Almostgotit.com

You may already have read “Invisible Mother,” (text below). As best as I can tell it’s been circulating online since at least 2005, via email, message boards, and dozens and dozens of blogs — but it is always credited to a nameless author.

Because she’s invisible. Get it?

I do not like to post things without an artist’s permission, much less without attribution. That’s called “plagiarism,” and is a form of theft.

Nevertheless, the hundreds of postings by hundreds of women all happily conspiring with the invisible author to keep her that way is wonderfully ironic, quite aside from the funny loveliness of the piece itself.
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While I do not love every word written (or philosophy espoused) by Marianne Williamson, I do love these words: 

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

-Marianne Williamson

Ten honeymoons in ten days, hoo boy! I’ve just written and posted the last of them for The Rocky Road of Love blog.  While the honeymoons are pretend, every one of these places really exist and really would accept visitors (that was the “rule” I made for myself when researching them.)  Anyway, here are links to the final five. (You can revisit summaries of the first five honeymoons by clicking here.)

 Tree House: Turkish Wedding Soup with Spiced Sauce

A treehouse, a freehouse,
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.

A street house, a neat house,
Be sure and wipe your feet house,
Is not my kind of house at all –
Let’s go live in a tree house.

I was inspired by Shel Silverstein’s poem, then I found a real funky-looking treehouse hotel in Turkey and a romantic recipe to go with it.

Tropical Honeymoon in Aruba: Baked Bananas with Rum Sauce

Guilt drove me to give the couple a brief respite at a more typical honeymoon locale.

The “Baked Bananas with Rum Sauce” recipe seems to have been particularly popular, too.

Gee, bananas. Who knew?

To the (Australian) Lighthouse: Lighthouse Cocktails

In researching this one, I fell in love with the Straviken lighthouse in Sweden, but still felt guilty. (My life.  Guilt.)  This time I worried about sending the lovers to someplace so cold in February.  So I found a lighthouse hotel for them in Australia, instead.

There followed a lively exchange (see post’s comments!) with the Straviken’s owner about whether or not there are polar bears in Scandanavia. 

N.B.: There aren’t.

Honey, let’s play (Spanish) Caveman: Quick Vegetarian Paella

I used my own experience staying in a Spanish cave hotel near the Alhambra in Grenada for this one.

And have been yearning for Flamenco music and sangria ever since.

I also finally figured out a way to cook paella that doesn’t call for a million weird ingredients and doesn’t take all day to cook, either.

(Unlike this post, which is giving me absolute fits, probably because of all the pictures.  Wordpress codemakers have some ’splaining to do!!)

Romance on (Ice Hotels) Ice: How to Make an Ice Bowl

Sam and Harry are due home later today, but I have one last honeymoon fantasy to spin for them. This time, it’s a hotel entirely made of ice.  I wanted to make a hotel entirely out of ice too, but decided to settle for making an ice bowl instead.  It took me a while to work out the directions, finally settling for a sort of “Ice Bowls for Dummies” approach (the kind I’d prefer myself) and was quite pleased with it. 

Here’s a link to summaries of my previous five “Honeymoons”, which I’ve just updated.  Don’t expect pictures, though, because I’m done messing with them!

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Treehouse Image: Kadir’s Treehouses in Olympos, Turkey
Divi Tree Image: Manchebo Beach Resort & Spa, Aruba 
Lighthouse Image: Cape Otway Lightstation (original photo source unknown)
View of Alhambra from the Sacromonte: Photograph © John Willer and used with permission.
Ice Bowl: Creative Commons photo by EuphoriaLand

I’m guest blogging this week over at the Rocky Road of Love, where foodies Sam and Harry have finally married each other and are off on their honeymoon. I’ve been trying to guess where they are and what they might be eating. Today I’ve got them staying at a floating resort in Canada, accessible only by sea plane, feeding them a wonderful salmon quiche (recipe provided!) Come by for a visit!

Creative Commons Photo by estherase

Well, that was a strange little interlude.

It seems my predecessor wasn’t quite so eager to resign after all, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem except that the Board of Directors wasn’t quite sure they could do (ANYTHING) without her, either. So I decided they’d have to do without me instead, and here I am.

The “no succession plan” scenario is, unfortunately, far too common in the nonprofit world (most churches require retiring ministers to leave the congregation entirely, for this very reason). Perhaps this Board will do a better job next time; for my part, I suppose I’ll chalk it up to learning how to fail faster; I was just glad I saw the no-win situation for what it was as soon as I did, and got out before there were any actual murders.

My friend Emily has asked me to guest-host her “Rocky Road of Love” blog for the next week or so (starting Monday) while she is in PARIS doing some research (she’s a writer, and does that sort of thing.) I think she mainly wants to see me get off my dark-night-of-the-soul butt, but it’s very kind of her and I think it will be a lot of fun. Stay tuned!

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Photo by MSNBC

You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.

The world of science lives fairly comfortably with paradox. We know that light is a wave, and also that light is a particle. The discoveries made in the infinitely small world of particle physics indicate randomness and chance, and I do not find it any more difficult to live with the paradox of a universe of randomness and chance and a universe of pattern and purpose than I do with light as a wave and light as a particle. Living with contradiction is nothing new to the human being.

I do not think that I will ever reach a stage when I will say, “This is what I believe. Finished.” What I believe is alive … and open to growth.

Our truest responsibility to the irrationality of the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find the truth.

Author Madeleine L’Engle died yesterday, at the age of 88 — still far too soon. God’s Peace, Madeleine.

Remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels.
- Faith Whittlesey

Many thanks to WorkingGirl for the heads up after my previous post; I found the NPR link in which Robert Olen Butler talks about his now-infamous e-mail. Wow.

Butler insists that his initial email about the break-up, as well as all of his subsequent public blather, is meant to prevent people from saying terrible things about his wife — things which he details, of course. Butler also claims to be deeply grieved that Dewberry, “like many women,” (all we inept little wives, in other words) “had trouble living in the shadow of a stronger man.”

What a liar. The truth is that he’s mad as hell at her. He’s also overwhelmed with embarrassment. Ego-man Butler publically lost his trophy wife to a much-more-famous man. Moreover, she was a wife who had been a trial and a challenge to him since day #1, not because of her inadequacies but because of her irrepressible accomplishments: her very competency. By getting away from him in the end, she finally proved to be a challenge he could neither master nor meet. Pathetically, he is now trying to snatch the attention and victory back for himself by attempting to make Elizabeth Dewberry look like a freak; alas, he only succeeds in making himself look like one.

Creative Commons photo by Sister 72

Author Elizabeth Dewberry has just left her husband for Ted Turner. Dr. Dewberry’s husband is some guy named Robert Olen Butler, and I’m delighted to say I’ve never heard of him.

Apparently Butler is both a professor and a Pulitzer-prize winning author himself. I didn’t know this. What I did know was that his now-estranged wife is no slouch. She’s served as a Playwright-in-Residence, has written plays, articles and at least four novels, one of which is called His Lovely Wife, which I quoted in an earlier post because its description of what it can be like, being married to a professor, was so spot on. I didn’t realize it was quite so autobiographical! Apparently, Dewberry — who is quite lovely — often found herself being introduced just like that, as in, “And here is Pulitzer-Prize-Winning Author, Robert Olen Butler!!” pause. “..and his lovely wife, Elizabeth Dewberry.”

Butler is currently in a lather because of an email about the affair which he sent around to a few of his students, which “somehow” was released to Gawker. I have no idea what Dewberry thinks of her husband’s revelations about her own life history, but Butler clearly believes himself to be quite the unappreciated hero.

In truth, he sounds like a patronizing, class “A” jerk. Not all that different from the other men he describes as Dewberry’s abusers.

Butler (whom, I’m pleased to repeat, I’d never heard of) bemoans the fact that his pretty little wife could never get out of his mighty, Pulitzer-winning shadow, despite his best efforts to pat her on the head as often as he could. This from a man who, rumors have it, once told someone wanting to introduce him at a conference that “When you have won the Pulitzer, you no longer require an introduction.”

Nice. And a great guy to be married to, I’m sure. I wonder what Mr. Marilee Jones is like?

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Related Posts:

The Devil in Ms. Jones: His Lovely Wife
How to (almost) get Marilee

I’m nobody! Who are you?

I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?

Then there’s a pair of us — don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog

To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Photos by Almostgotit

Poem by Emily Dickinson

We have a wonderful used-book store in our city, which until recently was within walking distance of our house.  One of our favorite pastimes was to rummage through the “free bins” parked outside the store. 

We found many treasures in it:  a whole entire set of encyclopedias, for instance, missing only “volume 11.”  Thousands of Martha Stewart magazines, back when she even still dared put her face on every cover.  Tattered books in Italian, or about calculus, with which to impress one’s older brother.  And once, an ancient copy of Atlantic Monthly, in which I found an essay by Marilynne Robinson about courage and the petty coercion of society that conspires against it.  It was gorgeous.

It drove me crazy to misplace it, which I inevitably did, almost immediately.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, in a fit of extravagance, I ordered several books from Amazon.com (to get the “free shipping,” of course) and among them I chose one by Marilynne Robinson called The Death of Adam: Essays on Modern Thought.  I’d seen the list of contents and knew my essay wasn’t in it.

But tonight, after an exhausting day I started leafing through the book.  And there, at the very end, the final essay in the collection, I found it.  Really!  I don’t know how it got there, but it feels like a gift.  This is what it’s called:

“The Tyranny of Petty Coercion.”

Which (my usually good memory not-withstanding) apparently appeared in the August 2004 issue of Harper’s Monthly, not in the Atlantic, and here, moreover, is a quote:

Courage seems to me to be dependent on cultural definition.  By this I do not mean only that it is a word that blesses different behaviors in different cultures, though that is clearly true.  I mean also, and more importantly, that courage is rarely expressed except where there is sufficient consensus to support it.  Theologians used to write about a prevenient grace, which enables the soul to accept grace itself.  Perhaps there must also be a prevenient courage to nerve one to be brave.  It is we human beings who give one another permission to show courage, or, more typically, withhold such permission.  We also internalize prohibitions, enforcing them on ourselves – prohibitions against, for example, expressing an honest doubt, or entertaining one.  This ought not to be true in a civilization like ours, historically committed to valuing individual conscience and free expression.  But it is.

. . .

It is sad to consider how much first-rate courage must be devoted in this world to struggling out of the toils of sheer pettiness.  The Saudi women who first drove automobiles risked and suffered penalties, overcame inhibitions, and shattered norms, heroic in their defiance of an absurd convention. We have our own Rosa Parks.  That such great courage should have been required to challenge such petty barriers is a demonstration of the power of social consensus.  How many minor coercions are required to sustain similar customs and usages?  How aware are any of us, absent direct challenge, of how we also deal in trivial coercion?

Click here to read The Tyranny of Petty Coercion article