I was driving in this morning, listening to the news reports of how that reality show murder guy was found dead in his hotel room, and how after he had finished carving up his bride, she could only be identified by the serial numbers on her breast implants.  It sent me down a couple of trains of thought, one being that I now wonder how many murdered women are going to turn up without fingers, teeth, or breasts.  The other, how I could sneak some breast implants into my own body without my husband noticing.

My husband is extremely anti-plastic surgery.  I go back and forth.  The one thing I've never wavered on was that if I had the guts and the cash, I would buy myself a better looking pair of Sweater Pets.  I thought that if I could get my husband to go on a week long vacation with our son, and the Grandfather, I could have some pretty teardrops tucked into my torso, and recoup while they were visiting Old Faithful.  Played carefully, it might be a couple of weeks before he noticed. (I have the same thoughts about tattoos.  I think I could easily have one for months before my husband saw it.  And then, instead of having the fight about me getting a tattoo, we could have the fight about how he doesn't notice me.  Win-win!  Except for the not really part of that.)

Anyway, I would love to have some new or at least simply improved dirty pillows.  Of course, as I age and after having had a child, I look at my stomach and think, "That ain't ever going back to normal, either.  I could lose a hundred pounds and be grossly underweight, and my belly button would still look like it was going down the bath drain."  My vanity dies under the thought of tummy tuck, though, mainly because that seems like major surgery compared to a boob job, and I don't even have the guts for the boob job.

But after saying, "That ain't ever going back to normal," another part of me says, "Dork, it IS normal.  You had a great big, healthy baby.  Welcome to reality."  (And that baby?  I picked him up out of bed this morning and his feet were banging against my knees.  Where did the baby go?!)

I was part of a conversation with a man who was telling about his wife's natural labors and deliveries of two 10+lb babies.  I asked him what kind of present he bought her, and he said, "A ten-thousand dollar tummy tuck!  Man, she needed it!"  He was obviously grossed out by what had become of her stomach.  My sudden insecurity was reflexive.  "Post-partum bellies are gross?  Oh god!  I have one!  Oh god!  I'm gross!  I need to have that thing cut off!"

Fortunately, the feeling went away quickly and I decided he was gross for not loving his wife's body the way it was.  (But men are visual, you say.  So are pigs, I say.  Welcome to reality.  Everything sags eventually.  Everything.  Yes, even that.)

I started wondering if somewhere, in some part of the world where there is no America's Next Top Model, or Vogue magazine, or Gossip Girl, if girls and young women look at the bodies of their mothers and grandmothers and hope that one day they will be able to physically emulate the soft puckers of a belly that has housed a family, and the deflated sacs that fed that family?  Strong arms, strong legs, strong backs, and wonderfully soft and wrinkly everything else.  Do you think?

Do you think men in those cultures are proud of their wives post-baby looks because of what those looks mean?

I think that's something of Utopia.

And I still want nicer boobs.

The Sports Talk guys and the Local News are far more right leaning than what you get on NPR, so when they run similar stories, I like hearing the differences.  Lately, a lot of talk has been devoted to health care reform. 

I don't pretend to be informed enough to back or protest any bills being presented, and I readily admit that whenever I hear "Health Care Reform" alarms start clanging in my brain that sound like "SOCIALIZED MEDICINE!  WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!  AND WE'LL DIE WITH BAD TEETH!"

Yesterday, I shared that with a total stranger through a mutual friend's journal post on the subject.  (I have very intelligent, informed friends, by the way.  If you can't be intelligent or informed yourself, that's the next best thing.  I'm looking at you, Sarah Palin.)  The stranger's response had to do with us not needing better or guaranteed insurance, but guaranteed care.  I followed up that we needed guaranteed GOOD care.  Guaranteed care is like guaranteed lunch when you're stuck in a training class.  I'm not sure the government can guarantee any level of efficiency in healthcare.  In fact, I'm pretty sure they can't.

I do believe the system needs to change, but I also believe that human nature is to chase the brass ring, and if we are going to have the best minds and hands in healthcare, there have to be free market incentives.  Instead of incentive just to get into the lucrative medical field, though, I think we need to restructure payment so that profit is outcome based.  Are you a good doctor or nurse?  Then you build your practice to a measurable, and at the end of the year, insurance companies give you kickbacks for how healthy your patients are.

Oh, you have to have records to prove that your patients have all had physicals and have good bills of health, and your potential for profit decreases as your patients health does.  But if you've got 80% or better of your customers in solid health, then you get a hefty chunk of cash.  That drives medical interest in prevention and cures, and is its own check and balance to the drug companies. 

I'm not sure the government is impartial enough to run that.  As my friend The Average Blogger says, "Why would you want the outfit that brought you the IRS in charge of your healthcare?" Free bad healthcare can be just as detrimental as no healthcare at all.  Ask me.  I grew up being treated by military doctors.  All those jokes about military doctors?  Funny because they are true.

On NPR this morning, David Goldhill talked about how his father died in a hospital, after catching a hospital related infection.  He went on to ask what would happen if, after killing his father, the hospital had presented his mother with the +$600k bill.  As a consumer, and as the customer, would his mother have been happy to pay for the snowball bill, built up by treatments required after the hospital's initial goof?  If not, then why should an insurance company, or Medicare/Medicaid?

I have to say this, too.  While I believe that people should all be able to access basic healthcare, and I believe that some provisions should be made for those who honestly cannot help themselves to healthcare, I have a big problem with being told that everyone should only have access to the same healthcare.  Big problem with that.  And I say that as a lower middle-class woman with a cracked tooth I can't afford to fix right now.

I say that as a woman who, while laid off, had to take her son to the emergency room for a three hour long, $800 visit.

I say that as a woman who has bought private, high-deductible insurance when she couldn't afford the out of pocket on the insurance offered by her small company.  Who has had no insurance at all, but bought the package for cheaper visits to the Doc in the Box.  And as a woman who has made career choices based on nothing but which company could offer me better insurance.

I know there are very real problems.  One of my best friends can't afford care she needs.  Another friend is hoarding her rx meds because she can't afford to buy more.  Another best friend is scraping by because she and her brother are sharing the expense of keeping their ailing father in  a good Alzheimer's facility. 

I just don't think the government is the group to fix the problems.  Open the conversation?  Sure.  Be in charge?  No.

Pale september, I wore the time like a dress that year
The autumn days swung soft around me, like cotton on my skin
But as the embers of the summer lost their breath and disappeared
My heart went cold and only hollow rhythms resounded from within
But then he rose, brilliant as the moon in full
And sank in the burrows of my keep

And all my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep

He goes along just as a water lily
Gentle on the surface of his thoughts his body floats
Unweighted down by passion or intensity
Yet unaware of the depth upon which he coasts
And he finds a home in me
For what misfortune sows, he knows my touch will reap

And all my armour failing down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep
All my armour falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warm, as Im singing him to sleep

She is such a lovely writer. 

I know you are in the Congo right now, trying to direct international attention to the plight of women in Africa.  You are there to shed light on the rampant sexual and gender-based violence being perpetrated, and you are demanding arrests, prosecutions, and punishments.  You are doing a good thing.  You are doing a great thing.

But today, if you google "Clinton, Congo" (very different results if you google "Clinton, Conga") a large number of results lead to the mortifying video of you laying the smackdown on a Congalese student who dared ask you (and perhaps to accidentally ask you) what Mr. Clinton thinks about a public policy issue.  I became aware of the video when local deejays opened up the news segment of their show with the commentary that this was why a woman should never be President, as you were clearly dealing with PMS. 

After my initial response of, "And that is why men shouldn't be allowed to talk," I thought, "And how stupid.  Hillary's probably hit menopause by now.  She's not PMSing, you dinks.  She's just...in a very bad mood."

I would be in a very bad mood if I were married to Bill Clinton.  I would also be in a very bad mood if I were constantly upstaged by my sleazy, adulterous husband's easy, winning charm, and bon homme, while everyone went on and on about me being a low-heeled wearing shrew.  Knowing that while I was sweating my pantsuit off in the Congo to aid women, my lecherous spouse was whooping it up in Las Vegas (perhaps doing the conga?) with women aiding him would not help to improve my temper.  And maybe, just maybe, if someone asked me what the greasy, fat bastard thought of public policies my right eye would twitch.  See, my eye twitches when I am really annoyed.

But never, never, never in a million years would I, as a professional, as a diplomat, as a WOMAN snipe, "My husband isn't the Secretary of State!  I am!"  Because...ouch!  That's just bad manners, ma'am.

Bad manners overshadow everything, and diplomats are supposed to be the epitome, the pinnacle, the very living example of good manners.  Diplomacy is defined as the skill of handling affairs without raising hostility. 

Hillary, it wasn't even the student's native language.  It wasn't meant as an insult.  It was innocent.  It was sincere.  And all you needed to say was something along the lines of, "I can't speak for Mr. Clinton, but as Secretary of State, I am glad to define the United States' position as..."  You could even have laughed a little, made it a joke.  But this?  You may as well have rolled up your speech and thwacked that poor kid on the nose with it.  "Bad Congalese student!  Bad!"

Let's face it, I am never going to like you, but I would like to respect you.  Maybe a seminar in comportment is fitting?  Whatever, I do hope this doesn't overshadow the purpose of your mission.  Women are being abused, tortured, and murdered, and that ain't right.  That's the message.  That's the mantra.  That's the heart of the matter.

I don't like to pay a lot for full skin care lines because I never know how quickly I am going to tire of them.  I like to keep things simple, but I do want to take care of my skin.  Well, I discovered that for the cost of one full-sized jar of the regenerating serum (which I love), I could get a full line of trial sized products, including another small serum.  After two months of using the full line (and switching it out with my usual Cetaphil cleanser, my Aveno Foam Cleanser, my Oil of Olay spf30 moisturizer, and my Aveno spf15 tinted moisturizer) I am still really enjoying the products.

No, I probably won't ever buy any full sized jars of anything, but I will definitely buy another small sized set.  I don't think I look any younger for using it, but I am very pleased with how my skin feels.

What I like best:  Light, airy creams, and non-abrasive cleanser.

What I like least:  It's freaking expensive.

Same thing holds true today.  If I want to put in a barrette or a bob of some sort, I have to jimmy it in with a hair pin.  Nothing holds.  Well, orthodontic rubber bands work, but they also break my hair.  This means I am often skeptical of products with taglines saying they will work in the thinnest, finest of hair.  Still, after seeing two new products and wondering about them for a while, I went ahead and bought one of each.

Ezcomb and Bumpits, aside from having supremely obnoxious websites, are my new favorite hair bobs.  In fact, after being stopped by two women while grocery shopping today, who wanted to admire my ezcomb, I may buy stock in the company.  Not really.  But how nice!

Last night, after drinking a margarita that was so much stronger than I thought it was that it took me until noon today to recover (lightweight!), I came home and played with my new hair toys.  I also took pictures.  Listen, if these things are so easy to use that even a drunken blonde can make them look put together, these things are awesome!

(I am self aware enough to know that these are not particularly great photos of the items in question, but you'll just have to trust me.)

I particularly like that I can dress these things up or down, depending on the mood.  Meanwhile, I've been wearing the ezcomb since about 4 this afternoon.  It is now 11pm, and I haven't had to readjust the combs at all.  They have not slipped, have not slid, and my hair hasn't fallen out of them.  If only these things had been around when I was in elementary school!

I just meandered up the road, looking to see how much things had changed since these were last my stomping grounds.  Boy, have things changed!

I wondered what my 16 year old self would think, looking at me today.  I'll bet those eyes would run the road of this body and think the same thing I thought about Zjadek's old street, "Dang..."  Actually, I think my 16 year old self would be pretty pleased by me.  She wouldn't much like my girth, but considering how emo and defeated she felt most of the time, I think she would be delighted to see me so happy.

Today, a list of some products I enjoy, which have surprised me.

1.  Hair-do by Jessica Simpson and Ken Paves:  You all know that I love my fauxny-tails and wiglets.  I was in T.J. Maxx one day, and since Jess's (we're on a nickname basis) hair piece line was available for $9, I grabbed a box.  I was surprised at the quality, happy with the texture and fit, and liked it so well, I ebayed around to find one of the Hair-do Updos.  I just barely managed not to bid on another wiglet last night.

2.  Covergirl Fresh Complexion Pocket Powder:  I bought this because it came free with a mascara I wanted.  I love it!  I am very fair complected, so it is hard for me to find a good match, but even though this is a little dark for me, it blends in well, and wears all day long.

3.  Maybelline Pulse Perfection Vibrating Mascara:  This just looked hilarious to me, but I needed new mascara, so I bought it.  O. M. G.  Best thing since the eyelash curler.  I love this!  I just wish it came in dark brown.  Maybe it does and I just haven't seen it...

4.  Immodium:  Gross, right?  But I've had stomach issues since childhood, and if I get nervous or excited, well, you can forget about me being there because I'll be in the ladies room.  I've discovered if I take half of an Immodium before I go somewhere special (or out on a road trip), I'm able to actually enjoy the whole day.  If I take a whole one, I am feeling the effects for up to two days. 

5.  House of Dereon Accessories:  Now, I will not buy these.  I just have a personal issue with the Knowles family, maybe because they inflicted Bootylicious on the planet, maybe because I will never get over the gold lame hotpants of Destiny's Child yore, or maybe because I am a little afraid of Beyonce, whatever.  I won't buy it.  Their handbags, though?  SO CUTE!

Check out the receipt below.  You'll see that I bought a 2-piece suit, a pair of slacks, 2 blouses and a pair of shoes for $91.  Take out the shoes, and I spent about $75 for items that will give me (adding 2 pieces from my existing wardrobe) 6 different outfits I can wear to the 5 series interview I have coming up.

The trick to shopping at Ross, where I made my purchases, is patience.  It doesn't hurt to be feeling creative, either.  Always keeping in mind what you have at home, start combing the racks in your size, the size below, and a size up.  Items frequently make their way to Ross for a reason:  They are oddly sized.  You might wear a 16, but that size 10 dress fits, or vice versa.  If something catches your eye, and looks even remotely close to your width, snag it.  Try it on.  Just see what happens.

My shopping trip really started with a green blouse.  I saw it, loved the color, and then started building around it.  I found a fantastic floral jacket--something I normally wouldn't go near, but when I put it with the blouse, it took on a whole new life.  The cut and fabric of the jacket made the flounce of the blouse seem more professional.  And since I needed a pair of navy trousers anyway, I decided to try on the clearance rack navy blue suit that came as a jacket and dress.  On my way to the dressing room, I found a shrimp colored shirt that is fairly slutty on its own, but looks fantastic under the navy blazer, as does the green blouse.

Pairing up the navy trousers with the jacket from the suit, I get these:

And to change things up, I added a red top I already had.  (Okay, it's not a top, so much as it is part of a peignor set from Fredrick's of Hollywood, but I won't tell if you won't.)  This I would tuck in.

Moving away from the navy jacket, this is the floral.  I could just as easily put a navy, white, or darker green shell under it and make 3 different suits.  You kind of have to trust me that the jacket is really cute in person.

And pairing the jacket with a $15 dress I bought at WalMart, I get another look.

The dress that came with the navy jacket is one of the worst parts of shopping at Ross.  It is labeled as being almost 2 sizes larger than I normally wear (as is the jacket), but I couldn't even get the dress up over my hips, much less zip it.  It happens.  But it was on clearance for $14.99, and I decided the jacket alone was worth that much.  And who knows?  Maybe one day the dress will fit?

So there you have it.  Over a week's worth of outfits for well under $100.  Shop like that, and you'll still have enough money left over to go to the dollar store and buy some fun, funky jewelry.

Meanwhile, I am clearing out room for the new, and parting with some very nearly new items.  Check out my ebay store to see two suits, a dress, and a fantastic, vintage jacket. Think you could mix and match these items, and come up with your week's worth of wardrobe for under $100?

Oh, and back next week:  Wonder Woman Wednesdays!

The Lois Weber Film Collection:

Historical and Contemporary Films by Women Directors

Grand Prairie Main Library

Grand Prairie, Texas

loiswebercollection@gptx.org

Available March 27, 2009

Named for one of the first successful women directors, the collection of more than 160 films (in dvd format) showcases the exciting variety of motion pictures directed by women since the earliest days of film creation. The Loan Star Libraries grant program, sponsored by the Texas State Library, encourages and enables Texas libraries to make available materials normally out of reach to many library patrons.

Wanting to focus on both the historical and ongoing contributions of women in the motion picture arts, we decided to acquire a core collection of films directed by women, far-ranging in terms of time period, subject matter, style, and country of origin.

It is our goal to create a growing collection that becomes the most expansive and diverse library of films directed by women in the world, supported by books and other research material.

Lois Weber, for whom the collection is named, began as an actress at the Gaumont Film Company in 1905, and directed her first short feature in 1911.  By 1916 she was Universal Studios’ highest-paid director. Unafraid to reflect her convictions in her work, she examined social issues such as corruption, politics, birth control, and capital punishment. Movie archivist and author  Anthony Slide has described her as “certainly the most important female director the American film industry has known.” Image credit: Lois Weber, Library of Congress, LC-DIG-ggbain-32125

• Thursday, March 26 at 7 pm Reception formally opening the collection. Movies will be available for checkout beginning March 27, 2009.
• September, 2009 Film Festival at the Main Library and Uptown Theater, Grand Prairie.
  

NEWS The Opening Reception for the collection will be Thursday, March 26 at 7 pm. Our special guest will be Texas actress and director Janine Turner.

Ms. Turner is known for her work on television shows such as Northern Exposure and Friday Night Lights. She was judged Best Emerging New Director at the Deep Ellum Film Festival for her short feature film, Trip in a Summer Dress, which we will show at the reception. Besides starring and directing, Ms. Turner also wrote the screenplay, based on the short story by Annette Sanford of the same title.

Using the Collection:

Films may be checked out free of charge using a Grand Prairie library card. Library cards are free, and available to anyone with current photo id. You may also check out materials using your Texshare card.
Books and these films check out for a two-week period (Educators, please ask about longer loan periods).
Currently, there is no in-library viewing of films, except for scheduled film festivals.

For more information about the films, visit the library’s catalog at library.gptx.org (or use a terminal at one of our libraries). Search the any film title, or the subject “Women motion picture producers and directors” to see a list of feature films and related books. An annotated list is also available at the Main Library Information Desk.

About the Library:

Grand Prairie is located between Dallas and Fort Worth, south of Irving and east of Arlington. The Grand Prairie Main Library is located on Conover Drive, off of Carrier Parkway.

• A map to the Library
• Hours and contact information.

From Interstate 20: Take the Carrier Parkway exit north for 5 miles. Turn left on Conover Drive.

From Hwy. 360: Take the Carrier Parkway exit south for 5 miles. Turn right on Conover Dr.

From Interstate 30: There is no exit for Carrier Parkway. Take the Belt Line exit south one mile, and turn right on Jefferson. Turn left on Carrier Parkway, and right on Conover Dr.

Our library catalog's list of feature films

Our library catalog's list of documentary films

The latest newsletter about the collection. Want to subscribe? Sign up for any of our library email newsletters.

Visit us on Facebook. Or visit us on Myspace.

(That's Jenifer on the far right)

When we met, Kim had three children.  Less than a decade later, Kim has eight children--I think.  I lost count.  The point is, Kim knows a thing or two about blended families and children!  She has children who were adopted, children who are biological, and children who came into her life with her second marriage.  And she still has time to fix her hair and put on makeup.  I'm tired just thinking about it.

Kim works from her home as an independent beauty consultant and keeps up with a highly enjoyable blog called Mama Fasha.  She looks better in striped shirts than anyone else I know, and sells a wicked red lipstick that every woman should own.

Meet Kim:

First Name: Kim
Age Range: just entered my forties! Gah!
Job Title: Mom & Wife
Industry: Life

How would you like to be remembered? I’d just like to be remembered! Ha! No honestly, this is so evil of me, but I want to be the Mom and Wife whose passing totally just crushes the family because they loved me so much and knew every moment of the day that they are what makes the sun shine and that I was totally devoted to them. Of course I want them to be able to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and move on, but I want them to hate to do it. Because I’m evil like that.

But, I've come to love camping.

I camped for the first time back in 1998.  My three girlfriends and I, whose combined camping experience equalled one trip, borrowed a tent and gear, and off we went.  We were joining a group from our church, and set up camp among the families.  However, we were asked to move, and go camp in the Singles' section the second day, after some of the church wives started to worry that their husbands might be paying too much attention to our hat hair.

Down we went, into the valley area, secluded from everyone else.  We were a five minute walk from the rest of the church group at that point, and since we were the only Singles there, we were completely alone.  This made us grouchy, but did not spoil our fun. 

What nearly spoiled our fun was the tornado that ripped through that night, including severe thunderstorms and flooding.  What saved our fun was finding out that while we suffered only minimal damage (thanks to Renae and Karen managing to McGuyver a shelter out of a tarp and tennis shoe laces), the couple who had insisted on having the spot where we'd set up camp, had seen their tent and gear blown completely away into the lake.  Karma's a bitch, y'all.

I didn't camp again until January of 2008.  See, I bought myself a dog for Christmas, and I think my husband was punishing me.  Pretty decent punishment, actually, and creative.  We ended up having a really good time, though, even if we did spend a ridiculous amount of money on gear.  The dog slept in my sleeping bag with me, along with our 2 year old.  I stayed warm, at least, if not comfortable.

We camped twice more in 2008, and just had our first trip of 2009 over the weekend.  Save for our 3 year old waking up at midnight and puking into the pillow/mummy-style sleeping bag we were sharing, things went well.  The weather was gorgeous.  The campfire burned just right and was easy to start.  We had plenty of hot dogs and apple pies, and all was right with the world.

You know what I like about camping?  Naps.  Camping to me means zipping up the tent to trap the toddler inside, then curling up on a sleeping bag and letting the birds sing me to sleep.

You know what I dislike about camping?  Having to pee at 3 am.  I have this weird fear of raccoons, ever since one chased me (on my first camping trip) and tried to follow me into my tent.  And we never camp near the toilets.  This means, I have to scurry down to the nearest bush and kill some weeds.  I dislike this.  I dislike, even more, when I feel something brush against my naked arse while I am in the position.

Soon I will have some video up, showing us as we put up our tent, heedless of the wind that was white-capping the lake we camped near.  It's pretty funny.

And it was pretty fun.

Okay, before I say that, I have to say set it up.  The leader of the seminar made it clear that social mythologies come into play when an individual has an experience, and that experience is inferred onto a population.  So because I had a bad experience with a waiter in Switzerland who humiliated me in front of a full and buzzing cafe, I think the Swiss are rude and thumb my nose at their cheese, chocolates, and Army knives.  And because you know me, and you think I am worldly and cosmopolitan, and because you want to secure my favor, you agree with me that the Swiss are all rude.  Then people who idolize you, like you idolize me do the same thing.  And in Breckian (no, not Brechtian, Breckian--like the shampoo) fashion, you tell two people, and those two people tell two people, until finally there is a run on Cheddar cheese and people revert to plain old pocket knives and Hershey's.

The only way you, your friends, and their multitude of followers will ever eat Swiss cheese again is if you, or they have an actual encounter with a Swiss waiter, who is kind, courteous, and does not shout at you for not saying "please" quickly enough to suit him.  Thus, if men (or women) are buying in to the myths about Women in the Workplace, the only way to change their minds, is to change their experience.

So when the speaker followed up his list of myths with an even longer list of ways I can be opposite the myth to give a new experience, I understood what he was trying to do.  However, telling me, "Men think women talk too much, so you shouldn't talk so much, you shouldn't make everything about you, and you should really try to listen more to change their experience," is the same thing as telling me, "You talk too much.  You make everything about yourself.  You don't listen."  Because explaining the myth, then telling me that I change the myth by not acting like the myth, is insinuating that I was already perpetuating the myth.

Not to mention that his follow up to men thinking women are too emotional was to tell us that it is okay to cry, but that we should preface it by saying, "I need to take a moment."  Thank you, George Costanza.

Let me tell you what I think.  Speaking of men who believe in myths about women, is speaking of men who relate all women to their mothers.  And those men not only think women talk to much, are too emotional, and can't take out the garbage, but they believe women should set up for them, clean up after them, and mix them a cocktail.  And there isn't anything you can do to change their minds because those men are not men at all.  They are pigs.

So the message should be this:  There are always going to be people who think you are too much something and not enough something else.  You should look at their criticisms to see if they are valid, and do something about it if they are.  If they aren't, consider the source and move on.

Then the dream shifted, and I dreamed that I was waking up from that nightmare, and going down the hall of my mother's house to tell her about it.  I was glad when I really woke up.

This was the first headline I read this morning:  More Young Girls Facing Rape in Afghanistan

The story is bleak and paralyzing.  I read words like, "Violence is tolerated or condoned within the family and community, within traditional and religious leadership circles, as well as the formal and informal justice system," and I feel my heart sinking.  If there is no authority to stand up for the helpless, then who can help?

And we're talking about children who barely have an idea of their own bodies, being violently invaded by adult men, who apparently have no idea of what it means to be human. 

"--child rapes," the article reads, "within the ages of 9, 8, 7, even lesser than that--"  I'm sick thinking about it.  That somewhere out there, probably right now, a little girl is suffocating on fear and confusion, and pain.

I know these things happen in the US, but when these things happen here, it is a shock and horror.  It isn't acceptable.  It isn't tolerated or condoned.  We have authorities who will stand up and say that we protect our children as much as we possibly can, and we will not allow predators to have access to them.  Not for reasons of pleasure, or war, or punishment, or religious insanity, or for any reason.

I don't know what we can do for those little girls.  I wish I did.  I wish I were powerful, or even a man in a situation like this.  Because no matter how powerful the woman, in that society, her voice is the buzzing of a fly.  I want a Goliath to stamp into town and crush the offending men under his sandals.

It is too horrible to think about.  Too horrible to talk about.  But if I don't think about it, don't talk about it, someone who actually could make a difference might not know what is going on.  And that's why it is important to spread the word.  No, maybe I can't make a difference, but I can make a sound.  I can make a noise.  And then someone with the power to make a change might hear my voice and act.

Meanwhile, I pray those girls find peace and healing.