Watch This

Watch this short film, it's sweet. It's about 20 minutes long. I'll get back to posting soon.

For Old Time's Sake...

I was wandering around in my favorite knitting store last week and this song was randomly playing... I had a flashback and felt this was necessary.

Victory

I know A Woman.

A Woman endured abuse from the time she was small.
(When all you know is abuse, it is only natural to marry an abuser.)

A Woman sought shelter with her child.

A Woman was a quiet shadow - a church mouse.

A Woman was full of apologies.

A Woman’s eyes were filled with pain.

A Woman’s body was tense with self protection.

A Woman was unsure.

A Woman was afraid.

A Woman was apologetic. I'm so sorry, so very sorry.

A Woman had done nothing wrong.

Months passed.

A Woman kept her head and eyes down.

A Woman shed painful tears.

A Woman felt fear as tangible as her bruises.

A Woman received encouragement.

A Woman’s self doubt was suffocating.

A Woman allowed others to plant seeds for her and trusted they would grow.

A Woman steadily, steadily grew.

A Woman slowly lifted her head, but not her eyes.

A Woman accepted praise, (but only a little).

A Woman trusted the safety and intention of her environment.

A Woman breathed deeply.

A Woman accomplished her goals.

A Woman lifted her eyes.

Glory!

A Woman met my gaze, (and my heart nearly burst with pride).

A Woman has slowly come back to herself, (and maybe found herself for the first time).

A Woman’s eyes no longer search the faces around her anticipating cruelty.

A Woman no longer speaks of the man she feared in whispers.

A Woman faces a custody battle.

A Woman fights a war for the child she loves and the Woman she has become.

A Woman returned from a preliminary hearing. “He did a character assassination.”

I anticipated a look of fear and ready tears.

A Woman met my eye and smiled. “I don’t think the judge likes him very much.”

A Woman pointed out the flaws and weaknesses in him that she had been blind to before.

A Woman Laughed at his ridiculousness.

A Woman Laughed I tell you!

Heaven be Praised!

I laughed with her.

My soul sang a hearty Hallelujah.

The verdict is not in.

But A Woman has won.

She has won.

I weep happy tears.

These victories are hard earned and too few.

A Woman will never return.

And that is A Woman’s greatest Victory.

Doorkeepers

Today during an art therapy session with the kids at work, we began talking about our names and what they mean. I looked up the meaning of each child’s first and last name. It was interesting to find that they all had powerful names. They loved and were empowered by this activity. When I told them that my last name meant “doorkeeper,” they wanted to know why people had certain last names. So I explained about how what your ancestors did, who their parents were, or where they were born usually determined their last name. I explained that I’d been told when I was young that my ancestors were the keepers of the gate or drawbridge. That it was their responsibility to make sure enemies did not enter the town or castle, depending on where they lived and that this was a very important job. The kids thought it was cool and we talked about the cool things their ancestors probably did based on their names. The volunteer who does the art therapy (an absolutely phenomenal lady) said she found the meaning of my name ironic considering the type of work I do and the level of my commitment to protect battered women. This never occurred to me and I love the parallel. As I was getting ready to leave today, I helped another staff check the premises and to make sure a particular batterer that has been hanging around of late (he’s obviously unaware that his wife is long gone) was nowhere to be seen. I stood in the front of the building with my head high and my body language strong and surveyed the street and the parking lot across the street. I also checked the rearview mirror of my car as I drove home to check for followers. Three days ago I did this fearfully; today I did this as a precaution, but confidently and without fear. I will not be victimized by someone else’s perpetrator. I’ve made a commitment that I will never betray these women, even with a gun to my head. This is what I have to say to that man and others like him.

Dear Coward,

I am writing to tell you that we are not afraid. You see finding her as a victory. We see it as a confirmation of your lack of control. While you fester in your car across the street, we are not intimidated. Unawares, you have given your power away. We know what you look like, the make and model of your car, your license plate number. So do the local police. You never should have exposed yourself to us. We do not fear you. You think your presence so close is formidable and frightening. We are laughing at you. Because you see, she is gone; removed while you lay in bed dreaming dark and dangerous thoughts. By the time you had taken up your wicked vigil, she was beyond your grasp. We will always be one step ahead of you. Our advantage is that we understand the nature of the demon that grips your heart and soul. While you are consumed and blinded, we see it clearly. We study it, shame it; throw light in its eyes. We take women from its grasp and expose it in all its ugliness until it loses its grip; becomes benign and ridiculous. We in turn teach your children to recognize it, understand it and take its power away. While it eats you alive, they are moving forward, finding light and joy and POWER; the thing you crave. We are not afraid of your cowardice. It is our light and joy and goodness that empower us to approach you, heads held high, gaze steady to ask you what the hell business you have here. A simple question. Why do you speed away? We will never fear you; even when you threaten murder. We will never fear you, whether you sit yards away or miles away; stewing in your evil and casting wicked glances our way. We keep this gate and no one enters without our permission.

Spook

Three officers from the PD were at my house tonight.
I went to work.
I went to a family barbeque.

I came home and smelled a very strong body odor. And it wasn't me... or my upper lip. I have the nose of a bloodhound. bad smells make me physically ill. my house smelled wrong. And my mom has been out of town. I'm not saying she smells bad and she'll be back in the morning... I told myself that it was my cat and went into the kitchen.

I promptly freaked out. I haven't opened the pantry door for 3 days, it was open. just enough for someone to hide behind. I got spooked.

I acted non-chalant and went in the back yard with my cell phone and watered the plants and tried to talk myself out of being afraid. I almost went back in the house, but freaked out again and called the PoPo.
three coppers came to my house and looked around. I waited for them in the front yard and swore they must have found someone in my closet because I could see their flashlights in there for a while.

But they were just looking at my huge attack fish... or my underwear.

they asked me if I had any problems with ghosts, because they didn't want to deal with any ghosts tonight. listen up chicken-, if it's in your job description... I told them I'd rather face down a ghost than a cracked out meth addict hiding in my pantry with an ice pick.

They nodded seriously and told me my house was all clear and that my fish (underwear drawer) is cool and to have a nice night. I know my house is safe now, but I'm still jumpy. A boyfriend would be a useful commodity right now. I'd make him sleep outside my bedroom door with a samurai sword or a machete.

In other news...
If you put my name into google or yahoo search engines, my site is the first hit. And I like that.

Pretty's for Suckers

Once someone is past the age of 21, they aren't pretty anymore. Pretty is for little girls. They're beautiful, or striking, or breathtaking, or boring, or... different, but not pretty. I am not pretty. I am something else. Something Better. I spend 7 hours a day in front of a mirror as part of my education. And I like it. Because I'm vain. And I really like myself. And you can think what you like about it, but I've earned it.

"You have such a pretty face." Translation: You're fat, but I'm trying really hard not to notice and so I'm gonna make up a compliment to make myself feel better about it. At least disguise your fake compliments better.

Seriously people. Stop acting so surprised that my legs are so gloriously white or that I'm so confident about my body. Body love is a choice. I've forced myself to face myself nude in a mirror and tell myself that I love me and that I'm beautiful, etc. More than once. I have worked hard to change the negative body image that was ingrained by everyone in my life. My mom told me for years that I was pretty, but that boys would like me better if I was skinny. Not true. Boys like you better if you like yourself. And they didn't like me when I didn't like myself and now that I do, they come around. I just don't always like them back. Big deal. I'm waiting for a man who feels the same way about himself.

Sorry ya'll, the hormones/sleepy combo is making me a little bit feisty today. I almost sat on the floor and cried in Trader Joe's today because they stopped making my shaving cream. I've been using it for a really long time and I can't go back to shaving cream in a can. It just doesn't compare. And I really want to show off my gorgeous milky legs at church tomorrow. Oh well. Tomorrow I will have gotten LOTS of sleep, so I should be fine.

No! Not that!

I had a terrible dream last night. I dreamed that I wasn't allowed to wear lip balm of any kind anymore. I don't remember all of the horrifying details, but I remember that there was an ultimatum, something like a knee cap, my eyesight, a kidney, or... Lip balm. I was freaking out because there was no way I could give up lip balm for the rest of my life.

So I am posting a tribute to my fantastic lips. They haven't been enhanced in any way, except by perfectly benign lip balm, and a little computer editing to get some of the weird green reflection out. And yes, I can live without a kidney or a kneecap, but my eyesight and my lip balm are very necessary.

Johnny Lingo this, sucker.

This post is prompted by Jon's comment on my last post about me taking the "reverse Johnny Lingo" approach.

Johnny Lingo can lick my dirty socks for all I care. I'm sick and tired of girls thinking they need to wait for Johnny Lingo to show up with his mangy cows before they know how beautiful or valuable they are. I was interested in a guy once who, when we were sitting and talking alone, told me I was intimidating. When I asked him why, he said it's because I'm the first one to say how beautiful and great I am, but that should be his job. Well, he obviously hadn't done it yet. Why should I wait for him to get up the nerve to state the obvious? Because he never did. It's not like my natural beauty is hidden and will automatically appear as soon as he says it. That's what happened in the Johnny Lingo flick and I think that's warped. Buy yourself some cows and some Frizz Ease and wash your face. That's all he did for Mahana. Geez.

I wrote my last post mostly because it's funny and mostly because it's true. Do you know how many of the "beautiful" people that we worship on TV and in magazines are seriously plain looking in real life? It's make-up. And publicity. How many times have you thought someone was just ok until someone else raved about how gorgeous, talented, funny they are and then you thought so too? It's all propaganda. Preach your own propaganda. You deserve it.

Here are some fantastic quotes from a funny and somewhat crass little book called, "The Sweet Potato Queens' Book of Love," by Jill Conner-Browne.

"They shouldn't be handing out awards for being lucky enough not to be born a dog ball. Life holds few pleasures, if any, more exalted than riding on a float in a sparkly dress with a crown on one's head... What matters, however, is how you get that crown. We're not about to do tricks on national TV for a crown. In life... it's vitally important that you buy your own crown and declare yourself Queen, and then spend the rest of your life living in to that. Pretty will last a short time, at best, but stupid, that can last forever. Fortunately, so can smart."

Don't get me wrong, I love it when men tell me I'm beautiful. And I do think it's part of their job. But if it's their job to tell me I'm great, then it's my job to pay in kind. But I refuse to wait for a gentleman to tell me something before I'll believe it. If I'm already convinced by the time the right one comes along, it won't be news, like it was for my mother. He won't have to constantly try to convince me. I'll accept his compliment with a knowing smile and tell him how absolutely fantastic he is.

My favorite Jon quote:
"You're a pack o' dynamite and I wouldn't have you any other way." Jon, you truly are the Jimmy Stewart of my life. Handsome, talented, funny, and a gentleman. Thanks.

Leah's Guide To Happiness

Lesson 1

If you tell people you are beautiful, they will believe you.

Example:
It's obvious that I'm a remarkably beautiful person, but how would the blind population know if I didn't tell them?

Exercise:
Practice telling yourself how beautiful you are. Then find ways to work it into your conversations with others. Be subtle one day and blatant the next. Find a style that suits you and that you're comfortable with.

Remember: Repetition is the key.

The more you tell others how beautiful you are,
the more beautiful you will become to them.

small change

I was robbed today.

For the 2nd time in my life.
The first time was August 2, 2001.
My first day as a missionary in Ohio.
I got robbed in a town called Lima.
It's really really small.
So was the amount of money they took.
I only had $5.

Today I got robbed while shopping for brocade with my mom.
I went out to my car and noticed the door was unlocked and that the first aid kit that I keep in the glovebox was sitting on the seat.
Whoever it was went through my whole car, as things were in disarray.
All they got was the $1.50 in my cup holder.
Stupid suckers.
Apparently they didn't need first aid.
Or an ice scraper.
Here's a tip: Don't rob the dirtiest car in the parking lot.
If I'm too poor to go to a car wash, there probably won't be anything worth stealing in my car.
I don't even leave CD's in my car anymore because this state has such a high auto theft rate.
Cars can be replaced. Mix CD's are sacred.
They left my air freshener (thank goodness) and my registration, but my mom's address is on my registration, so I told her to lock her doors tonight.
I was pretty peeved.
They could at least try to rob ME, not just rip my car off when I wasn't looking.
Chicken-$h!t suckers.
Bring it.

Salty

I woke up from a nightmare to the screams of my alarm clock. I was dreaming that a child was being hurt and I couldn't stop it. I was screaming and screaming and no matter how fast I ran or how hard I fought, I couldn't stop it.

I tried to put the nightmare out of mind and got dressed for work. I filled in at the thrift store again. As I was tagging clothes and helping customers, I heard the door chime and looked up to greet the customer. In walked four very familiar faces and one stranger. The four familiar faces belonged to a mother and three children who recently moved out of the shelter. The stranger was the man whose anger and bruises put them there in the first place. As soon as she recognized me, she bent down and whispered to her children and they nodded politely and made no sign that they knew me.

I was relieved and broken.

I was relieved that the children who I'd cared for and played with and loved didn't run to me and make a scene that would force her to explain to this man who I was and how they knew me.

I was broken that the children who I'd colored with and taught to walk and laughed with didn't run to me and give me the hugs and kisses I had received every day for 3 months.

I stood with a poker face and continued my task. I was so sick inside. As soon as the man was on the far side of the store, I noticed the two older children sneaking toward me. They stood behind a rack of clothes and waved to me and blew me kisses. I did the same and they ran back to their mother. I could feel my chest getting tight and it started to become hard to breathe. A few moments later the mother passed by me as she crossed the store and the baby, whose first steps I witnessed and who followed me everywhere I went, recognized me and immediately threw his little arms out and opened and closed his hands for me to hold him. His mother gave me a look of shame and embarrassment and continued walking.

My heart fell out.

It landed with a thud on the dusty floor.
I went to the office and explained to the manager that I needed a moment; he understood and told me I could go work in the back until they left.

I went in the bathroom and cried.
A hard sad hicuppy cry.
My forehead against the dirty tiles on the wall.

As I walked out of the bathroom and towards the back, the man stopped me. The woman's eyes were as round as saucers. I looked him right in the eye and didn't see the monster I expected to see. So this is what a man with two families looks like? A man whose actual wife also puts up with beatings and with his having this entire family on the side? A man who uses the thrift store vouchers we gave his family-on-the-side to help them get on their feet once they left the shelter? A man who uses our generosity to buy himself a radio?
I didn't feel the hate I expected to feel.
I didn't blow her cover.
He looked like everybody else. A normal man, a normal dad. And he was polite. He asked me the price of the radio in his hand and I said I didn't know. As I pointed out the manager who could help him, I smiled at her with my eyes.
I wanted her to know.
I didn't want her to feel ashamed. I didn't want her to feel weak or that she has somehow failed. I wanted to embrace her and tell her how brave she is and how much I respect her. She gave me a small smile.

I went in the back and sat among the piles of donations and tried not to cry again until the manager came to tell me they were gone.

I know the statistics. I know that a woman goes back to her abuser an average of 6 times before she leaves for good. I know that it can be so overwhelming and embarrassing and depressing to live in a shelter that it seems easier to just go home and take it. I know it's hard when your babies are crying for their daddy while you hold a bag of frozen corn to your bruised face.
The first time a woman in the shelter shyly asked me if we had any extra underwear I realized how humiliating it would be to leave everything and have to rely on the kindness of strangers. I've held these women as they've cried in despair. These women are braver than I could ever dream to be. They should be celebrated and praised. And not forgotten.

I was going to use this post to tell you about all of the incidents that broke my heart today, but one was enough to leave my cheeks salty, and probably enough to do the same to you. And besides, I'm all cried out. I'll leave the issues of child abandonment and human trafficking alone for today.

October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Please be aware. Be informed.

Do not forget these women.

If nothing else, please offer a prayer on behalf of these women.
There are 4 animal shelters to every 1 DV shelter in the U.S.
2 out of 3 women who call for help are turned away because there aren't enough beds.
Every day 4 women die in the U.S. as a result of domestic violence.
And more than 700 women are raped or sexually assaulted every day by an intimate partner.

This has to stop.

Please take the time to click on some of the links in my sidebar pertaining to this issue. 700women.org and The National Domestic Violence Hotline are excellent resources.

slowly...

The compliments aren't quite so clumsy anymore.

Word to the wise:
Words like "Wow" and "glowing" and "radiant" are excellent choices when speaking to a woman. Especially when she is having a less than perfect day. Sincerity is a definite plus as well. It's kinda sweet. But I'm not sure how I feel about it...

a beautiful day

Today was beautiful!
I threw another Birthday Party in the shelter today, this time for a 5 year old boy. I always make sure I give each child at least their own handmade blanket as well as toys. One of my co-workers decorates cakes and made a whole construction site on top of the cake for this kid. He was so excited.
Here are the other highlights of my day:
Spending the early evening chatting outside with several women in the shelter and hearing their good stories and their hopes and dreams.
Being told by a client that shelters everywhere need more people just like me.
Two of my co-workers taking the time to tell me that I am a wonderful person and a bright spot in their lives and that they are lucky to know me. (These two are my surrogate mothers, I really love them.)
Being followed around the shelter by a chubby toddler who adores me.
Being told by a 5 year old who is moving out of shelter tomorrow that she wishes she could take me with her.
Coming home from work and feeling like I'd actually done some good in the world today.
Sitting under the stars with a boy who has dark pretty eyes and freckles and thinks I'm wonderful.
My mother buying me a plane ticket so I can spend Christmas in my hometown for my sister's wedding.

Etiquette

Disagree with me if you must, but I must say it; under no circumstances should you bring lingerie to a bridal shower. Lingerie is for lingerie parties (also called lingerie showers or personal showers) or bachelorette parties. Bridal showers include Southern Grandmamas and Aunties and Cousins and soon to be Mothers-in-law who should not be subjected to the opening of tactless gifts. And no, you are not supposed to be embarrassed at your bridal shower. It's not a requirement. And yes, everyone knows the bride-to-be is going to have sex on her wedding night. That doesn't mean you should wrap up a book called "Sex for Dummies" and make her unwrap it in front of the classy Southern Belle known as her Grandmama. I was mortified. My poor cousin was embarrassed and her classless friends were jubilant. My cousin tried to put the obviously wrapped gifts off to the side, but her friends forced her to open them. Blushing to her toes she said, "I want you to know I'm very embarrassed because I can see my Grandmama's face." Unless you are a very close friend, it is not your responsibility to buy her lingerie. If you feel you must, go out and buy a gift card to Fredericks or Victoria Secret or Nina Beri or La Perla, but please, don't pick up the TRASHIEST article you can find and bring it to an afternoon bridal shower. Or, be a pal and throw her a lingerie party and please spare the rest of us.

The Best I Can Do

The best I can do is educate myself. Learn as much truth as I possibly can and then use my energy as it comes to make things better. To fight apathy. I can't support every cause every day. But today I can support the one that moves me today and tomorrow I can support the one that moves me tomorrow. One cause a day should keep me busy for the rest of my life. I certainly hope so anyway. The thing I've heard people say that upsets me the most is that if they support one cause they'll have to support all of them, so it's easier to support no cause. I've had people question my causes and beliefs and criticize my activism, and treat me like somehow my support is flawed; because I don't see the world in black and white, or don't take their "side". I believe thoughts and statements to that effect are pure malice. And dangerously ignorant. Especially coming from people with no cause. Who don't vote. A big part of my Stake Conference was focused on our civic duties. Our responsibility to get involved. One of the speakers even asked for a raise of hands from the registered voters. It's important. Your causes are your own, but you need to have them, at least one.

I Can Be:

Vegetarian and still wear leather
A meat eater and still speak out against factory farming
Christian and Politically Non-partisan
Perfectly heterosexual and still openly admire the form and beauty of another woman
Non-Conformist and Socially Adept
Glamorous and Natural
Faithful and Inquisitive
Uneducated and Well Read
Colorful and Pure
Truthful and Tactful (this requires the most skill)
Sensual and Chaste
Submissive and Confident
Outspoken and Reserved
Funny and Considerate
Angry and Kind

There is no cure...

Wow.
These symptoms are familiar.
Sweaty palms.
Nervous stutter.
Increased heart rate and labored breathing.
The witty banter and pose-striking that ensues when a certain someone enters the room.
The "accidental" physical contact.
The casual conversations full of "getting to know you" questions.
The clumsy compliments.
Poor sucker.
He's got it pretty bad.

I have that effect on people.

Unnatural Attraction

Old men hit on me.
FREQUENTLY.
This isn't news.
It started, frighteningly enough, when I was 14. I have had 11 years of being hit on by old men.
CREEPY!
On an airplane when I was 21, a 50-something old man proposed marriage to me. He meant it. He wanted me to move to Belize with him. He wanted to travel the world with me. Because I was friendly and fascinated by his world travels. He was a retired merchant marine. And he thought I was "lively." He was offended when I wouldn't give him my number. And told me he'd take care of me for the rest of his life. His life ya'll. Old Dude was more than twice my age.
On the same flight, a 40-something offered a different kind of "proposal." I just blinked at him in shock, since this proposition showed up 3 minutes after we talked about the church and I told him I was awaiting a mission call.
O.D.B!
And then, on Wednesday, I was waiting in the lobby of my Doctor's office and man with grey hair came in with a cane. He wedged himself in between me and the man to my right, even though there was no one to my left. Then he turned and smiled at me. I was shocked. Because I found him extremely attractive. His hair was completely grey, but his face didn't look older than 35. And his smile was so nice and his teeth were very white and his eyes were really really blue. And in true Provo style, I even scanned his hand for a ring and found none. I smiled back and asked him about his bum-leg. He told me about a freak accident with a wave runner and the screws and bolts in his hip. I told him my not-very-exciting story about my incident with a wave runner last summer and we laughed and commiserated together. Then he opened his mouth to say something and I watched him stop himself from asking this female stranger about the nature of her visit to the doctor. Well done my friend, well done. I guess some men do learn tact eventually. I was just getting over my shock of being so attracted to an obviously older man and had just gotten into my groove (ya'll know what groove I'm talking about), when the nurse called my name. I got up and hobbled over to the door (I've damaged my foot somehow and my doctor is incompetent so I still don't know what's wrong.). I turned back and smiled at him and he winked at me and that was it. And it wasn't like a grandpa/uncle wink either. He was gone when I came back out.
I still can't get over the fact that I was so attracted to a grey-haired man.
Weird.

Because I said I would...

Kat has one. And because Kat is my idol, I want one too. You know, a "back-up." I'll be 32 in seven years. I would like to be married by then. But just in case...
I am reasonably easy to get along with. I talk in my sleep and steal the covers, and I swear when I stub my toes, but I can cook. And I think I'm funny. And I smell good 94% of the time. And I'm a freakin' bombshell.
Applicants:
Must be male.
And straight.
And not newly-straight.
Or only sometimes straight.
I'm talking straight-up straight. (More on this later.)
Must be taller than 5'5".
Broad shoulders and nice arms preferable. (Nice = good at cuddling.)
LDS a must.
Must be able to read and write.
English speaking is negotiable.
Domestic skills a must. (Cuz I won't wait on yo' lazy behind.)
Basic hygiene a must.
Touchy touchy a must.
Yup, that about does it.
I'm not too picky.

Applicants may apply in the comments section of this blog. Even if you are not applying to be my "back-up," please comment anyway.

Most favorite quote of ALL time.

"We come to love not by finding a perfect person, but by learning to see an imperfect person perfectly."
~ Sam Keen.

Loner

I went and saw a movie all by myself today. And I liked it. I've never done that before. It was partially because of family drama and the need to avoid it, but mostly it was a desire to do something I'd never done before. Ya'll know that I hate, hate, hate, to be alone. It was good for me to sit all by myself. I don't know if I'll make a habit of this, but it definitely made my normal commentary non-existent. It just isn't as fun without someone you know to whisper obnoxious or interesting comments to. I'm sure that theaters everywhere are hoping that I keep it up, since it shuts me up properly. I was very very bad during Star Wars. I laughed out loud several times. When it wasn't funny. I made my sister laugh so hard that the folks in front of us turned around and gave us the Evil Eye.
So officially, I definitely prefer to see movies with other people. But going it alone wasn't as scary as I thought it'd be. I'm gonna try one new thing every week. I'll let you know how it goes.