Forgotten Lyrics

Today
Isn't it rich
I took our pictures down
Are we a pair
Removed from the walls
Me here at last on the ground,
Taken from the shelves
You in mid-air
No longer adorning the top of my dresser
Isn't it Bliss
You don't want me anymore
Don't you approve?
I'm consigned to a life of solo
One who keeps tearing around
I've traveled this road before
One who can't move
Feels like a prison cell
Where are the Clowns?
How did I find myself here again?
Just when I'd stopped
Comfortless
Opeining doors
Companionless
Finally Knowing the one that
Uncherished
I wanted was your's.
Forsaken
Making my entrance again
The heart knows nothing of logic
With my usual flair
The proper course of thought is
Sure of my lines
Sense and Rationale
No one is there
Sanity
Don't you love farce
Sound Judgement
My fault I fear
My, God!  Give me something to which
I thought that you'd want
I might be bound
What I want
My tether is gone
Sorry, my dear
No security
But where are the clowns?
No mooring
Quick, send in the clowns
Please, Please
Don't bother they're here
I am so desolate
Isn't it rich?
Today
Isn't it queer?
I took our pictures down
Losing my timing
You packed your boxes
This late in my career
I packed your books
And where are the clowns?
We will never be us again
There are ought to be clowns
We will never be them
Well, maybe next year
I have no place
I have no heart
I have no one
That's fair
I deserve that
I never let anyone in

Credited Italics: Stephen Sondheim 'Send in the Clowns'

And today, I learned a little more.

"And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind" --Bon Iver

 

 

I walked in the country last week.  I saw the most amazingly long, luxurious grass.  Beautiful grass.  It grew in tufts and tumbles, thin and green, and immediately reminded me of the ocean, or short wavy hair. It looked like it should be moving but it wasn't. It was still. I reached out to touch it.  It reached back.  I wish I had realized sooner in my life that you can unify with grass.

 

I cut the water.  I like to canoe.  I have a great canoe partner.  He likes to be in the front.  I like to be in the back.  He knows where to go and how to navigate the water.  I never worry when I'm with him.  He guides us well.  I hope I get to keep him for a long while.  I've learned to value every moment.  He shows me worlds I didn't remember.  Our worlds.  I missed them. He sees things I don't. 

Yesterday morning, the sun was shining...those long, lost streams of light.  The ones that look like Celestial spotlights.  Every morning it comes in the east window and splits the living room.  It dances on my walls and tickles the edges of my antiqued furniture.  If I forget to open the cascading curtains, the rays wait patiently for my realization.  Sometimes I lay in them, like a cat.  Sometimes my cat lays with me.  We sleep.  We wake.  Sometimes I force myself to sleep again because I want to know what happens in my dream.  It used to be sad to wake up so often.  Now, it isn't. Hm.

The trees in my yard sound like waves.  I'll explain later.  Someday.

 

I got into my car and noticed there were dried water spots on my neighbor's windshield.  None on mine.  Odd.  It rained in his world, but not mine.  Or maybe he watered his lawn and I didn't. I drove a little further and passed a girl getting into, or out of, her car.  She had long dark hair with Pocahontas-like stuff in her hair.  Her hair swung and the sun passed through it in slow motion.  Blessing.

 

I'm not sure what I want right now. Today.  Do I want a little space in the blueberry sky? A post on a cloud (the-I-wonder-what-clouds-feel-like kind.) Where time freezes and I get to just think and do nothing else, all by myself, or do I want it to be a separate world where other people on their personal clouds can wave to each other and talk as they wonder about things and collect their thoughts? And do I want to have a limited amount of time there every day to make sure I don't neglect normal life or do I want to trust myself to control the time I spend up there? I also want to chat with old friends because I know they are online too and I haven't talked to them in a long time but I know we're both busy. I would like to do stuff I used to like to do all the time like color and paint and sing and make music.

One day I'll be brave enough to open all the curtains in my room.  I expect to be woken up by an explosion of light. I can hardly wait.

It's raining again. Maybe a nap.

 

 

Learn A Little Texan

It was recently brought to my attention that I talk funny.  That may could be. I make no bones about the fact that I am a Texan.  Proud and strong.  As independent as the Great State, itself.  But, on the frozen tundra of Northern Minnesota, the people don't seem to properly appreciate my 'accent.' This coming from people who say such clever things as, "Oh, yah, ya bethchya'.  Or "Sven and I are  gonna take my boot oot on da lake, tomorroo." Or, "Did ya hear the one about Ole and Lena?"  I still haven't figured out "Uffda."  I'm not sure even THEY know what they're saying. 
Don't misunderstand my scathing review of the local nomenclature.  It's just, quite simply, not mine.  Not my native tongue.  And as mine is not thier's, we do not understand one another with the simplicity and ease afforded to cultural siblings.

So, in an effort to alleviate some of the frustrations presented when a Yankee is having a tough time deciphering my vernacular, I present to you a Bridget-English translation guide.
NOTE: This is a handy guide to use with all Texans.  While traveling in Texas, please feel free to carry this handy guide with you - trust me, you will need it.

When one travels abroad, it is usually wise to learn a few words and phrases in the native language. It is also wise to learn a little about the native culture to make you appear less touristy.
For example, should you choose to make Texas your travel destination, you should know that Texas was once its own country called the Republic of Texas.  Most Texans do not yet realize this is no longer the case. They are very sensitive about their homeland. Tread lightly.  At any point we decide to, we can legally and willfully secede from the Union and become our own country once again.  Of course, that would send the Union into a financial black hole, as Texans enjoy being a rather wealthy lot. So, we're not likely to secede, as we are a gracious people and we like knowing that y'all need us.

Texans speak a form of English (pronounced "Ainglish" in Texan), so the language should not be too much of a barrier. There are a few key differences, though. For example, I do not find the title, "Learn A Little Texan" to be ambiguous for English speakers, but it may be for a speaker of Texan (prompting one to go meet a shorter Texas native).  These are the subtleties that you need to master before your trip to the Lone Star State.  Or before you attempt to speak to a Texan.  We have no desire to learn your language.  But, it's in your best interest to learn ours.

Ah - (ah). The letter "I" or the sound produced by the long "i", as in ahce (ice), tahr (tire), lahk (like), or mah (my).

All git out - (all-git-out). To a great degree, exceedingly, or as much as possible, as in, "She was madder'n (see 'n below) all git out!"

Bald - (bald). Boiled, as in, "Cook me up a hard bald egg."

Big'o - (big-oh). Big ol', big ole, or big old, as in, "That sure's a big'o truck."

Caw - (caw). Call, as in, "Caw may (see may below) later."

Done - (dun). Done, completed, broken up, or tired, as in "the chicken's done", "we're done", or "I'm done."

Ev'thang - (ev-uh-thang). Everything, as in "Is ev'thang ah'ite (see ah'ite above)? See also thang below.

Fixin' - (fix-in). About, when used with to, pronounced "tuh", as in "I'm fixin' tuh go to the game." Or, the whole of the side dishes included with a meal when made plural "fixins", as in "We're havin' turkey and all the fixins."

Gimme - (gi-mee). Give me or give to me, as in "Gimme a break."

Get/Got on at - (get or got-on-at). To gain or to have gained employment from, as in, "Johnny's gonna' (see gonna' below) try to get on at the feedlot next week," or "Johnny got on at the feedlot last week."

Gonna' - (gun-uh). Going to. See get/got on at above.

In'thang - (in-uh-thang). Anything, as in "Do we need in'thang from the store?"

Jeetjet - (jeet-jet). Did you eat yet(?), as in, "Jeetjet? Squeat." (See squeat below).

Kicker- (kick-ur) The deciding or utmost motivating factor, the last and typically most persuasive reason or argument. As in..."and now here's the kicker..."

 

Libel'ta - (libel-tuh). Liable to, or, more appropriately, likely to, as in "He's libel'ta go off and do sumpin' (see sumpin' below) stupid."

May - (may). Me

'n - (un). Than, when following a descriptive, as in "bigger'n Dallas" or "madder'n all git out (see all git out above)."

Nuttin' - (nut-in). Nothing, as in, "I ain't got nuttin'."

O' - (o). Ol', ole, or old, an article like "the" or "a", especially when applied to persons or animals, as in "O' Scooter is good o' boy (or dog)."

-Off - (off). A condition or state of being when appended to the end of a descriptive, as in "The doc says Jim's pretty bad-off." Others include good-off, well-off, and the more familiar ticked-off, hacked-off and, of course, p'd-off.

-Out - (out). Appended to a verb to form seemingly interchangeable present tense descriptives, as in wore-out, give-out, plum-out. "He's plum wore out!"

• Note: for the present perfect tense of verbs ending in "n" or "en", drop the "n", as in wore-out (not worn out).

Ov'air - (ohv-heir). Over there, as in, "Where are my shoes? They're ov'air."

Piddlee/Piddlee'o - (pid-lee/pid-lee-oh). Small, or a small amount, as in "Ain't you just a piddlee'o thang."

Place - (place). A particular though perhaps undefined parcel of property often preceded by a proper noun to provide definition, as in "the o' (see o' above) Johnson place." Not to be confused with the English slang "place" meaning residence, as in "my place" or "your place". If you want to invite a Texan over to your "place" and the "place" to which you are refering is a 400 sq. ft. apartment, expect to be escorted to the nearest state line.

Plum- (plum) totally or completely.  As in, "She's the plum best friend I ever had."

Purt/Purtee - (pert or perty). Pretty. Omit the last syllable when preceding a descriptive, "Joe's purt well-off (see -off above)," pronounce the last syllable when referencing attractivness, as in "She's show 'nuff (see show 'nuff below) purty!"

'R - (are). Our. (not to be confused with "are". )

The Republic of Texas.

    

   

   

 

Show 'nuff - (show-nuf). Sure enough, an intensifier (see "She's show 'nuff purty" above) or state of agreement, as in "That was some good fishin' today, wat'nit (see wat'nit below)? Show 'nuff."

Squeat - (squ-eet). Let's go eat, as in "Hungry? Squeat."

Sump'in' - (sum-pun). Something, as in "Sumpin's gotta' give."

Swate - (swate). Sweet, as in "Gimme' (see gimme above) a large swate tay (see tay below)."

Tak'n'ta - (take-un-tuh). Taking to, to have commenced or begun to enjoy, as in "He's tak'n'ta drinkin' again" or "She's really tak'n'ta him."

Thang - (thang). Thing. A universal pronoun, as in "little o' thang" or "ugly o' thang".

-Up - (up). Appended to the verb form to connote a final or conclusive condition or state of being, as in "He's gussied-up." Others include fired-up, worked-up, tied-up (not literally tied up as with ropes or chains, but similar to eat-up, see eat-up), cowboyed and/or cowgirled-up, bowed-up (agitated and aggressive or threatening).

• Note: as with -out above, for the present perfect tense of verbs ending in "n" or "en", drop the "n", as in eat-up (not eaten-up) and tore-up (rather than torn-up, meaning emotionally wounded not ripped).

Up'dee - (up-dee). Uppity, insolent as in "You better quit bein' up'dee with your momma."

Var'mit - (var-mit). Varmint, any small animal particularly when being hunted, as in "Me and o' (see o' above) Jack went var'mit huntin' this mornin'."

Wud'nit - (wud-nit). Wasn't it(?), an interrogatory typically appended rhetorically to a statement where only agreement is sought, see show 'nuff above.

-Way - (way). Similar to -off above, as in "He's in a purt (see purt above) good-way."

Whole 'nuther - (hole-nuther). A whole other, an indicator of something altogether differen, as in "That's a whole 'nuther can o' worms."

Yankee - (yank-ee). Any person born north of the Canadian River

Yer - (yer). Your.

Yonder - (yon-der). An indication of any direction or any location other than the location of the speaker, typically following a modifier, as in "up yonder", "down yonder", "out yonder", "in yonder", "over yonder", and, when appropriate, "under yonder". Shakespearean English ain't got nuthin' on Texan.

Rules to Remember:

Should you ever find yourself in Texas without an English-Texan dictionary or standing next to Bridget when she's talkin' to fast, here are five simple rules to remember, and possibly save your hide.

1. Shed Syllables. In almost any three syllable word, you can contract out any vowel from the middle syllable to make a two-syllable word and sound more Texan.

• Examples: Italy = It'ly, Florida = Flor'da, Johnathan = John'than, Melody = Mel'dy.

2. Forget the G's. Never, ever pronounce the "g" in words endin' in "ing". This is a dead giveaway that you are a Yankee cruisin' for a bruisin'.

• Examples: Fishin', Cookin', Readin' and Writin'.

3. "L's" Are Optional. Ignore "L's" following vowels in the middle of words or simply replace them with "W's".

• Examples: Light Bub (Bulb), Code (Cold) Outside, and Caw (Call).

4. Wing It (If You Dare). Let the metaphors fly. Texan is nuttin' if not colorful, so go to town, make stuff up, invent words if you must. Alliterate, elaborate, and incorporate.

• Examples: "Heck, it's hotter'n a hog on a hot plate." Why not? Sounds Texan to me. You can also compare anything to a 3$ bill (weirder'n a $3 bill), add "fire" to any exclamation ("Crap fire boy, what's the matter with you?"), or make up inoffensive swear words (dad gum it, gosh darn it, dag nab it, dad blazes, frog-slappin', etc.).

5.  Your parents are ALWAYS Momma and Daddy.  It doesn't matter how old you are. They are always momma and daddy. End of story.

6.  Know When to Fold 'Em. One of the most popular bumper stickers in Texas reads "I wasn't born in Texas, but I got here as fast as I could."
Excuse me while I laugh at you.  You're not a Texan. There is no citizenship test, membership card, or minimum residency requirement. You either are privileged enough to have been born in the Republic of Texas or not. It's okay if you weren't, just accept it. Go ahead, root for the Cowboys, wear your cute little outfits at the honky tonks, and display your bumper stickers. You are always welcome, you're just not a Texan...just be grateful you know one.

The Axiom of Lies

This evening I heard something that sent me straight back to my childhood on the Panhandle of Texas. It was a low-flying airplane. Instinctively I yelled, 'AIR RAID!!  The Russians are coming!  The Ruskies have found us!  Everybody under your desk!'  My body intrinsically knew to duck and get as near to the ground as possible. 

Obviously my teenage daughters froze in morbid, if not hideous, embarrassment, while I bent over in laughter at myself.  My husband kept walking and my youngest daughter asked what a Ruskie was.  Yeah.  It was time for a life lesson from mom...in the Arby's parking lot.
I started thinking about all the little bits of information that I had been spoon-fed as a child of the 80's. 

MTV did, indeed, kill the radio-star. Marty McFly could time travel in a tricked-out DeLorean.  Indiana Jones could out-wit, out-maneuver, and out-last anyone with nothing but a Fedora and a whip.   Micheal Jackson proved that zombies were incredible dancers. Ugly little aliens were endearing when dressed up as ghosties and flying through the air in the bike-basket of some kid named Elliot.  And Nancy Reagan taught us all to just say no...eventually I figured out she was talking about drugs.  These were culturally specific gobs of information plunged down our throats as Americans.

But, I recall some other, rather chilling, bits of information as well.  When I was in 2nd grade the Cold War was in full swing.  We gathered twice a year in the auditorium to learn about The Russians and what the Red Hoard was planning and plotting against the 'innocents' of the United States.  We had air raid drills.  I still remember the procedure.  We lived a comparatively short distance from a nuclear war-head plant.  We were taught that when a low flying airplane flew near, it was likely the Russians coming to bomb us.  We knew that if the Russians hit the war head plant, that based on the number of gas pipelines and the layout thereof, we could expect to be blown to bits within 17 minutes.  The low fliers would drop paratroopers that would come to attack the people on the ground, pillaging and raping little white girls.  Obviously to this day, I'm still a little frightened by the sound of a low flying aircraft...even the cropdusters.  Trust no one, right?

I also recall, rather sadly, what they taught us about the Indians that lived in our neck of the woods.  The Comanche, The Cheyenne, and The Kiowa.  I recall these tribes specifically because they were the ones singled out as violent amongst the Plains dwellers.  They didn't teach us about the inherent beliefs of the Tribes-people.  They simply taught us whether a group was likely to have murdered, raped or scalped the White settlers.  Classy.  And obviously terribly important for me to know as I've gone through life.  My elementary school principal, Mrs Minyen, (I never cared for her,) once told me I was lucky I was born with brown hair.  They would've ignored me.  But, my best friend, with her pretty blond hair, they would've killed her and taken her scalp as a trophy.  Can you imagine telling students something like that?

I won't even go in depth about what we were taught about African-Americans.  Heck, we didn't even call them THAT.  I'll just say that one of my good friends growing up...well, his name was Nigger-Bob.  It was a very different time.

It's the axiom of lies.  It really is.  That sounds like a paradox, but that's only because it is. 
As an adult, I've been able to figure out the basic truths I need to make wise and intelligent choices about people. It makes me sad to think that there are parents teaching their children the same garbage we were taught as kids. 

It's ok to question what we're taught.  It's ok to do our own research and it's ok to peel back a few layers on the ol' historical onion.  History is written by the survivors.
Survive your school years and get yourself an education...and infuse it with a touch of tolerance.

My Hero? Optimus Prime

I'm feeling a bit rough as of late.  My life is spinny and a bit swirly...and I mean that in the sense that it fells like my head is actually stuck in an endless cycle of toilet flushes.  Pain and hurt seem rather rampant right now.  Not just in my world, but in the world as a whole.
It's the tough times like these, that force me back to my roots.  To the philosopers of my youth.
When I was a kid I watched Transfomers on Saturday morning.  Personally I preferred the much sillier cartoons like Looney Tunes or Smurfs. But I was drawn to Transformers for one reason.  Optimus Prime.  I would sit through a whole episode just to hear one pearl of wisdom from Optimus Prime.  Prime was the leader of the Autobots (those were the good guys.)  They were usually waging battle against the evil Decepticons.
Prime was depicted as a brave, powerful, wise and compassionate leader who put his talents to use improving the universe around him. Portrayed as having a strong sense of justice and righteousness and dedicated to the protection of all life, particularly the inhabitants of Earth.

My hero. 
I present to you the following list of Prime-isms.  Learn them.  Love them.  Live them.  It's not a request.  It's an order.

'The greatest weakness of humans is their hesitancy to tell others how they love them while they're still alive.'  The time is truly now.  I'm a firm believer in saying words of edification and affirmation when they surround me.  I want the people in my life to know how I adore them.  We have to say it.  Quit reading and go say it.  Go. Now.  I'll wait.

“Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing.”  Sam, a human, continues to party it up during a Decepticon invasion...A DECPETICON INVASION!  Prime, in his wisdom speaks these words to him, urging him to stop his foolishness and take up his calling and help save the earth and all its inhabitants.  I'm sure that at some point, we've all discovered this to be true and accurate.  Seldom are we given a choice concerning our fate.  It's going to happen.  It's a much smoother ride if you flow with it.

“Sometimes even the wisest of men and machines can be in error.”  Every once in a while, we just screw it up.  Usually, our intentions are solid, but our methods aren't.  Optimus locked up the Dinobots, who actually saved the Autobots and the earthlings.  He confesses his mistake as soon as he realizes it.  Get around to the admission of the mistake as quickly as you can.  Don't be too harsh with yourself.  We all do it.  It's ok.

"Like us, there’s more to them than meets the eye."  Oh, Optimus.  How I love that you can see inside the souls of men.  Always pondering on the hearts. 

And finally:
“Until that day… till all are one.”In 1986, at the end of the Transfomers movie...the cartoon movie, a dying Optimus Prime addresses the Autobots with these final words as he hands the Matrix over to Ultra Magnus. 

Some day...some day, we'll live as one.  I truly believe this.  We'll get it right.  There is hope for mankind yet.  We are good.  If we just keep working together and helping one another. It may sound juvenile and adolescent...I suppose in many ways it is. 
But, from the silly Saturday morning routine of this little girl, came a wealth of information and wisdom. 
His words...they aren't so very unlike the words of Buddha, or Mohammad, or even Jesus. 
I honor them all.
Who said TV was bad for you?

I'll have the Sirloin with a Side of Quantum Reality

The way the world...IS.  That's the definition of quantum reality. 

To this I put my thumb to ths tip of my nose, fingers extended upward, waggling back and forth, tongue protruding, and I blow the proverbial raspberry...pppttthhhbbbt. 

I think the world is what WE...make of it.  This is going to get thick before it gets clear.  Try to keep up.

Scientists don't seem to have a singular view of life 'as it is.' Instead they seem to have 8...yes, 8 ideas of "quantum reality." These eight views of reality are each different. Yet all are considered valid, or at least successful in terms of explaining experiments.

And here they are for your digestion:

• There is no deep reality.
• Reality is created by observation.
• Reality is an undivided wholeness.
• Reality consists of a steadily increasing number of parallel universes.
• The world obeys a non-human kind of reasoning.
• The world is made of ordinary objects.
• Consciousness creates reality.
• The world is twofold, consisting of potentials and actualities.

Blah...blah...blah.
They call this whole shootin' match...'Common Sense Science.'  The majority of leading modern physicists seriously believe the first view; "There is no deep reality" and claim that there is no objective reality.  For them, 'physics is not physical, but ....metaphysical.' 

And with a little 'ting' of my ghanta bells, I have slipped into a parallel universe. My head hurts in this universe.  But, I hang out because it must have something for me to learn.

Let me introduce you to a man named Erwin Shrodinger.  Shrodinger, back in 1935,  placed a cat, along with a closed flask containing a poison, in a sealed box shielded against environmentally induced quantum decoherence (outside influences to you and me.)
If an internal Geiger counter detected radiation, the flask shattered, releasing the poison that would kill the cat.  One interpretation, the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, implies that after a while, the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when we look in the box, when we open the box, we see the cat either alive or dead, not a mixture of alive and dead.  Are ya' still with me?

At the time Schrodinger created the experiment it was often said in physics that an 'intelligence' was required to collapse the probabilities in QM.  This view was taken to the extent that one prominent physicist stated that 'the moon is not there if nobody is looking.'  Again, I blow the raspberry.
Schrodinger's cat is an attempt to show the stupidity of this view.
You can reduce the experiment to nonsense by suggesting, for example that if the experiment is filmed and the film is stored and only looked at a week later, does the probability collapse then...or when it was filmed!!?
AND WHAT HAPPENS IF NO ONE EVER WATCHES THE FILM?  IS THE POOR CAT SUSPENDED FOREVER?   PLEASE!!   SOMEONE...ANYONE, FOR THE LOVE OF THE DEITY THESE NERDS DON'T BELIEVE IN, OPEN THE BOX AND CHECK ON THE CAT!

I took just enough Quantum Physics in college to hold my own in a conversation, but not to really know what I'm talking about.

But, I think I can I can decipher this whole verschränkung. That's a joke.  Look it up.

Sometimes we have choices to make.  Tough ones.  Simple ones.  Sometimes we get to make them with other people.  But, usually we have to make them alone.  And sometimes...we don't make them.  It's rather scary to think that making the choice, might just kill the cat.  Understand what I'm saying here?  For someone like me, it's easy to open the box and determine the state of the cat.  My curiosity, if you'll allow, forces me to open the box and gaze upon the cat.  My need for clarity, context and definition insists upon it. 
I think inherently, we all want to know 'what's up' with the cat.  We can't NOT look at the moon to see if it's there. 
Make the choice.  Take the plunge. Man up.  Is it a new relationship?  A new job?  A move to a new city or state?  Maybe it's just a choice as to how you'll have your sirloin cooked.  Just choose.  You can do it.  The choice is only made when we open the box. 
Sort of a non-quantum mechanics, 'pee or get off the pot.'  Forgive me.  I was actually raised in a barn. 

Speaking of barns, I take my sirloin medium rare...and you?

Child...behave

I'm from the South.  Texas, specifically.  We have a set of social expectations there.  They're called manners.  How many times in my childhood did I hear a Cowboy utter, "Y'all need to learn some Texas manners."  This was a phrase that often left me thinking that I should find a scene of gentleman, sitting in quiet repose at a long table, festooned delicately with blue denim, white lace, prairie sage, and little cups of tea, that the men would drink from with pinkie extended.   But, that never happened.  I guess teaching someone Texas Manners involved grabbing another man by the face and slamming it into a wall while rhythmically yelling, 'I told y'all not to swear in front of the ladies.'  Apparently getting someones sweat, blood, saliva and sometimes teeth all over the ladies was acceptable. 


Where I come from men are clear on how to treat ladies.  They hold the door for ladies.  They let ladies go first in line.  They take their hats off when they speak to ladies and when they were inside of a building.  Once I saw a man smack the cowboy hat right off his son's head while the boy was speaking to my mother.  And a good gentleman would never tolerate any injustice in the world.  The expectations are clear for men.

They're also quite clear for ladies.  We, too are taught to defend the oppressed and abused. To stand for the ones who can not speak, or dare not.  We are well-dressed.  We never leave home without our complexions clean and our make-up done.  We dress well and our hair is coiffed.  We speak quietly and gently, and only when appropriate.  A Lady knows when to speak and when not.  We write thank you notes...always.  We smile when greeting someone.  We walk with confidence and we never, under any circumstance, cry in front of a man. 

I remember a teacher told me in first grade, 'Simply being born a woman, does not make one a lady.'   That was back when I thought my name was 'child-behave.' 

Rene' Carson knew how to behave.  She was so perfect...her beautiful blond hair styled and bowed.  Her fingernails were so beautiful and long.  Rene read quietly and genteelly under the small elm tree on the playground.  She and her friends were so well-behaved.  I, on the other hand, played Matchbox cars with the boys under the cottonwood on the other side of the playground.  I never had pretty fingernails.  Or perfect hair.  I never really quite got the subtleties of being a lady.  And I was never genteel. Or quiet.  But, I knew injustice when I saw it. 

I grew up in a barrio.  A Mexican ghetto.  My sister and I were the only white girls in a brown neighborhood. It was pivotal in many ways.  I would never have known the weak spots of a pinata if not for the education that I gained in The Barrio.  The Barrio was a place of grand inequality and mistreatment.  My sister defended the rights and liberties of many a Mexican in the sandbox in Glenwood Park. 

My mother used to take us up the the Heights.  That was the black ghetto on the north side of Amarillo.  A place that once again, our skin defined us and the injustice was rife.   But, she wanted us to see everyone and experience all things.   She wanted us to know that there is pain in the world and that we must never be the inflicter of any pain.

Her friend was a preacher in a Gospel church in The Heights.  Oh, how we loved to attend and listen to him preach the Spirit!  As faithful little Mormon girls, it was a departure from the normal quiet reverent piety to which I was accustomed.  We were taught that the Spirit comes when we are quiet and serene...still and focused  To make loud noises or shouts of acclamation would deter the Spirit from coming to you.  But, as a six year old little girl, I knew what I saw and I saw those people in Mr. Gibson's Gospel church feeling the Spirit.  And I knew for a little while, they must feel gathered and free from the injustice of the world.

My recollection of the all the details in the room are fuzzy after 30 years.  I remember climbing an old stairwell on the outside back wall of a building, just off the alley.  The paint peeling...the stairs moaned under my tiny weight.  The screen door creaked in a perfect ambiance.
And,  I remember that Mrs. Gibson sat near the door.  She was the preacher's wife.  And a good one.  She scooped me up in her enormous black arms and squeezed me in to her bosom...yes...she had a bosom..a large one.  And she smelled of lilacs.  She was wearing a white polyester dress that had black accents with polka-dots at the cuffs and the collar.  And she had a white hat perched perfectly and beautifully on her head.  Like a little lid that should screw on and off.  On her hands were little white gloves with a single black button.  And the smile that graced her face...and the world...was simply angelic.  She was, to my little mind, the most captivating person I had ever seen.  She told me that my spot was with her.  I would sit with her for the preachin'.  I was content with this thought as my mother and sister found seats amongst the others.  I sat down on the floor next to Mrs. Gibson...Indian style in my little blue sundress and black Mary Jane's...like a lady.

After a few more minutes of greeting people Mrs. Gibson took my hand and we began walking down the aisle lined with rusty metal folding chairs.  And then the oddest thing happened.  Through the happy conversation of Sunday morning worshippers an electric guitar began pealing out a rather rigorous rendition of Amazing Grace.   Mrs Gibson dropped my hand and began dancing in the aisle.  I was stunned...and she seeing this turned and addressed my plaintive countenance.
"Dance with me, child.  Come on...dance child!  Feel the Spirit"  She grabbed both my hands in an attemp to show me how to properly do so.  I, however, remaind steadfastly ground in immoblity.

My hesitancy lay in the fact that I was stuck at a crossroads....right there in Mr Gibson's Gospel church with electric guitars and drums and tambourines was a fork in my young life.  Should I let lose and gyrate myself into frenzied feeling of rapture and spiritual bliss or behave by walking sweetly and genteelly down the aisle?  Again she spoke to me.
"You don't have to be quiet to be reverent....You don't have to be right...you just have to be heard, girl."
And there it was.  The dichotomy established.  Did you see it? 
I'll explain. 
I can be a good girl, a lady...I can have manners and etiquette and honor my parents with my good behavior.
But, a Lady still needs to be heard.
Sometimes being heard means grabbing a guy by the face and telling him to quit swearing in front of the ladies.  Sometimes it means kicking open a door and laying a little bit of smack down on the bad guys before the time bomb goes off. 
Other times, most other times, it means sitting quietly or waiting for your turn or addressing the little girl in the aisle...explaining how it is or rather how it should be. 
Sometimes manners have to be transcended and boundaries crossed.  I believe it was Rosa Parks who set the standard.  When we sit quietly by and say nothing in the name of good manners...well, that's just the same as saying you're OK with injustice.  We can never be OK with injustice.
All that is necessary for evil to triumph is that good men do nothing.  Edmund Burke, Rosa Parks and my sweet Mrs Gibson would want you to behave, be polite and state your perspective...and if that doesn't work, I believe you're allowed to slam someones face into a wall. 
And in case you're wondering...I let lose.  And I danced like no other little white girl had ever danced in the aisles of Mr Gibson's Gospel Church.