Monthly Archives: April 2015

Harriet the Bookaholic: April 2015

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Another month, another pile of book reviews. In addition to two books on the rulers of (and from) the Hapsburg Empire in 18th century Europe, I devoured a pile of first-person narratives on slavery in the American South and another pile of accounts of defectors from North Korea. At first glance these two topics may seem fairly separate, however the more I read accounts both of life as an American slave on the plantations of the South and human existence within North Korea’s regime–and the struggles to adjust to life outside those institutions, the more they seemed aligned in their horrors and evils as well as the difficulties to assimilate to a more democratic and free-thinking society. More to come on that, I feel. I’m still ruminating on it. (Yes, I ruminate. Like a cow. What of it?)

Also, a note: I have tried to cut this post down to, you know, something less than 3,000 words. But it just isn’t happening. That being said, each book is linked to my review on Goodreads, most of which are longer and more expansive and possibly a little rantier; you know, if you’re in to that sort of thing.

Maria Theresa & The Hapsburg Empire

Maria Theresa, by Edward Crankshaw (4 stars). Maria Theresa was one of the last rulers of Austria’s ancient House of Hapsburg and Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, and her territory covered vast tracts of Eastern and Central Europe including Austria, Hungary, Germany, Czech Republic (then Bohemia), and a number of other smaller provinces and districts and states. She was crowned Queen and Empress (and a bunch of other titles) in 1740 at age 23 after the death of her father, and reigned for 40 years, a contemporary with King George II, Catherine the Great, and Louis XV. She led several wars, and had massive reforms enacted throughout the continent including small pox vaccines/inoculations, increased civil rights, primary education for peasants, and religious reforms. Maria Theresa had a gift for selecting men who knew more than she did on any given subject and then trusting them to help her make decisions. She brought stability to her empire in a time when most of Europe was rocked with revolution and civil war. She also gave birth to 16 children, the youngest, Maria Antonia, would become Marie Antoinette in an ill-fated marriage trying to create an alliance between France and the Austro-Hungarian empire. Crankshaw’s biography can be a little dry and textbooky, but I specifically wanted to know more about Maria Theresa and there aren’t many books about her. Crankshaw includes a lot of info about the rest of Europe, including the wars and leaders of France, England, Russia, and Prussia, and entire chapters devoted to culture, architecture, and music of Bavaria, Vienna, and Prague and the masters who came from that era (Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, etc), and I appreciated being able to place some of these more familiar-to-me characters into a broader historical arena.

In Destiny’s Hands: Five Tragic Rulers, Children of Maria Theresa, by Justin C. Vovk (3 stars). Of Maria Theresa’s 14 surviving children five became rulers in their own right across Europe. This book follows their stories, their children, the history and political landscape of a revolutionary Europe including the French Revolution and Napoleon’s campaigns. I loved learning more about Joseph II, Maria Theresa’s successor and Holy Roman Emperor; Leopold II, Duke of Tuscany and Holy Roman Emperor after Joseph’s death; Maria Amalia, Duchess of Parma in Italy, Maria Carolina/Charlotte, Queen of Naples; and Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. I was astounded at how the children and grandchildren of Maria Theresa and their political alliances and strategic marriages eventually covered over a third of Europe. The history was fascinating and new-ish to me, I loved learning more about the different kingdom/queendoms and how they played nicely (or not) with each other. All this being said, this author needs an editor with a BIG red pen; minus two stars for lack of proper editing. Vovk always calls these five rulers “Maria Theresa’s five special children” and after the second mention of “special” in the intro I started scribbling out that particular word, it just grates on my nerves. Special? Really? Is that the best you can do? They are not a supermarket bargain!

Additional Recommended Reading: Abundance: A Novel of Marie Antoinette, by Sena Jeter Naslund.

World War II

The Girls of Atomic City: The Untold Story of the Women Who Helped Win World War II, by Denise Kiernan (4 stars). After multiple recommendations I finally picked this up for a church book club discussion; Girls of Atomic City follows the story of a half-dozen women working in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, a secret city built to enrich uranium for the atomic bomb. At one time 72,000 people were living in this government compound with no idea what they were doing, no real idea the materials they were working with, and unable to discuss their work with anyone else, family and friends included. I wanted more information about the women themselves, their stories–although Kiernan conducted dozens of interviews with them, and to be fair, they were not allowed to keep diaries or journals at the time. I wanted more information about the African-American experience, families not being allowed to live together, blacks were banned from schools and dances and swimming pools, segregation all over the place with African-American’s having substantially sub-par facilities in every possible respect. There is a lot about the science and technology that went in to discovering how to produce enriched uranium and then use it to fuel the atomic bomb, and that was interesting. I also felt very little was spent on the thoughts and emotions of the characters after the bomb was dropped, which is when they finally figured out what, exactly, they had been working on creating. At most there is 2 or 3 sentences from a couple of individuals. All in all, however, I really appreciated and enjoyed this book.

Additional Recommended Reading:Bomb: The Race to Build–and Steal–The World’s Most Dangerous Weapon, by Steve Sheinkin.

North Korea

Escape from Camp 14: One Man’s Remarkable Odyssey from North Korea to Freedom in the West, by Blaine Harden (4 stars). The North Korean gulag are prison work camps with unimaginable conditions. North Koreans can be sentenced to years of imprisonment for stealing a bit of rice, or for making a comment in passing that one of the Dear Leader trio is perhaps not 100% divine, or any other minor offense. The conditions inside the camps, and the mortality rate of prisoners, are as bad as the worst concentrations camps during WWII. But, consider this: Auschwitz existed for three years; the North Korean prison camps have been in operation for over 50 years. Shin was born in Camp 14, his parents had been sentenced to life in the gulag after his father’s brother defected to South Korea. Shin was bred to inform on his family and his fellow prisoners, public executions were commonplace, and starvation and physical torture were a way of life. Unlike citizens outside the prison camps, Shin did not receive the indoctrination and brain washing about the Kim family; he knew nothing about the outside world (not even basic things like that the world is round). At the time of it’s publishing (2012) Shin is one of only three people to escape from a prison camp and make their way to South Korea or the West and tell their stories. Three. In 50 years. Shin is the only one who did not have previous experience outside of the camp to help him escape and survive; he was born inside it’s electric fence. His escape is remarkable, he managed to find his way to China and then to South Korea without wealthy backers, without a guide and against all possible odds. He had an incredible amount of luck on his side, which only makes me wonder how many other people with just a little less circumstantial luck have failed their attempts to escape, only to be returned to the gulag for torture and execution.

Aquariums of Pyongyang: Ten Years in the North Korean Gulag, by Kang Chol-Hwan and Pierre Rigoulot (3 stars). One of the earliest memoirs of life inside North Korea, I think. Kang and his family are sentenced to the gulag/prison camp when he is 10 and remain there a decade. Kang grows up starving and malnourished, he learns to swallow salamanders and catch rats, he forms a strange type of friendship with fellow detainees, carefully trying to sort friends from informers, and his stories about the violence, deprivation, executions and lack of humanity in the camp is gut wrenching. The writing is a little choppy with some strange circular wanderings in story and chronology, so minus a star for that. Escape from Camp 14 is definitely a better book, although Kang’s experience in the gulag is perhaps a little more typical of most Koreans who were sent there for re-education/reform.

Escape from North Korea: The Untold Story of Asia’s Underground Railroad, by Melanie Kirkpatrick (2 stars). Don’t even bother. I have a lengthier, rantier review on Goodreads, but the gist is this.  Kirkpatrick only highlights those who help North Koreans escape, not the refugees themselves or their stories. She has serious views about Christianity being the only way to help refugees, she calls children of kidnapped North Korean brides sold to Chinese men “half-and-half” (they aren’t dairy products!), and she has no qualms supporting the idea that there needs to be some kind of moral qualification before an escapee deserves help and assistance. For example, the Christians she discusses refuse to help those “with blood on their hands.” Even if, say, a prisoner is “promoted” to guard–receiving MUCH NEEDED extra food or clothing–and then follows orders that result in beatings or even execution of fellow prisoners. It’s not like the guy had any choice, and it’s not like the DPRK has EVER made a habit of teaching basic morality or decision making skills to their citizens. You follow The Party and The Kim, and everything else can send you to the gulag with no trial and no warning, for an undetermined amount of time. Ugh. I was so bugged by this. Skip this book.

Additional Recommended Reading: Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea, by Barbara Demick; Without You, There Is No Us, by Suki Kim; The Orphan Master’s Son, by Adam Johnson

Charles Darwin

Darwin’s Sacred Cause: How a Hatred of Slavery Shaped Darwin’s Views on Human Evolution, by Adrian Desmond and James Moore (4 stars). Did you know that Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln were born on the exact same day? Authors Desmond and Moore incorporate a ridiculous amount of research in this book pulling from political and historical documents, vast correspondence between anti-slavery and pro-slavery advocates on both sides of the Atlantic, and hundreds of newspaper articles, journal essays, research publications, and books of natural scientists around the world. They explain in detail the history of the Darwin family’s fight against slavery both in the British Empire and the America’s, they carefully lay out the political and social landscape on both sides of the Atlantic in regards to buying and selling human beings. And to exhaustive detail they point out how during the mid-19th century scientists, scholars, and theologians were debating against each other on the truth behind race, creation, humanity, and our origins. SO. FASCINATING! I also realize that at nearly 500 pages it is not for the feint of heart or the casual reader. But I absolutely loved it. A book about Darwin AND abolition?! Sign me up. And if you could manage to add a few chapters about North Korea or volcanoes that’d be perfection, thanks.

Additional Recommended Reading: Angels and Ages: A Short Book About Darwin, Lincoln, and Modern Life, by Adam Gopnik; Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery, by Eric Metaxas; The Third Chimpanzee: The Evolution & Future of the Human Animal, by Jared Diamond.

American Slavery

Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, by Harriet Jacobs (5 stars) Read this book. Read it right now. There are very few first-person narratives from women who endured the tortures of slavery in the American South, Harriet Jacobs’ memoir tells the story unique to women, especially mothers, and their particular difficulty in escaping slavery and leaving their children. The plights of young women with regard to leering masters, jealous wives, and bearing half-white children who then “follow the mother” and become slaves on their white father’s plantation, sold as cattle at his whim. Harriet’s story of escape is heartbreaking, and in many ways mirrors that of Anne Frank and her family. Harriet is hidden for 7 years in a tiny garret of her grandmother’s house. She cannot stand up, she has no fresh air, no sunshine, and she does not come out. She lives above her family and children listening to them as they grow, listening to her master speculate on her whereabouts, watch her children and brother be thrown into jail for months in hopes of her returning to slavery…and she remains silent until there is a safe time for her to escape…again, SEVEN YEARS after she was in hiding. After Harriet is reunited with her children and her brother in the northern states she encounters a different type of racism, she is still viewed as less than white people and must navigate those issues, all the while worried that her master will come and drag her and her family back to the South. Seriously, read this book. Now.

Twelve Years a Slave, by Solomon Northup (5 stars). I had so many feels while reading this book! Published in 1853 the language can be a little cumbersome, but after a few pages I fell right into the rhythm and descriptions. This first-person account covers Northup’s life as both as a free black man in New York, and life as a slave in Louisiana. He was kidnapped and sold into slavery, beaten savagely anytime he protested that he was, in fact, a free man of the North. Northup’s sparse style lets the reader come to their own conclusions and feelings on the subject of slavery, and I appreciate that this was a very fact-driven narrative instead of an emotional treatise. I think the only way it could have been accepted in the literary world of it’s time would have been as it was, any additional elaboration would have been viewed as adding to the truth. This is a time when the vast majority of whites didn’t think Africans and African-Americans had feelings, intellect, or emotions; that they were, in fact, no more human than cattle or pigs. I kept thinking how many people today are kidnapped or tricked into some kind of slavery, whether indentured servant, sexual worker, or otherwise. Many of those first-person stories are written in a heartbreakingly sparse style, giving fact after fact with little elaboration on how that made the victim feel. Read this book, please. So very, very moving.

The Souls of Black Folk, by W. E. B. Du Bois (4 stars). This is a collection of long-ish essays Du Bois wrote about various aspects of life for the newly emancipated slaves in the South. Their difficulties in gaining any kind of economic freedom, their utter lack of civil rights and due process, and the laws and culture in both North and South that continued to set them as less-than. This is not something to sit down and read through, but read an essay and think about it, about the education opportunities and how that affected the former slaves who were not allowed to be literate, and the newly free young people who desperately wanted to learn but had very few opportunities due to such low economic circumstances in their families lives. This was so heartbreaking, and I saw the seeds and beginnings of so many of the issues we still grapple with today.

Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, by Frederick Douglass (4 stars). This is a very quick read/listen, but absolutely worth it. In the same vein as Uncle Tom’s Cabin (which I loved) this was one of the earliest books that gave the majority of free, white citizens some kind of idea that slaves may actually have their own feelings, emotions, and personalities. That they may love their children or their husbands and wives, that they may actually *want* to be free to govern their own lives and decisions. It is baffling to think that once upon a time these very basic ideas of humanity were completely absent. And, as I look at the news/media, sometimes it seems like we may not have come as far as a whole population as we like to believe.

Additional recommended reading: Uncle Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher Stowe; Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery, by Eric Metaxas; Long Walk to Freedom, by Nelson Mandela.

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Confession: I spend too much money

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A few years ago in an attempt to better regulate how I spend my money I decided to take two weeks and write down everything I spent, cash and debit card, all of it. I know it’s all there online, but the physical act of keeping a list really was eye-opening to me. I mean, I live mostly by myself, I don’t have kids, I make good money and only have a few bills and expenses. I can usually buy most things I want or need without thinking twice about it. And, um, I was not thinking twice A LOT. After this little budgetary exercise I decided to spend a month with a pretty restricted budget on going out to lunch or dinners, shopping, and even tried to be more careful at the grocery store.

Ya’ll, it’s time for that type of “detox” again. I have decided that May will be a month of no additional spending. I have gotten very lackadaisical about keeping a discerning eye on my wallet and in doing a little math today I am horrified at the number of dollars that have been spent with very little to show for them as far as quality experiences, quality meals, or quality products. I’m not saying that all purchases need to be for the highest quality consumption only, but looking over my account history I have WAY TOO MUCH low-quality spending.

So, I’m making changes. And instead of thinking about this for a week or two and then selecting a perfect day to start (you know, a week or 10 days in the future so I can “stock up” before the spending freeze), I’m just going to change. Immediately. Starting right now and going through the end of May.

A few luxury categories where I feel I can really save some pennies:

1. Food. Of late I have become really lazy about meal planning and have spent far too much money (and calories) in lunches and take-out for dinner. I need to buckle down and watch what I eat a little better, this will benefit my bank account AND my waistline. Those white jeans I bought last year will be worn much more frequently this summer if I don’t feel like a stuffed sausage when I pull them on.

2. My feet. I really don’t need another professional pedicure; I’m pretty good at doing them myself and already have all the supplies. Also, I need a new color of nail polish like I need a hole in the head, so that is being cut immediately. (Side note: WHY DO I HAVE SO MUCH NAIL POLISH!? Oh. Because I keep buying it.)

3. Books. It hurts my heart SO MUCH to have to list this here, but I went back for the last six months to calculate just how much I’ve spent buying books…and it’s kind of exorbitant, more than $100 a month. Now, I read voraciously, but I already have more books than I can probably read in the next two years, even at my 10 books/month average pace. I can probably go a whole four weeks without buying any new ones, and I can probably cut my monthly spending down significantly without feeling any real cramp in my style. (Sob!)

4. Car washes. Months ago I signed up for an unlimited car wash service that costs my about $35 a month. Honestly, I use it about once a week, so it’s not like it’s wasted cash. I like Miss Persimini to look her shiny best and my long blonde hairs need to be regularly vacuumed out of the carpet. But at $35 a month that is about $250 worth of car washes until I move to Arizona…and that suddenly seems really, really expensive. I’m going to try canceling it this month and re-evaluate in June to see if this expense is truly justified, and perhaps see if there is a less expensive overall option.

5. Impulse shopping. Again, this has been my downfall. A cute v-neck t-shirt! (just $12 bucks!) New chapstick! ($3 bucks) New nail polish! ($8 bucks) Cute cloth napkins with birds on them! ($10 bucks) A comedy show with friends! ($30 bucks) An “It’s been that kind of a Monday” sushi lunch! (only $25 bucks) Followed, of course, by Taco Tuesday ($7 bucks) and Burrito Thursday ($12 bucks) and…well, you see where this is going, don’t you? I don’t need any of these things, and while I am not willing to cut little luxuries like this out of my life and budget permanently, I could really be better about paying attention to how I am spending my hard-earned monies.

Um….Hi, my name is Harriet and I have a super first-world spending problem….good hell, this list is depressing in its admission of enormous levels of economic privilege. Blergh. I kind of hate myself right now. The best we can do is admit where we are falling short, make changes, and move forward with a new perspective and new habits, right?

Okay. Here it goes.

From now until the end of May I am in major curb-my-spending mode. Of course I will still be paying my bills and I’ll be going to the grocery store every week and if there is some kind of medical emergency I will not for one minute choose not to use my health insurance and HSA card (hiiiii, economic privilege!). BUT, I won’t be shopping aimlessly; I won’t wander around Target or Etsy or the J. Crew Outlet website; I won’t waltz to a sub-par food-court type restaurant for lunch four days a week; I won’t be buying new makeup products to experiment with; and I won’t be adding to my bookshelves in any way.

Honestly? This probably won’t be easy for me. I hope it will be the kind of budgetary cleanse I need to keep my spending more in check. Have you ever done a month of no spending? Or more? What did you think? Did it help curb some of your habits? Did you find you could overall live with spending less after your little experiment? What was the hardest part? Easiest? Most enlightening? I’m so curious about your findings and overall results.

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On Mothers

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I have started and saved, edited and deleted “The Mom Post” for two or three years, never knowing how to proceed and not sure what to share or how much, feeling like a small slice could never properly explain and a larger portion would be complete overload. For the first time in ages I feel some kind of…comfort? Closure? Distance? Freedom? I don’t know, but I feel something strongly enough that I can finally write this down and hit “publish.”

* * * * *    * * * * *     * * * * *

There is a spectrum for almost everything which covers a wide range of possibilities with a pretty good distance of “extreme” on each side of a more moderate “normal.” We’re all familiar with bell curves, right? And to some extent we probably know where we personally fall on any given spectrum, with a least a relative amount of certainty.

The Mother Relationship Spectrum:
A Super Scientific Explanation

Extreme Pro-Mother/Mothering: Those who call/email/text/Skype their Mom or child every day, or multiple times a day, and consult on all major and minor decisions, offer advice both solicited and unsolicited, and experience positive feelings of happy co-dependence and interdependence.

Normal (or, at least how I perceive “normal”): fairly regular phone calls/emails, perhaps 2-3 times per month, maybe more, visits on major holidays, distance and funds allowing, and general feelings of positivity and warmth and love going from mother to child and back again.

Me: I can go months and even years without any motherly communications whatsoever and be a-okay; I very much prefer that route. There are general feelings of nothingness surrounding the relationship with my Mom which at times can involve strong negative emotions and can swing heavily towards dislike or disdain (hate?) but with a general sense of indifference.

For the last five-ish years this lack of relationship has been the norm for me, I can count on one hand the number of birthday, holiday, or Mother’s Day cards I have sent and despite a one-hour commute the visits have more-or-less been limited to a few hours on major holidays, but nothing more, and sometimes not even that.

About a  year ago that not-really-a relationship became…well…non-existent. She said things and I had very, VERY strong, very hurt, and very negative reactions; both to what she said/thought and how she communicated it. I cried. I yelled (a little). And I walked away feeling misunderstood, angry, hurt, incredulous, and baffled. I felt like I’d been smashed flat yet again by a truck filled with Teh Crazy and I just…I couldn’t and wouldn’t do it anymore. I made an active decision to cut her out of my life completely.

Insert twelve months of absolutely nothing. No communication. No visits. No Christmas card. Nada. I was content and happy and did not miss her or our always volatile relationship in the slightest.

About a month ago (ish) it all started over again. She said All The Horrible Things, she levied All The Horrible Accusations, and she made All The Crazy Non-Factual Assumptions on my character and my life choices. Only, this time I didn’t walk away. I responded to her very long, nasty email with a much shorter, more concise argument that, in no uncertain terms, told her that her behavior and communication was absolutely unacceptable and I would not be part of whatever it was she was trying to do. She could be kind and polite or she could shut the fuck up. I also told her she needed therapy. Lots of therapy. With a few swears. I added a few swears…in an email…to my Mom. In my 32 years I don’t think I have actually cussed her out in person, not even once, so a “bullshit” and a “damn” and a “hell” seemed like a REALLY big deal. Kind of like lobbing a missile, actually, and waiting for the inevitable explosion and ensuing shrapnel.

No explosion. No shrapnel.

At least, I thought.

A week or two ago my mother sent an equally horrendous email to my older brother with an incredible set of unfair and untrue accusations–Unimaginable Accusations–levied against him, and all somehow relating back to Me, My Character, My Life Choices, My Marriage, My Innate Problems, Etc., Etc., Infinity, Ad Nauseam. I was literally sick to my stomach reading her words about me. This was a Friday evening. My brother was fuming, I was livid, we talked for 90 minutes about Teh Crazy without any real resolution except to steer clear as much as possible, no matter the cost.

And then I stayed up all night thinking about it, having arguments in my head with my Mom about how wrong she was, and how misinformed, and how presumptuous, and how twisted her thinking, and how WRONG (I won all those arguments, obvs).

And then repeat all day Saturday.

And all Saturday night, no sleeping, lots of teeth grinding.

And then continue the pattern most of the day Sunday.

By this time I was not so much fuming as literally (figuratively) foaming at the mouth. I hadn’t eaten for almost 48 hours and was so twitchy inside my arms and legs wouldn’t hold still.

I wrote down a list of what I wanted to say, hoping it would help me get rid of all that angst.

It didn’t.

So, I did what any rational, well-rested adult would do: I drove an hour to my hometown, pounded on the door, and yelled and screamed at her for two hours until I finally felt like she heard me. Until I felt like she understood me. Two. Hours. I brought a clean notebook and made her write down what I said so she would for sure remember it clearly afterwards. I yelled at her until she wrote down how I felt and why. I have not lost my temper like that for probably 12 years, since my very early 20’s, and despite a truck load of “what the fuck!?” and “that’s bullshit!” and “who the fuck do you think you are!?” and “BULLSHIT!” and “YOU ARE WRONG! YOU ARE FUCKING WRONG!”…yes, even with an enormous quantity of in-person, ragey swears, I have zero regrets.

Zero.

For the first time in over fifteen years I feel like my Mom finally saw me, not as this very messed up child and adult that existed in her head, and not even as a ragey, furious, cursing feind (which I kind of was at the time). I feel like she finally saw me a grown woman who had a rough childhood and had worked for years to escape those clutches, I feel like she saw me as a human who had been consistently misunderstood and hurt, as a girl who more-often-than-not felt bullied by her parent, who had been unfairly judged and unfairly criticized (by her) for a lifetime. And I finally feel like she truly saw how that background shaped who I am now, a relatively well-adjusted and happy adult, but one who was no longer willing to lay down and be run over by her, keeping quiet and retreating to lick my wounds. I feel like I was finally able to say what I needed to say without any fear of how she would react; she couldn’t possibly have been more upset or angry than I was and I had nothing to lose in the first place. I feel like I was able to correct a LOT of misunderstanding and set the record straight. She learned a lot about Adult Harriet that afternoon, perhaps even more than she had learned in the previous decade. I learned a little about her too, and I feel like I understand some of her choices and behaviors, I may not agree with her, but I truly tried to see the available options from her perspective. And if it took two hours of serious feist and swears and an incredible amount of adrenaline, then so be it. I do not regret clearing the air, even if it took a damn nuclear bomb to do so.

I don’t know what will happen next, I’m still trying to unravel all my feelings and emotions and look at them with some level of objectivity. I feel less animosity towards her than I have felt for the last five (or fifteen) years….but I also am not actively perusing Hallmark for the perfect warm-and-fuzzy Mother’s Day card. To be honest, anywhere outside of the far end of the “No Relationship With Mom, Thank You” spectrum is pretty new territory for me and I am still trying to figure out what it means to be two steps closer to the middle. This relationship took years and years to implode and crumble to nothing, so I’m not suffering from any delusions that it will magically be “normal” after one lengthy conversation. I’m still kind of shell shocked at my own verbal violence and how firmly I stood up for myself–they don’t call me Feisty Harriet for nothin’. But more than that, I am baffled that she actually sat there and listened to me, really listened with the intent to understand. I didn’t think that kind of communication would happen in my lifetime.

I also…don’t really have anything more to say about it right now. I guess I don’t really know what my expectations are, or what a normal next step would be.

 

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Complaints

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Ya’ll, I have complaints. In fact, on any given day I have a list of complaints as long as my arm. Ok, that’s actually not really true. For the most part I’m not really a super complainer, not really. But sometimes…man, sometimes I just need to get it out. And that means you’ll get an ear-full or a feed-full of my rantiness in all it’s glory. Here is at least a small attempt to curb some of that ranting, at least the kind that doesn’t do any good.

What I want to stop complaining about:

1. Moving. I haven’t said much about it here (or really anything about it), but at the end of this year I am packing up my apartment, my beloved home I’ve lived in for 10 years, and moving 700 miles south to a city where I know exactly 6 people, 3 of whom are family and one who is only tangentially related (and a monster). I’m emotionally torn, but I also feel selfish for feeling that way. It’s my decision and after looking at all the pros and cons I know it is the best choice. However, for me the “pro” list only slightly outweighs the “con” list–and that makes the decision an emotionally difficult one.

2. A certain mico-managing colleague. And, in accordance with the wise law of dooce, I’ll just leave it at that.

3. My intolerable lady parts: graphic, bloody, TMI. Enough said.

4. My weight. This is 99% an internal complaint, and also a fairly recent development. I want to stop complaining and just fix the damn problem, all 40 pounds of it. I know how to do this (fewer cookies/boxes of pity-party macaroni and cheese, more exercise), but I somehow continue to eat the cookies and the pity mac and cheese and complain about my more rounded bits.

5. Oversharers, especially those on social media. Dear Harriet, just unfollow them. Stop complaining and stop allowing their annoying-to-you updates to clutter your feed. Just walk away.

What I will not stop complaining ranting lecturing educating everyone I meet about:

1. Feminism and the radical notion that women are people to and should be treated with a basic level of respect, equality, and kindness. This includes respect of images of women, words said by women, ideas put forth by women, and laws set down by women. “No” means “no” and “stop it!” means “stop it!” and “stop treating me like a set of boobs and legs” means “PAY ATTENTION TO SOMETHING OTHER THAN MY BODY!” I will yell about this my entire life, or until women have equal rights and opportunities and are treated with equal respect world-wide. So, my entire life. Can’t stop, won’t stop.

2. Equal rights and lack of prejudice against people who have a different skin color, religion, ethnic background, sexual preference, or political views than you. Stop it. Seriously, stop.

3. My intolerable lady parts: exploding ovarian cysts, endometriosis (newly diagnosed), excruciating doctor’s visits with TEN MILLION BIOPSIES TAKEN FROM INSIDE MY VAGINA!, and the general lack of control over super painful experiences inside my own body. I know I said I’d stop complaining about this I wanted to stop complaining about this, but no. I can’t. It’s just too much and too unfair to keep to myself. You’re welcome.

4. My love of hefty non-fiction and, therefore, my somewhat devil-may-care attitude towards YA fiction. Sorry/not sorry, but I can only intake so much fluff before I start to mentally float away and need something grounding, like evolutionary theory, or conditions in North Korea, or neuroscience, or economic practice, or whatever. And then I can’t won’t stop blabbering about all the cool stuff I learn in these books. I’m like a walking, talking, probably super annoying personal podcast. Again. You’re welcome.

5. Every year for several weeks I am loathe to go outside and enjoy the glorious spring sunshine and blooming flowers/trees because all of the flower/tree jizz gets up in my sinuses and creates a biological Niagara Falls, complete with sneezy, itchy eyes and a ridiculously high-dollar allowance for Kleenex with Lotion. I just, no. Not okay. Hear that, Nature? NOT OKAY! KEEP IT IN YOUR DAMN PLANTS!

So. What do you complain about? And what will you continue to complain about, come hell or high water?

Harriet sig

Inspired by ROE’s post at Giggles and Laundry.

Writing my own story

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  • Five Ways to Become A Better Decorator!
    *Sponsored by The Decorating Company
  • Eight Things Not To Put On Your Resume!
    *Sponsored by The HR Company
  • Four Easy Steps to Be Organized!
    *Sponsored by The Organizing Company
  • Nineteen Cute New Summer Fashions!
    *Sponsored by The Fashion Company
  • Seven Ways This Special Product Will Change Your Life!
    *Sponsored by The Product Company

I have not written any of the above-mentioned totally fake blog posts (and fake sponsorships, obvs).  But the honest truth is that in my regular interaction with the Interwebs and Blogland in general, I probably wouldn’t click on any of those links either. It seems that for the most part the “popular” blogs and blog posts around today are, if not sponsored, specifically written for optimized traffic, optimized SEO, and are hopefully published with a little wish for Viral Status. I know a couple of people who read/used to read this blog accept sponsorships and are able to supplement their family income by writing posts about products or services that interact with their regular, normal lives. Most of you weave sponsored content with your own real life content.

And–and I really want to be clear here–THAT IS JUST FINE.

And yet.

I miss the stories.

I miss the relationships that came from those stories.

I miss the back-and-forth of comments and emails and [insert social media platform of choice here] that grew from laughing and crying and empathizing with those stories.

Let me be honest and blunt: I probably won’t have a real connection with how those five ways have made you a Better Decorator, and so I will skim and move on to another post; where I won’t have a connection/conversation with How To Improve my Resume, so I will move on; and I won’t have a real response to How To Be Organized; so I will move on to no connection with the curated List of Fashionable Summer Items (trendy, expensive, consumerist); and the life changing Products will be just another list of sponsored marketing that I suspect will not actually Change My Life. I will, however, probably feel more and more that The Internet is not a place for my stories because they aren’t polished and optimized and sponsored and written with the intent to generate traffic and clicks. Ain’t nobody need to feel like Blogland is no longer welcoming.

Again, let me reiterate that if you have published a post like one mocked listed above, THAT IS TOTALLY FINE! It’s just….it’s not entirely my cup of tea. Sometimes, sure. But it can get kind of tiring and depressing to feel like my feed reader is one big long commercial. I have DVR and Netflix for a reason: I hate commercials.

And, again, I miss the stories. I miss the thought-out essays and emotive paragraphs about Real Life. The interactions and un-polished lives of people I learned to adore through their non-Pinterested, non-SEO, not-even-photographed writing. I miss you! And, I also miss me, the part of me that used to flourish in that online space. I know I can do better at contributing my own stories, and this post is definitely an attempt at such. Let us all write our stories, for ourselves, for our friends (cyber and otherwise), and yes, even for those total weirdo strangers who dabble in Internetting. (Hi, Weirdo Stranger!) After all, once upon a time, not so long ago, we were all Weirdo Internet Strangers, looking for stories and friends and connections in our computers; and look where our stories have brought us.

Harriet sig

Also, in a piece of non-sponsored, genuine link-back: this post was inspired by Abbersnail.