Wrecking ball

Ok-- I am well behind the cultural zeitgeist but two days ago I heard the song Wrecking Ball for the first time. And I liked it. Mainly I liked the chorus and the way Cyrus cuts it up on “You wreck me”.

Currently listening to it on full volume now that the kids have gone to school.

So watching this vdo, and having heard much of the brouhaha about it when it first came out, but not having seen it—I have to say the part that disturbs me most about the vdo is the sexualization of a sledge hammer.

I know there was a lot of talk about Cyrus being highly sexualized in this vdo but the part that is most gratuitous, most meant for the male gaze, is where she licks the sledge hammer. This is purely a male fantasy. No woman wants to lick a sledge hammer. And this is what bothers me the most. I don't mind if she performs acts that satisfy her own sexuality but to pander to male sexual fantasies is why I will not let my daughters watch this vdo.

Being naked and swinging on a wrecking ball may be stimulating –I have no problem with that. The air on your skin, the internal spike that swinging sensation causes—could be a good thing for a woman. Not that I am going to test out my theory-- but I can imagine it.

And I find her clothes in the vdo much more disturbing than her nudity. Her clothes are skimpy, highly sexualized while the shots of her when she is naked are somewhat tasteful. Nice angles, good positioning to hide the obvious, more risky, bits. The human body is a work of art-- it was her clothes that reduced her to the lowest sexual denomination.

I dislike most pop vdos-- its all women slapping their scantily clad asses and pushing their augmented breasts into your face—this is far from the worst offender in terms of the sexualization of modern day pop divas. Cyrus got called out for what I think is the least offensive part of the vdo-- her naked body.

Undecided

Does celebrity erase past crimes? Does time served efface the evil done?

An acquaintance of mine met Mike Tyson today. She posted her encounter with Iron Mike on Facebook noting that he had a strong handshake and that the person who offered to take her photo with Tyson was shaking so badly that all the photos were blurry.

My first reaction was-- cool, she met a celebrity.

My next reaction was-- Hey, what's up with the photo op with a convicted rapist.

If you were walking down the street and saw a man walk by who you knew was a convicted rapist would you ask him if you could have your picture taken with him? Most likely the answer is no. I predict that not one person would, when given this scenario, answer yes.

Of course when you throw the fact that the rapist is a celebrity in the mix the answer to this question seems to change-- at least for some people.

I have to think that, like me, her first reaction was –cool, a famous person just entered my orbit. Maybe her impulse to snap a selfie with a celebrity was as far as her mind worked through the situation.

I also have to consider that she is younger than me and from a different country and may not even be aware of Tyson's stint in jail or his conviction for rape. Maybe she just knows he's the guy in the Hangover movies.

And even if she did know about his conviction maybe she believes in rehabilitation. This leaves me questioning if I do. If you do the time for your crime should you forever be painted as your former self; a sort of Dorian Gray, never finding release from your past? Or are some crimes so heinous that a person should never be accepted in society after they have been convicted of committing them?

Following this line is making me question whether it is acceptable or not to take a selfie with Mike Tyson. For me—celebrity, redemption, debt paid to society with time served—I'd still walk away. What about you?

Hope

This morning I was prepared to write about climate change. There were protest marches across the globe yesterday to focus attention on the issue as the UN is set to meet in New York this week and climate change on the agenda.

I love a good rally but there were none scheduled close to where I live; the nearest was 1 1/2 hours away and I could not bear the hypocrisy of driving that far to protest the fossil fuel economy.

The course I am currently in, Health and the Environment, deals a lot with climate change and the effect it will have on us all-- from increased adverse weather events to the spread of disease. I would love to use less petroleum based energy but right now the best green technology is out of my economic reach.

So instead of driving to a rally in Cape Breton or Halifax I went to my local beach and picked garbage from the shoreline. It's a little thing, and next week there will be just as much, but it is the least I can do at the moment.

This and more is what I planned to write about but then I got sidetracked by Facebook. And not by the thousand useless, inane updates: post if you love your mother, think cousins are the best or believe it's always wine-o'clock somewhere. I was distracted by the great suffering of a little girl. A little girl whose mom was a childhood friend of mine. Reading her post about how her eldest daughter has been suffering these past months and how, at this moment, she is in hospital, struggling with an unknown illness, is so heart wrenching. I, and everyone else except her medical team, are helpless.

This morning I thought about sharing her most recent post which detailed the horrible night they had just been through-- but then I didn't really know why I wanted to share that update. I guess I wanted to share it because a shared pain is easier to survive than a hidden one. I guess I wanted people to know why I was distracted today. I guess I wanted to share it just in case the energy of our thoughts could help this child and her family.

There's nothing else I can write at the moment. I can't think beyond the word hope. That's what I will be doing today.

The second act

Life begins at 40. That's a well-worn phrase typically meant to make that momentous birthday pass a little less painfully for those that are age adverse.

Last year, at this time, I turned 40. And at that time I found nothing to write in honour of that significant event. What did it matter, it was just a number, just another year. I did give it some thought though. 40-- it is the half way point in life—if you are lucky. The first half of my life was full of accomplishments, adventures and a little mayhem. What was going to happen in the second act? Was I just going to coast along in the life I had created—the house, the kids the job?

One thing I know about myself is that I am never content without goals, without something I am working towards. I had been sinking into a deep ennui for several years, all my goals fulfilled: I had my family, worked in my aspired to field, bought my house. I didn't know what I wanted next but I knew there had to be a next.

For many years I had debated applying for a MA in Adult Education. It was offered at a nearby university as a distance education program with only a short period required on campus. But after thinking about it for years, and looking at it seriously last winter, I decided it was not the program for me. The thought of it did not make my heart beat faster. If I was going to return to school for fun and excitement, I have never pursued education for practical reasons, this clearly was not going to provide that experience I was craving. I wanted to go back to school—I love being in university and learning new things—but the thought of this course of study left me cold.

But I knew university was the thing missing from my life.

I looked at the sciences. I have always been interested in Biology but the thought of slogging through another undergraduate degree was daunting—especially at my age. I looked into applying for a Msc but whereas my other degrees were in the Arts the likelihood of acceptance was not great.

This summer I took the advice that I had given others who were reluctant about going to university due to the time it would take to finish a degree; time passes no matter what you do but if you are in school –when the years roll on you have the degree, the experience, you were wanting.

I put time considerations aside and applied for my Bsc with a ball of excited anxiety pulling at my stomach. I looked at the course catalogue and knew it was the right decision. The thrill I got from the things I could be studying—it was like academic porn.

Going back to school for me feels like reuniting with an old lover; I'm a little nervous and a lot excited. I run scenarios in my head of the coming days, months and years. I'll caress my new text books and breathe in their heady scent. I'll stumble bleary eyed through the day, after a night of elicit learning, fuelled by the excitement of what I might discover at the next lecture or lab.

I'll enter exam rooms with the confidence of a seasoned vaudeville performer. It is my place, my home, my love.

I can't wait for the second act.

All that-- and I want the ring.

Dissonance

I am a time traveller,

shape shifter,

life jumper.

Past lives intersect in my nightmares and day dreams

They crash into each other at odd angles

Small town signs on big city streets

Asian smells in country kitchens

Beds unfamiliar and lives unfinished

Evolution and reincarnation with every rotation of the earth.

Where I am is where I am not.

Body and mind disconnected,

One constantly pulling the other into alternate realities.

The wheel always turns,

But time folds in on me.

That once straight arrow

Is bent and creased like discarded origami

Happy Anniversary

This week I celebrate my one year anniversary; an anniversary that was so life-altering that I just had to write a post about it. One year ago I started running.

I know I am about to start sounding like a religious convert; but running has changed my life. I could never have guessed that putting one foot in front of the other could make such an impact.

One year ago I hit the Trans Canada trail in my almost dead winter boots. The trail was packed with snow and ice-- but I felt the time had come to get out and do something for myself. In the past seven years I rarely found time to do anything recreational let alone physically challenging-- my mind and body were crying out for it-- but it was a need that would not be easily met after such a long period of physical dormancy.

I have always been an active person to some degree; have had bouts of being a weight-lifting gym monkey, dabbled in martial arts, fencing, kayaking, rock climbing. I have always been a prodigious walker. But running was a new challenge.

In the beginning I hoped to run 20 minutes without stopping; other than that I had no goals. I just wanted a 20 minute work out to fit into my always busy day.

Things started off pretty good by my standard—some of my first days out I could run for 10 minutes. Then other days doing five was a real chore. But once I had done 10 I knew I could do more.

In three months I was up to 20 minutes, not every day but most. I could run 5 km in about half and hour and was pretty happy with that. I ran almost every day that my kids were in school.

And then summer came.

Most people would consider summer a blessing for any running enthusiast but for me it meant less time to get out on trails and dirt roads because the children no longer had school.

It became my habit to run during every birthday party the kids got invited to; this often meant new roads in different areas of the county. Exploring new ground added to the adventure.

Luckily birthday parties were not the only excitement on offer for kids in this area over the summer holiday and I enrolled the kids in almost everything –recreation for them meant running for me.

I also went home to Massachusetts and went running there with my cousins and ran my first race—a 5 km to raise funds for a Boston bombing victim.

And when my family came to Nova Scotia for a visit, I had a running buddy and a supply of aunts to watch the kiddies while I hit the road.

After my first race I started to dream of more-- I got ready to tackle a 5 mile race in my home town. At first that seemed like an impossible goal but I did it and then did another 5 mile road race in the next town down the shore.

In July and August running 5 miles was the end of me for the rest of the day-- I had to come home and sleep. I could not run the next day. It took all my energy. So 5 mile runs were not something I was planning to make a habit of doing-- regular 5 km runs seemed good enough.

And then there was the dreaded coming of winter. I could not imagine being a winter runner. Those people were nuts!

Yet again I surprised myself and learned how to run through the winter. Running in the winter when it is harder to get overheated helped me run farther. I went from a regular 5 km run to a regular 5 mile run several times a week.

Now we are heading into a new spring and today I ran just over 6 miles and didn't feel like a limp rag after my run. I have also managed to stay up past 10 pm with no post-run nap.

Every day is not a 6 mile day but they are feeling more normal-- 5km is just enough to get me warmed up now.

When I used to see people running I would ask myself-- why would you do that to yourself? Now I have a few answers to that question.

Running has made me feel more energetic and less stressed. It is my form of meditation, my time to work out everything in my head.

Running always leaves me thinking about how much I can do the next day; excited to get out of bed and back on the road.

Running has brought me closer to some members of my family and my community. It has made me a better person who is disciplined in at least this one aspect of my life (despite my passion for writing I am never disciplined about sitting down and getting the words out on the screen).

The experience has been a conversion for me-- a new way of living, a new force in my life.

It warrants celebration- one year on the run.

Out on the town

Below is my not very embellished version of a conversation I overheard last night. Writing dialogue is tough-- just trying it out:

“The baby is kicking a lot,” she comments to her slouching partner who is sprawling artlessly in the chair on the other side of the table.

He orders another round of drinks. He does it loudly as if the carrying capacity of his voice increases his importance.

When his attempt at upstaging his forthcoming child's bid for attention fails, he bellows to the remote waitress, “Another round of drinks for everyone.” The room, including the waitress, continue to ignore him.

“Cathy and Phil are going to get married and she asked me to be the bridesmaid but that'll be hard when I'm pregnant,” she says.

“Get married, why the hell would they do that? Why the hell do that?” His reaction to the news is clearly disconcerting. Marriage is not something he's considering while his girlfriend sits there hopefully sipping her herbal tea sneaking occasional glances at her rippling abdomen. She looks off into the middle distance and imagines him on his knees with dewy eyes and a ring for her hand that rest lightly on her baby bump.

“She's had a really tough life and they are good for each other,” she tells him qualifying the reasons for marriage, the thought process behind proposals.

“Oh, Jesus. Would you look at that guy with the fucking cane. He's like 20 and he doesn't have a fucking limp. What a homo.” He orders another round as he watches the young man walk towards the bar.

“You go ahead,” she says as she plays with the lemon that remains on the bottom of her tea cup. If only the leaves within could instruct her, direct her toward the best path.

They're moving soon to Alberta. They'll never be close to friends or family he tells her, “Get used to it.”

“I found a program in Calgary where I can get my yoga certification so I don't have to go all over the place,” she tells him.

“I think I'll go to Thailand. Yeah Thailand,” is his response.

There are lots of ways to die in Thailand-- attack by supposedly tamed and sedated tigers, decapitation by train trestle, crocodile attacks in flooded streets, and the usual alcohol and drug related modes of self-immolation. But he's not seeking martyrdom, he's not planning to actually leave her and 'the baby'; which is unfortunate for them all.

Single motherhood is scary but not as scary as the man across the table.

They walk out of the bar; he's drunk at 7:30. She's only showing slightly but the bump may already be influencing her decisions; she's going to run while she still can.