tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24213480131369591522024-03-13T03:52:13.645-07:00Debi's Writing CollectionAn anthology of writings by Debi Brim .. personal stories, observations, humor and opinion.Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-9642938157296912922022-03-04T06:22:00.003-08:002022-03-04T06:22:49.281-08:00CORPORATE VS TEACHING - WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE?<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I spent 30 years in Corporate America. I owned my own
business for a few years after that. At the age of 50, I went back to
school and completed the last thing on my “Do Before I Die” list. I
became a high school teacher.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Going in, I knew I brought some life experiences that most
other first-year teachers didn’t have. I had experience in dealing with
bureaucracies, budgets, bosses, deadlines, and organization. I had hired,
fired, managed, trained, written procedures and much more that I saw as being
transferrable to the teaching world. Mostly, I had raised my children, so
I definitely had more experience with teenagers than the average
twenty-something new teacher!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But there are some things they just don’t tell you in
college as they prepare you for your new teaching career. Here are some
things that I had to adjust to:<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l2 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">You don’t get to go to the
bathroom anytime you want.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my corporate life, as I did my work at my desk, hidden in
my little cubicle or behind a closed office door, I could get up and go to the
restroom anytime the urge hit me. I had to adjust that habit as a teacher
because I can’t just leave a room of 30 teenagers and go down the hall to the
ladies’ room, especially when I won’t give them restroom passes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l7 level1 lfo2; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">You can’t get a soda or a snack
anytime you want.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you are a snack person who goes to the vending machine
around 10 o’clock for that bag of chips and a soda, then hits it again in the
afternoon, you need to adjust that habit. When you spend all day in front of
the room talking, you just don’t have time for snacking (not to mention it
looks a little tacky to try to talk with a mouthful of chips). Drinking two or
three sodas or bottles of water at your desk can be a problem in a classroom
….. see item #1.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l4 level1 lfo3; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">You don’t get to take a
recharge break anytime you want.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my corporate job, if I had a rough phone call with a
client, I could hang up, sit back, heave a big sigh, and just crash for a few
minutes. I could go out back for a smoke break (if you’re a smoker), hit
the vending machine, walk over to a co-worker and interrupt them for a short
chit-chat, take a walk, even if it’s just to the restroom and back. I can
take my time to gather myself before I make the next phone call. As a
teacher, if I have a bad class period, I have seven minutes between classes to
get it together before I have to do it all over again. And be cheerful
doing it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l5 level1 lfo4; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">Doctor appointments are now on
Saturday.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Boy, this one was tough the first time it happened. In
my corporate jobs, if I needed to visit the doctor, I called him from my desk
made the appointment and told my supervisor I would be gone the next afternoon
at one for an appointment. Same with cable repairmen, events with my
child, or other things I just needed to get done. As a teacher, I can’t
just leave at one in the afternoon for an hour or so. I have a room full
of students who expect a teacher to teach them. I now became one of those
people who needed the last appointment of the day with the doctor, told cable
they had to come on Saturday morning, because Saturday afternoon I had to take
my child somewhere. Whew! Scheduling just became a little more tight
than it used to be!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l3 level1 lfo5; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">My lunch hour isn’t an hour.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This may not be a big deal to some, but after 30 years of
having a full hour for a lunch hour, getting cut down to 30 minutes is
something to get used to! No more cruising through the local drive-thru, and
forget having a nice leisurely lunch with a girlfriend in a sit-down
restaurant. No more running errands at lunch which means I now had to be part
of the busy after-work crowd at the grocery or drugstore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As a teacher, I began brown-bagging again and it had to be
something quick because I found my lunch “hour” was also the best time to
prepare for the afternoon classes. In my first year of teaching, I think I
spent less than ten days doing nothing but “lunch” on my lunch time.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo6; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">6.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">Company expenses aren’t covered
by the company.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Anytime I did company business for my corporate employer, I
was reimbursed for my mileage and any purchases or expenses incurred. As
the cooking teacher, I shop for the supplies for my classes on cooking days,
using my car, my gas and my time. The food purchases are directly billed
to my school but the wear on my car, my gas and my time is not reimbursable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My department head can get me general supplies that I need,
but if I need something special for a class the next day or week, I buy it
myself. No, I don’t get to issue an expense report for
reimbursement. I saw a poster once that said “Teaching: The only
profession where you steal things from home to take to work.” That pretty
much says it all!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo7; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">7.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">Being sick is more work than
just going ahead and working.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In my corporate jobs, if I was sick that day, I picked up
the phone, called my boss, explained everything on my desk that could wait
until I got back and went back to bed. As a teacher, there is no way that
is happening! A teacher can’t just “not show up”. A teacher has a class that
happens every single day and that class can’t just sit in an in-box until the
teacher decides to come back to work.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I quickly learned to make sure everything is prepared and
laid out on my desk for the next day, just in case I got hit by a bus and had
to call for a substitute teacher at the last minute. If I didn’t do that,
it is not improbable that I’d have to get up out of my sick bed, come in to
work, get stuff ready for a sub, then go home and be sick. Teachers really do
have to plan ahead if they want to be sick. (Putting “The Ritual” into
practice really helps avoid this kind of stress!)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin: 0in; mso-list: l6 level1 lfo8; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in; vertical-align: baseline;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Helvetica;">8.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">Keep your desk secure and
clean.</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This was not a big transition as I consider myself a pretty
organized person, but I quickly learned as a teacher that I couldn’t just leave
things on my desk. Adults in a corporate job <i><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; padding: 0in;">tend to</span></i> respect what is on a person’s desk (most
of them, anyway!). But teenagers are a different story, especially if
they think they can get a quick look at the next quiz or at their friend’s
grade. Confidentiality, if it wasn’t Job One before, certainly is now.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><u><span style="border: none windowtext 1.0pt; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; padding: 0in;">The rewards</span></u></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before I make is sound like the entire adjustment is
negative, let me close with the best difference of all. My corporate job
co-workers never gave me thank you notes and hugs for helping them with the
simplest things. They never fought over who got to sit next to my desk so
they could just talk with me. They rarely told me I was the nicest person
(teacher) they had. On the rare occasions I met a co-worker’s mom, the mom
never said to me, “I hear a lot about you!” (and she means it in a good way!).
I just can’t put a value on these types of rewards.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some of the other rewards of being a teacher include the
many days off we get. I get to spend the entire summer at the pool with
my grandchildren. I get five weeks paid vacation from Day One ….. spring
break, fall break, Christmas break, Thanksgiving break, plus all of the little
one-day holidays. No Corporate America job that I know of gives you five
paid vacation weeks from your day of hire!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And let’s not forget that on really cold, snowy and
blizzardy days, we get to sleep in and not have to battle the weather or the
traffic like those who work in offices, warehouses, and factories! (I
think this is one of my favorite rewards.)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="background: white; color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-color-alt: windowtext;"><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span>.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-5620745640625993142021-03-22T13:39:00.003-07:002021-03-22T13:39:49.644-07:00 THINGS MY FRIENDS TAKE FOR GRANTED AND DON'T APPRECIATE<p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>This entry is a follow-up to the blog entry that follows this one. The blog entry below discusses what was considered "normal" when you grow up dirt poor and this blog entry discusses the "normal" things others take for granted but those of us who grew up dirt poor honestly appreciate. Both entries are similar stories so my readers may see some repetition. But it all ties in........</i></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>I appreciate it SO MUCH that my children never had to live this way. Sometimes our money was tight, but they never had to come home to disconnected lights or bill collectors banging on the door, like I did.</i></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</i></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-weight: normal;">I recently came across this article on faceboo</span><span style="color: black;">k<b>, </b></span></span><b>…..<span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial;"> </span></b></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial;">“25 former poor kids share things they never had that their friends didn't appreciate. It's a lesson in gratitude”</span></b></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://scoop.upworthy.com/former-poor-kids-share-things-they-never-had-friends-didnt-appreciate-its-a-lesson-in-gratitude?fbclid=IwAR1QQ0UHCdk9KH1OcGybb4wEOzacASOWIgsysPrEbwOMvE5dhUvzHekxw3A">https://scoop.upworthy.com/former-poor-kids-share-things-they-never-had-friends-didnt-appreciate-its-a-lesson-in-gratitude?fbclid=IwAR1QQ0UHCdk9KH1OcGybb4wEOzacASOWIgsysPrEbwOMvE5dhUvzHekxw3A</a> </span></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: arial; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;">….. which made me think of my own list. Right now I really miss CJ, as I know she
could add so much more to this very long list.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"> <br /></span></o:p></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LopScuBrzUo/YFj-Yz3MRKI/AAAAAAAAIho/oXfoWbjI-4ksOnUbJNyAySKdl4PALnFxwCLcBGAsYHQ/s470/appreciation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="470" data-original-width="434" height="177" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LopScuBrzUo/YFj-Yz3MRKI/AAAAAAAAIho/oXfoWbjI-4ksOnUbJNyAySKdl4PALnFxwCLcBGAsYHQ/w163-h177/appreciation.jpg" width="163" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Here is the list of things I've come to appreciate..... </span><p></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">My friends have frequently heard me describe
myself as “I grew up dirt poor.
Seriously, dirt had it better than us.
We had perfect attendance at school because school is where the food
was. And this was LONG before free
lunches and breakfast at school was not even an idea yet.”<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Before you read further, I also tell people I
wouldn’t change a thing because it has made me the strong, independent person I
am. People who grow up “with everything”
(uh….that can probably be translated to “grow up normal”) can’t figure out how
to survive what I refer to as “just life”.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">So many of the things listed in this article
hit home for me. Being yelled at for
eating because we wouldn’t have anything for supper tomorrow. Never being allowed to drink milk because we
had to save it for the baby. Having a car that would start. Having a car that I don’t live in fear will
break down on me and leave me stranded somewhere, then getting yelled at for
“bothering” people to use their phone to call for help.<br /> </span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I appreciate being able to have candles for
decoration and not for required light when (not if) the power was cut off
because the bill didn’t get paid. I am grateful that I know I will always have
heat in the winter. Growing up it was a
given that we’d go without heat for most of the winter.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><ul style="color: #140f2d; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cj86Y2CXpA/YFj9fb7JGaI/AAAAAAAAIhY/wnkelxbXjW4i5q6jBIOEi3c4ipEZxYALACLcBGAsYHQ/s734/toilet%2Bpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="734" height="138" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cj86Y2CXpA/YFj9fb7JGaI/AAAAAAAAIhY/wnkelxbXjW4i5q6jBIOEi3c4ipEZxYALACLcBGAsYHQ/w162-h138/toilet%2Bpaper.jpg" width="162" /></a></ul></div><p></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I appreciate and am grateful for toilet
paper. Oh my gosh, my kids will never
understand the love and thrill of always having toilet paper in the house. My
kids will never understand what it was like to go to the bathroom and have
NOTHING to wipe with. Just do your
business, pull up your pants, and go. I
can’t remember exactly when, but I was an older kid (8? 10?) before I learned
that girls also wipe after they pee.
During the summer, when we were locked out of the house, we would use
the outhouse which was never stocked with toilet paper. We thought it was normal.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I remember when I was first married and had
real boxes of tissue sitting around. I
thought I had “made it” because I could afford tissue like rich people.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Taking a bubble bath today is such a luxury.
On bath night (yes, bath night. Once a week bath night), our “bubble bath” was
made by throwing a handful of Tide powder laundry soap in the tub to make
“suds”. Never “bubbles”. Suds.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Yes, I’ve gone thru periods where I had to
juggle what was getting paid, but my kids never had their power, heat or water
disconnected. My kids will also never
know the embarrassment and fear of being ten years old and being told to answer
the door and tell the power company “the check’s in mail” while my mom hid in
the bathroom. They will never experience
learning to hide when bill collectors came to the door, which was so often it
became normal. I am grateful that I do
not have be afraid of who might be knocking at my door.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">I probably don’t like breakfast food because
many of our suppers (rich people had “dinner” …… we had supper) were eggs that
dad would get from gramma’s henhouse. Some dishes that were created when I was
a kid became a family favorite, but gravy bread will never be one of them. It was a sign that we were down to less than
nothing when gravy bread was supper.
Gravy made from Crisco, flour and water spooned over slices of bread
that went immediately soggy. </span></p><h1 style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> </span></h1><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">It may be why I refuse to eat soggy foods,
like cereal at the end of the bowl (I will eat two small bowls of cereal instead
of one normal bowl, so I can eat the cereal before it gets soggy), and I won’t
just crumble crackers in soup for the same reason.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;">Plus I just never got used to eating
breakfast since we never had money for milk for cereal and our mom was not the
type to get up and cook eggs for everyone.
I went most of my life with no breakfast. I’m used to it. It’s no big deal not to eat anything until the
afternoon. I am grateful and appreciate
just having my coffee in the morning.<br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; font-weight: normal;"> <br /></span><span style="color: #140f2d; font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uy60o6MRblA/YFj-CVvYaoI/AAAAAAAAIhg/y6Yp6YfEaLAwV-AaAgRL9HzxXiUZ2y4vQCLcBGAsYHQ/s862/bread%2Bheels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="862" height="103" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uy60o6MRblA/YFj-CVvYaoI/AAAAAAAAIhg/y6Yp6YfEaLAwV-AaAgRL9HzxXiUZ2y4vQCLcBGAsYHQ/w228-h103/bread%2Bheels.jpg" width="228" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">And speaking of bread, to this day, I refuse
to eat the last two slices in a loaf. I
will never be so poor again that I can’t afford to throw out bread that is
stale. (I also believe to waste food is
a sin, so I put these slices in the freezer and use them for stuffing and bread
crumbs.)</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">It would have been nice to have enough underwear. Our mom would buy 2-3 packs of underwear
(figure 4 pair per pack) at the beginning of school year and that had to last
three or four girls the entire year.
The. Entire. Year. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If we changed clothes/underwear too often, we got
yelled at for creating laundry for her to do, so wearing underwear for 5, 7 or
more days in a row was normal. I didn’t
know everyone else didn’t do that. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Living in the country, running water caused the electric well to run
which ran up the light bill, so too much laundry, taking a bath or washing our
hair more than once a week, would get us in trouble for causing the utility
bill to run high. When that happened
(not if, but when), then we lived with no power for a while when it got
disconnected.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm0VBjN3HWU/YFj_r0kVhmI/AAAAAAAAIhw/wJtTBpucE40N1accJGYs1h-XRfgfGU3YgCLcBGAsYHQ/s500/bed%2Bsheets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="178" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qm0VBjN3HWU/YFj_r0kVhmI/AAAAAAAAIhw/wJtTBpucE40N1accJGYs1h-XRfgfGU3YgCLcBGAsYHQ/w178-h178/bed%2Bsheets.jpg" width="178" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Having a clean bed with sheets. Sheets became a luxury and
a top sheet was something rich people used.
I honestly didn’t know fitted sheets and flat sheets were a set until I
was in my late teens or early 20s. I
thought they were just different styles of sheets that went on the mattress and
only rich people put two sheets on the bed.
<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When I watch HGTV’s house buying shows and I see people
who complain because their kids won’t share a bathroom, I have to burst out
laughing. We grew up sharing a bed. Sometimes three kids to a bed, and if the
heat was turned off, all six of us slept in one bed to stay warm. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We had bed wetters in our house and when that happened,
the blankets were just thrown back to allow the bed to dry. Sheets were never changed, mattresses were
never protected. We slept on pee-smelling mattresses and sheets. It was a given. It was normal. How much do I appreciate clean sheets and
beds? You cannot imagine. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I read a book once, “Hillbilly Effigy”, which was about
how a man grew up hillbilly style. I’m
sure the people in New York read the transcript and thought “Wow! This in
incredible!” I read it and thought, “Yeah, so?
You grew up like me. Why is that a book?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ND2GzMErh4A/YFkAMNomPTI/AAAAAAAAIh4/nceK79TY0MwRduc_MI3Y5_rxm3ekoE5SwCLcBGAsYHQ/s261/pajamas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="261" height="102" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ND2GzMErh4A/YFkAMNomPTI/AAAAAAAAIh4/nceK79TY0MwRduc_MI3Y5_rxm3ekoE5SwCLcBGAsYHQ/w138-h102/pajamas.jpg" width="138" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">But there was one “ah-HA!” moment at the end when he describes
having a Christmas list of gift ideas for his nieces and nephews. On the list is pajamas. His thought was “Pajamas! Poor people don’t wear pajamas!” and went on
to describe that poor people slept in dad’s old t-shirts or underwear or
similar old clothes that were too worn out to pass down to the next kid.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I can relate. I
remember having nightgowns when other relatives gave them to us as Christmas
gifts, but from the age of about 12, I have never in my life owned pajamas. The
idea of having special clothes just to sleep in is just foreign to me. I really cannot wrap my head around why this
idea makes any sense to anyone. You really change out of pants and a shirt to
put on a set of different pants and a shirt then go to bed? Really? I own a
robe to wear over my underwear or my oversize t-shirt until I get dressed for
the day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When we were first married, my husband, Phil, was
surprised that I didn’t change clothes when I came home from work. Change clothes? Wow, only rich people had two sets of clothes! When he explained his after-school-clothes
were his old play clothes, again I respond that only rich people had clothes
for school and clothes to play in. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If we couldn’t wear it to school (in the days when little
girls had to wear dresses), then it didn’t get purchased. Clothes I outgrew became school clothes for
the younger sisters. Plus, as I already
mentioned, if we had DARED to wear two sets of clothes that created more
laundry that created more water use that created a big light bill, we’d be in
big trouble. I appreciate just owning my
one pair of jeans (at a time) to wear on the weekend.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I knew someone who was trying to convince me how bad he
had it. How there were times when they walked home from
school for lunch, ‘…..all we had was some potato soup.” My response?
“You had lunch everyday? I
thought only rich people did that.”
There was a short time period that we lived in a city school system and
walked home for lunch. No
school-provided lunches in those days.
Lots of times, we walked home, watched some tv and walked back. Lunch every single day was for rich
people. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></p><p style="background: white; margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Another person I worked with who complained “we can only
afford macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs for dinner.” I could only internally shake my head and I
remembered back when just ONE of those as our whole dinner was considered a
feast. Notice I didn’t say “would have
been” …. I was “WAS”. Supper was a hot
dog or two. Supper was a plate of
mac-n-cheese. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">This person didn’t
appreciate how good she had it. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0in 11.5pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I do.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p></p>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-90369321558392559962021-03-22T11:00:00.002-07:002021-03-22T11:00:27.111-07:00YOU MEAN THIS ISN'T NORMAL???<p><b><u><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Y<span style="font-family: arial;">ou
Mean This Isn’t Normal?</span></span></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Came across this article “<i><b>15
People Who Grew Up Poor Share the Things That They Always Thought Were Normal” </b></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(</span><a href="https://tiphero.com/people-who-grew-up-poor?fbclid=IwAR3gCsFvZlCe5rjPa51gkBne4FShY5Ye1tngVhNpeEpVH3XxDmUAqfw6CnU" style="font-family: arial;">https://tiphero.com/people-who-grew-up-poor?fbclid=IwAR3gCsFvZlCe5rjPa51gkBne4FShY5Ye1tngVhNpeEpVH3XxDmUAqfw6CnU</a><span style="font-family: arial;">
) </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Wow, did it hit home.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I could have
written this article.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">It even included a
couple</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">of things I hadn’t thought about
but “Yep ….. that, too” struck me as I read it.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Take a moment and read the original article before going further.........</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">you read this and found it an horrific way to grow up, then I am
sincerely glad for you because it means you didn’t have to survive (you read
that right …. “survive”) in an environment like this.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I also want to state that I wouldn’t change
anything about how I grew up.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">It made me
into the person I am, with the drive and motivation needed to achieve what I
have achieved in life.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Anything I
have</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">had to deal with in my life has
never been as bad as what I already survived.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m going to take them one at a
time…..</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Second Hand Clothes</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Most kids looked forward to buying
new school clothes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, yes, we did get
a few new things in August before school started. I remember being excited
because we got a couple<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of packages of new
underwear, containing 4 (5?) pairs of underpants, to be shared among us three
girls ….. for the whole school year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>8-10
underpants for 3 girls for the year.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But the bulk of our clothes came
from relatives, friends and passing our own clothes from oldest to youngest.
Don’t misunderstand ….. there is nothing wrong with that.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">For the most part, they were perfectly good.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">But for this reason, I never learned about
changing into “play” clothes when getting home from school.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Only rich kids had school clothes and play
clothes.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">If we couldn’t wear it to
school, then it wasn’t purchased for us.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My friends always told me their
play clothes came from “…..my school clothes that were kinda worn out.”</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Interesting.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">Because MY school clothes that were “kinda” worn out became my little
sister’s school clothes.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Groceries Are Exciting</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6zSOV5gVXA/YFjR9AcEzwI/AAAAAAAAIgg/aOyKh6mT31giNEzLlNrU2yiPfnAj5LlNQCLcBGAsYHQ/s368/grocery-shopping-bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="368" data-original-width="326" height="283" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R6zSOV5gVXA/YFjR9AcEzwI/AAAAAAAAIgg/aOyKh6mT31giNEzLlNrU2yiPfnAj5LlNQCLcBGAsYHQ/w250-h283/grocery-shopping-bag.jpg" width="250" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Going thru the groceries bags like
it was Christmas morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People who got
to go to the grocery every week to restock the pantry will never understand the
thrill of those days when our parents could afford to go to the grocery “like
normal people”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember waiting in
the car while our mom shopped for groceries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the bags were placed in the back of the station wagon, we’d start
diving in and exploring, with exclamations of joy over brand name cereal AND
milk (we could rarely afford milk for the older kids …. It was always reserved
for “the baby”), bologna, the rare box of cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not kidding ….. bags of groceries were like
lots of gift bags at Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Being Hungry</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We were always told not to ask for
something to eat when we visited relatives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If they offered, that was ok. And that’s normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was considered poite behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there was a certain way they had to
offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here, have a cookie” was ok to
accept, but “Do you want a cookie?” required a “no” response. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember being at my Uncle Kenny’s
house when he asked us if we had eaten dinner yet (we always had to say “no”.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We were not allowed to tell people we had no
food at home).</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">When I started to turn my
head, he stopped me and said, “Don’t look at your mother…… you know if you’ve eaten
yet or not.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">So just tell me.”</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Even while I was shaking my head “no”, I was
scared of getting in trouble for “admitting” we had not eaten that day.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Along with that was </span><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Only
Eating At School</u></b><span style="font-family: arial;">.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">How often have
I told the story about “We had perfect attendance at school because that’s where
the food was.”</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">This was also LONG before
schools started offering breakfast (something that didn’t come along until
after I had graduated).</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We could never
assume there would be supper every night, because many times, there wasn’t.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>A Staycation</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">To this day, I have trouble grasping
the concept of “everybody” going on a spring break vacation or even a big
summer vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the “big”
vacations we had included driving to the nearest big city airport to watch the
planes take off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few times we drove to
Dayton OH (about a 45 minute drive) to the free air force museum. That was
considered a big time vacation!!! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly, we found access to a river and packed
a picnic and swam in the river. I don’t feel that I was deprived of
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We enjoyed those events and
had lots of family fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the headline
says, we thought it was normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only
rich people actually “went” on a vacation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Always Alone</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">For reasons that differ from
those<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>in the article, our mother’s way
of escaping the “poor-dom” was to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Leave her kids at home alone while she (and dad) went to visit relatives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was ten years old and in charge of 4
siblings, which included sisters ages 9, 8, 6, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a barely toddling 2-yr baby brother and
eventually a baby (infant) sister added to the mix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would be gone for hours and would leave
nothing for us to have for lunch, along with strict orders to “stay out of the
bread! (and) be sure to feed the baby.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">There was one day I vividly
remember we thought we could sneak some slices of bread for five kids and our
parents wouldn’t notice.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">No butter, no
peanut butter, just plain slices of bread.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">That was our food for the day while our parents were gone for
hours.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, I said hours.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">When they came home, our mother started yelling
“Well, they’ve been in the bread so we have nothing for supper!”</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We
were in trouble for eating.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Sneaking
food was normal.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was surprised to learn my
friends needed sitters when they were my age.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">I thought parents leaving all day long and leaving the oldest kid to
watch all the other kids was normal.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>No Heat in the Winter</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Another given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Six kids in a bed to stay warm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 2-story house shut down to 2 rooms with
blankets hung at the doorways to keep the heat (from the open oven) in the
kitchen and the connecting room where the one bed was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frozen water pipes were always going to
happen because of no heat in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(You mean everyone didn’t have to deal with frozen water pipes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every winter? Really?). If we ran out of
heating oil, there was always a week or more waiting time to get more, until
the next payday, and that was only if the light bill or rent wasn’t due.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kd6UGjutPek/YFjUUxpl9oI/AAAAAAAAIg4/K4Gj4syeao4IXlM1LaMtWz81goOQn-VUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s612/cold%2Bunder%2Bblankets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="229" data-original-width="612" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kd6UGjutPek/YFjUUxpl9oI/AAAAAAAAIg4/K4Gj4syeao4IXlM1LaMtWz81goOQn-VUQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/cold%2Bunder%2Bblankets.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But even that wasn’t a given.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No heat,
frozen pipes and the electricity being turned off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was our normal winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>As I write this, I have concern that my readers don’t really understand
how I’m using the word<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“normal”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s normal for my reader to come home to a
warm house with dinner on the table and a dad complaining about too many lights
on in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was normal for us to
come home to a cold, dark house, hoping the lunch we had at school would<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>last us until lunch at school tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Normal.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Only One Pair of Shoes</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4IdHMyAcxs/YFjU8IezbAI/AAAAAAAAIhA/G9U9i5F-GTMKUzA2OXU8PV6iyZMJxzNewCLcBGAsYHQ/s278/tennis%2Bshoe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="161" data-original-width="278" height="160" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L4IdHMyAcxs/YFjU8IezbAI/AAAAAAAAIhA/G9U9i5F-GTMKUzA2OXU8PV6iyZMJxzNewCLcBGAsYHQ/w276-h160/tennis%2Bshoe.jpg" width="276" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Until I saw this in the article, I
never thought about it much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than
one pair of shoes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had “school shoes” in the winter and cheap
tennis shoes in the summer, which were usually the gym shoes we brought home at
the end of the school year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like our
clothes, shoes were passed down to the next kid until they were worn out and
trashed.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Knowing About the Bills</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I can tell you the amount of rent
we paid at every house we lived in starting when I was in second grade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew when they were being sued for
non-payment of a hospital bill or other bill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I knew my dad’s paycheck had garnishments on it “with others waiting in
line” for their turn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I had a 4</span><sup style="font-family: arial;">th</sup><span style="font-family: arial;"> grade concert where we were asked to wear navy blue shirts for girls and navy pants for boys with a white shirt so we’d look “uniform”.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I never even told my parents about it because (1) I didn’t own either of those things and (2) I knew we didn’t have the money to go buy one.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">When another mother blew the whistle about the uniform request, I lied to my mom about how I “just forgot” because I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of another mom by saying “Because I knew we didn’t have the money to buy one.” As a 4th grader, I knew we never had money before payday so to ask for a special outfit to wear to a concert was just not going to happen. It had become so normal that I didn't even feel bad about looking different from my classmates. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">(I was also VERY surprised at how most of my classmates owned a blue skirt and white blouse.)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We knew running water meant the electric
pump in the well would be running which ran up the electric bill.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">So baths were just once a week with two</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">kids at a time in the tub.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">When they were done, the next two got
in.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Same water.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Because running two tubs of water was
expensive.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We didn’t dare create extra
laundry (another reason we didn’t change clothes when coming home from school)
so we better not get so dirty we had to change clothes during the day.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We lived in the country and played outside so
our clothes DID get dirty.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">But we just wore
them.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">All day.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">And on the weekend, we wore them the next day,
too.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Didn’t everybody?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember being shocked while at
a family friend’s house and the mom told her son to change clothes because the
shirt was dirty.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">On the way home, our
mom was making fun of the woman for being “uppity” about “a little dirt on his
shirt!” and going on about “it must be nice to be able to afford to do extra laundry!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">As we girls grew into teens, we
were reprimanded (well, that’s a nice word for it) if we washed our hair too
often.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">It ran up the electric bill.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Shampoo was expensive so</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">we used liquid dish soap to wash our
hair.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">(Didn’t everybody?)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">All of this because I knew, as a kid, about our bills and what could and couldn't be paid.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><u>Breaking Open the Piggy Bank</u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BMlqfUA6dXQ/YFjYuRHc5BI/AAAAAAAAIhI/CsC7V673HLYNID3_VigzBARxrBZBcD7jwCLcBGAsYHQ/s497/piggy%2Bbank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="497" data-original-width="465" height="147" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BMlqfUA6dXQ/YFjYuRHc5BI/AAAAAAAAIhI/CsC7V673HLYNID3_VigzBARxrBZBcD7jwCLcBGAsYHQ/w137-h147/piggy%2Bbank.jpg" width="137" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Even when we were in elementary
school and once in a while got our $1 a week allowance, we knew to save it in
case our parents had to borrow it for food or gas. We quickly figured out we
wouldn’t be getting our allowance the week the rent was due, but we thought
that was normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t everybody forego
a week without an allowance because rent had to be paid?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But then my sister and I quickly
saw that loaning them a dollar this week meant</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">we got two dollars next payday, giving us a dollar to spend and a dollar
to hold back to loan them when they needed it.</span><span style="font-family: arial;">
</span><span style="font-family: arial;">When.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Not “if”.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">When. The entrepreneur spirit hit us early when
we saved our two dollars to be turned into three (payback the two, plus our one
dollar allowance), and so forth.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We got
to be pretty good at parlaying our one dollar allowance into quite an
income.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Because it was “normal” for our
parents to come to us to borrow money for food and gas money.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">And we didn’t do it so we’d have a
lot of money in our piggy bank.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We did
it to assure our dad could get to work (because even as kids, we knew if he
missed one day’s work, we wouldn’t eat that week), and so we could have food the
day before payday.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: arial;">For those youngsters out there reading
this, one dollar went quite a ways back in the 1960s. Gas was under 20 cents a gallon, so a dollar’s
worth of gas could get you four or five gallons or more, which could be at
least a quarter of a tank, which would get dad to work for at least a couple of
days. Bread was ten for a dollar, which
is why we had lots of gravy bread dinners (something I refuse to eat to this
day) or had toast with eggs from our gramma’s chicken coop (which is probably
why I am not a fan of breakfast food because I equate it with “poor people food”).</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zBAt_PEqsCw/YFjS0xBo3ZI/AAAAAAAAIgo/MwB2en5YLY8evB4otJGqHFs2y-ZqvY8HQCLcBGAsYHQ/s200/toast%2Band%2Bgravy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="200" height="153" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zBAt_PEqsCw/YFjS0xBo3ZI/AAAAAAAAIgo/MwB2en5YLY8evB4otJGqHFs2y-ZqvY8HQCLcBGAsYHQ/w171-h153/toast%2Band%2Bgravy.jpg" width="171" /></a></span>It's interesting ... when I went searching online for a photo of "gravy bread", there was nothing there. This photo is the closest thing and it looks WAY more appetizing that what we had. A slice of bread on a plate, covered in water-gravy (that means it was made with flour and water because we couldn't afford milk). Dinner became a soggy piece of bread covered with this gravy-like mixture. So evidently this is such "poor people food" that there are no photos of it online anywhere, with the bragging caption of "Look what we had for dinner tonight!".</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When we started babysitting and
got our first jobs (my first paycheck-job was at 14 years old), we started
buying things for supper …. soup, bread-and-bologna, bags of potatoes ….. out
of our paycheck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was never said but
just understood if we had a job, then we chipped in for groceries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This differed from the borrowing of a dollar
for gas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was never<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>paid back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More than that, it became
survival.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qvknqnSxNhc/YFjToYqoUYI/AAAAAAAAIgw/p7kAvgNb4w03_2Z6OX2iEMnm_KtnOtSxgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1040/tax%2Brefund.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="820" height="150" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qvknqnSxNhc/YFjToYqoUYI/AAAAAAAAIgw/p7kAvgNb4w03_2Z6OX2iEMnm_KtnOtSxgCLcBGAsYHQ/w118-h150/tax%2Brefund.jpg" width="118" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">As teenagers, we always got big
tax refund checks. We knew when they arrived, we’d need to “loan” our parents
money for heating oil or a car repair or to pay the disconnect notice on the light bill. It was normal. Most of the time, it was repaid, but we didn’t
really count on it. My friend laughed at
me when they got a refund check and I asked, “How much did you have to loan
your parents?” That’s when I learned it
wasn’t normal.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I learned lots of things I did
growing up wasn’t considered normal. But
we thought it was.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-67744523654899725312015-03-30T19:31:00.000-07:002015-03-30T19:31:24.059-07:00A Sad Anniversary<b><i>This poem was published on Facebook on January 10, 2015, the third anniversary of my sister CJ's death. Wow, has it been 3 years already? She was my very, VERY best friend.</i></b><br />
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>------------------------------------------------------</i></b><br />
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We didn’t grow up in a time
when every kid had their own room.<br />
We shared not just a bedroom but a bed.<br />
We shared our thoughts and secrets for hours under the quilts<br />
Until we finally fell asleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We fought everyday trying to
outdo each other.<br />
You were trying to get straight A’s like me.<br />
I was trying to do cartwheels and climb a tree like you.<br />
We were different. We were the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">My first job was in an office.<br />
I came home dressed in heels and hose.<br />
Your first job was in a factory.<br />
You came home dressed in jeans and t-shirts.<br />
Both of us were tired and exhausted.<br />
We were different. We were the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">You moved to a job in the office.<br />
You came home dressed in heels and hose.<br />
I moved to be a full time college kid.<br />
I came home dressed in jeans and t-shirts.<br />
Both of us were tired and exhausted.<br />
We were different. We were the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And we still found time to talk on the phone.<br />
For hours.<br />
Everyday.<br />
And when we couldn’t talk, we’d email.<br />
Pages and pages of emails.<br />
We shared our thoughts and secrets for hours on the keyboard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We were each other’s therapist, critic, motivator, and
cheerleader.<br />
And even each other’s kick in the ass when we needed it.<br />
We knew we were more than sisters.<br />
We were forever best friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">You are eternally missed ….. and always loved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #3b5998; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #3b5998; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Carla "<a href="https://www.facebook.com/cj.calvelage">CJ" Calvelage</a></span><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br />
August 17,1961 - January 10, 2012<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "Helvetica",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 11.5pt; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">.</span></span></div>
Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-19069115029657225012014-07-02T08:37:00.000-07:002014-07-02T08:37:30.065-07:00Dumpster Diving - The TableAs promised, here is the photo of the dining table set we found in the dumpster. My husband had to buy some hardware to reconnect the legs. The hardware was the only part we didn't find in the dumpster!<br />
<br />
I've always wanted a square dining table, and now I have one .... for FREE!!!<br />
<br />
Now I have a new project in front of me.....crocheting a lacy tablecloth for it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JqMX1FizN2Y/U7Qm69b0vPI/AAAAAAAAAus/bUJvKb_6qdE/s1600/assembled+table.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JqMX1FizN2Y/U7Qm69b0vPI/AAAAAAAAAus/bUJvKb_6qdE/s1600/assembled+table.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-55863774460077924502014-06-15T08:56:00.000-07:002014-06-15T08:56:29.221-07:00Dumpster DivingI never thought I'd be a dumpster diver. Dumpster are full of trash and yukky stuff. I could not imagine putting myself in contact with anything in a dumpster.<br />
<br />
My, how times have changed.<br />
<br />
As we approached retirement age, my husband and I began the downsizing process. We uncluttered our four-bedroom, two-story monster home and downsized to a four-room apartment. Living in an apartment complex is different in many ways but one of the ways is having a trash dumpster outside our building. No more trash stacking up in the garage waiting for trash day! It was very easy to take the trash out every day if necessary!<br />
<br />
I also soon learned the rituals of Moving Day as neighbors began moving to new apartments. I noticed furniture, mattresses, large children's toys and much more. At first, I marveled at the disposable mindset of my soon-to-be former neighbors. How can they just throw these things away? Couldn't they Craigslist them? Donate them to Goodwill? What a waste!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MhfNLqY1NoE/U52-BmudfHI/AAAAAAAAAtU/GOU8locSvz0/s1600/dumpster+dive+lamp+and+shelves.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MhfNLqY1NoE/U52-BmudfHI/AAAAAAAAAtU/GOU8locSvz0/s1600/dumpster+dive+lamp+and+shelves.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
My apprehension of coming in contact with dumpster dropped items lifted when I saw two small shelves on the ground next to the huge metal trash dumpster. They were exactly what I was needing for my office area. They were not actually "in" the dumpster, so I picked them up, washed them off, and hung them by my desk.<br />
<br />
Later that day, I found a small lamp which was perfect for the corner of my desk. My work area was now complete!<br />
<br />
There was now a part of my brain watching the dumpster area a bit closer than I used to. I spotted a stackable table. These normally come in sets of three or four and can be stacked for storage savings. This shorter table was perfect to add next to my bed, next to the taller table that held my clock and gave me extra space for my glasses and my books.<br />
<br />
But the best find was just yesterday! On my way to the car, I spotted two dark wood dining room chairs inside our dumpster-shelter, beside the dumpster. The wood was still nice and shiny, with no scratches. They were in great shape. As I hauled both of them back into my apartment, I was thinking, "Boy, I wish there had been two more so I'd have a set of four!" My initial plan was to use these when we set up the card table for card games, puzzles or a day long session of Monopoly.<br />
<br />
I left in the car and was gone about six hours. To my surprise, I noticed the other two matching chairs sticking out of the dumpster itself. I rushed into the apartment, grabbing my husband to help me dig these chairs out of the dumpster. While we are working on this, I notice a tabletop propped against the wall. I told my husband to check out the top of the table and voiced disappointment that the legs were gone.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q0AUY0nD29U/U53AcLGlxSI/AAAAAAAAAtg/pX7IGtkYurs/s1600/dumpster+chair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q0AUY0nD29U/U53AcLGlxSI/AAAAAAAAAtg/pX7IGtkYurs/s1600/dumpster+chair.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><br />
Getting back on track, we pulled the two chairs out of the dumpster and were happy to see they were also in great shape. We talked about our good fortune and how much money we would save when we decide to purchase a new dining room table since we wouldn't have to purchase chairs.<br />
<br />
Our day suddenly got even more exciting. Under the chairs, bound together in duct tape, were the four table legs!!!<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, we were unable to find the hardware to fasten the legs to the tabletop so my husband will be making a trip to the hardware store so we can assemble the table.<br />
<br />
Rest assured, another photo will be forthcoming when the whole dining room table set is set up and complete!<br />
<br />
So with these positive adventures under my belt, I have heard others share their dumpster dive salvage stories and am finding it amazing what people throw out and what people find. Share your stories with me, please!<br />
<br />Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-16573772884564567872014-04-02T13:45:00.000-07:002014-04-02T13:45:40.218-07:00Campus Observations<i>I wrote these short observations while waiting for my next class to start, sitting in the common area on campus. It struck me how alone all of these people were, even while they were in the same room with each other.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</i></div>
<i><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I sit at a table
in the common area of the campus building, watching my college classmates as
they adhere to their scholastic schedule.
Candy wrappers crinkle as the elevator door opened to admit the one lone
rider who throws his empty candy wrapper in the trash can between the two
elevators before entering the small roving room. The electronic eye, that made sure no one was
between the doors before they closed and allowed the elevator to make its
assent to the upper floors, failed to see the two other people scurrying to
catch the vertical taxi cab, and they merely ended up exhaling a sigh of
exasperation as one of them hit the call button three times, as if that would
get the elevator back even faster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A young lady walks
down the hamster tunnel connecting the two buildings on campus, hitting the
large blue button labeled with a stick-figure in a stick-wheelchair so she
wouldn’t have to open the door herself.
Her light touch failed to engage the opener’s mechanism but she just
stood there for a couple of seconds before she took the two steps back to hit
it again, not thinking if she had just gone ahead and pushed the door open
manually she would have been well on her way by now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The tall kid with
blonde hair walks by with his head down and his fingers busy on his phone, too
heavily engaged in his own electronic conversation to notice he was walking
past a young lady at the center table heavily engaged in the same intense
activity, both of them alone and surrounded by a sea of invisible friends
through their electronic connection to a social life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The dozen or so
computers are all in use, each person focused on their screen, oblivious to any
activity around them. It is so
quiet. There are no conversations, no
questions going back and forth, no joking, no banter. Small white wires can be seen hanging out of
the ears of some of the computer users and walker-by’s, locked into their own
silent world of sound, closing out any of the outside sounds around them, not
really aware of the sounds of life they are missing.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-55300308280116514812013-04-22T08:50:00.000-07:002013-07-04T22:09:56.640-07:00Spousal Rape<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is a paper I wrote for a class at IUPUI. The more I researched the topic, the more upset and angry I became. The paper ran way over the required length because I found all of the information too important to leave out. Printed out, it's 12 pages long, so settle back for a long read. (By the way, I got a "100" on this paper.)</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">----------------------------------------</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"></span></em><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><em><u>SPOUSAL RAPE</u></em></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in; text-align: left;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"><em> © Debi Brim 2012<o:p></o:p></em></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Until 1975, a woman enjoyed the right of protection in her
own home, except for one particular act of violence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"And
that is rape, where a man forces himself sexually upon a woman whether he is
licensed by the marriage law to do it or not.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For centuries, </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">rape was defined as “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">nonconsensual intercourse with a woman <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>other
than one's wife.</u></i></b>”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[2]</span></span></span></span></span></a>
(emphasis mine). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With this wording, a
husband was given legal permission to force sex upon a woman simply because he
was married to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had no right to
say no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">So said a Michigan court in 1981 when Rosanna Hawkins was raped at
knifepoint for over an hour by her estranged husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Initially sentenced to 27 to 92 years in
prison, the Michigan Court of Appeals overturned the conviction by citing “</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">in Michigan it
is not a crime for a man to sexually assault his wife unless they are living
apart and one has filed for divorce.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[3]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(The court <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually </i>said, “not a crime … to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sexually assault</i></b>….)”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rosanna had had not yet filed the divorce
papers because she had recently moved back to Michigan, to live with her
sister, and was waiting to fulfill the residency requirement before she would
be permitted to file divorce papers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
law seemed to be a double whammy for Rosanna: Under existing law, she is not
protected unless she has filed divorce papers but the law also prevents her
from filing divorce papers right away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Michigan law also requires
the couple be living separately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
was no comfort to another woman who met the residency requirement, filed for
divorce but could not get her husband to move out of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With little income of her own, she was unable
to move out with her daughter, “</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My
understanding of the law is that if he should force himself on me now, even
though I have filed for divorce, he could not be prosecuted for his assaults.''<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[4]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here was a woman who managed to get through
the double-whammy laws but was still unprotected under the law because all any
husband had to do to avoid being prosecuted for rape was to stay in the home,
forcing (through finances or other controlling factors) his victim to live with
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The law said the couple had to be
living separately for her to be protected, but there was no law to force him to
comply with the living separate part.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
Virginia husband’s guilty verdict was overturned by the state’s Supreme Court,
who decided the case did not meet the requirements of current law which said a
man could be charged with raping his wife “only if she had made it clear ‘beyond
a reasonable doubt’ that she wanted to end the marriage.”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn5;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[5]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The horrific details of the case prompted the
Virginia Legislature to pass a bill making it a crime for a man to rape his
wife when they are living together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband’s
actions in the case were not in dispute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The trial judge said about the case:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 7.5pt 1in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;">''He kicked in a locked door and
knocked out its frame to gain access into the apartment occupied by the wife
and infant son. His physical assault and personal violence upon his wife is
recited in detail and it occurred without question. Her struggle to the
uttermost trying to avoid being ravished by him, but to no avail, is even
admitted by the defendant.''</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn6;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[6]</span></span></span></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
the Virginia Supreme Court, in spite of these details, determined the husband
had a legal right to force his wife to have sex with him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Spousal
rape finally became illegal in all 50 states in 1993 when North Carolina became
the last state to pass spousal rape laws into effect. North Dakota was the
first in 1975.</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">It wasn’t just the act of rape that shackled a woman’s right to protection
under the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were layers of laws
based on 17<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century English thinking that imprisoned women in
relationships and situations from which she had no legal recourse or escape. The
laws, the logic, and the traditional thinking that subjected women to these
situations were centuries in the making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A seventeenth century English Chief Justice, Matthew Hale, is credited
with the reasoning that granted immunity for a man against raping his wife when
he ordained that consent to sex was implied with marriage, known as the
“implied consent and contract theory”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn7;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[7]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He believed “</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;">marriage is a contract,
under the terms of which a husband has the absolute power to determine the
time, place and manner of sexual intercourse. The husband is authorized to
enforce the contract unilaterally, by force if he deems necessary.”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn8;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[8]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman did not have to give consent for
each sex act since she had given her implied consent for sex upon execution of
the marital contract. A husband had a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right
</i>to sex and it was a woman’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">duty</i>
to provide it.<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">With the marital contract came the idea that women became property of
men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women’s identities were merged in
with the husband’s; she and her property became his property. She “lost” her
own name and took her husband’s (in some places, as required by law), and the
couple became one entity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The underlying
logic of why this made it impossible for a man to rape his wife was that since “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">husband and wife were one entity, a husband
could not be charged with raping his wife, as <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that would equate to raping
himself</i></b>.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">”</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn9;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[9]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">(emphasis
mine</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">). </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Since women were considered property, rape was not a crime against a
woman (or even against a person) but was considered a crime against the man’s
own property.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Believe it or not, supporters of the above arguments … those who believe
marital rape should not be a crime ….. have added other arguments to their
cause.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was claimed that marital rape
did not occur enough to be considered a serious problem. The counter-argument
was that the number of times an offense was committed was not the basis to
determine if it should be a crime or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Add to that, 1990s data shows that 25% of all U.S. rapes were marital
rape, and 14% of all women report they have experienced marital rape at least
once, and the argument of “did not occur enough” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>immediately becomes null.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>Some have even gone as far as to suggest “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">the damage to a woman from rape in marriage
is less severe than the damage caused to a victim of non-marital rape</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;">.”</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn10;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[10]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">This theory is also rejected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marital rape is a betrayal of trust (the
husband is supposed to care for and protect the wife).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What really sets marital rape apart is that
the victim has to live with her attacker, and she lives in constant fear that
she could be attacked and raped at any time, awake or asleep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The reality is that “w<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">omen who are raped by their husbands are likely to be raped many times -
often 20 times or more before they are able to end the violence.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn11;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[11]</span></span></span></span></span></a></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There are those who do not believe a man should be able to be charged
with rape of his wife simply for the husband’s protection against false
accusations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 1in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This "lying woman"
justification, premised on the idea that women are vindictive liars, posits
that criminalizing marital rape results in women filing false rape charges to
gain leverage against their husbands in divorce and custody proceedings.
Essentially, it promotes the "stereotype of women as liars, schemers,
troublemakers and home breakers who want to ruin innocent men to suit their own
vindictive or irrational ends."</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn12;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[12]</span></span></span></span></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Even if women were willing to run the risk of being labeled a lying
troublemaker, her access to the courts was legally blocked under a law that
said a wife could not testify against her husband, which meant she could not
testify in court to what he did to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This law was thrown out in 1980 when the Supreme Court recognized it as
medieval law.</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn13;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[13]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Utah
court, in 2009, “</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">noted with concern that the privilege enables abusers to
silence their victims</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn14;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[14]</span></span></span></span></span></a> Add
to this the exemptions under any marital rape laws (i.e. divorce papers must be
filed; she must show that she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
wanted to divorce him; they must be living apart; etc.) and it shows that women
were denied legal equality and even access to the court system. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Another barrier set up for women within the legal system was how marital
rape and domestic violence cases were burdened with special evidence and
procedure rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women had a limited
time to report the marital rape, and it was treated differently than
non-marital rape</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">South
Carolina, for example, requires that a victim report marital rape within thirty
days; however, the state has no reporting requirements for victims of non-marital
rape.”</span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn15;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[15]</span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Women many times were required to prove
they fought back, how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hard</i> they
fought back, provide witnesses to prove whether she screamed or not, and
sometimes even had to prove depth of penetration as states had different
requirements of depth to determine if a rape had actually taken place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has even been suggested by those who are
in favor of marital rape exemptions that it is just too hard to prove a lack of
consent from the raped wife simply because the couple had had consensual sex
many times before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>This argument goes
back to the 19<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> century when “all-male juries and members of the
judiciary often assumed that once a woman had consented to sex, any subsequent
sexual activity was consensual.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn16;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[16]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, once he’s had sex with her one
time, then she is his to “take” any time after that, anytime he wants, no
matter what she says subsequently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">What this came down to was a belief that <b><i>only virgins could be raped.</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">These ideas have mostly been discarded </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">because </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">"difficulty
of proof has never been a proper criterion for deciding what behavior should be
officially censured by society."<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn17;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[17]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Conversely, states that have added
requirements to prove resistance or have lower sentences for marital rape as
opposed to non-marital rape <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">continue
to promote the classical idea that rape in marriage is not as bad as rape
outside of marriage and that women who are subject to marital rape are ‘second
class victims not worthy of equal protection’.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn18;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[18]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some states dropped the ‘fight back’ requirement if the
woman feared death or bodily injury, however, “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">rape itself has not been found to be serious bodily injury. “<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An example of how this ended up working was
in New York when a woman “fiercely resisted her known attacker who knocked down
the bathroom door and raped her twice. The prosecutor in the county was
reluctant to file rape charges against the attacker because the victim did not
fear death <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">or bodily injury other than rape</i></b>.”(emphasis mine)<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn19;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[19]</span></span></span></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The position of
black women was even worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Black women
were thought of as sexually uncontrolled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>White Southerners laid claim to the idea that descendants of slaves
“lacked the virtue to exercise the right of citizens” and therefore “black
women could not be raped.”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn20;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[20]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even when the attempt to pass a law to raise
the age of consent from 10 to 14-18, opposition stood against it with the idea
that female children should be able to protect themselves against assault:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 1in;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN;">“I regard the twelve-year-old girl as being as capable of
resisting the wiles of the seducer as any older woman,” one Kentucky legislator
wrote in 1895. Statutory rape reform lagged in the South in part because
legislators explicitly feared that it “would enable negro girls to sue white
men” and thus put the “negro female on the same plane with the white female.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn21;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[21]</span></span></span></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">With all </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">of these against
them, the one barrier that couldn’t be legislated against was the attitude of
law enforcement, from police to judges, who “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">routinely regarded crimes against women as less serious than comparable
crimes against men and treated female victims with suspicion and disdain.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn22;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[22]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even those in position as high up as the
Justice Department voiced their objections to women’s equality under the
law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As recently as 1994, while the Violence
Against Women Act (VAWA) was going through Congress, Bruce Fein (a former
Justice Department official under President Reagan) testified that the VAWA
would impede a state's choice not to make marital rape a crime. He believed the
states’ decision to criminalize marital rape as one that is "peculiarly
local and responsive to local customs." <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn23;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[23]</span></span></span></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Even when the
woman has a legal document of protection (restraining order), the courts and
law enforcement have used “discretion” to not uphold the order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">The case of
Gonzales vs. Town of Castle Rock is the story of a woman who called police
because her estranged husband had taken their three children from her front
yard, despite a restraining order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
seeing the restraining order presenting by Mrs. Gonzales, the officers chose to
do nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The husband killed the three
little girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Supreme Court found “</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">the
respondent did not have a property interest in police enforcement of the
restraining order against her husband, and thus, the officers' failure to
enforce the restraining order did not violate the Due Process Clause” and went
on to add that it “is hard to imagine that a Colorado peace officer would not
have some discretion” in whether the circumstances merit whether the
restraining order should be enforced or not.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn24;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[24]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The woman, who had followed the law and
obtained a legal document to protect her and her children, a document issued by
a judge after review of her reasoning and evidence, was still not protected by
law enforcement when two street officers arbitrarily decided that she was not
to be taken seriously in a “family matter” and it resulted in the murder of her
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Law enforcement is
not the only attitude that needs enlightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Women, themselves, fail to see rape inside a marriage as a crime. “</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In 2002, many US
women still believe sex within marriage is an obligation -and define forced sex
by their spouse as a ‘wifely duty’ – and that ‘real’ rape only occurs when the
attacker is a stranger.”<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn25;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[25]</span></span></span></span></span></a></span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The social impact
of marital rape extends outside of the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Battered women and their children represent almost 50% of the nation’s
homeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, 50% of rape
victims are fired or quit their jobs after the crime due to absenteeism,
harassment on the job by the rapist husband, and other stressors that affect
her ability to do her job and advance in her career. “Thus, violence is a tool for
maintaining women's economic inferiority to, and dependency on, men.”</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11pt;"> <a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn26;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[26]</span></span></span></span></span></a></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">While non-stranger
rape has been brought to the forefront of social discussion (i.e. date rape and
acquaintance rape), marital rape has yet to make the hurdle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It still remains a distant cousin, sitting in
the shadows, afraid to come out in the limelight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The increased conversation, however slight,
has brought about legal changes such as the mandatory arrest policy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Critics have argued this is a band-aid, a quick
response fix that requires police officers to arrest <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">someone</i> but fails to address why police were previously using their
discretion to<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> not</i> arrest someone
before; why and how their non-actions implied that domestic violence and
marital rape was a family matter, was acceptable behavior, and/or was the
woman’s fault, and, in the case of Mrs. Gonzales, why street officers could
take it upon themselves to disregard an order of restraint that had been issued
by a court judge.</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn27;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[27]</span></span></span></span></span></a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">What are the
factors that get legislation passed that is in favor to women?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One might assume that if a state has more
women in its legislature, then passage of bills that were pro-women would be
more forthcoming, however, research has found this not to be true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men and women in legislation are more likely
to support and pass protection bills on the behalf of women when there is an
increase in women in the state’s labor force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Another assumption would be the state’s record of marital rape bill
passage. Again, the research is contrary to the assumption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>States that passed weaker “foot in the door”
bills were found to be legislatures that were hesitant to take on harder and
more complete or complex bills on marital rape down the road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>It has been suggested “that social movement
activists may in fact be more successful in reaching their ultimate goal when
they advocate for sweeping change.”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn28;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[28]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, it has been found that making
smaller changes is a “resistance strategy” on the part of states that could thwart
getting tougher laws passed down the road; that “the adoption of weaker laws
does not indicate that the legislative environment is becoming more favorable
to the adoption of the stronger law. Instead, the adoption of weaker versions
of a proposed law indicates that the legislators are passing weaker laws in
lieu of stronger legislation.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Palatino-Roman","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino-Roman;">”</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn29;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Palatino-Roman","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino-Roman;"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Palatino-Roman","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino-Roman; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">[29]</span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Palatino-Roman","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino-Roman;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Progress has been
made in the arena of marital rape protections but women are still unprotected
in many states.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consider these
conflicting messages being sent to women:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Marital
rape is illegal if divorce papers have been filed but a woman who flees to
another state to live with relatives for her safety is unable to immediately file
those papers that will put her in protective status.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Marital
rape is illegal if papers have been filed and the couple is living apart, but there
is no law to force the husband to move out of the house after papers have been
filed, leaving the woman unprotected under the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Marital
rape is illegal under any circumstances but the woman must report it within a
limited time period as compared to non-marital rape that may not have a limited
time period.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marital rape is illegal but
the sentences for the crime are lesser than those for non-marital rape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Marital
rape is illegal but only if the woman can meet the higher standard of proving
she fought, she screamed and that she feared death or bodily injury …. and oh
by the way, ‘rape’ is not considered bodily injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.25in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Fear of
attack or rape from a husband can enable a woman to get a restraining order
that may or may not be enforced by law enforcement’s “discretion” on whether
they believe the woman or if the officers think it is a serious situation.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">These conflicting
messages tell women … wives ….. that they don’t matter as much as property or
non-married women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The placating laws
sound good on paper but are just a pat on the head as far as equal legal
protection goes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may have come a long
way, baby, but in front of us still looms a long distance yet to travel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="mso-element: footnote-list;">
<br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" />
<div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt;">Voltairine de Cleyre: Sexual Slavery and Sexual
Pleasure in the Nineteenth Century, Catherine Helen Palczewski, <cite><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">NWSA Journal</span></cite> , Vol. 7,
No. 3 (Autumn, 1995), pp. 54-68. Published by: </span></span><a href="http://www.jstor.org.proxy2.ulib.iupui.edu/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=jhup"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">The Johns Hopkins University Press</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Article Stable
URL: </span></span><a href="http://www.jstor.org/stable/4316402"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.jstor.org/stable/4316402</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;">, page 68</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn2" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn2;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[2]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: 8pt;">West, Robin. “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Equality
Theory, Marital Rape, and the Promise of the Fourteenth Amendment”. </i>Georgetown
Law, The Scholarly Commons. 1990. </span></span><a href="http://scholarship.law.georgetown.edu/"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://scholarship.law.georgetown.edu/</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
2012-10-10. page 65<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn3" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn3;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[3]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">Barden , J.C., Marital Rape: Drive for Tougher Laws is
Pressed, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">New York Times</i>, May 13,
1987. Accessed 10-10-12. </span></span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/1987/05/13/us/marital-rape-drive-for-tougher-laws-is-pressed.html?pagewanted=all&src=pm"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.nytimes.com/1987/05/13/us/marital-rape-drive-for-tougher-laws-is-pressed.html?pagewanted=all&src=pm</span></span></a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><u><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
</div>
<div id="ftn4" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref4" name="_ftn4" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn4;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[4]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> ibid<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn5" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref5" name="_ftn5" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn5;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[5]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ibid
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn6" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref6" name="_ftn6" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn6;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[6]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ibid<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn7" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<h1 style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref7" name="_ftn7" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn7;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 14pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: major-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: major-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin; mso-themecolor: accent1; mso-themeshade: 191;">[7]</span></b></span></span></span></a><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: Cambria; font-size: large;">
</span><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A
striking disconnect: marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic
violence law.” </span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: #365f91;"> </span></span></span><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8pt; font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Accessed 10-10-12.</span><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></h1>
</div>
<div id="ftn8" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref8" name="_ftn8" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn8;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[8]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt;">Conway, M. Margaret/Ahern, David W/Gteuernagel,
Gertrude A.; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Women and Public Policy, a
Revolution in Progress</i>; CQ Press, Wash D.C., 2005. Page 150</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn9" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref9" name="_ftn9" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn9;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[9]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn10" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref10" name="_ftn10" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn10;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[10]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ibid<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn11" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref11" name="_ftn11" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn11;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[11]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">U.S. History of Marital Rape.
Crisis Connection (dot) com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12. </span></span><a href="http://www.crisisconnectioninc.org/pdf/US_History_of_Marital_Rape.pdf"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.crisisconnectioninc.org/pdf/US_History_of_Marital_Rape.pdf</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="reference-accessdate"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn12" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref12" name="_ftn12" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn12;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[12]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn13" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref13" name="_ftn13" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn13;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[13]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">Conway, M. Margaret/Ahern, David W/Gteuernagel, Gertrude
A.; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Women and Public Policy, a Revolution
in Progress</i>; CQ Press, Wash D.C., 2005. Page 150</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn14" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref14" name="_ftn14" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn14;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[14]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: 8pt;">Module X: Marital Privilege and Confidentiality of
Victim Records. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">National Judicial
Education Program</i>. </span></span><a href="http://www.njep-ipsacourse.org/MaritalPrivilege/SpousalImmunity.php"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.njep-ipsacourse.org/MaritalPrivilege/SpousalImmunity.php</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-12-12</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn15" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref15" name="_ftn15" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn15;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[15]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn16" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref16" name="_ftn16" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn16;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[16]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">
<span style="font-size: 8pt;">Freedman, Estelle B., Women’s Long Battle to
Define Rape. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Washington Post Opinion</i>.
Published Aug 24, 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn17" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref17" name="_ftn17" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn17;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[17]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn18" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref18" name="_ftn18" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn18;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[18]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ibid<span style="font-size: 8pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn19" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref19" name="_ftn19" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn19;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[19]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: 8pt;">Daane, Diane. Rape Law Reform: How Far Have We Come? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Prison Journal / Sage Publications</i>
1988. </span></span><a href="http://www.sagepub.com/lippmanccl2e/study/articles/Daane.pdf"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.sagepub.com/lippmanccl2e/study/articles/Daane.pdf</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: blue;"><span class="MsoHyperlink"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><u> </u></span></span><span style="color: blue; font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">Accessed 10-12-12</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn20" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref20" name="_ftn20" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn20;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[20]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">Freedman, Estelle B., Women’s Long Battle to Define
Rape. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Washington Post Opinion</i>.
Published Aug 24, 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn21" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref21" name="_ftn21" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn21;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[21]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">Freedman, Estelle B., Women’s Long Battle to Define
Rape. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Washington Post Opinion</i>.
Published Aug 24, 2012.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn22" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref22" name="_ftn22" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn22;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[22]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;">Goldfarb,
Sally F., </span><i><span style="font-family: "ArnoPro,Italic"; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "ArnoPro,Italic";">The Supreme Court, the Violence Against
Women Act, and the Use and Abuse of Federalism</span></i><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;">, 71
Fordham L. Rev. 57 (2002). Available at: </span><a href="http://ir.lawnet.fordham.edu/flr/vol71/iss1/2"><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;"><span style="color: blue;">http://ir.lawnet.fordham.edu/flr/vol71/iss1/2</span></span></a><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed 10-12-12.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn23" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref23" name="_ftn23" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn23;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[23]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Ibid<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn24" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref24" name="_ftn24" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn24;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[24]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed 10-10-12.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn25" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref25" name="_ftn25" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn25;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[25]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: 8pt;">Panos London; Illuminating Voices. “Marital Rape
outlawed by Napal’s Supreme court”. Oct 2002. </span></span><a href="http://panos.org.uk/features/marital-rape-outlawed-by-nepals-supreme-court/"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://panos.org.uk/features/marital-rape-outlawed-by-nepals-supreme-court/</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"> Accessed 10-10-12.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn26" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref26" name="_ftn26" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn26;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[26]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;">Goldfarb,
Sally F., </span><i><span style="font-family: "ArnoPro,Italic"; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "ArnoPro,Italic";">The Supreme Court, the Violence Against
Women Act, and the Use and Abuse of Federalism</span></i><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;">, 71
Fordham L. Rev. 57 (2002). Available at: </span><a href="http://ir.lawnet.fordham.edu/flr/vol71/iss1/2"><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;"><span style="color: blue;">http://ir.lawnet.fordham.edu/flr/vol71/iss1/2</span></span></a><span style="font-family: ArnoPro; font-size: 9pt; mso-bidi-font-family: ArnoPro;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed 10-12-12.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn27" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref27" name="_ftn27" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn27;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[27]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-size: 8pt;">The Free Library by Farlex. “A striking disconnect:
marital rape law's failure to keep up with domestic violence law.” </span></span><a href="http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://www.thefreelibrary.com/A+striking+disconnect%3A+marital+rape+law's+failure+to+keep+up+with...-a0295551332</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Accessed
10-10-12.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn28" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref28" name="_ftn28" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn28;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[28]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <span style="font-size: 8pt;">Howard, Warner, Renzulli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Criminalizing Spousal Rape: The Diffusion of
Legal Reforms. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Portland State University
(dot com). </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 8pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">U.S. History of Marital Rape.
Crisis Connection (dot) com.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2009. </span><i><span style="font-size: 8pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Sociological Perspectives</span></i><span style="font-size: 8pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, Vol. 52, Issue 4, pp.
505–531, ISSN 0731-1214, electronic ISSN 1533-8673. page 520, 521 </span></span><a href="http://web.pdx.edu/~matg/Sociology/Gender_&_Sexualities_files/Criminalizing%20Spousal%20Rape.pdf"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial;">http://web.pdx.edu/~matg/Sociology/Gender_&_Sexualities_files/Criminalizing%20Spousal%20Rape.pdf</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 8pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. </span></span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 8pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Accessed 10-10-12.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div id="ftn29" style="mso-element: footnote;">
<div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2421348013136959152#_ftnref29" name="_ftn29" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn29;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue;">[29]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Ibid</span><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 8pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 8pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN" style="font-size: 8pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">.</span></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-61560785612528995412013-03-03T17:27:00.000-08:002013-03-03T17:34:27.522-08:00Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-10031634211055781882013-02-18T09:41:00.000-08:002013-02-18T09:41:58.964-08:00Alice Kramden: The First True TV Feminist
<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">This is an article I wrote after taking a college class of "America in the 1950s". I noticed that Alice Kramden wasn't the stereotypical 1950s housewife and decided to write/organize my thoughts on this unsung feminist. This was not a class assignment paper. Its what I do for fun!!</span></em><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></b> </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></b> </div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">ALICE KRAMDEN – THE
FIRST TV FEMINIST<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">by Debi Brim<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Elizabeth Cady
Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and Gloria Steinem are famous and well-known names
in the suffrage and women’s movements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
offer one more that should be on the list: Alice Kramden, the first true
feminist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://wpcontent.answcdn.com/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d4/Gleason_honeymooners_1965.JPG/220px-Gleason_honeymooners_1965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://wpcontent.answcdn.com/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d4/Gleason_honeymooners_1965.JPG/220px-Gleason_honeymooners_1965.JPG" width="168" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Alice Kramden is the
fictional character who played opposite of Jackie Gleason’s character, Ralph
Kramden, in the 1950s sitcom “The Honeymooners”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an era when television women were docile
housewives, looking to their husbands for advice and problem solving, Alice was
an exception to the stereotype. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In a “Father Knows
Best” episode (“The Mink Coat”), Jim lines the family up on the couch
(including his wife) to lecture them on household expenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this typical 1950s sitcom, the male head
of household is controlling the budget, the money, and lecturing the family on
their overspending.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Compare this to “The
Honeymooners” episode “Funny Money.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph has to ask Alice for money because he is
short “a couple of bucks” for his lodge membership dues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With hands on her hips, Alice replies, “I’m
not giving you a dime, Ralph.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
reminds him that lodge dues are supposed to come out of his allowance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ralph stomps his foot and “demands” the
money. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alice still refuses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alice not only controls the budget and the
checkbook, she has the nerve to stand up to her husband and tell him “no”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">See this clip: The scene starts at marker 6:30 through 7:55.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J92T9bOjPwQ" target="_blank">Clip: The Honeymooners: "Funny Money"</a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In another
Honeymooners episode (“Brother Ralph”), Ralph is laid-off from the bus company.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alice decides she will get a job. Ralph
protests, “While you are my wife, you will never work!” Alice’s reply is “I’m
getting a job no matter what you say!” With her face inches from her husband’s
she closes the argument with “I’m getting a job and you’re doing the
housework!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gets a job in an office
and Ralph is the house-husband for a few weeks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBI6R1mxipg&playnext=1&list=PLZs0gQed9tMQws-shX-s0S_TPHT8MLM_n&feature=results_video" target="_blank">Clip: The Honeymooners "Brother Ralph"</a></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Who is this woman?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She controls the money and the budget. The
husband is forced to ask her for money because he already spent all of his
“allowance”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A 1950s man put on a
budget?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never saw June Cleaver
reminding Ward that he was only allowed so much money a month!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alice stands nose to nose with the man of
the house, defying his “rules.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To top
it off, this woman also has her husband do the housework, something that is
strictly a woman’s job. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">She was a woman who
bucked the stereotypical system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
made decisions, handled the money, got a job, and had an equal (sometimes more
than an equal) say in what went on in her home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Had Alice been in
charge of NASA, we probably would have gone “to the moon, Alice!” sooner than
we actually did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: right;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">© D. Brim / Dec 2011<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-1122042626522352912012-12-27T12:42:00.000-08:002012-12-27T12:42:12.760-08:00Who Needs History? Everyone.<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">This article is in response to a New York Times editorial piece (link included in article below). As a lover of history, I of course had an opinion that was too long for a facebook entry, so I chose to post my own editorial opinion here. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></em><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A recent
New York Times article <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- <a href="http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/egan-in-%20ignorance-we-trust/"><span style="color: blue;">http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/egan-in-
ignorance-we-trust/</span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>shared some opinions on the value of teaching
history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The governor of Florida, Rick
Scott, voiced an opinion that history was less valuable and should be
surcharged a higher tuition rate than those majoring in business-related
degrees. (Should I assume he believes we history majors are wasting valuable
college space and should be “fined” for doing so?) </span><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As a
soon-to-be-history-teacher and one who has studied history for years just for
the fun of it, I of course disagree with the governor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a politician, the governor should
understand the value of history more than most as everything he does begins with
a knowledge of history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His success at
his job requires knowing how and why bills are passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires a knowledge of social and
anthropological history to understand what his constituents need and why they
need it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To use a well-known phrase, he
needs to know where he’s been before he can know where he’s going.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Something
as simple as watching television for entertainment requires a knowledge of
history to understand some story lines and punch lines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An episode of “I Love Lucy” finds Lucy asking
Minnie Finch if she will participate in a survey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minnie responds suspiciously, “Say!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your name wouldn’t be Kinsey, would it?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Viewers have no idea why this is funny unless
they know the history of the name “Kinsey” in relationship to “survey” in a
setting of the 1950s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Readers of this
article don’t understand what I just wrote if they lack this same historical
knowledge.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Popular
cartoon shows enjoyed by children and adults alike often make historical
references.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Watching “The Simpsons” has
become a game at our house as we watch for references to obscure bits of historical
knowledge used as a punch line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Family
Guy” is another show that is funnier when you understand the historical
reference behind some of the zingers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
daughter says she learned a lot of history by watching “Family Guy”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I have yet to determine if that’s a good
thing or a sad thing!)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/7Jba5HsWDsA?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Reference
to “the perfect crime” team of Leopold and Loeb is found in shows such as “Mad
Men”, “Law and Order” and “Criminal Intent”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Part of the story line is lost if the viewer does not understand the history
of who these two famous criminals were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Entertainment aside, people like the governor seem to forget that even those in the STEM disciplines (Science, Technology, Engineering, Math) require a knowledge of history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Students in those classes need to know what inventions and discoveries have already been made and how they were discovered before new theories and ideas can go forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4TLAZ5T_AMA/UNywOhw9vKI/AAAAAAAAAjE/WDyEjUxr7bU/s1600/hiroshima.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="95" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4TLAZ5T_AMA/UNywOhw9vKI/AAAAAAAAAjE/WDyEjUxr7bU/s200/hiroshima.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Hiroshima Bombing</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">More than that, these disciplines need to
understand the social history of their fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What scientist or engineer can go forward without an understanding of
the history of the effects, physical and social, of the Manhattan Project?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Scientists
who work in the cloning and genetic field should have a knowledge of the
history of eugenics, how it was used (and abused) and the social impact of the
theory and practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, I believe
any genetic engineer should be required to know, before they are ever accepted
into their first class, how the Nazi’s used the 1927 U.S. Supreme Court case of
Bell v. Buck as precedent for the sterilization of persons considered “socially
inadequate” to be an acceptable practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Yes, it is true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Justice Oliver
Wendell Holmes actually said, “Three generations of imbeciles are enough!”)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The
problem, as the article referenced above mentions, is not so much the teaching
of history but the method of teaching history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is it more important that students know Lincoln was shot on April 14,
1865?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or do they benefit more from the
understanding that Lincoln was shot just days after Lee’s surrender which ended
the Civil War, which took place in the mid-1800s?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would their critical thinking skills be
enhanced as they contemplated the conflict between Booth thinking he would be
the South’s hero and the actuality of how the South scorned his actions? I’d
prefer my students understood the story behind those events rather than just
memorize a date on which an event happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khy6Nh1Jqzs/UNyxQeJDO-I/AAAAAAAAAjU/mnFJrK9z0eM/s1600/hiram+revels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khy6Nh1Jqzs/UNyxQeJDO-I/AAAAAAAAAjU/mnFJrK9z0eM/s200/hiram+revels.jpg" width="171" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Hiram Revels</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Is it
more important that students know just that Hiram Revels was the first
non-white elected to the U.S. Congress in 1870?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Or should they know the history of his election and how his citizenship
eligibility was questioned since black men were not considered citizens, which
was a political office requirement? And how important is it that they
understand how this conflict was resolved?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">For
those not familiar, it was not resolved by the argument that being black or
white shouldn’t make a difference in the post-Civil War era.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was resolved by showing that since Hiram
Revels was not “pure” African blood, then the Dred Scott case did not apply to
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was resolved, ironically, by the
fact that white plantation owners felt they had a right to have sex with their
female slaves and sire more slaves. It was this slave-owner action, the action
that whites felt was their God given right of superiority, that gave Revels the
legal “loophole” to hold political office and be “superior” (in a sense) to
non-elected whites.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Or
should the history question simply be, “Who was the first non-white elected to
Congress and in what year?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Sadly,
the idea that “history is boring” is often perpetrated by parents who were
taught history in what I call “The Dry Dust Method” of learning just names,
places and dates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These parents repeat
to their children how boring history is so the child walks into the classroom
expecting to be bored.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the
textbooks that are written, their low expectation is met too many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ask all parents …. please stop thwarting
your child’s education by planting negative ideas in their head about learning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
met many teachers who are exceeding at the challenge of making history part of
the joy of learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are telling
the story in an exciting and interesting way that keeps their students’
attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have to work twice as
hard, however, because they have so many barriers set up in front of them before
the student even walks into their classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Florida governor is not helping their efforts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">History
is not boring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it were boring,
television shows such as CSI and Pawn Stars would not be popular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whole networks such as the History Channel
and the Discovery Channel would not be on the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The difference is that these programs show
how history is applicable and these programs tell the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Have you
seen the film, “America: The Story of Us”? Mesmorizing! Even this history major
had not heard the amazing story of the Father of “Special Forces”, Daniel Morgan,
until watching the Revolutionary War part of this film!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Movies that
are encased in history would not be big hits, such as:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apollo 13, The Help, The Great Escape,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Schindler’s List, Ghandi, The Virgin Queen,
The Count of Monte Cristo, Bonnie and Clyde, The Right Stuff, All the President’s
Men, the list goes on and on. These are not fictional movies … they are history
stories (non-boring history stories!) that drew millions to the theater.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">You
should see me teach the story of William Harvey Carney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And notice I said “SEE” me teach it, not “hear”
me teach it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because the story of
William Harvey Carney is too exciting to just be “told” in a name/date
method.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It truly must be experienced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And
THAT, Mr. Governor, is the type of teaching you should be encouraging.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-24056112654374010152012-10-22T11:50:00.000-07:002012-10-22T11:50:32.611-07:00Tombstones - Part 2<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just as funerals have changed to be more of a "celebration of life" rather than a "mourning the death, tombstones seemed to have also changed. In my recent college class project, I noticed the tombstones were less of a notation of who the person was, i.e. just a name and a date of birth/death, and more of who the person WAS, i.e. sports enthusiast, parent, fisherman, and more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Early tombstones tended to have one large family stone with the last name:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gRNkjzNT2H0/UIWRrbk8IfI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/CWL1uGXX0DE/s1600/100_9512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gRNkjzNT2H0/UIWRrbk8IfI/AAAAAAAAAWQ/CWL1uGXX0DE/s200/100_9512.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Smaller stones around the family monument marked the gravesites of the individual family members. These smaller stones tended to have just a first name, and year of birth/death.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xqK-KBNG2Rc/UIWSOVFEBbI/AAAAAAAAAWY/dN9sf_LIR98/s1600/100_9492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xqK-KBNG2Rc/UIWSOVFEBbI/AAAAAAAAAWY/dN9sf_LIR98/s200/100_9492.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">As time went on, I found stones were beginning to add much more information to tell us about the family member laid to rest under a stone. The entire date of birth and death were added to the information on the face of the tombstone.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7yzLfDfgnJw/UIWTLspSLzI/AAAAAAAAAWg/0VfcqspEC-w/s1600/100_9443.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7yzLfDfgnJw/UIWTLspSLzI/AAAAAAAAAWg/0VfcqspEC-w/s200/100_9443.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We found a commemorative keepsake of a Jack Daniels bottle on one tombstone which we read as a tribute to Carl's love of the well-known whiskey.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ad5Ettebr8/UIWHvolKM-I/AAAAAAAAAVE/7JN5haD9c80/s1600/IMG_2868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9ad5Ettebr8/UIWHvolKM-I/AAAAAAAAAVE/7JN5haD9c80/s200/IMG_2868.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Photos are also starting to adorn the stones, a permanent reminder that these were real people, who really existed, and are not just a name engraved into a slab of marble. In some cases, like this one, there is a family photo, showing us that he was a husband and father. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2LauCTo1G1E/UIWIkRCyTgI/AAAAAAAAAVM/b5VXidr08fQ/s1600/IMG_2853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2LauCTo1G1E/UIWIkRCyTgI/AAAAAAAAAVM/b5VXidr08fQ/s320/IMG_2853.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Those who spent a lifetime in an occupation are commemorated for their hard work, such as this man, who was obviously a dairy farmer: </span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cdoI43cCfpw/UIWJJ4TAb4I/AAAAAAAAAVU/xznrnu1_OLg/s1600/IMG_2835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cdoI43cCfpw/UIWJJ4TAb4I/AAAAAAAAAVU/xznrnu1_OLg/s320/IMG_2835.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Or this man, whose family wanted us all to know that when he left his family at the young age of 35, he wasn't just a farmer, but more importantly, he was "Erin's Daddy" (bottom left corner):</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6vN7C41gR1U/UIWJ1YezPSI/AAAAAAAAAVc/hiegWFp_Pv0/s1600/IMG_2836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6vN7C41gR1U/UIWJ1YezPSI/AAAAAAAAAVc/hiegWFp_Pv0/s320/IMG_2836.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The same with Kent Limbach. Obviously someone who loved fishing, but again the family wanted us to know more than being a fisherman, he was someone's "Daddy": </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FIoiw_LtkMI/UIWN4XeN7vI/AAAAAAAAAV8/uQ3WUahpa8s/s1600/IMG_2847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FIoiw_LtkMI/UIWN4XeN7vI/AAAAAAAAAV8/uQ3WUahpa8s/s320/IMG_2847.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This couple wanted to forever honor the place where they were married and had the temple where they exchanged their vows carved into the stone. This man was obviously a big Purdue fan, too, as shown by the Purdue train right above his name!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZMep5onP9bk/UIWKjTmR_lI/AAAAAAAAAVk/gXp6D-ooTio/s1600/100_9370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZMep5onP9bk/UIWKjTmR_lI/AAAAAAAAAVk/gXp6D-ooTio/s320/100_9370.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We can only guess that Nancy was a receptionist who answered the office phone, maybe she worked as a telephone operator, or that she just loved to gab on the phone with her friends!! Either way, this telephone on her stone shows us that conversation was a big part of her life:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ThJCf12ydug/UIWLoAyG8TI/AAAAAAAAAVs/vm60CkBC3xI/s1600/Phone+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ThJCf12ydug/UIWLoAyG8TI/AAAAAAAAAVs/vm60CkBC3xI/s320/Phone+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When I saw this stone, I was moved to do some additional research. It seems this family of four perished in an airplane crash in 1974. William was obviously an accomplished military man, in addition to being a family man and whoever put this stone up for them wanted us to know that:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-galysnbiNZc/UIWNEDeLMUI/AAAAAAAAAV0/ScjsEA9CIds/s1600/airplane+crash+victims.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-galysnbiNZc/UIWNEDeLMUI/AAAAAAAAAV0/ScjsEA9CIds/s320/airplane+crash+victims.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Cemeteries are great sources of historical information. They show us, not just genealogical information but they are anthropological snapshots in time to show us how our thinking and perceptions change over the years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-42147545171229278872012-10-22T09:08:00.002-07:002012-10-22T09:08:25.762-07:00A new blog to add to the collection!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Be sure to visit my newest blog, </span><a href="http://thimblefulsofhistory.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Thimblefuls of History"</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> for your daily dose of history trivia!</span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-44386166762947118492011-10-31T19:09:00.001-07:002011-10-31T19:44:39.761-07:00Tombstones: A Cemetery Class Project<div><em>This is a consolidation of a 10-page paper I did for an anthropology class. More articles on cemetery observations to follow.</em></div><div align="center"><em>-------------------------------------------------------------</em></div><div align="center"> </div><div>In a recent anthropology class project, I went to local cemeteries to research tombstone symbols. Cemeteries are a GREAT source of historical information, not just names and dates of the people who lived before us, but can also give a picture of the social changes over the years.<br /><br />One symbol is the use of wood, trees or logs in the monument. Trees represent life. Cut trees, tree trunks, logs, etc., represent life cut short. Going through one of the larger cemeteries in Indianapolis, Crown Hill Cemetery, I counted 37 of these log-design benches within a small area. It was an older area with life-span dates of the early to late 1800s.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7tRBYJAnadA/Tq9WXCdJx-I/AAAAAAAAARE/hY0w9hNZCVA/s1600/100_9493.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669845409678870498" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7tRBYJAnadA/Tq9WXCdJx-I/AAAAAAAAARE/hY0w9hNZCVA/s320/100_9493.JPG" /></a>In the 1800s, people traveled on horseback, in wagons and on foot, to visit the graves of their deceased family members. The benches provided a place for the mourner to rest while spending time at the gravesite.<br /><br />These benches were usually the marker for the family plot, with the family name on the back railing. Individual stones near the bench carried just the first name and the birth/death year. Sometimes, the smaller headstone would have a relationship designation, such as "mother" or "son".<br /><br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OUVqLc0qBxY/Tq9WKG52u6I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/ubqK83dA6QM/s1600/100_9504.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669845187534699426" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OUVqLc0qBxY/Tq9WKG52u6I/AAAAAAAAAQ4/ubqK83dA6QM/s320/100_9504.JPG" /></a></div><div> </div><div> As time went on , the wood/log design fell to the wayside and the benches became more modern, taking on a modern and sometimes Roman design. I noticed these were fewer in number than the log benches, leading me to assume bench-tombstone markers may have been a fad or fashion of a specific time.<br /><br /></div><div> </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2eXygPg8cTo/Tq9V5VaaLvI/AAAAAAAAAQs/49xbhCdj5UM/s1600/100_9499.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669844899371560690" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2eXygPg8cTo/Tq9V5VaaLvI/AAAAAAAAAQs/49xbhCdj5UM/s320/100_9499.JPG" /></a><hrt>The closer I got to the mid to late 1900s, the bench design had all but disappeared. the family marker stone was designed to look more like a headstone but "could" function as a resting place for the mourner. </hrt></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><br />In the mid 1900s most people owned cars and driving to the cemetery was near the chore that it was in the 1800s. People were not tired after their journey and perhaps the need for a place to rest and "visit" was not as necessary. Headstones evolved to this new cultural and social change.<br /></div><div><br /> </div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2Hv93U4Bfk/Tq9VrvPH4pI/AAAAAAAAAQg/2R3GtLLnurY/s1600/100_9534.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669844665785377426" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Z2Hv93U4Bfk/Tq9VrvPH4pI/AAAAAAAAAQg/2R3GtLLnurY/s320/100_9534.JPG" /></a></div><div> </div><div>Perhaps in the sense of "all things old are new again", I came across this marble bench stone that is doing double duty. It serves as the individual's headstone, the family plot marker, and a bench for the mourners to sit and rest. This was the only type of bench-headstone I saw in the newer section of the cemetery.<br /><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-irEryjjYlFk/Tq9Viv4yPRI/AAAAAAAAAQU/VtwseFNoaLI/s1600/100_9539.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; height: 240px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669844511341296914" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-irEryjjYlFk/Tq9Viv4yPRI/AAAAAAAAAQU/VtwseFNoaLI/s320/100_9539.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jXk9nDD2TVI/Tq9VUpn3lxI/AAAAAAAAAQI/f5p7sH5ZCtc/s1600/100_9504.JPG"></a> </div><div> </div><div><br /><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WaG5s2TCQ3g/Tq9VFjOgraI/AAAAAAAAAP8/Hvbpj2viJwg/s1600/100_9488.JPG"></a> </div><div><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-47556595645530225462011-10-12T09:45:00.000-07:002011-10-12T10:02:44.734-07:00My Tribute to My Aunt Dorothy<div><font size="1" face="arial"><em>Yesterday, on October 11, my favorite person in the entire world passed away. Aunt Dorothy was more like a second mom than an aunt. Below is a short writing, writteni n 2001, that began as "I Remember ....." about what I have called Aunt Dorothy Days. It's lengthy, but I can't cut a word out of it. I feel very thankful that I sent a copy of this to her some years ago, letting her know just how much I thought of her and loved her. Don't miss those moments .... be sure you tell the ones you love how important they are to you!</em></font><br /><p align="center"><font size="2"><em><font face="arial">---------------------------------------------------------</font></em></font></p><font size="2"><br /></font><font face="arial">I remember waking up on those early Thursday mornings when I couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4. I called them “Aunt Dorothy Days”.<br /><br />Dorothy is my mom’s sister. Thursday was my dad’s payday, so we would be loaded up in the car at 5:30 a.m. to take him to work and we’d stay at Dorothy’s house for the morning, so my mom could pick up dad’s check at noon. I loved the early morning smell that somehow only was perceptible on those Thursdays. Maybe it was the moistness still in the air, or the coffee being perked to fill dad’s thermos. I don’t really know. I know I remember not being upset or cranky about getting up so early at such a young age and actually being excited about getting started.<br /><br />Aunt Dorothy’s house was always special to me. She is my favorite aunt, my second mom. We’d get there after dropping dad off at the factory and Uncle Frank would sometimes be sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and maybe finishing up his breakfast. I remember a lot of bacon and egg aromas. Dorothy was in the corner of the kitchen, doing the ironing or dampening the clothes to prep them for ironing. She had a Coke bottle filled with water with a special cork stopper that let her sprinkle the wrinkled clothes with water to dampen them. They would be rolled up and stuffed in a basket or a plastic bag to be ironed later or the next day. That was such an Aunt Dorothy thing. She was the only person I knew who did it that way. I remember being so fascinated watching her sprinkle the clothes and wondering how she knew when it was enough water and never getting them TOO wet.<br /><br />She always had a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. It was an orange glass bowl with ridges all around the side. I learned later that this Depression Glass bowl belonged to her mother (my grandmother). We never had fruit in a bowl at our house and I always thought it made Aunt Dorothy’s kitchen look like a picture in a magazine. </font><br /><br /><font face="arial">After Uncle Frank would leave for work, Dorothy would wash the breakfast dishes. She never let them just sit in the side sink drainer to dry. She always dried them with a towel and put them away. Sometimes she’d let me help. I liked the rhythm she had when she dried dishes. She didn’t dry a plate and walk to the pantry to put it away. All the dishes were dried and set on the kitchen table. Then, when all were dry, she’d move them from the table to the built-in dish pantry on the other side of the kitchen. That’s when she’d let me help and I’d carefully carry one cup or one plate at a time over to her. She probably could have completed the task in half the time without my help, but I felt important and grown up putting away her dishes.<br /><br />It was the greatest pantry and seemed so big. I remember the little hooks hanging from the underside of the shelves where the coffee cups would hang. All the cups matched and there were no “mugs”. These were delicate cups that matched the rest of the dishes. I remember thinking Dorothy had to be rich to have such pretty dishes and such a “fancy” way to hang the cups.<br /><br />Dorothy lived in a great old brick house in the older part of town. Being 3 or 4 at the time, I remember the rooms being HUGE! I’m sure I’d be disappointed if I saw the house today, so I don’t want to see it now…or ever. I want to just remember it as the big old great house that is fixed forever in my memories. It had a black wrought iron fence around the yard and I liked playing that I was in jail behind those bars or I was a princess trapped in the evil castle, looking out of the barred window of my prison tower. I’ve always wanted a house with a fence like that. Maybe someday……<br /><br />The front door had a big (brass?) …. Oh gosh, you can’t really call it a doorbell….It was in the center of the front door. A round brass circle with a handle that looked like the head of a big key. Turning the key around and around caused a bell to sound. It was really loud and I remember me and my younger sister Jean getting in trouble for playing with it too often.<br /><br />The house had big wooden pocket doors between the front bedroom and the living room. I’m sure the original use of the front bedroom was not for sleeping, but it was always a bedroom when I was there. The doors were rarely shut, but I seem to remember trying to shut them once. They were very heavy and I think I got in trouble for my efforts.<br /><br />During Christmas, I remember her Christmas tree sat in this front room, in front of the window that looked out on the street. She had a white artificial tree with one of those revolving lights that turned it green, red, yellow and blue. She was the only person I knew who had a white tree and I remember sitting for long periods of time in that room just watching it change colors. It was mesmerizing to me and I thought if I could ever have a tree like that when I grew up, then I’d be the luckiest person in the world. When we would drive past her house, I would crane my neck to see if she had the light on so I could see it through the window.<br /><br />I was there one day when a truck pulled up and a couple of men starting carrying furniture into the house. Dorothy told me it was a new bedroom suite for the front bedroom….”it’s your bed for when you visit!” MY bed? She was getting me my own bed!! A big double bed just for me! Since I shared not only a bedroom, but also my bed with a sister, getting my own big bed (did I mention that it was “just for me”?)….well, I thought I was the Big It, let me tell ya!<br /><br />Of course, it never ever occurred to me that this was the guest bedroom and who knew who else would be using this bed. Dorothy told me it was mine and that’s all I believed for a long time.<br /><br />I remember this great little planter-type of flower pot she had. It sat for a long time on the dresser in the front bedroom (you know….MY bedroom dresser!). It was the head of woman with pearls around her neck. The flowers were coming out of her head. I remember staring at that planter, wondering if this ceramic beautiful woman was supposed to be Aunt Dorothy when she was young. I was probably too young to understand the Jackie Kennedy influence of wearing pearls back then, but I do remember thinking that only “Ladies” wore pearls and only “beautiful ladies” wore them well. I would gently touch the pearls, jerking my hand back if I heard anyone coming. I’ve looked at antique malls and garage sales to try to find one just like it for my home, but so far…no luck. That planter, to me, is an icon of “Aunt Dorothy’s House”.<br /><br />Dorothy would let me eat raw spaghetti noodles and she’d let me play with her pans and dishes. I didn’t have to play with “toys” at her house….I got to play with “real” pans when I played House. One time, I finished my raw spaghetti and asked for more, but the rest of it was already cooking in the boiling water. Dorothy tried to salvage a strand of spaghetti out of the hot water for me before it cooked all the way down. I think I remember her getting one out and I happily munched away on my special treat.<br /><br />During the summer, Beulah, her daughter-in-law, and Dorothy would lay in the backyard getting a tan. I didn’t like to sit in the sun and Dorothy set me up with crayons, coloring books, reading books, comic books and anything else she could find, in a chair in the shade. I would watch them lay in the sun, spreading the baby oil and iodine mixture all over themselves and putting wet cotton balls on their eyelids, under their sunglasses. At the end of the day, I remember wishing I looked as tan as they did, but still not willing to sit in the sun all day!<br /><br />When Beulah lived there, I liked helping the two of them clean house. Of course, you couldn’t beg me to clean my own room at home, but this was different. They would start upstairs and just throw all the dirty laundry down the stairs. One day Jean was there with me. Being little girls in the early sixties, we still dressed up to “come to town”, even if that meant just going to Aunt Dorothy’s house, so we had dresses on with belts that tied in the back. Beulah let us throw the dirty clothes down the stairway, but she would stand behind us and hold our belts so we wouldn’t fall. The stairway would be littered with t-shirts, socks, underwear, towels, etc. Jean and I were helping Beulah gather the laundry off of the stairway. I was whining because Jean and Beulah were ahead of me, going up the stairs, and they were getting all the laundry, leaving none for me to pick up! Beulah started handing back a piece or two so I’d have some laundry to carry.<br /><br />Wash day was always a fascinating time for me to be at Dorothy’s house. Thinking of everything they had to do back then is too overwhelming, compared to today, and I’m just thankful that I didn’t have to work that hard!! She had an old wringer washer and a big washtub. Clothes were washed in the washer and then pushed through the roller bars of the wringer washer. They were dipped in one side of the big washtub (I remember this was a floor model job with 2 BIG sections for water) and dipped (rinsed) in the second tub of clear water. It seems the clothes were ran thru the wringer 2 or 3 times between the wash and rinse process. I only remember watching Dorothy and Beulah do it together….never just one of them. And I sit here remembering it, it certainly was a 2-person job!! They had an efficient production line going and all of that laundry for 4 grown adults was always finished before it was time to start dinner.<br /><br />I remember Dorothy hanging the laundry in the attic. She had lines run and a big wooden “thing” that I helped drape socks and washcloths over. It wasn’t the typical attic that had everything covered in layers of dust. I liked going to the attic but we weren’t allowed to play there. I only got to go in it on wash day.<br /><br />I remember my 4th birthday. Dorothy had bought a rectangle shaped Dolly Madison type of cake. It was about 3 inches wide and 6 inches long. It was chocolate cake with white icing that had little chocolate stripes on it. Uncle Frank was there, too, so it may have been after he got home, or it could have been on a Saturday. They put 4 candles in it for me. I specifically remember it was my 4th because I told them, “I get another birthday cake when I go home. So I’ll have 2 birthday cakes. Two 4’s make me 44 years old!” (Wow. I was always good with math, huh?)<br /><br />I remember watching her clean her dentures in the bathroom off of the kitchen. She always called it “washing my teeth”. I would think most 4-5 year olds might think it was a “yucky” thing, but I think I just loved anything my Aunt Dorothy did. She’d talk me through the process as she scrubbed her partial, showing me how she was getting in all the cracks so “her teeth” would be nice and clean. Her bathroom always smelled like the toilet disinfectant soap solids that she had hung inside the toilet bowl. I remember thinking that had to be one of the greatest smells in the world…..it was an Aunt Dorothy house smell.<br /><br />I remember Dorothy walked me over to a little corner grocery just a block away. I think it was run by an old Italian man, but I’m not sure. It was in a big Victorian brick building where the shelves were still made of wood, the floors creaked and the man behind the counter called her “Mrs. Watson”.<br /><br />One day Dorothy was making iced tea and was out of lemons so she let me go ALL BY MYSELF to that grocery. She watched and helped me cross 5th street but after that I was on my own. It was the first time I ever got to go somewhere by myself. The store was out of lemons, but he had a “new” kind of lemon. It was lemon juice inside a plastic lemon shaped container. I told him my Aunt Dorothy needed one lemon, not lemon juice. He said I could take the plastic lemon to my aunt and if she didn’t like the way it tasted then she didn’t have to pay for it. WOW! Not only was I allowed to go to the store by myself, but he was giving me the lemon juice without making me pay for it! AND….trusting me to pay for it if it worked out ok! Surely no 5 year old had done THAT before! Yeah….I thought I was really big.<br /><br />Well, I remember Dorothy putting it in her tea and I remember some complaining about how she couldn’t tell how much she was using because it was a concentrate and heaven knows how the tea was going to taste! I have no idea if she decided it was worth paying for or not, but she didn’t send me back to the store again by myself after that.<br /><br />Dorothy made the best iced tea. She had an amber colored glass ice tea pitcher and she’d cut up the lemons and they’d just float around in the tea. It was so pretty to look at. I remember marveling that for all the lemon that was in it, it never tasted sour like I expected it to. She didn’t refrigerate it. It sat on the counter, I think by the sink. My friends today compliment me that no one makes tea like I do, but I tell them, “then you’ve never tasted my Aunt Dorothy’s tea. No body makes it better.”<br /><br />I remember a picture of Uncle Frank that hung in their bedroom. It was a picture of him when he was young. I think he was still in the Navy. I always thought he was the most handsome man in the world. I remember going into their bedroom and just staring at that picture for a long time. Even as a kid, I knew the man in that picture was what people called a “handsome man”. I didn’t know who Clark Gable was at the time, but looking back, that’s who Uncle Frank looked like….a young Clark Gable. He had that small pencil-mustache (I don’t ever remember seeing him without a mustache) and a rugged, strong face. In the picture, he was staring out into the distance, like he was seeing where it was he was going next.<br /><br />I remember Uncle Frank would park his car across the street in the YMI parking lot, not on the street in front of the house. I can remember him coming home and watching him walk across the street. I don’t know if I had put into words to myself that he was “my hero”, but I liked watching for him. He always had a “jaunt” in his walk, a spring in his step like a man who is confident in what he is. He’d see me on the porch or in the doorway, and would break into a grin….a grin that was reflected in his eyes. And when he’d laugh, he’d laugh with his whole face.<br /><br />I don’t remember what his favorite cuss words were, but I remember there were a lot of ‘em!! I’m not sure if he knew they were cuss words, they were so much a part of his vocabulary. But an Uncle Frank who didn’t cuss just wouldn’t have been my Uncle Frank. I remember hearing from others that Uncle Frank was a “tough son of a gun” but I also remember knowing that I thought he was the best, the most fun, and the gentlest uncle in the world.<br /><br />I remember dancing with him. I felt so grown up. Uncle Frank would patiently humor me when I wanted to dance with him. I’m sure he thought I was a pain in the butt, but he’d turn on the radio or put on one of his and Dorothy’s favorite records and we’d dance in the living room. He had a pouchy tummy that was the perfect height for me to lay my head on while he showed me how to slow dance. I don’t’ think I stepped on his feet TOO often.<br /><br />After dinner, we’d sit on the front porch. They had these great old metal chairs that Dorothy kept painted up pretty. I don’t ever remember seeing any rust on them. Even tho’ they were old, they always looked new. Frank would water the sidewalk, which I thought was a dumb thing to do. Why do you need to water a sidewalk and not the grass? It wasn’t until years later that someone explained to me how it cools the sidewalk on a hot day and makes it more comfortable to sit on the porch. (OHHHhhhhh!)<br /><br />Uncle Frank had a way of clearing his throat and he would spit “whatever” out over the side of the porch into the grass. I thought he was so great because he could spit so far and hit the grass everytime!<br /><br />Sometimes Frank would start singing. In a low, deep voice he would render a gospel tune or a country song. Kind of singing to himself, but loud enough so that others could hear him. I remember somehow just knowing that he wasn’t making any effort for anyone else to hear him. He was singing for himself because he liked the song and I think he just liked to sing. I remember sitting on that front porch thinking he should have been a big singing star because his voice was so deep and he sang so well. Sometimes Dorothy would sing with him and the two of them were in their own musical world, their voices mixing together in a way that wasn’t quite perfect, yet sounding so good that I didn’t want them to stop.<br /><br />Listening to him sing is one of my very favorite memories.<br /><br /><em>Footnote added October 12, 2011: Aunt Dorothy died last night. I’m sure going to miss her. As much as I still miss my Uncle Frank. </em><br /></font><br /><font face="arial">------------------------------------------</font><br /><font face="arial"></font><p><font face="arial"><font size="1" face="arial"><em>Don't cry because it's over .... Smile because it happened. ---- Dr. Seuss</em></font><em></em></font></p><em><p><font face="arial"> </font></p><font face="arial"><br /><br /><br /></font></em><br /><em></em></div>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-31161424902389584822011-07-08T05:31:00.000-07:002016-07-12T12:26:51.578-07:00Art Review - Van Gogh Landscape<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 85%;"><em>This was written for a history class in 2011.... a review of a Van Gogh painting that hangs in the Indianapolis Museum of Art. (I got an "A" on it!)</em></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 85%;"></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";">Van Gogh, Landscape at Saint-Rémy (Enclosed Field with Peasant), 1889, oil on canvas </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626959713010826770" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5iFyRH_LckY/Thb6C8txvhI/AAAAAAAAAPk/sQ_-Qp3B1sQ/s320/van%2Bgoh%2Bpainting.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 239px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /><br />While standing and looking at the Paul Cezanne painting that hung in the Indianapolis Museum of Art, my eye caught the upper corner of this painting and I immediately recognized Van Gogh’s distinctive “Starry Night” style of painting. Totally ignoring our tour guide, I walked over to be mesmerized by seeing my first Van Gogh in person.<br /><br />The oil on canvas painting, Enclosed Field with Peasant, also known as Landscape at Saint-Remy, was done in 1889 while Van Gogh was voluntarily in an asylum in the town of Saint-Remy after a Christmas Eve 1888 breakdown after a visit by his friend, Paul Gauguin and when Van Gogh subsequently cut off his ear.<br /><br />This painting, one of four in a series of views of the field, was not commissioned but was just one of about 150 paintings that Van Gogh did while in the asylum, looking out over the countryside. Most of Van Gogh’s paintings were not commissioned.</span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";">There is debate on how many paintings Van Gogh actually sold or was commissioned to paint, but I could only find where two were in the “maybe” column. Nursery on the Schenkweg was commissioned in 1882 by his uncle, the art dealer C. M. Van Gogh. The other painting, The Red Vineyard is mythed to have been commissioned but there is still debate on this one.<br /><br />The painting is a landscape of just outside the asylum walls, painted shortly after Van Gogh left the hospital. It almost comes alive with the manic brushstrokes that seems to have the fields rising toward the mountains. “At the center, a peasant carries a bundle of straw, a symbol of the cycles of life” that fascinated Van Gogh. “The "peasant genre" that greatly influenced van Gogh began in the 1840s with the works of Jean-Francois Millet, Jules Breton, and others. In 1885 van Gogh described the painting of peasants as the most essential contribution to modern art.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><br /><br /><br />In this painting, alluding to the strength of nature ranging from the low valley wheat field to the towering mountains, it is the symbolic peasant in the center who is shown to tame the elements and harvesting their bounty of wheat. It shows the landscape of the French countryside and depicts the manual process of harvest in the late 1800s.<br /><br />Van Gogh’s use of bold strokes and bright colors lead some to consider him an expressionist style yet some merely regard him as an influence to the expressionist style that came along at the beginning of the 20th century, prior to World War I. Because of Van Gogh’s fascination with the peasant genre and the symbolism of the mild peasant against the raging forces of nature, I’d say this is an idealized painting.<br />
<br />
Edited to add: Visit <a href="https://www.artsy.net/artist/vincent-van-gogh">https://www.artsy.net/artist/vincent-van-gogh</a> for more information on Van Gogh.<br />
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size: 78%;"><em>References used for this article.....<br /><a href="http://www.imamuseum.org/art/collections/artwork/landscape-saint-r%C3%A9my-enclosed-field-peasant-gogh-vincent-van">http://www.imamuseum.org/art/collections/artwork/landscape-saint-r%C3%A9my-enclosed-field-peasant-gogh-vincent-van</a></em></span><span style="font-size: 78%;"><em><br /><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/gogh/hd_gogh.htm">http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/gogh/hd_gogh.htm</a> </em></span><span style="font-size: 78%;"><em><br /><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheat_Fields_(series_of_paintings">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheat_Fields_(series_of_paintings</a>) </em></span><span style="font-size: 78%;"><em><br /></em></span></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-54799581351749856032011-04-10T17:43:00.000-07:002011-04-10T17:47:56.186-07:00Success<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>This is not one of my writings (much as I wish I could claim talent akin to Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson!) but I found this in a collection of "Debi's things to keep" and wanted to post it here just so I would never lose it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.</em></span> <br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Arial;">-------------------------------------------------------------</span></em></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">How do you measure success?</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">To laugh often and much</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">to win the respect of intelligent people</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">and the affection of children;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">To earn the appreciation of honest critics</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">and endure the betrayal of false friends;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">To appreiciate beauty;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">To find the best in others;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">To leave the world a bit better, </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">a redeemed social condition, or a job well done;</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">to know even one other life has breathed easier</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">because you have lived ----- </span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">This is to succeed.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><br /><div align="right"><span style="font-family:arial;">-----Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></div>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-88798384646690074442011-01-09T15:15:00.000-08:002011-01-09T15:23:47.018-08:00"So Now You're Getting Married ...."<em><span style="font-family:arial;">I was going through a box in my storage area and found some old poems and writings that I thought had been lost forever. I don't even remember writing this one, dated 4-16-99, that evidently was written before my eldest daughter got married. I hope you like it.</span></em><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So now you're getting married</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Your face is all aglow.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I remember the day you were born</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And it wasn't so long ago.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You grew up too quickly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The time has gone too fast.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wanted you to stay my baby.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wanted the time to last.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But you're soon to be a bride.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ready to walk down the aisle.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">You'll only be my little girl, </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">For just a little while.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I see you all grown up now,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Excitement mixed with calm.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm so glad you're my daughter,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And more glad that I'm your mom.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">Rituals are important. Nowadays it's hip not to be married. I'm not interested in being hip. </span></em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">------ John Lennon<br /><br /></span></em><em><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></em>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-37426589284627134292010-12-21T20:25:00.000-08:002010-12-22T23:07:21.956-08:00Aunt Helen<span style="font-family:arial;">As I get older, I find myself thinking about things and people who have been an influence in the person I’ve become. One who stands out is my Aunt Helen. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Aunt Helen was my mother’s oldest sister, about 23 years older than my mom. She was the kind of aunt who always made us feel welcome, even though her house didn’t have many toys to play with or much for some little kids to do. Being so much older than our mom, her kids were grown and gone and the household toybox had long been cleaned out and throw away.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I never heard her say a bad word about anyone. The worst exclamation I ever heard her say was “oh shoot!” She was a devout Nazarene woman, wearing her hair in a bun and always in her uniform long dresses, something that looked out of place in the short skirt era of the 1960s but looked perfectly normal on Aunt Helen.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“Aunt Helen” was her entire name. It never occurred to us to refer to her as just “Helen” as we did with other aunts. It just wasn’t right. It wasn’t just a title of respect or an indication of relationship. It was just a part of who she was.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was the oldest of six kids, so growing up was tough, financially. Aunt Helen wasn’t well off financially either. She and Uncle Pete lived on social security and whatever odds jobs Uncle Pete could pick up on the side, like lawn mowing and such.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I always loved the Thanksgivings that included the two of them, which were most Thanksgivings. It was like having another gramma. She had this fabulous way of making green beans with a bacon and onion combination that filled my whole being. When I opened my catering business, “Aunt Helen’s Green Beans” were on the menu and were a very popular item.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One Thanksgiving, she didn’t bring her beans. She brought spaghetti. I remember I was about fourteen, and being an arrogant, non-thinking teenager, I threw a fit because she didn’t bring “my” beans. I never stopped to think about this older couple who lived on social security. I never considered that Thanksgiving was at the end of the month. I never gave thought to the idea that she may have prepared whatever she had in the cabinet because they didn’t have money to go to the grocery.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">No, I didn’t stop to think about any of that. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But Aunt Helen, in her way of never saying anything negative to anyone, who never intentionally made anyone feel bad, just leaned over and said, with a smile on her face and nothing but pure love in her voice, “Oh I thought I’d just do something different this year.”<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">But she never came without her famous green beans again. Each year after that, she’d walk in and say, “Debi, I brought your beans this year!” I loved her for it.<br /><br />As I share the green bean story, that’s not the thing that makes me miss her more than anything. It was the life lesson she left with me when I was about fifteen. A simple statement that helped form part of who I am.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It was a bad winter. Our home was heated by a wood burning stove and we were out of wood. We were heating the house by turning on the oven and leaving the oven door open, the kitchen chairs in a semi-circle around the stove as we struggled to stay warm. The cabinets were bare. I don’t mean kind of empty. I mean bare. Not even the obligatory can of old baking powder hiding in a back corner. Empty.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Our parents were out and at about fifteen years old I was babysitting the five younger siblings. Aunt Helen pulls into our driveway, comes in the house and hands me a partial bag of potatoes, apologizing that she didn’t have any butter or anything to cook them in but she said to me:<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">“I don’t have much but I’ll share what I’ve got.”<br /><br />It was only a bag of potatoes, and it was a partial bag at that. But it was much more than just one more meal for a group of poor kids. It was pure love from a woman who didn’t know any other way. It was sharing what she had when she didn’t have anything herself. It was caring about what someone else needed above what she might need.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Even though I was only 15 years old, these almost-forty years later, I’m still remembering that simple action of love, that simple action of giving, that simple action of caring. It is directly because of that simple act that I set a family Christmas tradition of not being allowed to walk past a Salvation Army bucket without putting something in. I taught my children that even if it’s the last two nickels in our pocket, we will “share what we’ve got” with someone who has less than we do. I’m happy to share that my daughter has taught her two children the same tradition.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So here’s my holiday tribute to Aunt Helen, a woman who lived a simple life and made a big difference without even knowing it.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I still miss her.</span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-58609664618638776452010-11-01T05:31:00.001-07:002010-11-01T05:43:29.548-07:00There's Nothing Like A Baby's Smile<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>This poem was written when my sister, CJ, had her second son, Jason, approximately 1988? (how old IS my nephew anyway?). It was also published in the book "Windows of the Soul , the National Library of Poetry in 1996. A little cheesy, I'll admit, but I like it!</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:Arial;">---------------------------------------------------------</span></div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing like a baby's smile</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To brighten up your day.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A smile so warm and full of love</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To send you on your way.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing like a baby's smile</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To let you know how much</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of the pleasure they can give to you</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">By their little kiss or touch.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing like a baby's smile</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To make you feel so warm,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To make you count your blessing</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">for the day that they were born.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing like a baby's smile,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So cheery and so bright.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It makes you want to pick them up </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">and hold them very tight!</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">There's nothing like a baby's smile,</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Nothing on this earth.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's the final bit of evidence</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">of the miracle of birth.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"A baby is God's opinion that life should go on." ----- Carl Sandburg</em></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-62890738497983717762010-09-15T20:52:00.000-07:002010-09-15T21:27:55.254-07:00The Rose Lady<em>This fictional story was written sometime around 1992-1994. I did know a lady years ago who wore a rose in her hair and I drew inspiration from her and her rose, but everything else in the story is absolute and pure fiction. It's just a simple love story. I will warn you that it's a big lengthier than the other stories posted so far.</em><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</em></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Clair Dawson gave herself one last critical appraisal in the hall mirror. Her appearance was, as usual, impeccable. Her lavender dress was the perfect complement to her violet eyes. She pushed her silvery gray hair back over her ears, just enough to expose the gold earrings with a touch of lavender trim that were a gift to her from her eldest granddaughter for one of the many birthdays that had long since been forgotten.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">With a nod of approval, she pulled her ivory, lace shawl up over her shoulders and gave the ever present flowers in her hair a comforting pat. Today she had not one, but two roses in her hair, the second being very small and hardly noticeable. Those flowers had become her trademark. Everyone in town knew Mrs. John Dawson by those flowers.<br /><br />That’s how she was known: Mrs. John Dawson. Everything from her telephone listing to her personalized stationery showed her identity as Mrs. John Dawson. Unlike many of the younger generation, she believed a woman was a husband’s wife and should always carry her husband’s name, not because she thought a woman had to travel on her husband’s successes, but because it was proper.<br /><br />She was never introduced as Clair Dawson, or ever as just Mrs. Dawson, and especially not just plain Clair, for there was nothing plain about her. You knew just by looking at her that she was someone important. Yet “important” was not the first word that came to mind when you met her. She carried a certain look about her that no one could imitate, a look that one had to be born with, a look that spoke volumes about her confidence, her influence, and her mastery of the social graces. After all, she was the prestigious widow of John Dawson, the late community leader who had passed away seventeen years ago today. Being the widow of John Dawson carried a certain level of responsibility and expectation, and it commanded a certain level of respect. Before she ever left the sanctuary of her home, she made sure to stop at the mirror in the front hall for one last inspection, to be sure that she as carrying out the responsibility as he would have liked.<br /><br />She had been the perfect successful man’s wife, supporting him in his work, seeing that their three children were raised with proper manners and responsibilities, and serving on various committees and boards in the community. She was always in demand for the various organizations. Not only did having Mrs. John Dawson on your membership roster add a certain level of prestige to whatever the current cause of the day was, but she was well known for being able to get things done.<br /><br />A few people in the small town of Mitton thought she was putting on airs. Those who knew Mrs. John Dawson knew how untrue that was. She wasn’t one who had to put on airs for she was born with the ability to be at home in any situation. She had hosted visiting dignitaries, political and business, in their large Victorian mansion that he had purchased for their tenth wedding anniversary. Those who were fortunate enough to be on her guest list were in awe of her as she gracefully floated among her guests, making everyone feel as if they were the guest of honor.<br /><br />She was equally at home in casual slacks at the PTA cookout, serving hot dogs and hamburgers to the crowd, always with the ever present rose in her hair. She would smile at the children who wanted the Rose Lady to serve them their hot dog, and always managed to slip them an extra cookie for dessert. Even when she was on her hands and knees, working in her many flower beds, she exhibited certain touch of class and elegance that many tried to capture for themselves, but could never quite pull off as naturally as she.<br /><br />The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed the hour and brought her out of her cloud of reminiscence. It was 11:00 and she had many things to do this morning.<br /><br />Today she had to stop at the cemetery to place her traditional bouquet of flowers on John’s grave. She would do it alone, although it had taken many bouts with her children to enable her to make this homage without them. They told her she shouldn’t go visit his grave alone, that it was dangerous for her to be there by herself. She defied their opinions and went by herself once a week. They often tried to tell her how to run her life since their father’s death.<br /><br />“I ran my life for years before you were born and I can do it now, “ she had firmly told them. She could not and would not admit to being lonely at night, especially when she walked up the wide staircase at the end of the day.<br /><br />They couldn’t understand. Kids never did. They couldn’t understand that after all of those years of being with a man like John Dawson, that she couldn’t share such a private, intimate moment with anyone, not even for her own children. This was the time to talk with him and share her triumphs that she carried out in his name. Once a week, she took a small bouquet of flowers to his grave and shared her stories with him.<br /><br />But today was different. Today was seventeen years of being alone. It was seventeen years of sitting in her parlor (for yes, she was one who still called it a parlor), drinking her tea and silently crying for the man she had once shared her most private fears and accomplishments. It was seventeen years of aching for his comforting hugs of reassurance when she thought she just couldn’t’ do it anymore.<br /><br />Picking up a bouquet of flowers she had cut from her prize winning flower beds just that morning she left through her front door, double checking the lock before descending the porch steps.<br /><br />“Good morning, Mrs. Dawson!” called out her neighbor, Mrs. Adkins.<br /><br />“Good morning, Mrs. Adkins!” Clair responded. “Your tea roses are looking lovely this year!”<br /><br />“Only because of your advice on winterizing. I know that’s what made the difference. They do look lovely, don’t they!” Mrs. Adkins beamed at herself and the improvement of her roses.<br /><br />“Roses need to be cared for as if they are your children,” Clair told her. “Have a good day!”<br /><br />Mrs. Adkins wished her the same and returned to straightening the edging of her flower beds.<br /><br />Clair loved the walk to the cemetery. She loved walking through the small town of Mitton, especially this time of year when the flowers were in bloom. As she walked past the John Dawson Memorial park (named in memory of her husband partly because of his great contribution toward the quality of life in Mitton, and partly because of her great financial contribution to insure his memory), the sounds of the children playing the playground drifted out to her. This was the most precious sound in the world to her. Children were what life was all about. She had no patience for those who had to have their career first and children second. What were they thinking? The gift of a child’s smile was the greatest gift God could give a couple. She took her head as she walked on past the park, knowing she would never understand this generation even if she lived another eighty-three years.<br /><br />The walk to the cemetery took a little longer these days. Her children were constantly after her to let them drive her. “Just call me, mother,” her daughter Lee Ann was always telling her. “I can come over and drive you anytime you want to go.” Clair always promised that she would call if the walk got to be too much for her, but she had never called. If it took a little longer to walk, then it took a little longer, that’s all.<br /><br />She walked through Mitton’s small downtown area, waving to Terri Browning and her four year old son Michael, as they came out of the library. Clair often saw Terri and her son at the library. It was a sight she was proud to see. “Now there’s a mother who has the interest of her child at heart!” she often thought to herself.<br /><br />Terri waived back to her. “Good morning, Mrs. Dawson!”<br /><br />Michael liked seeing Clair. “Mommy, that’s The Rose Lady, isn’t it?” he would always ask her.<br /><br />“Yes, Michael, it is,” Terri would tell him.<br /><br />“She’s pretty. You should wear a flower, Mommy. You could be as pretty as The Rose Lady, too!”<br /><br />Terri laughed, knowing that no one would ever try to imitate Mrs. Dawson’s trademark of wearing flowers in her hair simply because it couldn’t be done as successfully. “Maybe, Michael. Maybe. Now, hold Mommy’s hand as we cross the street!”<br /><br />Michael grabbed tight to Terri’s hand as they crossed the street, but he was looking back at Clair.<br /><br />“There she goes, Mommy! There goes The Rose Lady!”<br /><br />Clair heard him and smiled to herself. A lot of people called her The Rose Lady. She liked the label. It made her remember what John had told her all those years ago when he gave her the first rose that she ever wore in her hair.<br /><br />He had unknowingly authored her trademark. When they were just newlyweds, he had brought her a bouquet of flowers with one single rose in the center of the arrangement. He handed her the flowers and, pulling the single rose from the center, gave it to and said, “For all of the flowers that I could give you, none demonstrate the beauty of life like the rose. You are my rose, Clair, and any other flower compared to you cannot give me the same love of life like you. Every time I see a rose, I will think of you.” He had then placed the rose in her hair, behind her ear.<br /><br />She had cried. No one deserved a man like John Dawson and she worked hard every day to prove her worth.<br /><br />Ever since that day, she had worn a rose in her hair. No one in town could remember ever seeing Mrs. John Dawson without that trademark being present.<br /><br />Many of the merchants and shoppers in the small downtown of Mitton nodded and waved to her as she walked by. That’s one reason she had never chosen to leave Mitton. Small town living, where everyone knew everyone else, just couldn’t’ compare to living anywhere in the world. She and John had taken trips to larger cities, some of them vacations, some of them business, and she couldn’t understand why people would live in a big city by choice. There were too many strangers, too many people who didn’t’ have time for a simple “good morning”. She couldn’t live like that. She enjoyed the closeness of a smaller town any day.<br /><br />She turned south at the town drugstore and headed toward the cemetery. She loved the memories the drugstore held for her. In their dating days, before John had even thought about how big his business would eventually become, they had spent most of their time at the soda counter, sharing a milkshake or a Coca-Cola. Sometimes, when they were feeling extravagant, they would share a banana split and talk about the future when they would be able to afford each of them a banana split every day if they wanted! She often thought of stopping in for one of those banana splits on her way back home, but for some reason she never did.<br /><br />She knew that around 3:30, Norris’s Drugstore soda counter would be packed with the kids from the high school. She hoped they realized what a rare treat it was for a drugstore to still have a soda counter. It was another of the many simple pleasures in life that was slowly disappearing in a world that seemed to move too fast.<br /><br />The cemetery was in sight. It was only about three blocks down the hill from the drugstore, right next to the Methodist Church. She would have to remember to stop in and invite Reverend Prader to lunch next week. It had been awhile since she had visited with him and his wife.<br /><br />She stopped at the entrance to the cemetery. Even after all these years, she hesitated before entering. It never got easier.<br /><br />John was buried near the center, in the family plot. His parents, two uncles and an aunt were buried there. She always liked the idea that John wasn’t alone. He liked being with people. She liked to think that it was good he had family to talk to when she wasn’t there.<br /><br />She gently placed her bouquet of flowers on top of his stone. It was getting too hard for her to stoop down and place them on the grave. Her knees worked just fine for walking but they didn’t like to stoop as much as they used to. She didn’t’ want to find herself stuck in a kneeling position alone in the cemetery. John understood. She had explained it to him long ago.<br /><br />The familiar tear began rolling down her face. Everything she did, she did for him. He was such a good man, providing many jobs for the small town but always remembering the simple things were the most valuable. He set up a foundation to insure the natural beauty of the surrounding countryside, and had donated the land to be held as a preserve for the native plants of the area. Many of the elementary schools took field trips to this preserve and botanists from all over came to study the effects of nature when left alone by man. Both of them had encouraged landscaping of businesses and homes by donating plantings and their own elbow grease, along with their knowledge and expertise.<br /><br />She missed him. Many of her friends and family had told her, seventeen years ago, that the hurt would go away, but they were wrong. They couldn’t know what it was like to live over 45 years with someone like John. The hurt didn’t go away. Many times it was more present now than it was then. She had missed him when their grandson was born premature and no one knew if he was going to make it. She had needed him then to hold her and reassure her that the baby would be fine.<br /><br />She smiled as she remembered how foolish she had been to be mad at him for not being there with her. She had cursed him when she went home from the hospital, and he wasn’t there. She had needed him. She sat in his chair by the fireplace and rubbed the arms of the chair, making herself believe that John was holding her. It was comforting to feel the worn leather that had been rubbed soft by years of his use. She could almost make herself believe that he was there, and that made her feel better.<br /><br />She had fallen asleep in his chair that night and when she awoke the next day she had gone to the hospital to be where she belonged, with her daughter and her grandson. He had been there for her, just like had always been and would always be. She had apologized to him on her next trip to the cemetery. She hadn’t been mad at him since.<br /><br />Sitting in his chair had become almost a habit. She could sit there for hours and not feel so alone. She was glad she had insisted on keeping the chair.<br /><br />Arranging the bouquet of flowers so they were perfectly centered on his stone, she told him about her week, how she had the grandchildren spend the weekend, and how they loved going to what they called “Grampa’s park”. She told him about Bob Simpson passing away and assured him that she had sent a respectable flower arrangement to his widow. She would call Barbara later in the week to see how she was doing and maybe have her over for lunch.<br /><br />When she finished she stood silent for a moment, saying her prayer for him. With a quiet “amen”, she then reached up and pulled the small rose from her hair and placed it in front of her bouquet of flowers. She placed her finger to her lips and then gently pressed those fingers on the small rose she had laid on his stone.<br /><br />“I love you, John Dawson,” she said and she turned and began her walk home.<br /><br />She made one stop on her way home, at the Lester Sister’s Card Shoppe, where she bought a sympathy card for Barbara Simpson, and a birthday card for the church organist, Mattie Clarkton. She had selected cards with roses on the front cover for both of them.<br /><br />She spoke briefly to a couple of people in the shoppe that she knew and went to the register to pay for her cards, where Lillian Lester would take her money, inquire on her health, and wish her a good day.<br /><br />As she continued her walk home, she decided she would make herself a cup of tea when she got home and would drink it in the parlor. She would skip lunch. She didn’t feel like making anything. She was very, very tired today.<br /><br />She climbed the steps of her Victorian home and noticed Mrs. Adkins had finished her bed borders, and how lovely they looked.<br /><br />“I’ll have to be sure to tell her what a wonderful job she did,” she thought to herself as she unlocked her door and went inside.<br /><br />She placed her purse and keys on the hall table, as she always did when she returned home. Removing her shawl, she headed for the kitchen where she began to make herself some tea. She would hang the shawl up later when she went upstairs. While she waited for the teakettle to whistle, she scanned her shelves to see if she had any crackers. There were a few cookies left that the grandchildren had somehow overlooked, but she wasn’t in the mood for anything sweet. She would have to go to the store tomorrow.<br /><br />When the teakettle whistled, she poured the hot water over the two teabags that were resting in the china teapot that she had waiting on the tray. Also on the tray was a matching tea cup and saucer, and on another small plate, a slice of lemon. She selected a linen napkin from the drawer, picked up the tray and headed for the parlor.<br /><br />She placed the tray on the same table she always used, the one nearest to John’s chair. She looked at the chair for a moment, rubbing her hands over the worn, dark leather, remembering how much she used to enjoy watching him read or listening to him talk while he sat there. With a deep sigh, she sat in the chair, feeling a warm feeling of contentment come over her as soon as she sat down. She reached for her teacup and poured a cup of tea, then added the lemon slice. She sat the cup back on the tray to allow it to cool for a moment.<br /><br />She leaned back in John’s chair. It felt so good, so warm, so loving. It felt as if she were with him again. Sometimes when she slept, she would dream about him, which made her miss him all the more when she awoke. She felt very tired this afternoon. Maybe if she took a nap she would dream about him today.<br /><br />That thought made her smile. She reached up and pulled the remaining rose out of her hair. She looked at it, stroked its soft petals, inhaled its soft scent, and in a low voice meant only for herself said, “Oh, John. I miss you.”<br /><br />Still holding the rose, she leaned her head back to the comforting curves of the back of the chair, and decided that on her next trip she would call Lee Ann and ask her to drive her to the cemetery. She was so tired. She closed her eyes. She would rest just a minute before drinking her tea. Maybe just a short nap. She would like seeing him, even if it was only a dream.<br /><br />The sun began its descent into the horizon and the shadows in the corners of the parlor grew longer. The tea sat untouched and cold. Her trademark flower had fallen from her hand into her lap.<br /><br />The grandfather clock chimed on every hour and half hour, but no one heard it.<br /><br />Time had stopped for Mrs. John Dawson.<br /><br /></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon-instead of enjoying the roses blooming outside our windows today.” ----Dale Carnegie</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"Love is like a rose. When pressed between two lifetimes it will last forever." ---- Unknown</em></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-57920554625766392942010-09-01T04:27:00.000-07:002010-09-01T04:35:29.670-07:00"Just a Few Cuts and Scratches, Mom"<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>This was written as a class project in my writing class at IUPUI in May 2009. The paper was on the topic of whether there should be an amendment to the Constitution to outlaw flag burning. The following is just the opening/introduction to the paper. It's a true story of my son's Iraq experience. The only time I cried when he was in Iraq was after I hung up the phone after talking with him when he called to tell us what happened and that he had "....just a few cuts and scratches, mom."</em></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></em><br /><div align="center"><em><span style="font-family:Arial;">----------------------------------------------------------------------</span></em></div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> The military vehicle exploded in smoke and flame when it ran over the landmine, severely wounding the commander in the rear of the vehicle. The sergeant tried to radio for a medic before discovering his mouthpiece was just a hanging wire because the radio had been blown up. He started to grab his rifle that was right next to him, but the barrel had been melted into a candy cane shape from the explosion. Shouting for a medic, he pulled the commander from the burning wreckage that was turning black with ash from the flame, and tended to his wounds, simultaneously shouting orders to the other soldiers to secure the location and protect the platoon until reinforcements could get in and evacuate them. At some point, a soldier said, “Sergeant, shouldn’t you take care of that blood pouring out of your arm?” The 21 year old sergeant, in his haste to protect his men, hadn’t even noticed he’d been hit.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> And when my son, United States Marine Sergeant John Meyer received his Purple Heart for injuries incurred in the line of duty in Iraq, and the Navy and Marine Corp Achievement Medal for bravery, it was the American Flag, the icon for which he voluntarily risked his life, that held his eye, its bright colors of freedom a striking contrast to the bland background of the Iraqi desert.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> Thousands of miles away, in the United States, a protester illustrated his contempt for the war by pulling out a lighter and setting fire to the American Flag, its bright colors of freedom turning black with ash from the flame.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"> Most people automatically assume that this Mother-of-a-Marine would be in favor of an amendment that made desecration or burning the flag a crime. But to the contrary, it is because of my son and every other military son that I do not endorse such an amendment. I believe these sons of America, those today and those of yesteryear, fought to protect the ideals and freedoms represented by this flag ….. including the right to protest and voice disagreement with the very country our sons fight to protect.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"Most people live their entire life and wonder if they've made a difference. Marines don't have that problem." ...... Ronald Reagan</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-72716481864217779812010-08-25T21:15:00.000-07:002010-09-11T17:37:01.111-07:00Being an "Until It Looks Right" Cook<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>I’ve always described myself as an “Until it Looks Right” cook, but never realized until recently why or how I became a non-measuring cook.</em></span><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>------------------------------------------------------------</em></div></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I grew up the oldest of six kids in the days when Stay-At-Home-Mom was a given and not a job title. No matter what your income was, raising six kids was expensive and we were no exception.<br /><br />Hand-me-down clothes were not a sign of poverty or embarrassment. It was just how things were done. Neighborhood moms frequently exchanged clothes when their youngest outgrew them and there was no younger sibling to pass them down to.<br /><br />I explain frequently that we had perfect attendance at school because that’s where the food and the heat were. We lived in a couple of places that heated by wood and if there was no wood then we had no heat. Having heat stoves or furnaces that required fuel oil was no guarantee either. When the choice had to be made between buying fuel oil or food, we usually put on our coats and doubled up in the beds at night to keep warm.<br /><br />I don’t look back on these days with resentment or regret. On the contrary, I’ve often shared that growing up dirt poor taught me things that many people never comprehend in their entire life. I learned there’s always a way to get by ….. and sometimes just flat out survive …… during the bad times. I learned there is a lot you can do with nothing.<br /><br />And that segways into being an “Until It Looks Right” cook.<br /><br />We rarely had food enough to feed eight people in our house, let alone all of the “fancy dancy” ingredients listed in recipes found in a Betty Crocker cookbook. The meals we made were invented on the spot based on what we had in the cabinet.<br /><br />Another reason we just threw things together, other than never having all of the ingredients that a recipe called for, was because most recipes were never big enough for our family. We were a family of hearty German appetites and recipes to “serve 4” were cute to read about but never came close to being able to feed our clan.<br /><br />I remember the day we pretty much only had tomato juice and flour in the house. Our homemade version of Tomato Dumplings were born. Another favorite was a chicken-bread casserole, similar to Thanksgiving stuffing except it was just baked in the oven. Canned chicken, onion, mixed with torn bread pieces, covered with a heavy coating of sage and baked until the top was crispy.<br /><br />My family only knows potato salad as “Mom’s Mashed Potato Salad”. As a kid, all we had were some generic instant potato flakes and those were turned into a unique form of potato salad made with mashed potatoes. (To this day, the idea of biting into a piece of cold, unmashed potato just grosses me out!).<br /><br />There are many people who, without having a bag of real potatoes in the kitchen, would have thrown up their hands and said, “No food tonight …. We’re out of potatoes.” But at our house we learned to improvise and adapt to what we had. Throwing things together to see how they turned out was just standard operating procedure.<br /><br />So when I was learning to cook, we didn’t have cabinets of spices and a variety of ingredients. We didn’t own regular measuring cups and measuring spoons! (A coffee cup was “one cup” and a cereal spoon was “one teaspoon”). We made do with whatever was available.<br /><br />And that, my friends, is a life lesson you can’t buy in a culinary school. It’s how I learned to throw things together to create my it-will-go-to-my-grave chocolate chip cookie recipe. It’s how I developed my signature Lemon Chicken Rosemary in a buttery Chardonnay sauce that became a mainstay of my catering business. It’s the science (so to speak) of my Potato-Pepper dish that is not only delicious and healthy but just colorfully beautiful!<br /><br />So don’t ask me how much chili powder goes into my chili that my kids beg me to make. I just pour it in until it covers the top. Don’t’ ask me how many onions I chop. I chop enough until the red in the meat and the white in the onion look balanced.<br /><br />You know ….. until it looks right!</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude." — Julia Child</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>"Once you have mastered a technique, you barely have to look at a recipe again" — Julia Child</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-73581588815628231672010-08-21T23:30:00.000-07:002010-08-22T00:02:08.606-07:00The Graduation<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>This was written in September of 2004, a couple of years after this event took place. My daughter was out of the country and I was feeling "like a mom" as I reflected on the journey she was taking.</em></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Arial;"><em>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</em></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I looked around and marveled that we were here. The large crowd of parents, brothers and sisters who had come to the auditorium for the ceremony milled around outside in the pleasant weather waiting for the doors to open. Some families had driven quite a distance to be here. Some waited under a large shade tree just a few yards away. Most of us stood on the steps of the auditorium entrance, wanting to be able to get the best seat possible.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I looked at my two children and my husband, who were patiently and anxiously waiting with me to go inside and see our oldest daughter, Christine. We hadn’t seen her for a few weeks. John, her 11-year little brother, wouldn’t admit to missing his big sister, but I could tell how excited he was about today. Elise was only 4 but all I heard on the way here was how she was going to give her “Sissy” a big hug!<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The doors opened and the waiting families began moving through the doors, all of us craning our necks for a glimpse of our child.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">We found our seats, managing to get close to the stage and on the aisle, so we could slip out and get pictures. The band was playing as we waited, the brass section predominantly featured in most of the musical selections.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">A side door opened and our children marched in. When I finally spotted Christine, I couldn’t believe it. When had she grown up on me? This little girl, who I remembered as the 5-year old kid swiping my cookie dough when she thought I wasn’t looking, was suddenly a young woman, who was about to step into the real world and embark on her own life.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I was among those parents who took our cameras over to the group to get a snapshot. As we tried to get their attention, the graduates sat erect and focused, disciplined and in control. It was their day.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The speaker went to the stage and we scurried back to our seats. The speeches were short and the pomp and circumstance began. Our children were being called one by one to the stage. With military precision, the ceremony went off flawlessly.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Two by two, parents slowly approached the stage with cameras in hand to get a close up of their child as they crossed that invisible threshold from child to adult. When we saw Christine ready to walk across the stage, we left Elise with her big brother, and my husband, Phil, and I took our cameras to the front. Phil stood closer to the center of the stage and I positioned myself at the side so I could capture a picture of her as she descended the stairs.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As she marched across the stage, I marveled at the subtle yet very noticeable change in her in just a few short weeks. She wasn’t that little girl I had hugged and waved good-bye to just 6 short weeks before as she began this journey. I could see the confidence in her walk as she marched across the stage. I was so enthralled with watching her that I almost forgot to snap the picture. But we got our pictures and returned to our seats. As I sat down, I tried to blink back the tears but I wasn’t doing a very good job. Suddenly Phil’s arm is in front of me, his handkerchief in his hand. I took it gratefully and return his knowing smile with thanks. Wiping my mom-tears, I welcomed his arm around my shoulder as he gave me a squeeze.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The ceremony concluded and the brass-heavy band played one last tune. The graduates were dismissed and with trained precision, they marched out of the auditorium.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My daughter had done more than graduate. She had just completed her six weeks of basic training. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">My daughter was now a member of the United States Army.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>Army life is not for the faint of heart. It is for those who are proud, determined and dedicated to the ideals we hold dear. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"><em>----David G. White; Deputy Chief, Well-Being Division</em></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"></span></em>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2421348013136959152.post-48973612527776302972010-07-23T18:11:00.000-07:002010-07-23T18:28:37.274-07:006 Steps to Being a Successful Step-Family<span style="font-family:arial;"><em>When Phil and I married in 1988, I had two children from a previous marriage and then in 1992, Phil and I had our youngest daughter. Having "been there, done that", we think we did a pretty good job eliminating the word "step" from our relationship with each other. Our local newspaper in Richmond, Indiana, did two separate and full page stories on us as a step-family that works. Here are just a few ideas of what we think we did right that we thought we'd share. We have to admit that most of what we did right had nothing to do with dealing with a "step" issue ....it's just common sense parenting!</em></span><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</em></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em><div align="left"><br /><br /><strong>1. Make sure your relationship is on stable ground FIRST!</strong><br />When I started dating after my divorce, I was determined not have a lot of “uncles” in and out of my children’s lives. My children knew I was dating but I did not introduce them to my dates until I was comfortable with how my relationship with the guy was going. This is the time period we had lots of conversation, got to know each other’s life philosophies and viewpoints on children and child-rearing. Once he and I established we were a good match, then and only then did we add the children to the mix.<br /><br /><strong>2. Once the children are introduced, you have officially become a package deal!!</strong><br />My husband and I cannot understand the stepfamilies we hear about in which statements such as “I love him/her but I can’t stand the kids.” are made. We view our relationships as an “all or nothing deal”. I was a divorced woman with 2 kids. If he chose to marry me, he chose to marry my children. If I chose to marry him, I was choosing for my children to “marry” him also. We knew up front we could not have a successfully blended family by leaving out 2 of the 4 ingredients. We compare it to making a BLT with mayo. Try making a good BLT but leave out the bacon and tomato! It just doesn’t work, does it?<br /><br /><strong>3. Authority comes from both of you!<br /></strong>We get quite a laugh from the so called experts who proclaim that only the custodial parent can tell the children what to do and only the custodial parent can have any parental authority. We don’t understand how a family unit can be nurtured and blended if you tell the kids up front “You don’t have to listen to anything he/she tells you. I’m the only one who can tell you what to do.” When parents hire the teenager next door to babysit while the parents take in a movie, the teenager is given more authority than “the experts” claim the step-parent should have!<br /><br />If the step-parent is going to function as a mother/father, that function includes parental authority. That’s why those early days of discussing child rearing philosophies are so important. One is not going to extend parental authority to a person who does not share the same morals and child rearing philosophies.<br /><br />We also get a good laugh from those so-called experts who say, “When the kid says ‘you’re not my dad’ how do you answer that…..because the kid is right.” Our response is “so what?” The teacher is not their mother, but the child is expected to follow the teacher’s rules. The supervisor at their first job is not their father, but the child is expected to follow his rules.<br /><br />Bottom line: If you don’t trust the step-parent to properly discipline your children when the need arises, what the heck are you doing marrying them in the first place?<br /><br /><strong>4. Never, Never, NEVER bad-mouth the other biological parent in front of the children.<br /></strong>This was my #1 rule starting the day I filed for my divorce. No matter what happened between the two of us, he was still my children’s father and they still had a relationship with him. Yes, I will admit there were too many times that I had to bite my tongue, but I did. A kid’s only job should be “being a kid”. They should never have to worry about being in the middle, about which side to take, about being careful what they can say in which house, etc. Their only concern should be to have fun, no matter which house they’re in at the moment. As we like to put it, “A kid should never be involved in the business side of divorce.”<br /><br /><strong>5. “It’s OK to talk about your other biological parent.”</strong><br />Soon after we married, my oldest daughter started to tell us something funny that happened while she was at her bio-dad’s house. She stopped abruptly in the middle of the story. My husband (her step-dad) said to her, “Christine, it’s ok to talk about your other dad. I know you have one! I know where you go on the weekends. You don’t have to pretend he doesn’t exist. Now, tell us what happened.”<br /><br />It was like the flood gates opened. She quickly became an animated 12 year old and had us in stitches as she shared her stories of weekend swimming with her little brother and her biological dad. We realized at that point what a burden she thought she had to carry. She thought she wasn’t “allowed” to mention her other dad in our house. Once we lifted that burden from her, she was able to be “just a kid”.<br /><br /><strong>6. “Same rules, same love”<br /></strong>I picked up this wise bit of advice from a co-worker who was also a step-mom. She had married a man who had custody of a pre-teen daughter, plus they had two kids of their own. She treated all of the kids the same. Her biological kids didn’t get any treated any differently than the step-daughter.<br /><br />We did the same thing. We never referred to the children as “her children” or “my step-children”. They were always “our” children. Our third child doesn’t even know she’s a “half” sister to her older brother and sister. We never drew lines between us to differentiate ourselves into two groups. We were a family.<br /><br />One family.<br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">"Those who say it cannot be done should stop interupting those of us who are doing it." ---- Ralph Waldo Emerson</span></em></div></span>Debi Brimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14966472533499099435noreply@blogger.com1