Point of No Return; One Second to Go...

It is another regular Sunday here in Winchester. I am sure that a good portion of this town was up and at church this morning, perhaps even indulging in a little family breakfast. The birds are chirping outside, the roller coaster that has been this April's weather has given us a preview of the hot, humid months ahead. Just two days ago, the frost and the biting wind reminded us of what we had left behind. Today may seem like a regular Sunday to some folks, but in my world it is the day that the countdown clock has begun.

As I poured my coffee this morning the thought occurred to me that in exactly two weeks from this day, this moment, I will be immersed in the Magic Kingdom and while the thought of being there so soon makes me smile it is quickly replaced with the reality of all that I have to accomplish before I get there. I have six papers left to write, two of them research papers. Lacey's opening night is this coming Friday, therefore she is on 'hell week' schedule, and guess who is her chauffeur? I have items to purchase for the trip, a dog that is getting neutered on Friday, and two teenagers who are accustomed to eating a prepared dinner every night. Let's not mention my new full time job that now expects me to show up regularly. Packing has to begin, reservations need to be double checked, and birthday presents and card need to be bought and sent to my step-mom. Let's face it, my kitchen now looks like a tornado hit it, I can not remember the last time I cleaned my floors or the bathroom, and the carpets are screaming for a shampoo. I managed to complete my FAFSA this week, and start the set up of a student loan for the summer classes I have to take, but I still have not written my adviser about adding a class I am doing as a one on one basis with the professor.

And this all needs to be done in less than 13 days. I don't write this down to whine, but to simply make sure that I am not dramatizing when a moment of panic sets in and I think, HOLY SHIT I HAVE A LOT TO DO; how in the hell am I going to get all this done...when am I going to get all this done? It is a few minutes before the blessed calm takes over and  the voice of reason whispers,'this always happens at finals time'. The daily expectations of life become daunting prospects and a feeling of terrifying helplessness seizes control that forces me to react in the only way I can: by digging my heels in with the fortifying resolve that I will not fall. Not fail, fall. Well, I suppose the two are mutually exclusive to me, I will not fail unless I fall...apart.

My name is Christina and I am a junkie; this is what keeps bringing me back to school, this is what I am addicted to: the adrenaline rush and the overwhelming sense of power that comes every time I conquer a semester. The only thing that is comparable to this feeling is probably the moment my children first left my body and entered the world. It is a moment of startling realization when you realize you just achieved the most demanding and arduous of feats, and for a small period of time after, I always feel invincible. Like labor, the duration of the semester is a period of coping with the pain, breathing in all the right places, and dealing with the sense that you are completely vulnerable. In a situation where all you can do is lay yourself out there while people poke, prod, and grade your innermost being, when the end comes and you realize that not only did you survive the ordeal and live to tell about it, you also contributed something meaningful to the vastness of time and space. A tiny ripple in the ocean perhaps, but a ripple nonetheless.

So here I go again, off to create a ripple. With so few days left, I am at the point of no return in the semester. There is always this feeling I get, a feeling of 'there is no going back now.' Probably like when I was ten centimeters dilated, ready or not, that baby was coming. One more second to go, and ready or not, I will be finished with another semester and then, "I'm going to Disney World!"

The (Not So) Daily: Game Of Thrones Review: 'The Night Lands'

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I Know I am a Woman

Women are a complex specimen, so much so that our history is filled with songs, literature and drama inspired by the multifarious nature of the woman. The intricate design of women is a series of convoluted physiology conducted by a compound of anatomical parts, working harmoniously to achieve the impossibility that is the human female.  The woman encompasses labels such as the lady fair, the maiden, and the giver of life, the nurturer, and the weaker sex. What is more confusing than the makeup of a woman is how the power of their composition has translated to anything less than the almighty power that it actually is. The Greeks made an example of the forceful nature of woman which can be seen in the popular myth of Helen of Troy: a woman who’s biological make up was so great and so desired; it inspired a great Trojan War. Even today, the biology of women is influential enough to dominate the political scene proving that women’s biological capabilities are so significant that the most powerful of America’s men still spar for the right to control it. Cultures take violent measures to dictate how the biology of women is managed, some going as far to mutilate the female genitals. How is it possible then that woman, who harbor this ultimate power, have been procured a subjugated role throughout the majority of societies?  Natalie Angier sheds light on this great question in Woman:  An Intimate Geography. By supplementing the biology of women within historical and cultural contexts, the physiology becomes comprehensive so that the non-academic and or non-scientific readers are able to appreciate the incredible intimate geography of a woman.

Angier’s tour of women appropriately begins at the beginning, with the A’s; Apoptosis, Atavism, Art and Adam’s first wife. Apoptosis is a most fascinating function, and results in something that most humans ignore, the endeavor that results in each individual’s existence. It is a sobering moment when you embrace the idea that we, the entire human race alive today and all those that came before us, “are all yeses. We are worthy enough, we passed inspection…we are meant to be….we are all good eggs.” (Angier, 4) For humanity itself, there is nothing as precious as those eggs; they ensure the survival of our species. As a reflection of their importance, both historical and modern societies pay them great homage as reflected in varying degrees of religion, mythology and rituals. The heavenly ovoid of Christus Regnans, the Easter eggs of a Christian holiday, the egg shaped backdrops of Hindu Gods, and famous art, like the works of Georgia O’Keefe, all represent a cultural acknowledgement of the worth of the female egg. (Angier, 5) The egg has power, and Atavism is symbolic of this. The ova have seniority and they occasionally like to remind us of this when a prehistoric dormant gene makes an appearance in a modern homosapien. Atavism could also be referred as evolution’s exhibit A.  Then there is the fascinating little detail that would rock the organized religions of the world by knocking their foundation out from under them; Adam was not and could not have been ‘first.’ The science supports that all fetuses are “primed to become female… [b]y the conventional reckoning of embryology, females are said to be the ‘default’ or ‘neutral’ sex.” (Angier, 42) Angier’s assessment proves that the egg was first; the fallopian tubes are the recipe for the penis and not, as our religions and cultures would have us believe, the other way around.

Perhaps what is best about Woman is the fact that even if you cannot understand the mechanical terminology of the biological function of women does not mean that you cannot understand its power. The anatomical framework of women has given rise to the most enduring myths and contributed a large amount of work to the art world.  Angier notes that for our ancestral sisters, the clitoris was the universal key, “a woman’s best appendage,” and for the most part, it gave them power over their male counterparts. (Angier, 73) Men are often accused of thinking with their penises, perhaps if women thought with their clitorises, there would be a woman in the Oval office, with a woman as her second in command. The clitoris “hates being scared or bullied… [it] loves power and strives to reinforce the sensation of playing commando… [t]he clitoris is our magic cape.” (Angier, 78) It is empowering to think that such a small anatomical feature has that much capability.   The uterus does not have the same fearless reputation as the clitoris, rather it has succumbed to stereotype generated by Hippocrates conclusion that the uterus was the ‘gypsy’ of the female organs, wandering around her body aimlessly, giving rise to all of women’s failings. Thereby, the Greek word for womb is hysteria, and this eventually pervaded the idea that when a woman is ‘out of line’, she was hysterical. As if her out of control organs override her good sense to behave and be quiet. Angier explains this erroneous view; the uterus is anything but weak and wandering.

The uterus is so much more than just a source for the ‘hysterias’ of women, it is an organ that can incubate an ovum, accommodate it through nine months of growth and produce a new human being. This pouch that is the size of a child’s fist expresses and responds to hormones, makes proteins, sugars, and fats, “fabricates drugs that in other contexts would be illegal,” it is also the organ women often associate with defining themselves as women. (Angier, 121) The egg is a woman’s miracle, her clitoris a source of strength and the uterus harbors the survival of the species; yet is the non-functional breasts that often receive all of the attention. When a dog becomes pregnant, her teats grow in accordance, after she is done nursing, they shrink back. This is the case with all mammals, except humans. According to Angier the human female serves an aesthetic purpose only, it “is nonfunctional to the point of being conunterfunctional.” (Angier, 138) A closer personal examination of this point proves to be so true. I have had developed breasts for twenty three years, and in those twenty three years, they have been used for only two years. So for twenty one years now I have been carting around two orbs of fat tissue and binding those babies up to the point of discomfort, and all the while ignorant to the blatant fact of their uselessness. Yet, the breast, like so many other facets of the woman’s body, is a popular aspect in art and culture. Minoan statues depicted priestesses with commanding bare breasts, while Canadian sculptures, ancient Indian, Tibetan, and Creation art all display “celestial…zero-gravity planet breasts.” (Angier, 140) The period of time in a woman’s life when the breast is functional also has its place in the artistic arena.

As a mother who nursed, I maintain an intimate knowledge of nursing, but I was ignorant of the sacredness that has been derived from the act. When the occasion arose for my infant son or daughter to eat while we were in a public setting, I either found a dressing room or threw a blanket over my shoulder to cover the suckling babe. I did this always for the comfort of others, and never myself. Had I had the occasion to read Angier’s assessment of the sacred performance prior to these occasions, I would certainly have been less inhibited. Angier notes that one of the “most prevalent images in Western art” is the Maria lactans, a depiction of Mary nursing the baby Jesus. (Angier, 157) Greek mythology pays homage to sacredness of lactation with the story of the Greek goddess whose milk gave infinite life, and alone gave birth to the Milky Way. In ancient Egypt as well, respect to the importance of nourishment through nursing was shown as wet nurses held the highest distinction among the class of servants. From the production of colostrums, human milk is indeed ‘nature’s perfect food.’ The chemistry of breast milk is manufactured so perfectly that nursing babies’ diapers hardly smell because “there’s very little waste matter, very little excreted protein” to emit an odor. (165) in my kitchen, no matter the recipe, and no matter how natural the ingredients, there is no meal I can prepare for my children that will ever again agree with their bodies’ needs so perfectly. 

The biology of a woman is a densely involved process down to the cellular level. When examining it in detail, there is power to be found in the anatomical and physiological make-up of a woman. It is a force that is underutilized and the facts as produced by Angier could go a long way in uniting women to exert their influence. The power is there, it literally resides within.

Bibliography

Angier, Natalie. Woman: An Intimate Geography. Random House, 1999.

Don't get a Puppy

I can not say that I was not dully informed, but I have been known to ignore good advice more than once. "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it." At my last visit with my physician we were discussing my health and my stress level. I mentioned I was considering getting a puppy and his head snapped up so quick, his look clearly read "Are you crazy?" His mouth asked, "Why would you want to do that?" I told him, the kids want one and maybe it will be good for me. He said don't do it, that it was additional stress that I and my busy schedule do not need...I went ahead and did it anyways.

I love my puppy, I really do, but he is more than just additional stress, he is almost a full time job. My babies were easier, at least I could put them in a swing or lay them down for a nap so I could have a minute or so, the puppy, well, not so much. Then, to add to the change the puppy has brought to our already busy lives, I received a job offer I couldn't refuse. Sure it is more hours, 14 to be exact, a week and sure I don't have the extra time to spare, but there are some offers in life that you just can't turn down.

I use my hour lunch to do reading for class and the fifteen minutes I wait for Lacey to finish rehearsal is also spent reading. I have juggled worse than this....I can't remember when, but I am sure I have. Time management, time management, time management. This is key ladies and gents. Less knocks on my door at night while I am reading would help too!

So ladies, the point of tonight's blog? When your doctor tells you no puppy, listen. And when a job offer comes up that means more hours at work, less at the books. Rearrange your time, create a schedule and do your best to stick to it. If all else fails, do what I do, hide in the bath tub under some hot bubbles with a good book!

The (Not So) Daily: Politics On A Tuesday

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