a little bit dangerous

“All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dreams with open eyes, to make it possible.” – T E Lawrence

where we're going now

"Traveler, there is no path. Paths are made by walking." - Antonio Machado

most influential book #3- Unbowed: A Memoir by Wangari Maathai

I haven't even read this book yet, but I know I am going to love it. Wangari Maathai is such an inspiration to me.  I am almost afraid to read this book because I think it will likely be one of those that rattles me to the core and might actually help change the course of my life. I'm going to order it today and see what happens when I open the pages. Here is the preview.

feminist dads

"We need to teach our daughters that their time and money are limited resources- and that their lives are richer when they invest those resources in their courage, brains and heart. Investing an overabundance of time and money in the latest fashion fad only plays into the hands of marketers willing to sacrifice a girl's confidence in order to make a buck."

- Dads & Daughters by Joe Kelly

bedtime reading

A blog about change

http://www.thechangeblog.com/

Lots of interesting articles about well, life and living.

sunday inspiration

I like these TED talks you know? I especially get into them when I am down and out like today. This one is given by Aimee Mullins and is about the Opportunity of Adversity. My good friend sent it to me this morning to help lift the clouds.

I want to say more...

Tracey Emin.
You may know of her, and if you do, you probably have some strong feelings regarding her art. What I am trying to say is that you may love her or hate her (and her work), but it is unlikely that she ever stirs up indifference. I personally have oscillated between feeling like she is pure genius vs. a total hack that has duped us all. Actually, I only very briefly disliked her when I discovered that her father was a Turkish diplomat and that she got to go to posh art schools in London. Those facts tarnished my romantic ideals of authenticity at the time, but I am over it now, and have settled on believing that she is raw and full of gutsy talent.

I first came across her in the tail end of the 1990s, when news of her sensational piece "My Bed" had shaken up the art world. Forgive me because I am not so good at remembering the details (and not in the mood to fact check), but it sold for some ridiculous amount. It was a bed she had slept, cried, bled, eaten and had sex in. The sheets were stained with despair. This bed was put on display and someone bought it for alot of money. I had such a bed at the time, if only I had thought to sell it...

Much of her work deals with rape and abortion and matters of love, sex and the heart. It is uncensored and candid in a way that is rarely matched. I was lucky enough to look at some of her work in person when I was lost and broke and living in London. Amazing how a few words scribbled on a page (or a wall) can electrify.

most influential book #2- Women's Bodies Women's Wisdom by Dr. Christiane Northrup

I have read this book cover to cover many, many times over. I lend out/ give this book away constantly. I have bought 5 copies of it in the last 10 years. This book is my bible! First thing I ever read about taking your intuition seriously and not drowning your health issues in pharmaceuticals. Dr. Northrup teaches us that the body is wise and we should listen to it. She taught me that maybe my ovaries were exploding because I was doing work that I hated or stifling my creativity. What I love best about this book is that it appeals to the masses because it was written by an open minded MD who happens to be into chakras and intuitive healing, but is never flakey. Guaranteed to change the way you think about your body and your health.

belly full of fire

If you know me well, you will know that I love dance and musical theatre of all sorts. I don't care if the effort is amateur or polished, I will ferociously applaud anyone with enough guts to get up on stage in front of people and perform! I was at the resort show every night in Dominican and I loved every second of it!!


What I loved most was this: the dancers came in all shapes and sizes! The women (and the men too!) were tall, short, heavy set, waifish, light skinned, dark skinned, curvy, glamorous, plain, EVERYTHING! It was  so exciting because sadly you would never see that in North America in a dance show. There were beautiful bare bellies of all descriptions and not one of those dancers was self conscious. 


I want to include this article from Sexis  because it is a brilliant read! Enjoy:

Fire in the Belly: Self-Love and Navel Gazing 
By G.L Morrison


My lover made up a modern proverb: “A woman who loves her belly loves her body.” I don’t think it will catch on. It’s true that women, particularly modern women in Western culture, have a love-hate (or even a hate-hate) relationship with their bellies. Why? What did that sweet bump of skin (located as it is under the two much glamorized and beloved fat-bags) do to deserve such scorn?

The High Cost of Low Self-Esteem

“I think it would be nice if hating the way you look weren't so good for the economy...We know, too, that women in ads, knockouts to start with, are artificially perfected beyond human emulation. We know, but we forget.”
—Anne Bolin

Your skin is too dry. Your hair is too flaky. You can pinch an inch. You smell “not so fresh.” Your clothes are out of style. Your pimples are huge. You have bad breath. Literally hundreds of industries depend on your believing all that. There are the primary offenders: the people who make shampoo and mouthwash and diet sodas. Then there are the secondary offenders, the accomplices: the people who make their money from advertising said products. That’s ad agencies, television stations, newspaper, radio, and magazines—and all their shareholders. A lot of people are depending on you to hate yourself enough to pay to put their kids through college.

And along the skin highway between two favored recreation spots is a much-overlooked delight. The belly.

 Belly History

“The ideal shape tends to be whatever is most difficult to achieve during a given time period. If too many women were able to meet the ideal, then standards would have to change for the ideal to retain its extraordinary nature.”
—Pauline Weston Thomas, Fashion-era.com

Circa 24,000-22,000 BCE, the Venus of Willendorf was the hottest chick around. Literally the oldest representation of a person, Ms. Willendorf is the ultimate BBW. Beautiful round belly exposed; the figurine is carved with attention to detail, right down to her fat dimpled knees.

Something happened between 24,000 BCE and 1800 CE and bellies got the worst of it. The Victorians, (so sexually uptight they covered up furniture legs as too suggestive!) may not have invented, but certainly perfected the corset. The “new ideal woman” was plump of hip, butt and breast but belly-bound. Restrictive corsets caused a variety of health problems with breathing and digestion; forcing the fashion victim’s internal organs to migrate as they were literally squeezed out of the belly in favor of the “hourglass” figure.

 I, Belly: Present Tense

“Loving yourself in a world of hate is the most radical, the most political thing you can do.”
—G.L. Morrison, from Weighing Desire

I am a SSBBW. Super-sized, Big, Beautiful Woman. My belly would make Ms. Willendorf gasp with envy. And yes, I do own a bikini or two. (I prefer to swim nude but so few pools accommodate that. We took over the hotel pool at NAAFA fat feminist conferences to go “chunky dunking”—that’s big girl speak for “skinny dipping.”)

The past is not a blueprint for the future. I am committed to live my life the way I want and to create the world I want to live in. So far, my influence hasn’t extended to ending war or world hunger, but I personally have helped hundreds of women love their belly bumps... and get jiggy with each jiggly roll.

I’ve read my happy fat poems all across the country, and women of all sizes come up and thank me; and tell me stories of struggle toward self acceptance. I have had dozens, possibly hundreds (who has time to count?) of lovers whose big, beautiful bodies are reflected lovingly in my eyes. I tell them what is sexy often enough they believe it, know it. Together we are making a “new ideal woman” for the future. She is full of herself. She has a belly full of fire. A big, beautiful belly.

Every day isn’t a hailstorm of self-applause. I have moments of weakness and intolerance. Weird moments in the mirror; not recognizing who I see there. Flashback 1982: First trimester of my pregnancy, I rubbed lotion into my scar-free skin every night. The routine waned as my belly waxed: huge, pale as a full moon. By week 30, my belly was an angry melon someone had attacked with a fork. 2010: Red, swollen welts like tire-tracks still cover it.

An important part of self-love is surrounding myself with good mirrors. Love is the best mirror. I don’t accept lovers who don’t love me big and delicious as I am. It’s impossible to watch your lover trace your scars or wide curves with pleasure and fascination and not catch some of his/her enthusiasm. How can you scorn something someone you love worships?

 Belly, Belly Well

“Lifting belly fattily. Doesn’t that astonish you.
You did want me.
Say it again.”
—Gertrude Stein

How do I love my belly, when billions of dollars every year is spent teaching me (and others) to hate it/me? Just remembering: This is my body, not their billboard. I live here. I love here. I feel what’s right “in my gut.” I hold days and thoughts and certain hours in every cell. History is etched in my DNA. My history and the history of every big-bellied woman in my bloodline back to the big, fat dawn of time. My body remembers all that; it stretches with what I fill it with. My ample hip remembers the lips that lovers pressed there while their kisses traveled the generous road of belly. The rippling belly swells to remember my last lover, my first child and a hundred dinners (breaded crab on a jazz-blasted balcony in Bourbon Street; the cheap magic of chili dogs; dim sum one New York Sunday; all-you-can-eat sushi Sundays in Salt Lake City). There is hardly room for the memories I am storing there. There is no room for self-doubt. And when some creeps in, I crowd it out with all the good belly stuff. Chase it away with a heart-felt belly laugh.

i've missed you

Forgive my absence. I have been away on perhaps the most eventful vacation to date and am still shaking my head and trying to settle back into daily life. Not an easy task to go back to mundane routine when somehow your mind has changed about everything!! I experienced biblical weather, civil unrest, men with guns, foreign languages, bus rides, broken planes, delays and confusion, beaches, buffet food, in-laws, stomach issues, camera problems, family bonding, new friends, ideas, novel reading, sun tanning, no internet/phone or mobile reception, swimming in the ocean and perspective. 

Every time I visit a developing country I remember how lucky I am and how spoiled we are in the Western world. What can I say? It is beautiful to be away from our excess, but so very hard to come back to it. 

anti-production

There was so much I was supposed to do tonight... I was going to pack and clean up, put the laundry away, wash my hair and prepare myself for tomorrow. I was going to put up posts about 2 things I have been meaning to write about. Instead all I have done is agonize over fonts on this thing. Seriously fonts have eaten up my night. Suddenly, it is past my bedtime, I am grouchy and have accomplished nothing that I set out to do. And I still don't like the font and layout options.

I hope I do not wake up in the winter of my life realizing that I have been agonizing over insignificant details when I should have been living.

On Monday, the plane will not wait for me. And death will not wait while we finish up our life's work either.

what's for dinner?

I saw this documentary last night and it reminded me about why I chose to be vegetarian and vegan for so long. Now that I am eating (some) animal products again, I want to be aware of where those products are coming from and how I may be contributing to these gross practices of modern food production as an individual.

Food Inc. provides a good overview of the production and modification of the foods we eat, but also touches on the ethical and social issues relating to poverty and the exploitation of people who work in the food industry. The fact that it is cheaper for a family to buy 2 hamburgers from McD's than a head of broccoli breaks my heart. These massive meat packing plants bus immigrants in from Mexico to work for very low wages, only to later arrest and deport them. I wish everyone in the western world would watch this film so that those of us who can afford to can start making smarter choices with our dollars. Awareness is always the first step.

There are solutions: try to buy local and organic and try not to support large corporations who exploit their employees with your consumer dollars.

mixtape: more songs of love and devotion.

Subtle love. So pretty. I'm in love with the lyrics.
Blood Bank- Bon Iver


Lusty love. Makes me want to go dancing in a dark smoky lounge (a la Dirty Dancing).
Cry To Me- Solomon Burke (1962)


When I was a kid, my best friend's mom loved this song. I totally see why. Blatant romance, 80s style.
Slave To Love- Bryan Ferry (1985)


Try and listen to this song without getting a little misty. This song gets me in the guts. Kate Bush is a genius. I cry everytime.
This Woman's Work- Kate Bush (1989)


Its not fashionable to like ABBA, but my grandma played this for me on her big 1970s wooden record player when I was a wee girl. Now I can't listen to it without feeling uplifted and hopeful. Try it, you'll see! It's about best friends helping each other through hard times. What could be better than that really? That is pure love.
Chiquitita- ABBA (1979)


Not a love song in the obvious sense, but all about hope and defeat. Heart breaking in the best way possible. No matter how much I listen, I never tire of this song.
The Greatest- Cat Power (2006)


Lonely optimism. My favorite by my favorite. Sounds like stardust in the middle of nowhere... As good a reason as any.
Atmosphere- Joy Division (1980)

love day

While I'm not so much into a commercialized holiday that encourages the spending of money to create 'romance', I have always been very much into LOVE. All varieties in fact; romantic or otherwise...

I am pulled around through life by the heartstrings.

The most magical thing about music is the way it can capture the depth and complexity of love. For whatever reason, my heart bursts a little every time I hear this.

Happy Valentine's Day!


Let Me Roll It- Paul McCartney & Wings (1974)

8 days late

Ugh.

Looks like my new years resolution of 3 posts per week has already been demolished by my inability to keep up with life.

There are so many things I can't find. So much sleep that has been lost. I don't know what bills are overdue or how much money is in the bank. Clothes are discarded and piled high on furniture in disarray, on top of papers and receipts and bobby pins and books and hopefully on top of a brass locket I'm looking for. This is bad news for a psuedo type A personality.

I think to myself:
It doesn't matter, nobody really cares to read this anyway/ There might be 3 people who are reading and if I don't stay consistent, they will forget to check on me/ I will do better next week and the week after and the week after. Promises, promises...

There is a lot of hopefulness buried under layers of defeat and procrastination. Fatigue has a way of hiding things.

Sorry if you've been waiting...

most influential book #1- The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf

In the spirit of 2 of my favorite things: reading and lists, I will compile the most influential books of my life. In my efforts to avoid form in this blog, they will be listed at random in no particular order.

#1- The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf

Sure, I know this is a cliched Feminism 101 book, but I can honestly separate my life into 2 parts; before The Beauty Myth and after.

I got my hands on a copy when I was about 20 years old, although the damage had already been done by then and it would take years (or maybe even a lifetime) to undo. I was a month away from moving overseas and staying at my best friends apartment. She was going to university at the time and had a copy on her shelf. I picked it up and gave it a chance. It ripped the wool right off of my eyes. Forever.

Oh how I wish for this book to be required reading in grade 9 classes! If you haven't read this book you should. Especially if you're a woman. Especially if you're a man. I hope my unborn daughter will read it before she starts to hate herself and starts believing her worth is measured by how beautiful the world thinks she is.

fingerpopping

Tonight, when I was walking home from work after a long day of administrative tasks, I was startled by 3 boys who couldn't have been more than 10 years old. They were jumping on and running across cars. They'd jump up on the hood and run over the roof and slid down the frosty rear windows. They became more aggressive about this obvious disrespect once they noticed me. I kind of half expected that they would stop, me being an adult catching them in the act, but that was not the case. Instead the focus turned to me and they made every effort to intimidate me. I continued on my path, and tried to resist the urge to cross to the other side. They spat on cars and the sidewalk and swore and broke whatever they could off of cars. My internal responsible adult wanted to speak up, to scold them, but I was afraid of these 10 year olds. I kept on my path, walking only a few feet behind them until I reached my house. It was the only thing I could do. I did not want to let myself be terrorized by these kids. Right before I crossed over, one of the boys made a gun gesture with his hand, turned and pointed it at me and said, "Shots to the head, Bitch!"

I'm filled with sadness about how these children have adopted such violence and dangerous ideas about power. How does an innocent child transform into this kind of menace? I was made painfully aware of my vulnerability as a woman and how our culture has gone oh-so-wrong. Especially when it comes to youth. They are so very impressionable aren't they? I actually think if that kid had a gun he would've shot me without thinking twice.

because I'm a girl too

If you live in Canada (or the UK), this is a good place to start:

www.plancanada.ca or www.plan-uk.org

I wanted to go to a fundraiser for Haiti relief last night, but was too exhausted. I asked my co-worker, who was organizing the event, if I could contribute anyway and she sent me to Plan Canada's website. Whatever donations you make will be matched by the government to sweeten the deal. While digging around on their website, I found some great opportunities to help.

Maybe you have seen the "Because I am a Girl" campaign ads on the subway? This is a great program that helps young girls in developing countries that are condemned to lives of inequality and poverty. Some stats from the website:

-Girls aged 15-19 account for 50% of victims of sexual assault worldwide
-Birth complications and unsafe abortions are the leading cause of death for young women aged 15-19

-Seventy per cent of the 1.5billion people living on less than a dollar a day are female
-Stunted growth in estimated 450million women as a result of childhood malnutrition
-Approximately 7.3million young women are living with HIV/AIDS, in comparison to 4.3million men
-Two thirds of 15-19-year-olds newly infected with HIV in sub-Saharan Africa are female

There is an option to sponsor a child, and buy gifts of hope including home birthing kits and literacy training for 2 women ($100!). Who's with me on this? Lets get involved. If women's issues aren't your thing, you can buy a clean water for a family, polio vaccines, mosquito nets, mango trees, a pig, cow or goat and then write it off on your taxes. Everybody wins!

some hearts bleed

I have to post a response about Haiti because I can't stop thinking about Haiti.

Like many, I don't really know what to do about this tragedy or any other. The amount of people on the nightly news who want to lend a hand, a dollar, their time and energy is uplifting. For every person who cares, there are many more who do not want to think or talk about sad or depressing circumstances. I find it impossible to forget the suffering of the world through the comforts of western life. I created this blog in the hopes that the process would lead to my learning how to be an active activist.

So, donate to Red Cross when I'm buying groceries? It feels sickening to have so much. Its like, okay, here is my twoonie for the good cause and now I can go back and watch tv and read fashion magazines and forget again.

I hope to find ways to give. I will share them with you.

inspiration vs. perspiration

Thomas Edison said that genius is 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration.

I find myself chasing after that elusive 1% all the time. They are slippery, those moments of clarity when the ideas come to you perfectly out of thin air. If you're not careful, these precious moments will slide aside in a heartbeat to accommodate any old mundane distraction.

Why does the inspiration always strike in the most inopportune times? In the shower when hands are wet and soapy and one cannot write down the words that are coming together. While walking, trying to fall asleep, and especially right before work. When inspiration hits with the poorest of timing, I always convince myself that I will remember; that the ideas will come back to me just as naturally as they had in the first place.

And I never quite get them back intact. Not with the same gusto anyway.

This is where the perspiration comes in.

something to look forward to

What a truly heartwarming idea.

Whether you are interested in them or not, babies are the great equalizer. No matter where you live or how, the experience of having children really levels the playing field. I love the way this film captures that magic and gives us a cross cultural glimpse of how similar we all are as human beings. The trailer alone speaks volumes about culture (different and universal simultaneously) and the natural world vs. modern times. This film has the same kind of thought provoking imagery as the 1992 materpiece Baraka.

I can't wait to see this documentary, mostly for the footage of Nambia and Mongolia. That scene with the little mongolian baby crawling across the field, mountains in the distance, makes me so unbelievably happy! And the babies in Nambia playing with rocks in the dirt... Perfection.

good omen

My heart shaped macadamia nut.

I wish I could read german

German's most popular women's magazine, Brigitte, has declared it will no longer use professional models. Instead Brigitte will feature a mix of prominent women and readers from ages 25-45. Just the age range alone is revolutionary!! The magazine has called upon its readers to model and to give feedback about who they would like to see in future issues.

This is huge! This is political. I applaud the publishers of Brigitte and the women of Germany for embracing such a progressive concept!

I am sure the fashion world is gasping in horror at such a decision, but women everywhere should be cheering! I am.

There is no disputing the fact that the media and advertising need to improve the images that are being sent out to young women (and everyone really). There is no denying that young women are more f-ed up about their bodies than ever, and that eating disorders are literally a house hold problem.

Young women of today are consumed and using their vital energy to change themselves physically and conform to beauty ideals that are unrealistic and so difficult to achieve. This is inextricably linked to the cycle of patriarchy. How can a woman have any real power if her life is devoted to chasing the beauty myth?

Holding on to our current demented ideals of female beauty is not doing the world any good. I don't understand why the fashion industry is so dead set on maintaining this standard, other than it is established and generates an awful lot of money. I, for one, am really tired of being told how to be cool, how to look, what to like and what to buy.

Of course, someone always has to be a critic. Brigitte is already getting flack for not doing enough to change the beauty standard and fight against anorexia. They are still featuring actors and other conventionally beautiful women. In my opinion, change takes time and you can't undo hundreds of years of beauty brainwashing overnight. Lets just hope that Brigitte magazine can be brave enough to continue to buck the system and influence others to follow suit.

I dream of spaces

Remember that song by the Scorpions? Winds of change? Yeah, the one with the whistling... (Apologies in advance for sticking it in your head too).. I am (regretably) hearing this song in my head while I comb the internet in search of wonderful apartments in victorian houses on side streets with lots of space

and high ceilings

and tall windows

and laundry

and outdoor space

and closets

(that I can actually afford to rent).

Herringbone floors would be really nice as well. I am obsessed with herringbone floors. Is that too much to ask? Does such a place even exist? The winds of change are blowing again...

My constant urge to change spaces began with my nomadic mother. She would pack up and move our little family to a new apartment or city, or even one time to live like locals in Puerto Vallerta, whenever the wind blew or life demanded it. And I adopted this way of life as my own. A desire for new surroundings like a blank canvas with which to start over again. This next move that I am dreaming of will be my 46th. By some miracle, not once have I ever lost my keys.

Over the holidays, I had lunch with an old friend who told me her parents had to sell her childhood home. The place she grew up and lived in her entire pre-adult life. I felt a twinge of sadness upon hearing this news, but surely nothing in comparison to the loss she must feel to part with a place so rich with memories.

Perhaps I am ready to know what home feels like.

new life

I always enjoy a little retrospective early on in the new year, even more so when the whole decade is fresh. Something about that zero makes it feel like anything just might be possible if the stars are right. Time to think about what you realllllly want, because chances are its different than what you got last year. And if you're anything like me, you'll do some thinking about where you came from and how far you still have to go. I can't help but wonder how I will ever get there. Sigh.

I thought of writing a list of everything I have done on NYE for the past 10 years. Then I realized that nearly every New Year's Eve has been spent in bars-- working! So I dug up as many old journals as I could find to see what my past resolutions were, only to realize that most every year recorded (15 years and older) I was just as lost and restless as I am now in my thirties. There is nothing like revisiting words from years ago to make one cringe in horror. Although I may still be feeling my way blindly through life, at least I know I've become wiser. (Perhaps I'll even share some of my embarrassing teenage diary when I am feeling self deprecating. We can all have a laugh at the drama of youth!)

In 2010, I will:

learn to drive
write something, anything... (update this blog 3 times a week, among other things)
make a home
make the impossible, possible


What will you do this year? I am genuinely interested; so go on, tell me your dreams!