Tuesday's Thoughts

Tuesday refers to the day of the week, not a girl with said name. (Though it could very well have been such a girl, like the actress Tuesday Weld. I most likely wouldn't recognize her now, but I know she appeared in at least one Elvis movie, thereby proving that there exists at least one female with that name.) 

I'm writing this directly on here (so I hope there is no way to accidentally post it without proofreading it first), which means I'm feeling A) whimsical and 2) pretty brave. (That was my homage to Mad About You's Paul Buchman, though I would hope anyone reading this would not need this explained.) 

My thoughts, as written in journals, letters, and on scraps of paper passed along as important missives between classes, have always tended to ramble. They would meander between topics, picking up strays here and there, finding roundabout ways to return to the original once most tangents had been touched on. 

And there was always so much joy in the practice. Yes, it was great to hear that so-and-so laughed out loud while reading a description of an otherwise mundane task. Or that a shared experience recounted in one of my letters brought it all back to life again with fond memories. There's nothing more fulfilling than to hear that your words were the cause of an emotional reaction. But it's more personal than that. 

I used to write all the time. Just to amuse myself. It was fun. Years of life trudging through managed to slow it down to almost nothing. It's wrong to blame things like school, work, love - the other necessities of life, for my newfound laziness. But that won't stop me from doing it anyway. Things get in the way. Days become long and tiring and suddenly you stop finding the time to write a humor-filled letter to a close friend (something that once would have been as important for me as it would have for our friendship). And that's no way to live. 

I'm hoping that the occasional random weekday's ramblings end up inspiring the other days of the week. :)

A Sunday in May

Happy Mother's Day!!!

A Tumblr and Fall

I have a friend who has a couple of blogs on Tumblr, so I decided to check it out. In order to follow her I had to create an account, so I thought I might as well have a blog there as well. But it doesn't feel as customizable as this one and I have no idea how to allow (or even post) comments. Plus I'm pretty sure that I created a blank blog that I now can't seem to get rid of.

It does feel nice, though, to try something new. And I really wanted to get back to more fun posts. So, hopefully this (experience/warm weather/season, etc.) will inspire those.

:)

This is a flower in our back yard. :)

The Meat We Don't Eat

Toward the end of 2010, we made the decision to stop eating most meat. I say most because we still occasionally ate seafood, with sushi being a favorite treat. So, we gave up beef, pork, poultry, and basically anything else that can walk. I wasn’t sure if we’d ever become fully vegan, but having dropped dairy and eggs along the way, we were closer rather than further from it. I’ve always loved the taste of meat, especially beef, and never actually thought I’d be able to give it up.

I did try, once, in my early twenties and was able to do it for about two years. Although I’ve always loved animals, it wasn’t an animal-rights choice then, or even a health one, really. I worked with a girl at the time who to me was the epitome of glowing health, who happened to be vegetarian. So, the following New Year’s Day, that was my resolution – to follow in the footsteps of this tall, thin, blond, relaxed, happy girl. I think she was a couple of years younger than I was, so at that time it probably wouldn’t have mattered if she ate toxic waste for lunch, she would still most likely be the beautiful, energetic teenager I knew.

The problem with me giving up meat at that time was that I’ve never been interested in the preparation of food. I liked eating, just not having anything to do with how it got to the point of being ready for consumption. And back then there weren’t very many vegetarian options as easily available in stores and restaurants as there are now. So, I subsisted mainly on salads. That was okay for a while, but for a hard core meat eater—whose favorite dish was steak tartare—a life of simple dinner salads (really, they were all mostly just lettuce and tomatoes) was just not going to cut it. So, eventually, I went back to meat. And I found it tastier than ever and thought I would never be able to overcome the addiction after my failed attempt. But I also didn’t have any real reasons for trying it, or any real motivation for learning to eat a different way. It had to come about naturally, slowly.

As I said, I’ve always loved animals. All animals. Of course dogs and cats were a given, but really any living being had the potential to end up with a rich family life and a great back story. Maybe it’s the influence of Disney movies. Maybe my mom’s harsh bedtime stories, designed to draw out sympathy toward all things, living or not (which is really very similar to Disney’s characterizations) were the root of it all. It was most likely a combination of the two, with my own sappy personality thrown in. (To this day, animated movies are the most likely to make me cry.)

W, on the other hand, had been a vegetarian for about 8 years before giving it up shortly before we started dating. We enjoyed many wonderfully meat-filled meals together for quite a while. The fact that he likes to cook and is so good at it made it even more enjoyable. His choice to stop eating meat all those years ago had been health-based; his body just didn’t like the heaviness of meat. But eventually he started eating it again and found that he enjoyed food more than he had in the past. But then we started changing.

W, who’s always researching topics of interest through as many sources as possible, started reading things on Buddhism, which led to many other similar subjects. I then found a radio station that provided a different perspective on the news than the usual sources, and we both started looking at/into things a little differently. Most of these things dealt with compassion and a less selfish way of looking at life.

For a while, I struggled with reconciling what now seem like two very opposing ideas of loving animals and not wanting to cause them harm and loving the way a steak tastes when it’s medium rare. I wasn’t sure I could give it up, but at the same time, it made me feel guilty.

Eventually, I decided that we had to stop. It was just going to be “meat that walks” at first. But the more information we looked at, the more sense it made to go all the way and exclude as many animal products as we could from our diet.

I’ve been asked why and have tried to explain it as best as I can. I think it really boils down to not wanting to be a part of the violence, and believing that our lives aren’t more important than others’ lives. We do not need to eat animals in order to survive, or even in order to be healthy. As a matter of fact, there’s plenty of evidence to show that not eating them is healthier for us (and obviously them, too).

When we saw Forks Over Knives, I was so excited to show it to the people I care about, to share the information with them and maybe give them a reason to try it my way. I have a very supportive family, so they watched, complimented it, had a vegan dinner with me…and then went back to eating the way the always have. And even though I knew that I wouldn’t be able to just change someone else’s life with the click of a button on the DVD player, I guess I was a little disappointed that it didn’t actually have a more lasting impact. Obviously, I care about my family and I want them to be healthy and live a long time (in as comfortable a way as they can). But I know that I can’t make these decisions for anyone else. I know how hard it was for me to come to this on my own – and I know that it had to be on my own, in my own time.

I’ve decided that I’m not going to try to change anyone’s mind or even get into a discussion about it.  This is my choice because I wholeheartedly believe it’s the right one. I feel that I’ve matured into it. I wish people would stop eating meat and there was no need for gigantic industries that torture animals for no reason. I wish life in general were more respected by more people. I wish compassion were something taught as a part of raising children (something we’re trying to do). And I wish it wasn’t seen as something out of the ordinary to have this perspective.

I’m sure this will pop up on here again from time to time when I’m venting about stuff, but I wanted to put it out there as a starting point for those of you who didn’t know. 

I'm Baaack

At the beginning of last year, wanting to figure out a way to work together, W asked ex if she would agree to counseling with him. She agreed. He found a place close by with a very accessible sliding scale. And they went. Their appointments were on kid days for us, so I left work early to be home in time to watch the kids before he had to go. They lasted three sessions.

During those sessions it became very clear that she had not moved past their separation at all, and was just as bitter and angry as if it had just happened. She admitted that she didn’t trust his motives for suggesting counseling, but was willing to go “as long as he was paying for it.” While W went into this to try to create a more cooperative environment for the children, she used it as an opportunity to unleash all the anger she’s been holding onto. At the end of the third session it was very clear to W that ex wasn’t going to make any effort to work toward a more cooperative relationship, and he stopped scheduling appointments.

I share this because during their first session ex brought up that I “write about her,” and the counselor told W to ask me to stop. Not just to stop mentioning her in my blog (which by then I hadn’t done in a year and a half), but to take it down completely. When he got to that part in telling me about his experience that night, we had a fight about how much was too much to ask of me, and how to me it felt like unnecessary censoring.

From the beginning of my relationship with W, ex has always told lies about us to anyone who would listen (or, more likely, couldn’t get away). We were even approached by the principal of the kids’ school once, complaining that ex would corner people at any social function and endlessly complain to them with stories that made them uncomfortable. At one point we found out that she was making secret pacts with their teachers about them not communicating with me; she convinced all the soccer team moms that I needed to be ignored; in general, she has always been very actively turning people to “her side.” I don’t know why the people that we’re all going to come in contact with can’t be equally kept out of what she obviously sees as some sort of a war, but I guess she feels that would make her vulnerable to the obvious attacks we would launch against her. Please, whoever might be reading this, please pause here and realize that the last part of the previous sentence was drowning in sarcasm.

I know it may seem ironic that I’m now doing the very thing I was asked not to do, but I’m seriously very tired of being on the losing end of this double standard. She gets to say and do whatever she wants and faces no negative consequences of doing so, while I’m asked to be “the bigger person” and not even attempt to defend myself.

As far back as I can remember, writing has been a way for me to deal with things. If I can’t talk it out with the person I have an issue with, then I like to write it out (preferably with a more comedic touch than this piece). And yes, she’s given me plenty to write about. But my blogs have never been about her – gossiping, bad-mouthing, or whatever else she’s afraid of. They’ve been about me sharing my frustrating experiences with whoever happens to stumble upon them and is willing to read them. It’s not even unusual. Anyone with access to the internet can have their own little space on it. Many do. Most are personal accounts written by people who like the writing equivalent of hearing  themselves speak. I’m including myself at the head of this list.

I feel that I have the right to write about my own life, and anything that happens to be a part of it. If something’s bothering me, I want to be able to vent about it. To keep from driving my husband crazy with my venting, I want to be able to write about and share it with the world (or in my case, the few people who know about my blog). It’s a way for me to get out my frustrations; to spend some time writing; to possibly receive support in the form of feedback; to explain my side of the story. And yes, secretly I hoped that the people who only get to hear her version of events would also get to read my side and maybe realize that there are two sides to every story. It’s not even that far-fetched, since she was obviously reading my blog herself.

At the time, a little over a year ago, I changed the settings on my blog to private. I felt censored, and strongly talked into it. My husband made a strong case: It was supposed to be for a good cause. It was supposed to be a sign of good faith and a step toward promoting a better relationship between our homes. (At the next meeting, she acknowledged that the blog was marked private, and therefore inaccessible to the general public.) The problem is that there was no fair exchange made, nothing offered in return. She didn’t even complete the exercise she was assigned by the counselor. And it was obvious she wasn’t looking for peace.

Among the things I don’t understand is why someone would prefer to think that there are things being said about them but not want to know what. I’d much rather know what is being said than have it all be done in secret. Why not be open about what you have to say? The only way I embellish my accounts is by adding comedic commentary to factual events. It actually makes me think that she’s just afraid of having the other side of the story out there. If she’s not the sole storyteller then she can’t control what’s being heard, and her constant stance of being the poor victim is challenged.

I’ve been through many stages of feelings toward ex, and I tried many different approaches. I’ve even acknowledged and apologized for my part in our negative interactions. Mainly, I’ve just wanted to have a cooperative relationship between both homes with decent communication. This obviously won’t happen. (I need to mention here that W and I have been together for 7 years at this point.)

At some point, ex stopped being a person for me. I no longer acknowledge her, and would definitely never help her with anything again. Her phone number is blocked on my phone.

But my blog is mine. I am reclaiming it. I’ve gone back (into previous posts) and changed names of my family to initials, and hid the comments that I did receive. I even renamed it. If she decides to find it and read it, I wish she would see the truth in it instead of deciding that I’m just doing something to hurt her. I want my side known, if the situation calls for it.

And if she wants me to shut up, then I have this wonderful quote for her from a Michael Douglas movie: “I’ll make you a deal. You stop telling lies about me and I’ll stop telling the truth about you.”

If she wants to apologize and start over, I’m here. Until then, I am not going to be bullied by someone who’s afraid of the truth getting out.