so I was at a loss as to what to do. Second, because chemical relaxers are so harsh, the point where the relaxed hair ends and the new growth begins is very fragile. I had heard on a number of occasions that it's possible to break all your hair off at that point if one is not careful. So, I was very gentle in combing and brushing my hair for the next few weeks. As more and more of my new growth came in (and quickly, I noticed!), the more I realized...how much I liked it.

This was a bit of an epiphany for me, because my entire life had been spent resenting my difficult, hard-to-manage hair. In fact, one of my cousins had taught my siblings and me a little sing-song saying about girls with unruly black natural hair: "Cantcha comb it? Dontcha try?" I had always been afraid of looking like someone who couldn't manage my hair, of essentially, looking too black. Goodness knows I never would have sported an afro; no girl I knew in junior high or high school would have. But as I stood in my little bathroom in Birmingham, England, it was like I was seeing myself for the first time. And I liked what I saw. The little curly ringlets that framed my hairline, the waves of shiny, healthy brown hair that emanated from my scalp...it all seemed to come together in my mind. Why had I been avoiding my natural hair for so long? Who was I trying to please or impress? Why couldn't I just be myself in my true essence? And so I let it grow, and grow it did. Now that I wasn't applying harsh chemicals, curling irons or hot combs to my hair, I had healthy locks of hair growing from my head. I still didn't have much notion of what to do with it--I wasn't overly interested in dreadlocks or braids--so I just combed it out in the shower every morning and put it back in a ponytail. And I was happy.

And in the twelve years since, I have never gone back to chemically treating my hair. That's not to say that I haven't gotten pressure from various sides to do so. My mother, a southern girl who lived through segregation, integration, bussing and the Civil Rights Movement, questioned my desire to keep my hair natural. Even to this day, she can't quite figure out why I do. Once, she asked me if I keep my hair natural as a way to feel connected to my "blackness" since I am married to a white man. I actually thought there might have been some validity to this argument if it weren't for the fact that I'd gone natural before I met Adam. But perhaps feeling connected to my roots (pardon the pun) is an impotus for keeping my natural hair. But mostly it's because it's healthiest this way, and easier to work with. Belive it or not, I barely have to work with my hair at all on a day-to-day basis. No more hour-long oil treatments, no more burning relaxers, no more hot combs. I admit that I will straighten my hair with a flat iron a few times a year when I want to look a little different or get glammed up. Adam likes a little variety from time to time, so sometimes I'll straighten it for him. Despite the fact that I try to keep my hair straight as long as possible on such occasions (simply because it takes a good hour to get it that way), I find that I'm always much happier to have it back in its natural state. I think I look better with curly hair. And my stylists always tell me that it's obvious that I keep my hair natural, because it is always so healthy, free of split ends and breaks.

Plus...no more worries about swimming pools, shower, getting caught in the rain, sweating. My hair is already curly...none of these things will make it get any curlier. I feel SO free to do anything in life now, for there is no more fear of what my hair will look like. This is particularly good since I am a wildlife biologist, and work in varying weather conditions, and usually need to wash my hair everyday after coming in from the field.

The saga of "good hair" has continued to some degree now that I have Bryony in my life. People seem to be overly concerned about what her hair is doing as she gets older. As a newborn, she had bone-straight black hair, but slowly it started to curl. Several people have commented sadly, "Oh, it got curly...!" as if curly hair (as if MY contribution to her hair) is somehow disappointing. Personally I think her curly hair is outrageously beautiful. There have even been a few people (virtual strangers, mind you) who have reconciled her curly hair by saying that at least it's like the texture of Adam's hair and not mine. (Yes, people have really said that to my face.) Granted, I'm her mother, but I think my baby girl is beautiful no matter what the curl level of her locks. And in that vein, what happens if her hair does change and ends up more like mine? Does that mean the world will find her less attractive because of it? Well, her mother won't...

And so that's my hair story. It took twenty years for me to finally come to terms with my natural hair, and to not only be okay with it, but to love it. Are there bad hair days when I wish my hair were different, easier, straight? Sure. But I know women with straight hair who wish for curly hair. And women with glorious curls who straighten the hell out of them every day. We all want what we can't have; it's human nature, I think. I once read a book that discussed the issue of black women's woes with their hair, and the idea of "bad hair" versus "good hair." The book concluded by saying, "In our opinion, if you've got hair, GOOD!".

Good, hair.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Wheezing, Waking, Working

Yesterday, while trying to get some housework done as Bryony napped, I heard what sounded like a baby or kitten crying softly in the house. I listened at Bryony's door and determined she was sleeping peacefully, but I could still hear the crying intermittently. I walked all over the house trying to figure out the source, and after a good two minutes, I realized I was hearing the sound of my own wheezing...allergy season again. Adam calls it my musical nose when the wheezing comes on, but I usually only notice it at night when I'm trying to sleep. Despite the onset of pollen this spring, I haven't felt nearly as bad as I have in previous years, of which I'm very grateful.

The most challenging thing I've had to deal with lately is insomnia. I just can't seem to fall asleep until a good 2-3 hours after I've gone to bed, no matter how sleepy I am. Add in the fact that Bryony has started waking every 3-4 hours again, and I end up with only about 4-5 hours of quality sleep per night. Now I know why people with kids always look so tired. I look like one of them now.

I'm slowly but surely putting my house back together again after having had it painted a few weeks ago. Everything has been down in the basement while I have cleaned surfaces, swept floors and sorted through all our stuff, figuring out what to keep, what to sell and what to pitch. All this while trying to entertain and look after a 10-month old. Needless to say, my house still is not in the condition I want it to be in, but it's getting there.

Still on the hunt for a good-condition (Baby Jogger brand) jogging stroller. If anyone knows of one for sale in the Lansing area, let me know.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Walk The Line

Bryony and I travelled to Oregon last month to visit with my former roommate and good friend Janice for a week. While we were in the PNW, we managed to squeeze in a visit with my good friend Eva-Maria and her daughter Alexandra. At some point during conversation that evening, one of the adults commented on how something is very "conservative," and a few seconds later, made mention of something being very "liberal" and Alexandra asked what those words mean. I should preface the rest of this anecdote by acknowledging that all three of the adults that night are steadfast liberals. However, as I tried to define and contextualize the words for an 11-year old mind, I found myself wanting to be as fair and unbiased as possible. If I remember correctly, I told Alexandra that liberal could mean "open-minded, willing to accept new ideas and ways of doing things" while conservative could mean "set in one's ways, less likely to welcome change." Eva-Maria countered that conservative could easily be defined as "traditional," a definition that I found both accurate and fair.

Alexandra still seemed a little confused, so I decided to give her an example. Picking up on the "traditional" concept, I asked her to think of Thanksgiving dinner. Knowing that this is certainly not the way things are done in every partisan household, or even most, for the sake of ease or explanation, I used the following example:

A conservative might go for a more traditional Thanksgiving dinner, with a turkey, ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, stuffing, dinner rolls and apple pie. It's tried and true, it's traditional and it's what we know, so it feels right. On the other hand, a liberal might opt for a new and more experimental menu for Thankgiving dinner, with an interesting fusion of ethnic Native American dishes and cuisine from England, to truly commemorate the blending of cultures from the first Thanksgiving.

This seemed to make sense to Alexandra, although I did re-emphasize that the Thanksgiving dinner example was just that, an example, and certainly not what conservatives and liberals throughout the U.S. are doing every November.

So I've been thinking more and more lately about what sets up left-leaning liberals apart from the conservative right. With all the news of late about Tea Parties, filibusters, partisan politics, death threats and the like, I've been re-examining my own political will. Make no mistake, I am a left-leaning liberal, through and through, and I believe that I always will be. Having said that, however, I do believe that having opposing parties and viewpoints strikes a necessary balance. As much as I would like to always have policy and legislation dicatated by liberal politicians since those are my values, I don't pretend to think that everything I believe is necessarily the "right" way. I think it is, but it's not right for everyone, and I can appreciate that.

News surfaced this past weekend that Justice Stevens is retiring from the Supreme Court soon, meaning that Obama will be looking to replace a very uber-liberal leaning justice with someone similar. I heard a news commentator comment that this replacement will not really rock the proverbial boat, at least not nearly so much as if it were a conservative judge retiring. As much as I don't agree with conservative values and legislation, all I could think is, "Well, I guess our nation was built on the idea that dueling viewpoints would both have a place in our country's political spectrum, and to some extent, they serve as a 'checks and balance' system so as not to allow things to get too wildly liberal (*sniff!*) or too desperately conservative." Although a bit of wild liberalism never hurt anyone...

So, I guess all of this rambling has been meant to impart the fact that while I don't agree with my political opponents, I can still respect (some of) their viewpoints and their important role in the landscape that is American politics. I might be very left of center, but I can still walk alongside the line.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Shake and Bake

Don't hate me. I've been offline for a reason, that reason being I couldn't figure out how to get online. We recently had our entire house painted, and of course that meant unplugging every electronic item and moving every inch of furniture to the depths of the basement (or the center of the room, whichever was easier). Well, let's just say that unplugging things without rhyme or reason is a heck of a lot easier than figuring out how to connect them all together again...and where is one's technologically savvy (aka geeky) husband when one needs him? After all, he was the brainchild that set up all of said wires, cords and plugs to begin with.

In any case, after two weeks of no internet service, I managed to wrangle the geographically distant husband into a productive phone call which consisted of him telling me, step-by-step, where I should check to determine the connection breakdown. After about fifteen minutes of dropped cell phone calls, hushed responses (on my part) because of a sleeping infant, and tiptoeing back and forth from telephone jack to modem and router, we finally determined that the problem lay in the jack. Just as techno-sav hubby decided that a professional would need to be called in, I countered with my own idea--let's open the damned thing up, risking electric shock to see what we could see. So, donning the screwdriver whilst stripping an already-badly-stripped screw, I managed to get the jack cover open, only to find that one of the wires (the red one, to be exact) had popped out of its companion screw. Oh, and it was corroded to boot, so not only did it not produce a connection when I tried to screw it back in, but it also broke. The inner electrician in me remembered how others before me--ghosts of electricity past--had used wire cutters to remove the plastic outer coating. Well, I didn't have wire cutters, but I DID have scissors...I couldn't remember if a telephone wire had enough electrical current to give my scissor-clad hands a nice buzz...so, I risked it.

My risk paid off. Not only was I able to get off the plastic, but I didn't break the wire and I was able to screw it into the back of the jack. Voila! Phone service again...and yes, (wireless) internet service, back from the dead. Needless to say, I spent the next ten minutes catching up on all that I'd missed out on for the last two weeks. Okay, maybe it was more like thirty minutes, and then the baby woke up.

Anyway, it was nice to feel like a productive adult after so many days of shaking rattles and crawling after a crawling 10-month old. Not that those aren't important activities, too, but fixing a technological problem boosted my self-esteem in a way that I really needed. Even the tech-savvy hubby was proud: "Wow, hon, you did that! That's great! Really great!" As you can see, I'm still savoring this minor victory.

It's Shake and Bake, and I helped!

Thursday, April 1, 2010