Tag Archives: Longwood

family, funny stories, humor, language, memories

The unusual glory of being a “cusser”…

I’m ashamed to say this, but swearing is one of my many shortcomings as a human.  I cuss like a sailor.  Always have, and probably always will, although I’ve mellowed somewhat in my old age.  Although deep down, I am a lady, to most people, I come off as crusty as a crab cake.  I don’t even like crab cakes. 

Despite my cranky, bitter, and petty demeanor, I still have quite a few true friends who have known me for many years.  I made a lot of those friends in my freewheeling college days.  College was a pretty good time for me, although I spent those years fairly hampered by social anxiety and depression.  I still managed to have a great time at Longwood, despite those handicaps.  I left that school with lifelong friends and mostly good memories.  It was a really nice place to go to school.

One of my friends is a woman I met during the very first week of our freshman year.  In those days, Longwood College (as it was then called), had its bookstore in the basement of the much venerated Ruffner building.  The bookstore wasn’t that big, so one often had to stand in line to get in there at the beginning of each semester.  It was a chore that could take awhile.

I was standing in line, waiting for my turn to load up on overpriced textbooks, and somehow struck up a conversation with the striking redhead standing next to me.  She was a fellow freshman, dressed in denim shorts, a t-shirt, and a beautiful cardigan, which was very stylish in 1990, although curiously, I would imagine it would have been hot as hell to wear that during a typical Virginia August.  It’s also possible that my memory of what she was wearing isn’t quite accurate, although I do know she loved colorful cardigans and pearl necklaces.  What I do remember very clearly is that I noticed the redhead’s well-coordinated, stylish outfit and her brilliant red hair.  She was friendly, confident, and funny.  Her name was– and still is– Donna, a fitting name for her that means “lady”.  Donna is very ladylike and hilarious, to boot. 

We stayed friends throughout college and shared a suite during my traumatic sophomore year of school.  We were both English majors; she also majored in Spanish.  She joined Sigma Alpha Iota, the honorary music fraternity, and I was her big sister.  We were both members of Camerata Singers, which was Longwood’s auditioned choir that included a lot of liturgical, classical, and Broadway music. 

I lost touch with my friend after we graduated.  Then, one day in 2006, I got an email from her.  It was out of the blue.  She had included an adorable picture of her then three year old daughter, who was pretty much her clone.  Donna’s daughter has the same flaming red hair her mother has.  Not long after that, Facebook became a thing, and we reconnected that way.

This morning, as I looked at Facebook memories, I was reminded of something really funny that happened eleven years ago. My old college friend, Donna, was having dinner with her super bright and funny daughter. They had the following conversation:

Tonight over dinner, [her daughter] C says, “Your friend Jenny is a cusser!”

Me: “What are you talking about?”

C: “Your friend Jenny on Facebook. She’s a cusser.”

Me: “Why are you saying this?”

C: “Because every time I get on the computer, your Facebook page is up & she posts pictures that have the F-word by them. She’s a cusser.”

My friend continued…

Okay, so I just scoured your wall & I only saw one picture with the “f-word” near it & it was posted by [our mutual friend] Chris. HE’S the cusser! LOL!

It really is sad how she ended up a crack-baby & all. Especially since I never did any crack.

Donna is a dear friend, and we’ve known each other since 1990. Her daughter, C, is now a student at our alma mater, Longwood University. I’m sure she’s making her own hilarious memories at our school. Every year, on November 7, I see that funny post from 2012 and have a good laugh. What’s even funnier is that as of 2012, C hadn’t yet met me in person.

In 2014, just a few months after we moved to German, Bill and I flew home for my family’s annual Thanksgiving reunion. We were there to memorialize my father, who had passed away in July of that year. The memorial service was held in November so more people could attend. That’s also why I got married in November, although it turned out we couldn’t get married over Thanksgiving weekend. We probably should have done the deed in October. The weather would have been nicer.

Anyway, on that trip to Virginia, we met up with my college friends, Joann, Donna, Donna’s husband, and their hilarious eleven year old daughter, C, who had correctly identified me as a “cusser”. She was just as cute as she could be!  I thoroughly enjoyed meeting her.  As we were about to finish our visit, I said “Do you really think I’m a cusser?”

I treasure my true friends, and their clever offspring…

The girl blushed scarlet and hung her head in shame.  I laughed and asked for a hug, which she willingly gave me.  That day was probably my favorite of the whole visit, since it had been so long since I’d last seen Donna and Joann, and it was the first time I got to meet Donna’s husband and daughter and they got to meet Bill.  Sometimes I think if I lived in Virginia again, I might even have some semblance of a normal social life.  On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t, because I’m kind of a recluse most of the time.

It’s getting close to Thanksgiving again.  I recently got an email from my aunt announcing the annual shindig, which she blasts to everyone in our humongous family every year.  Although I complain a lot about my family, they’re mostly very good people.  I don’t agree with most of them politically– quite a lot of them are diehard Trump fans and conservative Christians.  But they’re fun to see when there’s a wedding, reunion, or funeral.  Despite being a huge family, we’re somewhat close, thanks to the annual reunion at Thanksgiving.  Some family members are closer than others.  

Lately, I’ve felt like an outcast, but then I live pretty far away now, and have altered my views on religion and politics.  I no longer have the patience for long-winded arguments that I used to have, particularly with southern white men who are convinced that liberal politics are the pathway to Soviet Union style communism.  I might have agreed with them if I hadn’t spent so many years in Europe, which does have some socialist policies that work pretty well and doesn’t resemble the former Soviet Union in the slightest.  Having lived in the former Soviet Union just a couple of years after it fell apart, I feel as though I can speak with some authority about what it was like there.  Europe is not like that at all.  Since we are related, we all seem to have inherited a penchant for arguing to the death.  And some are more insistent about it than others.

In just a few days, I’ll be visiting Armenia, a former Soviet territory, for the first time since 1997. When I arrived there in 1995, it was still pretty Soviet in most things. Today, it’s a lot less like that. Every year, there are fewer people who remember what the place was like when it was a Soviet country. I wasn’t there when it was part of the Soviet Union, but I did go there less than five years after it became independent. And I can tell people I know– especially my conservative Christian southern relatives– that I have yet to see any place like that in my travels, even in countries that have “socialist” leanings. But they don’t listen to me either, because I’m not very religious; I don’t worship Donald Trump; and I am a CUSSER. Somehow, it seems like my love of swearing is the worst of my sins.

Many of my relatives who would argue with me about this are people who have not been outside of the southern United States, let alone “across the pond”.  They don’t respect my experiences or education, and stubbornly insist that they’re exactly right, no matter what, refusing to even acknowledge a perspective that differs from their own.  They don’t seem to understand that even though I’m a woman who is a bit younger than they are, I’m not stupid, inexperienced, uneducated, or in need of “special help”.  I simply have a different viewpoint based on actual things I’ve seen and done.  

I find it frustrating to engage in conversations with a lot of my family members, so I keep my distance. And they avoid me because I curse a lot.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not fond of most of my family members.  I wish them well and would happily break bread with them, if I was in a place where that was easy to do.  Maybe there will come a time when that’s the case again.

Once again, I feel compelled to share this classic song by Paul Thorn, who expertly sums up how I feel about some people who are my kin…

In July 2014, I discovered Paul Thorn’s hilarious song, ” I Don’t Like Half the Folks I Love”, as my dad was dying.  It’s a really perfect description of how I think of some of my family members.   I do love them, but I can’t spend a lot of time with them… and yet, I’d like to see them for an evening, maybe… as long as we don’t talk politics and/or religion.  Ah– never mind.  It won’t happen.  But I still wish them well. And I actually do love most of my friends– the ones who know me well, and accept me for exactly who I am.

Anyway… it might be worth it to go home to Virginia again, if only to see a few friends and eat some genuine American style junk food.  Seriously… I was looking at the menus of some of my favorite crappy chain restaurants in the States… places where there’s nothing at all healthy on the menu.  I certainly don’t need to be eating any of that stuff, but I still kind of miss it sometimes.  

November always makes me think of being home in Virginia.  I do sometimes miss being “home”.  I haven’t seen most of my friends and loved ones in years.  I think it’s having an effect on me.  I also miss really good southern fried food that will send me into a diabetic coma.  *Sigh*…  guess I’ll have to settle for Armenian food this weekend.  I’d probably rather have fried chicken, American style pizza, or ribs.  It’s probably just the hormones talking, though… which will later be silenced by my cranky digestive system. Isn’t it fun getting older? 😉 I think I’ll cuss about it some more.  

Incidentally, today is Election Day in the USA… so please go out and vote, if you can.

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art, ideas, musings

Repost: Are art teachers “stupid”?

This post appeared on my original blog on May 16, 2016. I am reposting it because I think it’s a thought provoking essay. It’s mostly “as/is”. The featured photo was taken by me at the Uffizi Art Gallery and Museum in Florence, Italy in April 2022.

Just to be clear, I don’t think anyone who teaches art or any other humanities or creative class is stupid.  I think a good art teacher can be a lifesaver to some kids.  However, I know there are “practical” minded people out there who think anyone who chooses to teach art or music or any other course that isn’t an “essential subject” must be an idiot.   

“The real question is, how stupid do you have to be to pay for a degree to teach art? Financially doesn’t add up.“

This was posted in a Facebook group I used to frequent. It was full of overly pragmatic people with “military mindsets”.

Some people who read this blog may know that I am a graduate of Longwood University.  Longwood is well known in Virginia for turning out great teachers.  I didn’t become a teacher myself, but I do have a lot of friends and one relative who earned teaching endorsements at Longwood.  I’m not sure what the laws in Virginia are now, but I do remember that the year I entered Longwood, the “elementary education” major was discontinued.  Everyone who wanted to be an elementary school teacher had to major in a subject and then take additional education courses.  And while some of the subjects seemed fun, they were also a lot of hard work.  I can’t count the number of times I watched my friends laboring over colorful projects involving contact paper.  You’d think it would be fun to make teaching aids and bulletin boards, but those projects required time, patience, creativity, and most of all, money.  They weren’t fun and games. 

I often hear people talking about how art, music, dance, and theater are “fun” majors that are ultimately useless.  They have no respect for people who study the arts because they perceive those subjects to be easy.  What some people don’t seem to understand is that it takes actual talent to major in those areas.  Moreover, the arts make the world a better place.  They stimulate creativity, which leads to innovation and discussion.  Arts of all kinds get people talking and thinking and make the world more exciting.  People who teach artistic subjects inspire young people and, in some cases, can actually be lifesavers.

When I was in school, the local school system employed a husband and wife who taught art.  The wife taught art to 7th and 8th graders and her husband taught at the high school.  Mr. and Mrs. Bergh were definitely “artsy” people.  In 7th grade, I took Mrs. Bergh’s class.  I had always enjoyed art and thought her class would be fun.  I actually found Mrs. Bergh’s class difficult.  I will never forget trying to draw a perfect sphere, my hand, or my shoe.  It was really hard.  I don’t think I got higher than a B in that class.  But I did learn something from Mrs. Bergh.  She taught me to “draw what I see”, and that changed my whole perspective.  

Before I took Mrs. Bergh’s art class, I would only draw what I thought I saw.  I wouldn’t actually look at something and try to create it on paper.  I would just create something from my thoughts, never even observing the thing I was trying to draw.  While a lot of great art comes from imagination, there is a lot to be said for taking a minute to look at reality and recording it accurately, as you actually see it with your eyes.  Mrs. Bergh taught me to look closely at an object and draw what my eyes were actually seeing, not what I thought I was seeing.  I must admit, learning to draw what I see was a difficult skill to master, but it changed my worldview.  I could apply that lesson to more than just art.  Mrs. Bergh taught me to look at things objectively rather than subjectively.  That’s a skill that transcends all subjects.

I never took any of Mr. Bergh’s art classes.  I am not a particularly talented artist and I found his wife’s class to be enough of a challenge.  However, many of my friends took Mr. Bergh’s classes.  He was a popular teacher who managed to make a career in art even though he had one prosthetic eye.  Some of my friends were struggling with adolescence.  At least a couple of them were not doing so well in their academic classes, but they excelled in art.  Mr. Bergh’s class gave them a place to express themselves and may have even prevented a couple of them from committing suicide.  He was a good teacher, but he was also a valued friend to most of his students.  He made high school more bearable for a lot of kids.  

My sister majored in art.  She is not a teacher (thank God), but she is a very talented artist.  She’s always been employed, generally in her field.  Years after she completed her art degree, she went on to earn a master’s degree in journalism.  The two areas of study complement each other.  Though she probably could have majored in something others would consider “practical” like accounting or nursing, my sister would have been mediocre and miserable in those fields.  She’s an artist and her work has value.  She got to where she is because people in her past chose to be art teachers.  It’s because someone taught art that my sister isn’t torturing some poor soul in the hospital with a cold bedpan or fucking up someone’s taxes. 

Today’s post was inspired by a rant one of my friends posted about an art teacher calling her daughter stupid.  My friend was understandably upset about the teacher’s conduct.  Another friend said the music teacher had also behaved unprofessionally.  There was a lot of talk about how difficult it is to be fired from the government system and that’s why these teachers were getting away with behaving so badly.  As the discussion continued, someone mentioned that art teachers are usually not very good teachers because their field is not in high demand or they couldn’t hack a “real” subject like English or math.  There may be some truth to that idea.  It could also be that some of the people teaching art and music would rather be creating art and music.  They became teachers because they thought they had to teach in order to make a living.  Maybe they’re burned out or not suited for a career in teaching. 

I think a lot of people go into teaching because they simply want to be employable.  I almost did that myself.  Originally, I planned to get a teaching endorsement to be a high school English teacher, even though I had no desire to teach.  Having taught English as Peace Corps Volunteer, I now know that it would have been a mistake for me to be a professional teacher.  But even as an 18 year old, I knew that I wanted to be able to find a job.  Not being a particularly worldly 18 year old, I thought teaching was the obvious practical skill to fall back on should I ever find myself faced with the prospect of living in a van by the river.    

I majored in English because I love writing, but I believed it was unlikely I would be able to write for a living.  So, being a somewhat practical sort, I figured I could teach.  I know I’m not the only one who’s done that.  Fortunately, I wised up and abandoned my plans to teach.  It would have been a mistake for me to be an English teacher.  I would not have been very good at the job.  Had I decided to be a teacher, some poor kid would probably be complaining to their parents about me.  Or maybe I would have been fired and still ended up in a van by the river.  

Too many Americans have the mindset that they have to follow a set path.  Yes, it’s important to have solid skills that lead to gainful employment.  We do need people in fields that require a specific skill set.  But the world also needs creators and dreamers and people who think outside of the proverbial box.  People who mentor the world’s dreamers have an important job.  Art, music, dance, and theater are very important, especially to young people who are developing their critical thinking skills and their creativity.  We should have more respect for those who choose a career in the arts and those who are brave enough to teach in the arts. 

The world doesn’t need more mediocre scientists, nurses, accountants or teachers.  I know some people think studying the arts with the intention of launching a career is a “stupid idea”, but I would submit that it’s actually stupid to expect everyone to go down the same narrow path.  If you broaden your mindset, you may find that any course of study can be useful and worthwhile.  Moreover, it’s often the creative types who find ways to use arts training to make the world better while they earn a living.  Limited thinkers are those who believe wholesale that art teachers are inherently “stupid” or “can’t hack teaching a ‘real’ subject” simply because they choose to teach art.  

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family, musings, relationships

Sometimes going ugly early works out for the best…

I have a few things on my mind this Tuesday morning, the last day of February 2023. These things are kind of loosely related to each other, but maybe I can make them fit in today’s blog post. I beg your indulgence, because I probably won’t have a second original post in me today. On the other hand, it’s only 7:30am, so who knows?

A couple of days ago, I wrote a post about how a picture of a defunct brand of beer led me to an unexpected place. That post hasn’t generated a lot of reads. At this writing, no one has commented on it. I suspect maybe one or two of the few people who read it might have quit before they got to the end. I can’t blame them for quitting. I quit things, too. Like, sometimes I’ll start watching a YouTube video and quit because something about it is annoying. Maybe the announcer isn’t human and speaks like a robot. Or the content might not be what was seemingly promised in the title.

Time is money for a lot of people. Sometimes, if a person takes too long to get to the point, the point will be missed. The receiver will stop engaging and walk away.

When a person quits too soon, they might miss out on something they might not have expected. My guess is that those who finished the post from a couple of days ago might have been surprised by the ending. The ending is not like the beginning, which was, admittedly, kind of ugly. I reread last night, wondering if I should cut some of the ugly part out. Maybe people would get the wrong idea about me. But then I decided that the ugly should stay, because it was part of the story.

Nowadays, people are so quick to dismiss others without a second thought. I think the response to the quick dismissal has been that people are more reluctant to be authentic. They’d rather quickly say what the other person wants to hear than be rejected or dismissed.

I could weigh in on the recent controversy involving cartoonist Scott Adams, who writes and illustrates a comic strip called Dilbert. I have never read that comic strip myself, so I can’t call myself one of Adams’ disappointed fans, dismayed because the cartoonist is in the news due to his recent racist tirade. I didn’t even see the rant that is getting him canceled right now. It sounds like it was pretty bad, though, and now Dilbert is being dropped by many newspapers. Maybe it’s inappropriate for Scott Adams to have platform anymore, since the job of cartoonist is one that is kind of dying. He’s been very privileged to be able to turn his talents into such a successful career.

Still, to me, it’s sad that an artist’s work is being dismissed because he said or wrote something people didn’t like. Sad that he uttered hateful, racist remarks that were hurtful to others, and sad that the backlash has been so brutally instant, seemingly without a second’s hesitation. I don’t agree with what little I’ve read about Scott Adams’ views, but I do realize that he must have done a lot right to be where he is today. Obviously, he was also very lucky. I don’t like to think that a person’s total worth is less than an unfortunate or unpleasant action. I’m sure Scott Adams, as a whole, is much better than his very offensive comments.

Since I don’t read Dilbert and know very little about Scott Adams or his political views, I think I’ll just say that I find cancel culture disturbing and kind of dystopian. Regular people can and will vote with their wallets. I think allowing them to make up their own minds is better than encouraging everyone to pick up figurative pitchforks and torches and actively seeking to kill someone’s livelihood. At the same time, I can see why some people are now completely turned off of Scott Adams. I don’t blame them.

That post that I wrote the other day, started off kind of “ugly”, because I wrote about how I got unceremoniously kicked out of my very first dorm room during my first week at college. My former roommate of just a few days, “Margaret”, went “ugly” early. At the time, it was devastating on several levels. I was brand new at Longwood, living in a room that was just as much mine as it was hers. And yet, I knew that if I tried to stand my ground, Margaret and her fraternity loving friend would make my life a living hell. So there I was, 18 years old and brand new to college, just days after arriving at Longwood, having to move to what was considered the “worst” dorm on campus.

You know what? A lot of the people I met after that move are still my friends today. That ugly, unpleasant, humiliating situation all worked out well in the end. In the long run, I was better off for moving across campus. If I had stayed in that room because it was “half mine”, it would not have been a good thing. Margaret was the type of person who would have done all she could to drive me out. Maybe I would have even ended up unhappy enough to transfer to another school , or quit altogether.

I could even say that about attending Longwood in the first place. It wasn’t my first choice college. And yet, it turned out to be a great school for me. I did very well there. I discovered talents and passions I had never explored before I went to college. I made some incredible friends. I only have a few regrets about going to my last choice school, and they are pretty minor, in the grand scheme of things.

Here’s a more recent example of this theme of “going ugly early”… Three years ago, Bill and I tried to adopt a dog from a German dog rescue. Our attempt to give a dog a new home ended in tragedy, when a disastrous string of events led to the dog escaping his transporter and getting killed on the Autobahn. That was a senseless and devastating event, and it made Bill and me feel like shit. But then, Noyzi the Kosovar street dog came into our lives and stole our hearts.

The fact that we have Noyzi doesn’t negate how awful it was that the other dog got killed thanks to the sheer negligence of the pet transporter. That was still a terrible thing. But if it hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have our Noyzi, who reminds us every day how thrilled he is to have a home in Germany with us. Noyzi was destined to be in our family. I really think he was, especially since his rescuer, Meg, is a student of Carl Jung’s, just as Bill is. What are the odds?

And now for the last part of this post… This part might not seem like it fits very well, but I feel compelled to write about it, anyway.

I often read Lori Gottlieb’s advice column in The Atlantic. I knew who Lori Gottlieb was many years before I read her advice column. About twenty years ago, she wrote a book about her experiences with anorexia nervosa. It was titled Stick Figure. I read and reviewed that book for Epinions.com. Since then, Lori has become a therapist, and she writes articles for the magazine.

Last night, I read the following letter in Lori’s column, which caused some people to immediately react with disgust…

Dear Therapist,

When I married my husband, he had two adult children, and I had none. We both wanted to have a child together, but my husband had a vasectomy after his second child was born—too long ago to get the procedure reversed.

We didn’t want to use a sperm bank, so we asked my husband’s son to be the donor. We felt that was the best decision: Our child would have my husband’s genes, and we knew my stepson’s health, personality, and intelligence. He agreed to help.

Our daughter is 30 now. How do we tell her that her “father” is her grandfather, her “brother” is her father, her “sister” is her aunt, and her “nephew” is her half-brother?

My husband and I are anxious, confused, and worried about telling her. This is also hard on my husband, because he wants our daughter to know that he will always and forever be her father.

Thank you for any advice you have to offer.

Anonymous

Most of the people commenting were completely turned off by this scenario. I suspect most didn’t make it beyond the “ugly” headline, “Dear Therapist: My Daughter’s ‘Brother’ Is Actually Her Father”. Of course, most didn’t read further because they don’t subscribe. Plenty of people who didn’t read the letter had plenty to say about it, though. Quite a few folks were judging the letter writer for making this decision, and now being in a situation in which she was asking Lori Gottlieb for advice. After a few minutes’ thought about this situation, I came to a few conclusions.

In my opinion, it really makes no sense to be disgusted by this scenario. This woman’s daughter was born in the early 1990s. In those days, we didn’t conceive of things like Ancestry.com or 23&Me being a “thing”. Childless couples who hoped to conceive via sperm donor weren’t encouraged to know much about the donor. This couple wanted to have a child together. Using a sperm donor was probably the most expedient way for them to get what they desired.

The letter writer’s husband happened to have an adult aged son who was willing to serve as the sperm donor. Unusual? Yes. I wonder about his mother and what she might have thought about this scenario. As the stepson was an adult when he made his donation, it wouldn’t have been her business. Or, perhaps she’s dead. We don’t know. It sounds like stepmom never played a maternal role to her husband’s son, though. She sounds more like his father’s wife than his “stepmom”.

This isn’t a case of a stepmom having sex with a teenager. This situation involved sperm donation between two consenting adults who happen to know each other better than other donors and recipients might have. Would it have been better for the woman to conceive a baby with a stranger? Maybe in some people’s minds, that’s better. In my opinion, it’s not really ideal, though, because the other bio parent is much more of a mystery.

Moreover, since the letter writer’s stepson was obviously an adult when he donated sperm, stepmom could have married him, instead of his father, and had the baby the “natural” way. Far fewer people would have batted an eye at that scenario.

After thinking about this some more, I remembered a high school friend, whose mother was actually her grandmother. Her older sister was her bio mom, because she got “knocked up” in high school. Mom/grandma raised my friend instead. I pointed this out, and a woman conceded that that scenario is kind of common, but this one involving a sperm donor is somehow “different” because it was done deliberately, rather than being the result of an “accident”. I can tell you, having been an “accident”, albeit to an adult married couple, it kind of sucks.

And yet, nowadays, it’s not that uncommon for family members to do extraordinary favors for their relatives. I’ve read more than a couple of articles about mothers carrying babies for their daughters, who aren’t able to maintain pregnancies. I’ve seen sisters or cousins acting as surrogate mothers for their relatives. People often frame the women who do those kinds of favors as heroic. How is a stepson donating sperm to his father and his wife that much different? At least it doesn’t involve morning sickness.

Then I started thinking about how I would feel if I were the daughter in this case. I imagined that, for 30 years, I didn’t know the truth about my origins. I’m completely healthy and otherwise normal, except all my life, my biological father has been posing as my half brother. Now, perfect strangers on the Internet are grossed out about how I was conceived. If you think about it, that’s a lot “ickier” than the unusual circumstances of how I was conceived. Again… stepmom could have used a stranger’s sperm, and I wouldn’t know much of anything at all about my bio father. At least, in this situation, the young woman will be able to ask questions and have a chance at getting some honest answers.

Finally, I arrived at my conclusion. This situation sounds, on its surface, kind of “weird”. But, at the end of the day, what matters is that this couple desperately wanted to have a child together. They’re still married. Their daughter is still much beloved and was very much wanted. That, in my view, should be the focus. We should all be so lucky to have parents who wanted us that badly. The main idea is that this couple wanted to raise their daughter, and they chose the stepson as the donor, because they knew that he was healthy. It was a way for the father to contribute to his daughter’s genetic heritage, since he could no longer get his wife pregnant.

Instead of focusing on the “ick” factor of this situation, consider these points:

  1. Everyone involved in the donation was a consenting adult.
  2. It wasn’t a situation in which the stepmom and her stepson had a physical relationship. He simply donated sperm.
  3. Mom could have just as easily had a relationship with the stepson and gotten pregnant. No one would have cared.
  4. Mom could have used a stranger’s sperm and been faced with a lot more mystery regarding her daughter’s genetic heritage and potential medical or educational issues.
  5. They made this decision before the advent of home DNA tests and probably figured they could keep the secret forever.
  6. Thanks to reproductive technology advancements, family members are doing things that would have been unthinkable in previous generations. We’re seeing moms carrying their daughters’ children, for instance. Sperm donation, to me, is less earth shattering than being your sister’s or your daughter’s gestational carrier.
  7. THIS WAS A WANTED CHILD. Her parents love her. She’s grown up healthy, well-provided for, and very much beloved by her family. That should be more important than the source of her father’s genes. I hope the couple broke the news to her gently, and she was left realizing that her family loves her.

To sum things up… things that begin negatively or distastefully can eventually lead to things of beauty. Sometimes, when we “go ugly early”, we can end up in unexpected and amazing places. I could even say the same thing about Bill and me, and our marriage. We met under unexpected and unusual circumstances, but it all worked out beautifully. Sometimes when something starts out “ugly”, it might just be a situation in which the ugliness just needs to be chipped away from the surface and polished until it becomes something better… and beautiful, like the stone in my featured photo.

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memories, nostalgia, social media

Sometimes beer takes me places I never expected to go…

If you attempt to read this, please do me a favor and try to make it to the end before passing judgment.

A couple of days ago, I did a search of my own posts on Facebook. I don’t even remember what I was hoping to find. Maybe it’s because I drink a lot of beer. 😉 In any case, when I did that search, I unexpectedly found today’s featured photo. I got a kick out of it for many nostalgic reasons.

That photo was taken 30 years ago, during my junior year at what was then known as Longwood College in Farmville, Virginia. It’s a pretty special picture for many nostalgic reasons… including some I’ve just realized so many years later. I’ll get to why in a few paragraphs, if you’ll just indulge me a bit.

My junior year roommate was a year older than me, and the one I got along with best during my college years. She was a very serious student– extremely hard working and high achieving. I don’t know if this is still true, but at the time, she was said to be the very last organ performance major at Longwood. Her goal was to be a music teacher. I hung out with a lot of music majors. They were some of the hardest working people I’ve ever known.

This roommate and I got along very well, which is an amazing thing. We lived on the third floor of South Cunningham, which has since been demolished. In fact, the room I had during my sophomore year is no longer used as a dormitory. It’s now an administration building. Those of us who went to Longwood College, as opposed to Longwood University, have very different memories of the campus. It really has changed that much. I guess it leads to bonding on Facebook.

I’m always a little dismayed when I realize that I went through SEVEN Longwood roommates, and that was even with two semesters during which I had my own room. Sometimes I feel like I’m just not a very likeable person who isn’t compatible with most others, even though Bill and I are ridiculously compatible.

Then, when I think about it, I realize that my roommate situation is not as bad as it sounds. One year, I temporarily had a second roommate who eventually got kicked out of school. One year, my roommate joined a sorority and moved in with her new “sisters”. I had the room to myself in the spring. Another year, I had a roommate for a few weeks, until she left to student teach. Then I got a new roommate during the spring semester before my graduation, and we got along fine.

Then there’s my very first roommate, “Margaret” (not her real name) with whom I only spent a week before she basically kicked me out of the room so her slutty friend across the hall could move in. I’ve already blogged about her, though…

Before anyone comes at me, let me just say that I know it’s not nice to call someone a slut, but that was basically what Margaret’s friend and future roommate was like. We had been at college for a mere week, and she just wanted to skank around with fraternity guys. My former roommate delusionally thought the frat guys would like her, too, so she tagged along with her friend of one week. I understand from my former suitemates that their living arrangement didn’t work out very well.

If I hadn’t been in the middle of that mess during my first week of college, I might have felt sorry for my former roommate. The chick from across the hall– who openly and unabashedly spoke of her “twat” itching (yes, she literally said this– and I was confused because, at the time, I don’t even think I knew what a twat was)– was probably just using ex roommate for her money.

Margaret had a lot of money, but to be blunt, she was definitely not a looker. But she and fraternity skank showed me nothing but contempt, so I don’t have a lot of regard for either of them. Besides, it all worked out for the best. Both of those women left Longwood after our freshman year, and this article isn’t about them, anyway. So, I’ll move on. 😉

Junior year was a pretty good year for me. That was the one year I finally had a good friend as a roommate. Because I was 20 years old, I couldn’t buy my own booze… except at a couple of places that never carded people. My friend, who wasn’t a drinker, helped me buy a case of Bud Dry at what was then a Harris Teeter supermarket (I think it’s now a Kroger). Bud Dry was highfalutin’ beer in those days. I usually drank Natural Light or something of that caliber. There was a Canadian beer called Arctic Bay that I used to get all the time. I don’t think they make it anymore. I know Bud Dry is now defunct, as of 2010.

Being 20 years old and not very experienced in the ways of the world, I honestly thought Bud Dry was good stuff. So I packed it into my dented and RENTED dorm fridge and took a picture for posterity. At some point, I shared the photo on Facebook, where a lot of laughs and discussion ensued. As I mentioned up post, South Cunningham was demolished, but it was a much loved home at Longwood for a lot of students. So that photo of Bud Dry was definitely prime sharing material. First, I shared it on my personal page; then I shared it in a group for Longwood College alums (as opposed to Longwood University alums).

At this writing, about 250 people in the group have liked the photo, and there have been a lot of lively comments about it. Most of the comments have been about what “expensive” tastes I had, since I wasn’t drinking Milwaukee’s Best (Beast) or its ilk. Again, the reason there was a photo was because I was “proud” of drinking Bud Dry. I thought I was living large. I was, but only in terms of my clothing size. 😀

I was enjoying the Facebook commentary about the photo when I noticed someone with a familiar, yet unusual, last name had “liked” it. Suddenly, I remembered a woman I knew of because of my second Longwood roommate, the woman who had joined Kappa Delta sorority and moved in with her “sisters” during the spring of my freshman year.

Though I never joined a sorority myself, I eventually learned that most of them had nicknames based on their campus reputations. I also found out that a sorority chapter on one campus might be totally different than they’d be on another. For instance, I have some cousins who were Sigma Kappas at the University of Georgia. The Sigma Kappas at Longwood when I was a student there were known as really “smart” and kind of nerdy. But my cousins, if they had gone to Longwood, were probably more like Kappa Deltas or maybe Zeta Tau Alphas, both of which were founded at Longwood. Actually, if they had gone to Longwood, my cousins would have probably pledged ZTA, because their grandmother, my Aunt Jeanne, was a ZTA at Longwood.

My roommate after “Margaret” was a woman who happened to have the same first and last name as Margaret did. However, she spelled her first name differently and went by a nickname. I’ll call her “Maggy”. She was the opposite of Margaret. While Margaret was a narcissistic asshole who wore braces, and was morbidly obese, Maggy was slim, cool, and pretty. She was a natural for the “KD ladies”, as she told me they were known as at Longwood.

Maggy and I weren’t destined to be long term friends, but she was a much better fit than Margaret was. At least she didn’t come in during the middle of the night and turn on the overhead light while I was sleeping, right? In fact, a lot of nights, she slept with her boyfriend. That was cool for me!

Anyway, Maggy was very busy during the semester she pledged her sorority. She had a composite photo of all of the “sisters”. I remember seeing that photo every day during my first semester at Longwood. I remember most of the women in that photo were really conventionally pretty, like Maggy was. However, there was one woman who stood out in the composite photo. She was very attractive, but not in the super pretty way the others were. She had what seemed like a rare kind of charisma. I found her interesting and was curious about her.

I remember taking notice of the woman’s name, mainly because she had kind of an unusual moniker. I also noticed her because she had a dazzling smile that was very genuine, like someone everyone would want to meet and know. Again, she was not gorgeous in the typical popular sorority girl way, but she had an inner radiance about her. I could tell that she was someone who made friends very easily.

Maggy’s new sorority sister had a rare kind of true inner beauty. Her magnetism was obvious and memorable to me, even though I didn’t even know her. In fact, I never even met her when I was at Longwood. As an 18 year old, I just noticed and remembered her name and her face… and as time marched on, I eventually forgot about her… until last night.

I noticed someone with the same unusual last name liking my beer fridge post. I hadn’t thought of Maggy’s “dazzling smiled” sorority sister in well over 30 years. She was two years ahead of me, and we didn’t run in the same circles. At first, I thought the person who had liked the photo was the same woman with the dazzling smile. She hadn’t spelled out her first name on Facebook, but she had the same first initial as Maggy’s sorority sister did, plus the same surname.

I was curious, so I took a look at the person’s profile. After a minute or two, I realized that the person who had liked my post wasn’t the woman with the dazzling smile. Instead, she appeared to be a family member– perhaps a sister or a cousin.

There was a picture of the woman with the smile on her public Facebook page, and based on the comments, it appeared that she had died. I followed another link to Maggy’s sorority sister’s profile, and saw more comments from people who missed her. They commented on her spirit and her laugh. I could relate to that, since my laugh is very distinctive, too. When I die, I’m sure if anyone still knows me offline, they’ll comment on my laugh, too.

A few more minutes of investigation revealed that the woman with the smile had died of breast cancer. I soon found many pictures of her before and after treatment. There were pictures of her that recalled how she’d looked in her Kappa Delta composite photo. And there were pictures of her smiling bravely, with very short hair, and then finally completely bald. In every single one of those photos, there was that radiant smile that defied the circumstances and revealed what appeared to be an indomitable spirit. I don’t even know her story, but the smile told me a lot about her.

Soon, I found myself looking closer at the people she’d left behind. This was a woman who was obviously much beloved by a lot of folks, especially her family, but also friends and colleagues. She had clearly made an impression on many, and had left a very positive and indelible mark on their hearts. I suddenly felt kind of sad, because I wished I’d had a chance to meet her. Behind her sparkling, lively eyes, and bright, brave, dazzling smile, even when she was completely bald, there was a remarkable woman who had really made a difference to so many.

Of course, if I had met her, there’s every chance that we wouldn’t have meshed. I’ve mentioned it before, but it bears repeating. I tend to be the kind of person people love or hate. But now that I think about it, looking at pictures of Maggy’s sorority sister reminds me of an experience I had on a road trip years ago, when I happened to run into a Buddhist monk. I wrote about that experience here, but the short story is, that guy had a countenance that immediately put me at ease and calmed me down when I had been hangry and wound up tighter than a spring. I was awestruck and moved by simply being in the peaceful monk’s presence, looking at him from across a crowded room.

When I did a similar search for old photos last night, I happened across one about one of my relatives… She happened to live on a farm called Longwood, and she died a couple of years ago. I wasn’t very close to this relative. Although we were family, we didn’t agree on religion or politics. However, when she died, many people were genuinely devastated.

I noticed that along with the post her sister– another relative of mine– had written about missing her, there was a photo of them. And I noticed that they both had dazzling, warm, and genuine smiles, too. Even though we’re family, but not close friends, I can see that they obviously have left indelible marks on people. If I didn’t already know them due to our family connection, I’d probably be struck and ultimately touched by their beautiful smiles, too.

Isn’t it funny how a photo of a rented dorm fridge full of Bud Dry posted on Facebook can lead me to these places? Anyway… if anyone related to this woman figures out who she is and that I’ve written about her, I just want to say I’m very sorry for your loss. I can tell by the photos showcasing her smile that she was a very special person. Either that, or her dentists are worth their weight in platinum. 😉 (I’m kidding, of course…)

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musings, psychology, videos, YouTube

“You really don’t have to do me any favors…”

Today’s featured photo comes from a photo that was in my Facebook memories today. Maybe my life would be better if I didn’t dance, or swear… or sing.

I had kind of an interesting day yesterday, even though it didn’t involve any outings. I spent a good portion of the day watching The Muppet Show on DVDs that I’ve had forever, but have never got around to viewing. I’m old enough to remember when that show originally aired. Now that I’m seeing it again as a 50 year old woman, I’m realizing that it really wasn’t a show for kids. Case in point, below are two clips from the first season…

Sandy Duncan was a guest, and her number involved boozing it up…
And a hilarious number written by Shel Silverstein, and performed by Candice Bergen…

Watching The Muppets put me in a good mood. Bill joined me for awhile, then told me that his daughter sent a couple of Marco Polo videos. We went down to the dining room to watch the videos and I was inspired to send her a video I took of Bill the other night, when he first got home from his latest business trip. I wanted to just attach the video to the email, but it was too large. Since I had my iPad handy, and that was the device I had used to make the video, I decided the simplest thing to do would be to just throw the video up on YouTube.

Because I wasn’t using my computer, and because my (soon to be retired) computer is being a big pain in the ass lately, I just uploaded the video straight from the iPad, with no title or anything. I don’t usually put videos on YouTube in that fashion, so it was actually a learning curve just to figure out how to title the video something other than February 4, 2023 and put in a brief description. However, I did manage to accomplish that task.

A little while later, I got a comment from a guy I “met” on SingSnap.com maybe ten years ago. He’s a bit of a lounge singer who is nice, but seems to troll for hits on his videos. He’s also on YouTube. This fellow often comments on my YouTube videos, but not so much on SingSnap anymore. On the other hand, I don’t go on SingSnap very often myself these days. Maybe once a month, I’ll do a recording to make my subscription worth the money and try out new stuff.

Lately, this fellow, name of Brad, has been leaving me comments on my YouTube music recordings. Last night, I discovered that Brad has a habit of commenting on things he doesn’t listen to… That’s not such an uncommon phenomenon. There are some SingSnap users who are notorious about rubber stamping recordings of which they haven’t actually so much as listened to the first second. They mainly do it because they hope people will comment on their recordings. Naturally, I assume they also hope people will listen to them, too, and not just leave a comment on something they’ve never even heard. People have their egos… and some folks think they deserve more of an audience, but they don’t want to reciprocate.

I’ll be honest. I don’t listen to a whole lot of SingSnap recordings. I mainly go there to try new songs, not necessarily make friends or build a fan base. When people leave nice comments on my recordings, I do appreciate it very much. But I don’t expect them to do that. Likewise, I am happy when people comment on my YouTube videos, as long as their comments are polite. But I don’t necessarily wait for that with bated breath. I understand that when it comes to amateur recordings, people aren’t always curious.

So anyway, last night, I put up a non-musical video. It stars Bill, Noyzi, and Arran. I put the raw version of this same video in yesterday’s travel blog post. I ONLY put it on YouTube so I could share it with younger daughter. Behold…

There is no music on this video.

Below is a screen shot of the comments on this video.

To be sure, this situation is mildly embarrassing. It’s embarrassing for me, because I now know that Brad just comments on shit without listening to it. It’s probably embarrassing for Brad, because he got busted. I notice this morning, I have one less YouTube subscriber. So now, I’ve been “punished”, most likely for Brad’s fuckup.

Actually, I don’t necessarily think of this as a “punishment”, per se. If you don’t actually want to watch my videos, by all means, don’t torture yourself. You don’t have to do me any favors. I put stuff up for those who like what I do. There are still a few people who enjoy my efforts. If you’re not one of them, that’s okay. And it’s okay if you don’t want to spend the time to check out my latest videos or blog posts or anything else. Just please don’t waste my time being fake.

I totally get that people often feel the need to be “nice”. I also know that there’s a big difference between being “nice” and being “kind”. People are often “nice” for their own purposes. Let’s face it. A lot of times, we put on a pleasant facade to get through things that might be unpleasant or uncomfortable. God knows, I have grinned and born it when dealing with dictatorial bosses, high conflict oriented relatives, and malevolent landladies. But there’s no need to do that on things like social media. Simply keep scrolling if something doesn’t interest you. Otherwise, you might trip up and show your ass.

Being kind isn’t always “nice”. A person can be kind by saying or doing something that will ultimately spare someone pain or inconvenience in the future. It would have been kind, for instance, if some of the narcissists I’ve known had shown me who they really were before I got too involved with them and invested a lot of time and energy in the relationship. But that wouldn’t have been “nice”, because it’s usually not nice to deal with a narcissist who is being themselves.

There’s no harm nor foul if Brad doesn’t want to subscribe to my channel anymore. It’s not a very active channel, anyway. He won’t have to rubber stamp videos he’s never listened to, and I won’t have to read his comments on my content, which he hasn’t bothered to view long enough to know what it is.

Later last night, via Statcounter, I noticed that I got a hit on blog posts I had tagged with Camerata Singers. I was a member of that choir when I was a student at Longwood University (then called Longwood College). I clicked on the link, and the first post with the Camerata Singers tag took me to an article I wrote in April 2020.

That post was about how, back in 2020, I got a request from a university official for an interview. This guy had found a blog post I wrote about my college years and was impressed. He wanted to talk to me about my experiences at Longwood. Ordinarily, I might have been flattered by his request, but as I explained in that post, this same fellow had spoken to me in 2014. Obviously, he forgot.

We had a lengthy conversation about my Longwood years and some of my experiences. He led me to believe he was going to write an article about me, but he never did. And that was okay with me, because as I also explained in my post, I realize that I might not seem like a shining representative of where a Longwood education might lead a person. It’s his job to “sell” the university, attract new students, and maybe influence alums to donate money. A person who calls themselves an “overeducated housewife” isn’t exactly the stuff of college recruitment brochures.

Still, that second request for an interview amused me, because obviously I was interesting to him, on some level. But he forgot that we’ve already spoken, which is understandable, since he probably talks to a whole lot of people. Ah well. Aside from a slight ego bruise, no harm, no foul.

I’ve come to realize that there’s more than one way to get through life. Our culture focuses a lot on people being “someone” in life. We’re expected to be someone’s spouse or partner, someone’s parent, someone’s employee, or maybe someone’s boss. If you aren’t one of those things, what good are you? I’ve run into this phenomenon a lot, especially in military communities, where family members and spouses of servicemembers are officially called “dependents” and unofficially called derogatory names like “dependas” (or worse).

I remember a few years ago, in the wine group I run on Facebook, I shared a link to a post I’d written on my travel blog. A member of the group, someone who obviously didn’t know that I was the admin, thoughtlessly posted a comment along the lines of, “Traveling Overeducated Housewife? Eww. I hope she at least has children.” I think I actually screenshot the comment at the time, but I can’t find it and it’s not important enough to go looking for it.

Naturally, I had a good time stating that no, in fact I don’t have children. And if he wanted to know WHY I don’t have them, I’d be happy to share the very personal details. I think he probably slunk out of the group after that interaction.

In the military community, especially, family members and spouses get judged. Some people get judged for being “fat slobs who abuse Tricare”. Others get judged for being “uppity bitches who don’t know their place.” Still others get judged for daring to write blogs instead of waiting tables. I don’t know where this attitude comes from… if I had to guess, I’d say it comes from insecurity and sexism. Someone like me doesn’t seem to have much value in the military community, or apparently, anywhere else. But at least my husband loves me, right? And so do my dogs. 😉

Lots of people in the military community automatically dislike me because of the name of my blog. Most of them have never met me in person, or even so much as had a conversation with me on social media. And they judge me for being “formally educated”, but not formally employed, forgetting that it’s hard to have a great career when you have to move all the time. Some people can do it, but not everyone can. I don’t want to have a job just to have a job, especially when I know there are people who need to work for the money.

Or they judge me because I don’t have children. Or because I am my husband’s second wife… and that must mean I was “the other woman”.

Like my friend Thomas commented yesterday, “People jump to conclusions all the time, they think they know more than they do, they think they’ve got something to say when they don’t, and it causes a whole range of conflict coming from different angles.”

Exactly… and sometimes, people say and do fake “nice” things, when they don’t really mean it, and are just trying to be manipulative. Or… they judge you silently, when you do something other than what they think you should be doing with your own life. I’m mostly just trying to get through life without irritating people.

I put stuff out there. Some of it’s good or noteworthy. Some of it sucks. There’s no need to do me any favors by acting like you like something I’ve put out there when you haven’t bothered to read it or watch it. There’s no need to comment or react at all, unless you’re genuinely moved to do so. The world would be a much better place if people would be more authentic with kindness as their main motivation. There’s no need to try to fool me with fake shit. I can usually smell it a mile away, anyway.

Just be real. But I know that’s easier said than done. Our society doesn’t make it easy to be real, does it?

A little musical wisdom from Ron Block. This IS a musical video, but I’m not the one singing. 😉
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