PeaceBang

Five Pound Bee

I have a confession to make. I have two secret thrills this time of year. One is to eat lots and lots and lots of fiddlehead ferns. I rinse them really well in four or five changes of water, I steam them, and then I sautee them in olive oil, a little bit of butter and loads of garlic. I eat them by the bowlful for dinner. You sprinkle a little bit of fleur de sel on top and mmmm MMM.

The other secret weird springtime thrill is that I love to pet bees. Bees are really great people, and I love to watch them pollinate flowers and then pet them with the tip of my index finger. That’s my technique and I’m sticking with it. I am a champion Secret Bee-Petter. I have not been stung yet (not for petting them, anyway, just randomly one time). I only pet the fuzzy bumblebee types because why would you want to pet the other, scaly kind?

Sometimes when I’m on my way somewhere on a warm spring day I get very distracted by bees and have to stop and try to pet them. This is why I’m always late for appointments and social dates, so please excuse me. I am petting bees.

Yesterday I was coming out of the library and I saw the FATTEST, JUICIEST bee EVER. I said out loud, “That’s a five pound bee if I ever saw one.”

And then I decided that if I ever have a band I will call it “Five Pound Bee.”

It should probably be a Dixieland Band, don’t you think?

Buh-Bye, Jer

Well, Jerry Falwell is dead, and I’m trying to figure out how they’ll blame this one on the gays, the pagans, the feminists, the liberals and the abortionists.

Or maybe they’ll just start the canonization process right away and skip over the demonization piece. Ladies and gentlemen, get out the ginger ale and Saltines.

Just in case you were hankering for a tasty morsal from this fine fella’s feedbag of quotes, here’s one from the NPR article:

Two days after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, during an appearance on Pat Robertson’s television show, Falwell claimed that the attack was God’s judgment on America’s immorality.

“I really believe that the pagans and the abortionists and the feminists and the gays and the lesbians, who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way — all of them who try to secularize America — I point the finger in their face and say, ‘You helped this happen.’”

Mr. Falwell, the most neutral thing I can say about your death is that you’re in God’s hands now. And, um, I’m sure you did some good things in your life, too.

I Heart Nathaniel Philbrick

… and he’s going to be at Brookline Booksmith TONIGHT AT 6PM!

::thumpety thump thumpety thump::::

Oh, Boston area pals? I have box seats to the Sox game on May 29th because I am the luckiest l’il minister in the land.

You can:
1. ask to join me (sorry couples, I only have one extra tickie)
2. set me up with some nice, funny guy who won’t mind my compulsive outbursts and obvious salivating over Jason Varitek

Fat Thoughts

Well, this is a very interesting article about why Leonard Nimoy started a series of fat nudes. I’d like to see the exhibit out at Northhampton.

I was more than a little bummed by the last sentence but hey, I don’t find Leonard Nimoy sexually attractive, either, so I’ll live. It’s just that most men in this culture have a default setting not to find fat women sexually attractive as a group, with very little sense that they’ve been essentially brainwashed by Madison Avenue and Hollywood to respond that way. I kind of want to say to Lennie, “Hey Lennie… have you met *every* fat woman? Are you *sure* you’re not attracted to any of them?”

I know aesthetics matter, but I think it’s a lot more than that. I’ve talked about this before, but I don’t mind ranting about it on a regular basis because it’s a serious issue. Too many people in this country equate fat with moral inferiority, sloppiness and laziness. I’ve read literally thousands of personals ads in my day and you’d be surprised how many guys stipulate that they want “a woman who takes care of herself” — when what they mean is “a thin woman.” I work out three times a week and eat really well. I don’t smoke or do any drugs except the occasional cocktail. But fat girls are assumed to not be taking care of ourselves.

What really burns me is the hundreds of guys who take the clarification one step further by writing something like, “I don’t want some woman whose [sic] sitting around eating bon-bons all day,” or “Don’t say you’re ‘curvy’ if your [sic] JUST FAT!”

Oh, I just love those gents. What darlings. They’re just so clear about what they want. You can apparently be an uneducated, drug-addicted felon who spent most of her formative years in juvie hall, but that’s okay. Just don’t be FAT!
Yea, dude, we get it. We get it.
Meanwhile, Prince Charming, I’d like to date a guy who can spell. We all have our dreams.

ANYhoo, this book Rethinking Thin has won rave reviews and is basically a debunking of much of the conventional wisdom about fatties and fatness. It’s on my Amazon wish list and I plan to read it this summer. Gina Kolata, I’d like to take you out for sushi, baby!

Other Acronyms

What do you call those things like
LOL
and
ROFLMAO
and other on-line shorthand thingy-dingys?

Because I’m getting bored with the usual ones.

There’s WTF and JFC and OMG — and I’m not about to elaborate on those if you don’t know what they stand for.

But I’m thinking of adding:

LYLGFS (Love You Lots, Going For Sushi)
and
RLGJITS (Running Late, Gotta Jump In The Shower)
and possibly also
MMHLIT (Mama Mia, How Lame Is That?)
to my repetoire.

Other contenders include
GGMM (Good Golly Miss Molly)
and
IASLURN (I Am So Loving U Right Now)
or
SUSCW (See U Soon, Can’t Wait).

Then there’s
LHM (Lord Have Mercy)
and
TBTG (Thanks Be To God)
and
PTL (need I say?)
for the religious set.

Finally, we could add
GGNC (Gotta Go, Need Chocolate)
or
FAWIT (Falling Asleep While I Type)
and
PWS (Procrastinating Writing Sermon).

Would you like to nominate a few?

Two Funny Mother’s Day Things

Several of my congregants wished me a happy mother’s day today, all with sweet hugs and thanks for “taking care of all of us.”

At the greeting line at the end of the service, a gang of our little ones came cruising around the corner, careening into the parish hall for coffee hour. As I always do, I managed to wrangle one of them and slow him to a walk.

This all happened in a flash and in the midst of a total social scene, so I didn’t think anyone noticed. But one of my 30-something fathers of three did, and broke into a huge grin. “Happy Mother’s Day,” he said, “That was VERY GOOD!” And we laughed together and as he was walking past me, he said over his shoulder, “We’re all your children now, Wendy!”

It took me a second to get it, but when I did I loved the reference: Peter Pan.

And then I came home to this from my mom,

Hi…

Letting you know that I’ll be in Riverhead most of the day. Should you decide to take a few moments out of your busy day to call your mother, if you have the time, of course, please wait til evening. I certainly don’t expect you to go to all that trouble & will surely understand it if you can’t pick up the phone & speed dial your mother on this day. I’m sure it wouldn’t take as long as the grueling labor pains I endured while waiting for you to push your big heads out from my insides where you lived for nine months. If you can’t, I’ll understand. Don’t worry about me, please; I’ll be alright. There’s always next year.

Your mother xoxo

I was doing okay and just gently chortling until I got to the line about the BIG HEADS. Oh Shirl, you’re too much.

Happy Mother’s Day to all who mother.

Over Forty

Something I’ve noticed lately is that when I talk to my friends who are over 40, there’s an ever-more frequent catalog of aches and pains, or little ailments.

“How you doing, hon?”

“Pretty good, but I’ve been really gassy lately.”

“You know, me too. Must be all those soy products. And God, I am so depressed this month.”

And so on. It’s very comfortable, a bit like primates sitting around picking nits from each other’s heads. No cause for alarm.

On the other hand, if I mention something to a 20-something friend their response is quite different. They quickly recommend new diets, elixirs, the latest article they read, the medical information they think I don’t have, or Dr. Phil’s opinion of the thing. They rush to help, to fix, to inform.

I find this incredibly endearing and irritating at the same time.
I’m middle-aged now. I’ve read a thousand and one books on nutrition and tried every cleansing regimen and exercise fad and self-help trend you can think of. I don’t care what Dr. Phil thinks. I don’t need a fix. I’m sorry I made the mistake of responding truthfully.
Sometimes an old broad just wants to kvetch a bit, that’s all. And if she wants advice (and sometimes she does), believe me, she’ll ask.

When I started in ministry, I was quite the little advice giver myself. I thought that’s what people expected of me. By now, I’ve realized that most folks just really need someone to be with them in the spirit of care and love while they share their pain and fear. No advice needed, most of the time.

But you learn that with age.

Speaking of which.

I was meditating the other night on the question of knowing God’s love, resting in it, experiencing it. I was doing my usual agitated type praying, banging at God’s door asking, “EXCUSE ME! WHY? WHY THIS, WHAT THAT?” and then waiting in stillness for an answer, then banging again.

As you can imagine, this method of prayer is not usually terribly effective in the pursuit of spiritual wisdom.

But the other night, I got a response so big it was like a billboard across my mind. It read,
“THIS WILL COME WITH AGE.”
And then,
“I PROMISE.”

Then I was flooded with a sense of such blessed assurance that I breathed a big deep breath and fell fast asleep.

The Peabody Sisters: Recommended Summer Reading

Tim and I went to see Megan Marshall talk about her marvelous book, The Peabody Sisters: Three Women Who Ignited American Romanticism at the Winchester Public Library last week.

I am filled with admiration for Ms. Marshall, who took twenty years to write this monumental contribution to 19th century history, and particularly to women’s history. If you’re an Emerson or Thoreau fan, a Horace Mann or Nathaniel Hawthorne groupie, a student of Unitarian history or just American history, if you just want to know more about the roots of American literary culture, or if you have a sister, don’t miss this book.

The main character, Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, is a bit of an exhausting gal to keep up with (learning Hebrew as a child so that she could read the Old Testament in the original and that sort of thing), so I couldn’t read straight through the book. It’s so beautifully researched I couldn’t just do my usual munch-it-up-like-candy routine and put it back on the shelf. It’s still on my kitchen table just because I’m not ready to put those girls away quite yet.

Can’t recommend it highly enough to you.

There’s a fascinating theme woven throughout the book about 19th century medicine, the condition sometimes referred to as “neurasthenia” (think all those “nervous” women taking to their beds for extended periods and you’ll know what I mean). Sophia Peabody suffered from chronic migraines and her ailments, psychological and physical, are well-documented and analyazed by Marshall.

I was well-acquainted already with Margaret Fuller’s nervous condition, and with Lidian Emerson’s long periods sequestered in her bedroom and began to wonder about all of this. Was sickness, as Marshall suggests, one way for 19th century women to exert some control over their schedules and their individual destinies?

To help me understand that question, I am now reading Barbara Ehrenrich and Deidre English’s classic, For Her Own Good: Two Centuries of The Experts’ Advice to Women.

But what I’m really looking forward to is Megan Marshall’s next biography on Ebe Hawthorne, Nathaniel’s eccentric and reclusive sister who once remarked to Sophia Peabody that she didn’t need the excuse of infirmity to claim “the power to withdraw.”

Hurry, Megan! Your devoted fans await!

My Annual Wedding Industrial Complex Rant With a Marriage Equality Twist

And then, maybe after they’ve considered the dress, the caterer, the florist, the party favors, the DJ, the honeymoon destination and all this other insanity, the engaged couple might put a few moments of thought into the actual wedding ceremony.

I’ve ranted about this before, of course, but I’m feeling especially cranky about hetero privilege right now because marriage equality is under threat in Massachusetts.

“On January 2, 2007, legislators voted by a margin of 62-134 to advance a discriminatory ballot initiative to add an amendment banning same-sex marriage to the Massachusetts state Constitution. If the amendment gets 50 or more votes in a second vote later this year, it will go before voters on the 2008 ballot.” (from www.massequality.org)

141 Massachusetts legislators support marriage equality, but we need 8 more votes to keep it from becoming, “a toxic public campaign of discrimination against gay families.” My own state rep, Robert Nyman, is one of the legislators who needs to be persuaded. I’m writing and calling, and urge Massachusetts readers to join me in your own efforts.

Visit www.MassEquality.org to see how you can help.

After all, why should happy hets be the only ones to be bombarded with the consumeristic fallout of falling in love and desiring to share their lives together?

Bring on the Gay Bridal Expo!

Readability of the New PeaceBang Blog

Can everyone see everything okay?

I got a one comment asking for bigger font and higher contrast.

Please let me know if this is true for you, too. We’re still in process.