Turkey Doomsday.....

Who has to die for your Thanksgiving dinner....and more importantly, how did they LIVE?

That's the question we've been asking ourselves about our Thanksgiving turkey. Every year I usually just roll on over to the local market and buy a turkey frozen in carbonite. Generally I forget to thaw it out until the day before...because I'm not mindful of things like "thaw for several days" written on the turkey's packaging. The rest is pretty mundane. I get up around 8 am, turn on the Macy's Thanksgiving parade and start feeling pretty festive for a self-proclaimed "Holiday hater." Preparing the giant, Godzilla-like monster bird for the oven is not without it's dangers. Trying to pry the still-frozen innards out of the turkey. I always feel a great sense of accomplishment when I finally manage to wrench them out. This process sometimes draws my own blood. Frozen turkey cavern has sharp bits. I never know what to do with the neatly-bagged grossness. My grandma used to take the giblets and grind them into bits for the stuffing with a metal, very antiquated-looking grinder you attach to the counter. It always looked rather like some medieval torture device to me. Or reminded my of Pink Floyd's "The Wall." I left that gut-grinding tradition behind. Sorry, grandma, but it's really gross. Perhaps this year I'll actually follow-through with frying the guts up for the cats....or maybe not. I make no promises.


Here's where I'm going to veer into some uncomfortable territory for some of you. This year, we raised our own turkeys for the holidays, and we intend to eat them--even though they have become my friends. We named them--"Thanksgiving, Christmas and Brown Meat." This took thought and planning--so if it's "murder" then it's definitely murder in the first-degree. I raised them from tiny, fuzzy adorable chicks.....since May, they have been part of our family. When we first brought them home they were scared and lonely. They cried incessantly, so we cuddled them while we watched TV. They would fall asleep on my husband's shoulder. He would joke that he was infusing them with love, that we'd be able to taste that love in every delicious bite. This may seem morbid to you, but have you ever really considered where your Thanksgiving turkey came from? Did it live a happy life? Was it able to wander and forage in the fields, bask in the sunshine, fluff it's feathers in a nice, dry dirt-bath? We live in Washington State. It clouded up last month and got cold, as it's prone to do. These turkeys spent all summer enjoying themselves in the ample (and somewhat unusual) sunshine...now, when the sun is gone and it's freezing, their days are numbered. I wish I could leave on a vacation from the cold! Maybe not to the oven, but you get what I'm saying.


Many of my friends, and even some of my family are vegans or vegetarians. I tip my hat to you...I am not one of those people. I've tried. Our 14 year old daughter likes to recount the dark days of my attempt at vegetarianism as if they were some kind of mother-inflicted-torture-prison-camp, "Remember when you made us all be vegetarians? Why did you do that? It was horrible. I would have done ANYTHING for a piece of chicken!!" More tales to tell her shrink someday. Add to the collection of misguided parental love. Seemed like a fine idea at the time, then again, what "brilliant" idea hasn't?


As a family we have all but eliminated beef from our diets. It's an irresponsible food-producing model, raising cattle, and I'll admit I'm worried about "Mad Cow Disease." I won't go there....I remember what happened to Oprah. We primarily eat chicken and turkey. I am keenly aware of what kind of lives these animals have lived, what they are injected with, fed, and the highly dangerous methods in which poultry is farmed on a mass-scale. I'm very concerned about how these corporate farming practices are affecting our environment, food supply and overall health (thinking mass epidemic potential here). I wonder if the effort to produce poultry on a mass scale is overshadowing the need for healthy food. The conditions these animals are raised in is deplorable. They never see the light of day, the green grass and warm sunshine. I've been raising chickens for the last ten years (for eggs) and every single hen and rooster are sentient little beings. They appreciate the grass, the sunshine, catching bugs and worms. They have relationships and connections. They have friends and enemies. They have very distinct, individual personalities. If getting to know any creature on a personal level has pushed me just short of vegetarianism, it's my chickens. We have legendary family chickens--"One-Eyed-Willy, David Hasselhoff and Sammy Davis." They have all enjoyed happy, carefree lives. They have wandered free until recently when I had to coop them due to the large-scale predator problem here on our wooded 7 acre farm---backed by an additional 200 acres where coyotes, bears, bobcats, cougars and probably every other Northwest wildlife native lives---and needs to eat. We were becoming nature's version of Burger King. These wild animals were pretty rude---just dine and dash!

We don't eat them, and that's not to say we haven't tried. One year we did raise chickens to butcher and eat. We did eat a few. A few we couldn't consume because we had grown too attached. They were the fast-growing Cornish-Cross chickens, and the ones we let live eventually expired due to heart attacks because they were the most obese chickens ever to roam the planet. I have a video somewhere of "Bubba the Rooster" running across the yard--every time you'd get the food out you could almost hear him coming, "boom-babba-boom-babba." Lessons learned from that? Well, two of our children became vegetarians(and still are)after we butchered those chickens and we now have the knowledge that human beings have genetically altered chickens to get very fat very quickly...so we can EAT them. Those chickens are not pets. They are the poultry version of Rob Ford. Without the crack.


We raised these turkeys as a family because we felt that we were disconnected from our food. We have lost touch with where it comes from and how it lived before it reaches our table. If you eat meat, you owe that animal your thanks and appreciation. I don't believe you show that appreciation by consuming an animal that lived a miserable life for the sole purpose of you consuming it. There are videos on YouTube that show how mass-turkey farming truly looks. I'm sorry, but if you haven't seen, you should probably give them a look.


I'm not helping you pack your bags to go on a guilt-trip with me, but I would like you to consider, if you haven't already, where the food on your table comes from. I'm trying to come up with ways that we can--as a family--be a little more conscious about what we eat and how that animal lived. It's either that, or become a vegetarian. I consider that almost daily. I've tried and failed, but if I can't do this-- I'll be working to make our food choices more in keeping with how I'm trying to approach life. I don't want to be complicit with the inhumane treatment of animals anymore. We can do better. Not all of us can farm, or have the luxury of a big piece of land and the time to care for animals properly. They do require a lot of care. We can make choices for our animal friends---we can seek out humanely-raised critters. Yes, it costs a bit more..it's worth it to know they lived good lives. Maybe if more of us buy humanely-raised meat, it will make sense for small farm start-ups to be a viable business for the future. Small things, big changes.

Next week, we will kill one of our friends and eat them....because it was the right thing to do.

Loss and Acceptance....

Today it's been exactly one year since I lost my sister, Lonnie. She past away in utter agony on September 18th of last year....and I wasn't there to say goodbye. It wasn't because I didn't love her. It just was...it's the reality of how I handled the situation. For better or worse, it's how I handled it. Truth is, I couldn't watch the last chapter close. I wanted to remember her the way she was, the sister I loved and worshiped. The funny, carefree, loving, beautiful, up-for-anything if-it-made-you laugh sister. The sister before the alcohol addiction took over. Was it selfish? Yes, it was selfish to avoid her passing. It was selfish to avoid her enabling husband who hated me for calling out the alcoholism at every turn, exposing it to the harsh light of day that everyone seemed to want to avoid. The God's honest truth, the heart of the matter. Nobody wanted to admit to what was killing her. I was supposed to pretend that it was some kind of natural causes that was killing my sister inch by inch, year by year. I couldn't do it. I couldn't find it in my heart to be that ignorant or forgiving. Do I have regrets a year gone by? Sure. I would give anything to talk to her one last time--or just look in her eyes. She had a major stroke two months before she died, so there wasn't conversation to be had. But we understood each other. I should have been there. I should have.

Lonnie's addiction started early. I can remember her drinking booze in my earliest memories. Beer with her friends, having fun. Partying. We grew up in an alcoholic household. Mom a drop-out-of-life-into-bed drunk, dad a very high functioning alcoholic. It's all we knew. Probably seemed pretty normal to Lonnie. By the time I rolled into the family things were bad. Nobody was healthy or happy. Dysfunction was our middle name. Somehow I always knew things were really fucked up. I watched and decided I wanted no part of it, my sister dove in head first. By the time she was in her 20's she was a full-blown alcoholic herself. We ignored it. Until we couldn't anymore. By the time she was my age(45)she was racing headlong into death. She blew out her pancreas, this affected her drastically. She never quit drinking. From the time she was in her 30's we knew she was in trouble. We talked about an intervention. It got serious for all of us (mom, dad and myself) we had all talked about it and decided that we should approach her husband. His reaction? "There's nothing wrong with Lonnie--what are you talking about?" He would give us no backup. We would have no support from him. That's how it continued. She never, ever admitted her addiction. Not once. Never. It seems absurd to me, but that's how it went. I begged her to get help, that I would help her. It was like watching someone drowning. I'm standing safely on the shore, she is sliding deeper and deeper into the depths. I can't tell you how helpless I felt. I knew how much pain she was in, yet I had no way of pulling her out. Life-rings floated past. Lifeboats rejected. In the end she lived and died the way she chose. I have to respect that.

So what have I learned a year down the road? A lot. About myself, about Lonnie, forgiveness, understanding, love. Those things. The fact that no matter how much you love someone they have their own paths to walk down. Their narrative. No matter how much you love someone they may never realize how lovable they are, how amazing, beautiful, gifted---special. If they don't believe it there is nothing on earth that will convince them otherwise. Reality is a bitch until you accept it. I learned there isn't one second of this life that should be wasted on hate, anger, dissatisfaction or unhappiness. That the people you surround yourself with are your world, and that's all that ever needs to be. To open yourself up to love, really open up. It's all there is. To love yourself fully, then open the door to your heart wide to others. Take all the ugly things you have inside of you and really look at them, take them apart. Honestly take yourself apart....and build yourself back again. I did this.I found many things I didn't like, and many things I loved I didn't even know I had. A year later that's where I'm at. Because of Lonnie. There is no time to waste, no time for regrets. My final gift to my sister is my embracing of life...I'm all in. No fear anymore. I will always be honest with myself and all the people I love. I will not seek to fill the empty places with empty pursuits....my soul is full. That was her gift to me, showing me the light. My gift to her is living. Truly living. A year later all I feel is love. I love you, Lonnie. I always will.

Silver Linings Playbook...Looking Back After Twenty-Five Years of Marriage

A black box sits on the living room floor. It weighs about twenty pounds. The box contains letters and notes from the first 15 years of our life together. I haven't really taken inventory or read though all of it's contents, I simply collected it all and put it in the box for safekeeping many years ago. I spent a bit of time this morning rifling through it, seeing a snapshot here, reading a snippet there. It's pretty overwhelming. There are the early notes quickly written and dropped off for each other when we were both working summer jobs as teenagers in our tourist-trap seaside town. The excitement of finding a kindred spirit--and the passion of young love (and lust). There are long letters written while my husband was deployed in the United States Navy on submarines, often written halfway across the earth. Words of yearning, the pain of separation palpable in the ink on paper. There are baby pictures of our first two children, mundane chatter about life at home or experiencing exotic ports of call. Many letters express the difficulty of staying connected emotionally while the months seem to span on endlessly. Others communicate the frustrations of trying to raise two small children by myself. Those were the days.

My memories snap back to experiences--both happy and sad--that lay behind us on the road we have traveled for the last 28 years of our life together. We've had our wild adventures and share of troubles. That is something any couple who has been married as long as we have will share with you if they are honest. It's not perfect, it's not "tripping through the daisies" all the time. There are times where you get angry and throw up your hands. You raise your voice at times. Communication inevitably breaks down on occasion. You do it "wrong." We made mistakes, we learned and moved on. We grew as individuals and evolved as a couple. Sometimes there are growing pains. We stress and strain, question where we are at in life. We constantly push each other out of our comfort zones. We are never complacent. We are stronger today than ever. We not only "made it," but we're rewriting to narrative for what it meant to us originally to be married as long as we have.

We met when we were 17 and 18. He was my first serious relationship. He was my first sexual partner. The sparks I felt when I met him were singular--and even today I see him and feel that rush. I don't know how to quite articulate that feeling, but I'm grateful. I thought we'd eventually get tired of each other. I thought he'd leave me as soon as I got older and things weren't *quite* as exciting as they used to be. All men want young women, right? Newness, novelty, incapable of making the long haul with one woman. I had that narrative in my head, and because of that I spent a lot of time trying to actualize my projection of how I thought the demise of my marriage would happen. I grew up with no role models of how to have a healthy, happy long-term relationships. The only thing I had seen was my own parent's dysfunctional marriage splinter over many years and ultimately break apart. I figured that was my fate, and boy, did I waste a lot of time worrying about my marriage breaking up--so much so that it almost did. Self-fulfilling prophecy and all that. If I have learned anything about having a long-term relationship over all of these years is that it requires loads of brutal honesty (being able to hear what you partner observes without getting defensive), vast amounts of communication and finally having the ability to make that "leap of faith" with someone. It's about honoring your commitments and realizing that you don't get "everything" you want when you want it, realizing that love means being altruistic. Being altruistic *feels* good, it builds trust and understanding. Life is more than being constantly concerned about what the world and the people in your life "owe" you---they owe you nothing. What have you done to deserve the things you desire? I see people go into relationships with the best of intentions, but no tools to make the journey over the long haul. The very worst thing I'm seeing is people throwing up their hands and saying that marriage isn't worth doing anymore. It's "too much work" and it's a "prison" that nobody would want to be in, that you somehow have to sacrifice everything you are to be married. I hear people say that you will not be able to grow, evolve and have autonomy if you get married. I'm here to say that you have the potential to grow MORE and evolve TOGETHER--challenging each other, holding each other accountable and moving through life with someone who knows you intimately. It's hard to be inauthentic with someone who knows you deeply. It's hard to shirk your responsibility to yourself and others if someone is there to call you on your bad behavior. I see a lot of people treating their spouses badly--and the spouses just seem to let them. That's co-dependent and unhealthy. I observe abuse and lack of regard for their partner's feelings...it goes on and on.

We are given no roadmap to have successful relationships. Perhaps all partnerships are different, but I think there are a few basic guidelines that people can follow in order to have healthy. long-lasting relationships. Be brutally honest, talk about EVERYTHING--no secrets. Share your deepest, darkest fantasies and desires, listen with no judgments. If something bothers you it needs to be understood that it isn't a personal thing--it's just our programming. We carry our guilt and shame for having perfectly natural fantasies, and to have someone who loves us accept us wholly is such a gift. For someone to share things and feel safe is so necessary for intimacy.

Do you have to give up passion for safety? People keep telling me I do. You get married and the intensity eventually wanes, you get totally bored and give up on sex--that's the story. I've been married for 25 years--sex is not only not supposed to be happening for me with my husband, but apparently I'm supposed to be avoiding sex altogether because I'm repulsed by him. I can't tell you how many articles, scientific studies and opinions of friends--generally people who have no long-term relationships in their lives and never have are the ones saying the negative. After 25 years I'm officially giving up listening to the naysayers. I'm too busy having good sex to listen to them anymore...that's all the proof I need. Sure, sometimes it's flaming-hot...other times are comfortable and less intense--but the level of intimacy when it is in that place where you know that you can completely feel free and accepted is incredible. No pretense necessary. I couldn't have imagined being here.

We've reached an interesting and enjoyable place. I feel, maybe for the first time in my entire life, content. We are reorganizing our life--downsizing and getting ready for the next chapter. Time to let all the old fears, insecurities and adversity go and enjoy life. There's a certain peace happening--not to be mistaken with "complacency" I feel like I'm moving forward faster than I ever have.

My husband and I just got back from a trip to our hometown for a friend's wedding. This beautiful friend has been through the ringer as far as love goes. She's been used, abused and generally treated like crap. Still, despite the odds (remember the myth that a woman in her 40's had a better chance of being killed by a terrorist than getting married?) she found a wonderful guy and took the plunge *again* for the second time. I admire that bravery. It's even more amazing, finding love and taking that public step of proclaiming that love legally, when you realize how the deck is stacked against you. People adore watching love bloom, but I believe secretly they wish for your failure. Most people don't end up making it work or having love last...because it's hard. It's work. A whole lot of people don't want to do that work--and the other factor here is choosing people who aren't appropriate in the first place. Even under the best of circumstances people tend to grow in different directions. It takes a lot of effort to stay connected. I think it's simpler for many to just chuck relationships into the dustbin and start over than to confront their and their relationship's shortcomings.

What can I tell you about love after 28 years? It's worth sticking it out through the tough times, because the rewards if you manage to do that are absolutely worth it. But I can't prove that to you. It's a singular journey you have to discover yourself by discovering yourself.

Am I a Shitty Feminist?

Feminism...I remember as a young girl growing up in the 1970's hearing and seeing Gloria Steinem on television. Her fiery speeches on the struggle towards equality for women inspired me. I never saw myself as a "lesser being" as a woman--certainly not less than any man I knew. I had no idea that as I was enjoying my childhood in the endless sunshine of California, decisions that would impact my life and my daughter's lives were being presented and decided in the Supreme Court---1973 saw Roe v. Wade become law, finally making abortions safe and legal for all women. It wasn't until later in my life that I realized what an important landmark decision this was, how many women had died in back-alley abortions. In my isolated existence I had never been impacted in any way by reproductive rights for women--I thought I never knew anyone who had an abortion. I did. My sister had one when she was a young teen, but the shame forced that decision into the dark secrets of my family--the big closet with many inhabitants. I didn't discover this until much later in life. In the early 2000's I met Sarah Weddington at an event for Pro-Choice in Seattle and had the luxury of being able to talk to her one-on-one for an extended period of time. Sarah was the attorney who represented "Jane Roe" in the landmark case. To hear her recollect the days in which the case was tried was incredibly moving to me. She described being in awe of her legal work with Roe v. Wade, and wondered if she was really the right woman for the job. A beautiful woman in her fifties when I met her, the serious emotions she had surrounding working on the case after so many years still very plain on her otherwise happy, unlined face. "A life well-lived" I thought of her--she was continually greeting people she met with a warm and welcoming smile. As a young attorney in Texas she was "shaking in her shoes" at the importance of the case and it's ramifications. To this day she is *still* the youngest person (she was 27 at the time) to successfully argue a Supreme Court case. I realized that day as I stood and spoke to this remarkable woman that my generation was the first to take for granted the basic rights those brave women before us fought for---sometimes died for....and that subsequent generations would forget even more where we've come from and what we had to endure before brave women both known and unknown have battled for. Our daughters have no collective memory of the fight for reproductive freedom. They see the Conservative anger, but largely believe that our rights are well-assured. We should take nothing for granted. Ever.

My mother was a stay-at-home mom, not out of necessity, but because that's what my father wanted. She was never satisfied with her strictly domestic life. We could all feel her dissatisfaction. She had been an elementary school teacher and enjoyed engaging and inspiring the minds of young children. As soon as my parents adopted my oldest brother her career was over. Her responsibility was to her children, not the personal empowerment and satisfaction of having a career. In those days (50's, 60's and 70's) women who worked instead of staying home with their children were considered "selfish" and "self-absorbed." One quote from Gloria Steinem that really resonated with me was "Most women are one man away from welfare." In my mother's case that was an absolute truth. She had put all of her trust for her future into one man, and that one man ultimately took leave of her and his family for what he perceived to be the "greener pastures" of marrying a younger woman. My mother had sacrificed her career against her will to stay at home and take care of kids, and not only did it make her miserable, but it handicapped her when it came to her own survival. We ended up homeless at one point, and on food stamps. My father continued his life--bettering himself after the divorce while my mother struggled in the ditch, never able to pull out and move on. I was committed to never letting that happen to me. Guess what? By all accounts I have followed in my mother's footsteps....well, not really. I have an interesting history, and what brought me completely to where I am in life I'll tackle in a future blog.

My husband and I married at 19. When we had our own children I was compelled to stay home and raise them--I'm not sure if it's because that's what I was comfortable with because I had grown up that way, or if my mothering instinct took over and compelled me to do so. I had my first child when I was 21, and today we have three awesome kids--a boy and two girls. One in graduate school, one in college and the last in high school. Seeing them today and where they've gone in life so far, I'm grateful for my decision to make them my job in life. They are who they are because of how they were raised, and I regret nothing. The girls have grown up without the same programming I grew up with as a young girl. Early on I told them that they could do anything in life they wanted to--no limitations. The fact that they were women was not a roadblock to get where they wanted to go in life. They would have concerns and issues that men wouldn't have--but they should not accept the fact that being a woman should stop them. Our oldest daughter has certainly taken this to heart, working in the male-dominated field of sound engineering and excelling, really excelling. I am so proud of her. She signifies to me the harbinger of things to come, the breaking down of walls and barriers for women. I have been struggling my whole life with the fact that I don't have a job that defines me---I have had jobs and careers throughout my children's childhood--things that fit into my full-time mom life. Real estate, different promotional areas. In the end it was always motherhood that took the front seat. I have been berated at times by my feminist friends for my decision. I've largely ignored them. The nagging feeling in the back of my head was that I needed to be "more"--to do more, accomplish more. Thank you, programming....I'm happily un-learning you.

So here I am today, a woman in my forties all whipped up in feminism. Not that I haven't always been a headstrong, hell-bent-on-equality woman, but somehow now it's become more focused for me. These days I have more time as my children are pratically grown up, I'm able to spend more time researching and understanding the roots of feminism. I've discovered something disturbing. Feminists fight with each other about *what* is feminism, who is a feminist and who is not. This has happened throughout history, it's nothing new. We have always been divided, it seems. If you're a woman who likes pornography you aren't a feminist. If you don't have a career you aren't a feminist. If you love reveling in clothes, shoes, make-up and all the typical hallmarks of femininity---you're not a feminist. Apparently there seems to be all kinds of feminist value qualifiers I wasn't aware of. I've done a few other things that would instantly disqualify me from this particular club....my question is: if we are all so obviously different, why do we have to define "feminism" in such strict terms? Why can't we unite under the banner of inclusion based on the fact that we are all oppressed? It turns out the feminist movement has many subsets in which dissent from within is pretty much forbidden. Any criticism of the "movement" is met with anger, and it is my opinion that the "Sisterhood" is a complete myth. We aren't united, we're divided by the fact that many women are intolerant of the all different facets of womanhood---the shades of gray. My only qualifier for the feminist club would be the desire to see the paradigm shift--an end to rape culture and inequality. Like so many movements we have become too mired down in our own self-interests to unite. As a result we end up fighting each other rather than putting our efforts into actually changing the system. Not only does that work for our opposition, but many women just get sick of the in-fighting and give up. If we could ever *actually* unite we would be an undeniable force. Until then I'm putting my foot down....you can't tell me I don't belong.

I enjoy pushing boundaries and exploring. I love digging around in the gray areas of life, trying to be open to understanding all sides of any situation. I have spent a lot of time worrying about growing older. Women have a "shelf life"---that's what I told myself. At a certain point I will be "too old" for anyone, well, men, to be interested in me. That is the narrative women grow up with. That is our value---how attractive we are and our ability to gain the attention and favor of men. It is our measure and meaning. When I turned 40 I figured I was pretty much done....but something was *different* about how I felt. I felt more empowered. I felt "fierce." I felt beautiful in happy in my own skin. Content. I spent my youth in baggy clothes--always. I never wanted to call attention to my body, my curves. This was a difficult proposition, as I've always had large breasts. Hiding those puppies was a challenge. I'd just find the biggest sweaters, slouch my shoulders, cover my butt up with the giant sweater and soldier on. Getting naked was always something that filled me with dread. I didn't want anyone to see my body. I spent a lot of time trying to cover up, or ask that the lights be turned off when I was with the virile young man who would later become my husband. It wasn't that I wasn't sexual, I was....I was just terrified about being judged body-wise. I'm not sure where the hell that came from, but it was a serious thing in my young womanhood. I was just sure that my body, it's attractiveness was what gave me value. How was I to know I was being ridiculous? I figured it out....much later. I won't lament the time I've wasted, life's too great now to worry too much about it. I wanted to embrace this aspect of myself, then let the old insecurities go--to own my body, be proud of it.

When I turned 40 I decided to have a photographer friend of mine do some pin-up shots of me to give to my husband on his 40th birthday. I got all of my favorite vintage clothes out and found some fun things--1940's corsets, Marilyn Monroe-type dresses. I wanted to give him a glimpse of that era of history he loves so much, 1940's WW2 pin-ups. The photo shoot was great, and I got some really great shots for his birthday--and he loved them. The interesting side effect of having these photos done I would never have predicted. Sitting in my pajamas one morning a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she would be going to the Playboy Mansion to volunteer for an event that benefits veterans wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan. She said, "Join me at the Playboy mansion"---wow, who wouldn't want to see that mythical place? As a very young girl I found a box of Playboy magazines in our garage, relegated to a corner where it's presence wouldn't piss off my mother. I remember thumbing through them, 1970 nudeness, hair and breasts spilling out over sun-kissed bodies and tan lines. My measure of beauty was formed pulling magazines out of that box and devouring the contents. Those perfect bodies, beguiling eyes, flowing hair, gorgeous curves. They were the "gold standard" of sexual attractiveness and feminine beauty. My memory flowed as I clicked the link to the website. The page that popped up made me feel a bit deflated---it cost $1,000 to attend this event. Can't afford that....*wait*, down in the corner it said, "Ladies, for your free passes--click here." I'm a lady! *Click* The instructions on this page said to send four photos to the email listed. I pulled out the pin-up photos and filled out the questionnaire, age,(yikes) phone number, etc. No fear! Press the send button. Bye bye. I figured I'd never hear from them...10 minutes later I got a call. I picked up the phone, and the voice on the other end informed me I had a free pass to attend the event. WOW! At my age? I spent some time chatting with the guy who was in charge of gathering the women to attend the party. "You have to wear lingerie, that's the only condition of getting in free." Those words rang in my ears. Wear underpants and walk around the Playboy Mansion? Who did I think I was, Barbie Benton!? I was instantly overwhelmed. What the hell was I thinking? I was 40 years old for pity sake! I had 3 kids, and my 18 year old daughter was more qualified to walk around there in her skivvies than I was, for sure. The thought never occurred to me not to go. It was like hanging out at Graceland before Elvis died! I had to go....since my husband was a veteran he got to go, too--I couldn't leave him out, this was just too awesome!


I stressed out BIGTIME with the prospect of going to the Playboy mansion. I did. I worked out like crazy, I obsessed about what I was going to wear (or what I wasn't going to wear...lol). My husband got high-fives when his friends found out he was going, it was a pretty big deal for a couple of country-bumpkins like us. So....what did I find out about the Playboy mythology? It's an illusion, a fabrication designed to sell a product. Sex and magazines. The women there just looked like highly exaggerated versions of any woman you would see on a daily basis. Well, most had fake boobs, loads of make-up and had obviously been "worked on"--but they didn't spring forth from some perfect genetic pool or anything. They look like you and me--if we spent of time, money and effort on our appearance. Another surprising finding---most of the women were really insecure. The feeling was one of a huge competition. They were all vying for the attentions of men, most of them wealthy and/or famous, who were at the party. I had the luxury of just being able to observe this wild show. I'll admit that it was pretty cool, and I'm totally not sorry I went. I wore my undies proudly--I was fierce! I didn't care who was judging me, I was just happy to catch a glimpse. I cavorted with celebrities, I swam in the grotto with naked women and I got to share a really fun experience with my husband. He got to see the Land of his childhood fantasies and realized that real life---or Burning Man---was a better representation of beauty and sexual freedom. So I crossed the border into the land of the enemy of feminism (twice--we went the next year, too)....and it was fun. It made me examine where my feelings of inadequacy and insecurity about my body came from, and how very far from reality our inner-narratives actually are. Can I still be a card-carrying feminist? Some women who identify as feminists I've told have been horrified. They'd cut my card for sure.


I am a feminist. I like pornography, The job that has defined my life is "Mom", I get my hands just as dirty as men doing hard manual labor because I enjoy it, I've never stopped doing something because a woman should't be able to accomplish it, I have been to the Playboy Mansion twice because I was invited--while there I walked around in my underpants and had a marvelous time. I'm a feminist. I'm going to keep fighting whether you're with me or not.

Gracefully Growing Old? What Defined My Fear of Growing Old Turned Out to be Completely Wrong.....

My daily bitching for today. Growing older. I never really took older adults seriously when they went on about this or that being achy or sore--problems of joints or what-have-you wearing out. My bad on that. I'm almost 45 and I *think* I've taken fairly decent care of myself. I'll tell you what---if you've ever done anything stupid now is the time it catches up with you. Car accidents, epic Frisbee tricks gone horribly wrong, the "watch this!" moments---you seemed invincible at the time. You aren't....trust me on this. It's a thing. Consider this a warning if you're a 20-something---and if you're my age we'll commiserate over a nice, cold beer.





There's something that sticks in my craw. I feel that with age comes wisdom....at least a few mistakes made and recovered from. Found some knowledge. Not that we still don't do stupid things as we continue to grow older. We do, but I'd like to think we do them *less* than we used to. That's the ideal, anyway. It's what we strive for. We also become less inclined to be talked into stupid shenanigans, as we have the ability with experience see through the bullshit a whole bunch better. It's not about "trusting" less than we did when we were younger, I'm convinced. It's more about knowing what you truly want out of life and refusing to settle. In other words we aren't as vulnerable to manipulation as we once were. That's an improvement. For sure. As a woman in her forties I'm learning to love growing older. I have a true respect for what it took to get here, "school of hard knocks" and all that. So with all this experience and wisdom, where are my rewards? Do I get to rise to a level in society as "wise woman" or have respect from younger generations who seek my counsel? Sometimes, but not as often as I would like. More often it seems that people find far more value in youthful women and "newness" rather than admiring the older generation of women which I'm rapidly finding myself. This is not the same for men, it seems. The older men get the more admirable they become--they are seen as stable and trustworthy members of society, mentors with knowledge and power. Women just get "old." When I move into the realm of "attractiveness" as men and women age it's no contest. Men win. Hands down. Why is that? They don't even need to grow old gracefully---they can get fat and unattractive with a sagging ass--still: successful and desirable.





Women are prized for their youth and beauty--their ability to be seen as an asset for the man who is with them. Once that beauty and youth fades so does the admiration. Or so it seems. But is that really the case? I'm going to tell a very personal story to try and expose what I think could be the true reason behind why the pursuit of young women is such an imperative to some men. Manipulation, entitlement and power.



My father was a dashing fellow--he was handsome in an approachable, affable way. He was one of the funniest people I've ever known. He could tell a joke and have everyone in his presence in complete stitches faster than anyone I've ever witnessed--he had that gift of timing and sharp wit. He was the life of the party and everyone adored him. He walked in a room and all eyes turned to him... When somebody speaks of someone having that special "something" I know exactly what they're talking about. That was my dad.. He had gone prematurely gray at an early age (25, I believe) and if I had to compare him to a modern incarnation of a character it would be "Mad Men's" Roger Sterling. Like many men of his generation he had the world in his hands--with all the entitlements and rewards of post-war boom America. Brilliant career, beautiful wife, perfect kids and money. He lived the idyllic suburban dream. First in his family to go to college, finishing off with a PhD in Early Childhood Education, he went on the be a gifted and celebrated school superintendent until he retired in his 60's. My dad was a sly womanizer. Women absolutely loved him--and it was not uncommon to be out in public with him and have some attractive lady hit on him--not subtly, either.(a rather uncomfortable thing to witness as his kid, let me tell you.) We kids never knew he cheated until he divorced our mom after 28 years of marriage, leaving her for a woman he had met at some college lecture he was giving...the woman was 18 when my father met her, my father was in his late 40's. I was seven years old when they divorced, and the "how's" and "why's" of my parent's break-up have defined, for good or bad, how I view long-term relationships and the dynamics between men and women. I grew up with the narrative that the value of women was totally wrapped up in their youth and attractiveness. It didn't matter how wonderful you were as a human being, companion, mother--as a woman you were never assured that you would have a future with a man. As soon as you lost your looks he would be gone. He would trade you in on a better, hotter model. That was my inner-dialog for YEARS. It seems to me that women are masters of self-torture, and it was certainly true in my case. This belief, this instability, affected me in profound and devastating ways. My husband and I have been married just shy of 25 years now, and for him it's been a constant battle. For a long time I required constant reassurance, and my insecurity required deep communication on both our parts. Still, I remained largely unconvinced that my fate would be different from my mother's--even though I thankfully married a man who was polar opposite to my own father. At 45 I finally feel confident in myself....I have also had some deep revelations that has changed the way I see the decision making behind my father's actions.






My dad had a public persona--funny, witty, the life of the party--everybody loved Hal. That is the man I like to remember--the one I wanted to exist but didn't. It has been two years since he passed away, and during that time I have made some discoveries that changed how I viewed his relationship with my mother and ultimately the cause of their break-up. It wasn't what I assumed. My dad was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was impossible to ever truly connect with him. He was emotionally unavailable, distant and cruel. He was brutal in his emotional battery of my mother, he enjoyed watching her suffer under his verbal assaults. He would tell her she was ugly and overweight---never sparing her the further humiliation by saying those things in front of us kids. He did the same to all of us...never kind words, only cruel. He delighted in emotional battery, and I watched him keenly from a very early age, studying his methods---he would try different avenues to find your weak spots, once he defined what it was that hurt you it was "game-on." He would tell my brother he was stupid--that he would never amount to anything. He would tell my sister she was a slut, and that he was ashamed to even acknowledge that he was her father. He would tell my mother that she was a complete failure, that she used to be beautiful--but now she was ugly, fat and disgusting. I was the baby...he spared me a lot of what was directed at my mother and siblings until I got older. I spent much of my childhood observing his systematic destruction of the people he claimed to love. He destroyed my mother. My older and younger brothers both died at 23, too young and under tragic, avoidable circumstances. My sister was an alcoholic from an early age, and eventually succumbed to the method she used to escape her pain. She past away from alcohol-related illness last September. By the time my father turned he derision to me I had already figured out the game...and I refused to play it. I never let him control me. I was left with a void where the relationship with him would have been, and I regret not having a better father. But he was what he was, and for better or worse I got what I got. I decided to learn what I could from him, love him for what he was and move past the dysfunction rather than letting it consume me. As I have started to deeply question his motivations things I didn't expect have cropped up. My father's departure for a much-younger woman is only *part* of the story, it seems.







My father totally broke my mother emotionally. By the time she refused to fight back the writing was already on the wall. He was done. Challenge over. She had nothing left to give him. Time to move on to the next woman to conquer. When he met his future wife number two he was already grooming her for his particular brand of control and dominance. That is what he craved....not younger women, but a woman who would bend to his will, live under his control and submit. He appreciated that she would fight back, but only so he could beat her down and feel accomplishment when she relinquished more control to him. Most young women just don't have the life experience to know how to navigate or recognize unhealthy behavior. They are eager to please and ignore the early signs of an abuser. This was the big reveal for me....my father didn't leave my mother for a younger, more attractive woman--he left my mother for someone he could more readily manipulate. Someone malleable. My mother was no longer malleable....he pushed her too far and broke her. That was the pattern for the rest of his life---to dominate and control all people in his life. If he "loved" you he felt compelled to control you. That is where love felt comfortable to him--only when he controlled it.






In a way my father grew up in what would be considered the perfect time for him and his personal methodology. He could act like an asshole, leave his family and responsibilities in pursuit of what appeared to be greener pastures. Those were the days--the 50's, 60's and 70's--you could abuse your wife and family and nobody really batted an eye. You could marry a much-younger woman and your friends would pat you on the back, "Good job, Mr. Stud." I'd like to say it's different now.....but I can't. Yet. The issue here is larger than my experience with my father---it's everywhere. The current societal structure rewards misogynistic behavior in men, and continues to deny true empowerment to women---and men--just FYI--"Female Empowerment" does not mean the ability to have "indiscriminate sex" with you. Young women are celebrated for their beauty and malleability. Older women are shamed into silence and discarded for lack of value. What it boils down to is that many men do not want to be challenged to change their irresponsible behavior, they want to keep cruising down the easy road of male entitlement. Older women won't put up with their shit---so out we go. This is unacceptable....time for a paradigm change.