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kittydesadeWell that was a scintillating and depressing conversation with someone who apparently is a navy wife and dealing with her husband being shipped out all the time. My lovely sailor boy, thank the Goddess, has been out of the navy for about a year and a half to two years. And yet when this whole Iraq conflict started, even a little before the official war, he was getting phone calls from recruiters. Scared the daylights out of us.
That and family cloning. Namely, the phenomenon whereby your mother or father wants you to be just like them. It sounds like a popular evil these days. I thank the Goddess and my eclectic childhood that I was never subject to that. My grandmother always said I would grow up to write the Great American Novel and encouraged me to seek publication. My mother has never discouraged me from doing what I want to do, and better still never said I told you so if I messed up. My aunt, dear woman that she is, is always trading tips on publishing with me (she's a writer too). No one in my family is inclined to tell me that I should turn out just like them. Which is very odd, because I seem to be ending up like them. Ah well. Better by choice than by force.
It seems like a lot of people are having problems with their families these days, which is... extremely depressing. And I don't know what to do, because every time I think of this all I can think of is, there but for the grace of the Goddess go I. I was raised in an extraordinarily eclectic household. Bilingual English/Spanish from both Spain and Mexico. Went to the theatre.. not the movie theatre, but the real live stage theatre... at least three or four times a year. Saw plays, musicals, ballet. Read Poe as a child, Shakespeare, Milton, T.S. Eliot. Never knew what life was like without a computer, even when they were back on those gold and black screens. Rode horses from the time I was ... I can't even remember when my mother put me on the first pony. I even remember the name of the pony I rode most often, though. Gingersnap. And there was another one, a pinto. Grew up amidst international politics, learning about Pinochet and having my mother explain to me what it was like to listen to the I Have A Dream speech (and then later getting caught 'cause her picture was in the paper as one of the throng who'd turned out to see him, but she was supposed to be in school that day!) The Cinco de Mayo riots. Hearing about gunshots at the Mall and thinking, oh dear Goddess, my mother works there. Living in a city full of bustling people in suits looking grave. Walking to school past three embassies and a ... something. Some federal building. Driving past the Watergate every weekend and telling bad jokes about Nixon. Walking to Georgetown.
I was a weird kid in a unique sort of town. And every once in a while something happens to remind me that I'm not the normal sort of girl. Mostly it's just a strange thing, a random sense of outsider-hood. But it's bad when the reason I'm an outsider is because I have a loving family life. Isn't that something everyone's supposed to have?
I was going to make this entry all happy, about how I'd gotten 11k words written yesterday and was well on my way today. But somehow it got sidetracked with an entry from my friends' page, not even in my journal, in my writing journal. How odd. I don't know what the point to this whole entry is, I guess. But here's hugs for all you of my friends out there who are having bad weeks, it looks like there's a lot of you.
I love you guys. Take care of yourselves, okay?
That and family cloning. Namely, the phenomenon whereby your mother or father wants you to be just like them. It sounds like a popular evil these days. I thank the Goddess and my eclectic childhood that I was never subject to that. My grandmother always said I would grow up to write the Great American Novel and encouraged me to seek publication. My mother has never discouraged me from doing what I want to do, and better still never said I told you so if I messed up. My aunt, dear woman that she is, is always trading tips on publishing with me (she's a writer too). No one in my family is inclined to tell me that I should turn out just like them. Which is very odd, because I seem to be ending up like them. Ah well. Better by choice than by force.
It seems like a lot of people are having problems with their families these days, which is... extremely depressing. And I don't know what to do, because every time I think of this all I can think of is, there but for the grace of the Goddess go I. I was raised in an extraordinarily eclectic household. Bilingual English/Spanish from both Spain and Mexico. Went to the theatre.. not the movie theatre, but the real live stage theatre... at least three or four times a year. Saw plays, musicals, ballet. Read Poe as a child, Shakespeare, Milton, T.S. Eliot. Never knew what life was like without a computer, even when they were back on those gold and black screens. Rode horses from the time I was ... I can't even remember when my mother put me on the first pony. I even remember the name of the pony I rode most often, though. Gingersnap. And there was another one, a pinto. Grew up amidst international politics, learning about Pinochet and having my mother explain to me what it was like to listen to the I Have A Dream speech (and then later getting caught 'cause her picture was in the paper as one of the throng who'd turned out to see him, but she was supposed to be in school that day!) The Cinco de Mayo riots. Hearing about gunshots at the Mall and thinking, oh dear Goddess, my mother works there. Living in a city full of bustling people in suits looking grave. Walking to school past three embassies and a ... something. Some federal building. Driving past the Watergate every weekend and telling bad jokes about Nixon. Walking to Georgetown.
I was a weird kid in a unique sort of town. And every once in a while something happens to remind me that I'm not the normal sort of girl. Mostly it's just a strange thing, a random sense of outsider-hood. But it's bad when the reason I'm an outsider is because I have a loving family life. Isn't that something everyone's supposed to have?
I was going to make this entry all happy, about how I'd gotten 11k words written yesterday and was well on my way today. But somehow it got sidetracked with an entry from my friends' page, not even in my journal, in my writing journal. How odd. I don't know what the point to this whole entry is, I guess. But here's hugs for all you of my friends out there who are having bad weeks, it looks like there's a lot of you.
I love you guys. Take care of yourselves, okay?
