The Joy of Being Defended

I’m really not into “girl power” and all that “I don’t need a man” jazz.

But I do operate a bit under similar assumptions, I’ve noticed.

On one level this is simple practicality: I’m away from Jay most of our waking hours.  I was 19 before I met him.  I can handle myself just-fine-thank-you.

When I imagine someone being defended when s/he doesn’t need it, it seems either comical (“thanks anyway”) or a new threat (“What exactly is your motivation here?”).

This happens in my novel, which could be why I’ve thought about it as much as I have

I didn’t think of “being defended” as actually useful until it sort of happened to me.

~

This summer I was in an informal class about the cannon of Scripture (how it was established, etc.), and at one point we were discussing something and I brought up the idea of time as a filter.  I was going to use my beloved folktales as my example, but realized the inappropriateness in this context and clammed up.

The teacher encouraged me to finish and I began again with the disclaimer that “this isn’t going to sound very spiritual, but” here you go.

Most of the small class seemed to understand and accept my point, but one fellow (we have a history of confrontation, so maybe we pick on each other more?) began to attack my use of fairy tales in a discussion about the validity of scripture.

Never at a loss for words with this man, I was ready to defend myself as soon as he stopped to breathe, but it proved unnecessary.  The teacher himself stepped into the debate and killed it, pointing out I’d acknowledged the inequality before launching my comparison.

The argumentative guy yielded graciously to the teacher’s authority and class moved on.

I don’t know if the teacher even would have thought of that as defending me (it could just as easily been an experienced teacher redirecting the class so we could stay on-topic).

But the fact that I was both absolved and didn’t have to expend my emotional energy (on someone not likely to listen) was surprisingly delightful.

This kind of defense, I’ve found, is what my parents and Jay have been so good at with/for me.

They don’t fight my battles, but they give me insightful counsel and frequently help me get around the troubling issue entirely.

One example related to my last post:

The second week of August (!) I went to a thrift store’s $1 tag day and rolled my eyes at all the Halloween stuff already being brought in.  We brushed it off with an anatomy review (what’s the longest bone in the body?  What do you call this one at the top?).

In a week I’d forgotten and we went back for the next sale.  More stuff out.  Grosser stuff.  The kids were beginning to act a little creeped.  While checking out I told them we wouldn’t be back until after Halloween.

Later Jay asked me why I hadn’t just left when I saw what was there.  I replied that it honestly hadn’t occurred to me; I was “on a mission.”  I told him now that he’d planted the idea I’d probably remember better to use it.

Later, before snow-fall, I drove the kids to a park to eat and play.  It was empty except for a man who, in Melody’s words, was “acting so silly.

I guessed he was drunk and my mind raced through implications and scenarios.  We had just arrived and acknowledged him politely.  I hated the idea that he’d think we were leaving because we were judging (what other word can you use?) something about him.

Then Jay’s line of Just leave. rang in my mind.  This wasn’t about him.  It was about me being a mom and listening to my own intuition and being prudent.

So we left.

And it made for some interesting (and awkward) conversation in the car, but I still think we did the right thing.

Explaining Halloween to (my) Children

As a Christian I have always felt a bit embarrassed about other Christians slamming Halloween for its pagan roots.

Yes, there is good evidence to tie it to old pagan rituals involving human sacrifice or the return of the dead (to visit/haunt the living– whatever you wish to call it) rather than “once to die, and then the judgment.”

The arguments from these people primarily seem to run that Halloween should be rejected because of where it came from (many books and, I imagine, websites, go deeper into the details so I feel no need to here).

But this is a genetic fallacy, and even before I had figured out the name for it, I knew it was faulty thinking, because I’ve only once (and that was just last year) heard a Christian reject Easter for its equally traceable pagan roots.

I’ve floundered every year on how much to let my children participate.

When I had an 8-year-old foster boy, I agreed to take him to his school’s “carnival,” and was relieved when I learned it was canceled because of freezing rain.

We made a costume together for door-to-door trick or treating (to fit *over* the warm clothes– you have to do that in cool places like Alaska), but I firmly guided him away from the gross or mass-inspired (from cartoon characters to Harry Potter) costumes, because I feel those either focus on what is evil or stifle creativity.

In case anybody wonders, or needs the idea, we made a spider: matching sweatpants and shirt (that could be reused in the future) with a pair of stuffed pantyhose sewn on each side with string tying the ankles of the hose to the wrist above it.

8-year-old *loved* it: all the arms had “life” because they were connected to him.

I felt rather clever.

Anyway, what really got me last year (and assured an until-further-notice non-participation) was how an article I read in the paper melded with a section from one of my favorite books (The Perilous Gard).

The timing itself was… precise.  In the morning I read the retailers’ claims that the increasing presence and gruesomeness of Halloween paraphernalia is utterly market driven: “We’re just giving them what they want!”

The same day (while I was making dinner) I listened the the section of the book that was the preparation of a human sacrifice.

It  turned my stomach like it never has before, and I couldn’t imagine any more the “practice” and implications of this gross stuff to be innocent or worth perpetuating.

Here is where the genetic fallacy can have value: it should remind us what was (or should have been) left behind. We shouldn’t forget what it’s like to watch people live in fear– not knowing there was a sure defense from every terror that walked the night on the Feast of the Dead.

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More rivalry.

Going into the “swamp” and letting my characters fight monsters and each other is a section of the story I’ve started in each version and got stuck on each time.  It’s very close to working now.

This excerpt shows more of the tension (and, I hope, character) of the competing captains and their prince.

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Two Versions

Some of you may remember this version of the snake-confrontation (green segment at the bottom of a rambling, self-indulgent post).

In my current version, that scene gives too much weight/significance to Tykone, a relatively minor major character in this novel (more significant in the other story).

Instead of seeing it we hear him tell of it.  This breaks a number of “rules,” but it’s how things will stay for now.  This segment begins with Shimon, the palace herald, talking in the local tavern about what happened.

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Inoffensive Arguing

I think all of us here know the “rule” about using “I-statements” in arguments and discussions, rather than “you-statements.”

“I feel…” instead of “You’re *wrong*

I knew a guy in college that I once out-argued and he sputtered for a moment before collecting himself and sagely observing, “Well, you are un-wrong in that instance.”

I realized today that there are those for whom refraining from saying You’re wrong is not enough.  These people feel it’s part of the same, basic politeness for me to acknowledge their side has an equal legitimacy; an equal chance of being correct.

And if I’m being *really* polite I might hint the other person’s idea has the tiniest bit of upper hand because I’m less-open minded and perhaps might not notice if I were wrong.

Anyway, there are probably topics where this kind of exchange would be possible.  The problem is, I don’t think it would occur to me to discuss them, because I wouldn’t see them having a lot of significance.

There are things I will “go to the wall” on.  And while I won’t usually say that exact phrase without being asked, I am not going to pretend anything contradictory is of equal importance.  Even to be polite.

More Novel Stuff

But not all that original…

Still working at the novel a couple nights a week.  Added 11/1200 words each of my last two sittings and that’s made me feel better than I did (I’ve been mostly editing the new draft till now, and began to wonder if I was capable of an original thought).  Latest scene involved a nice battle with three tree-sized snakes and purple blood.

Fun stuff.  Only I haven’t figured out the significance of the blood.  {shrug}  I have time.

The unoriginal part is that I have a conflict of standards.

I want to be amazing and brilliant and moral and entertaining… but maybe I can only be two of those at a time.

From My Earlier Novel

I am finding I am more private than I guessed.

These last weeks when I’ve been posting so little I’ve been slogging through some new thoughts and projects that I am uncertain of, and so feel no desire to write (publicly) about them.

And just because I’ve suddenly become…touchy about my current novel, I felt like showing a clip from an older work.  I’ve mentioned this one before, that it grew out of a single image from a dream.

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Curious Contradition

It is fascinating to me how we humans (perhaps I should specify Americans, as I can’t speak for other cultures) desire both to be unique, and also to be understood.

We desire both self-sufficiency and community; to not be alone.

Eventually, if we are to be sane, we have to settle on one side or the other of these ideas, because, truly, I don’t think they can cohabit.

Nesting

I have been *totally* nesting today: dishes all washed, kids rooms cleaned, laundry all folded and put away.

It has nothing to do with being pregnant (because I’m not), but it’s helped me understand why I *hated* the term nesting when I was pregnant.

I only remember one specific time it was used on me.  Shortly before Natasha was born I was working on a (for me) particularly complicated quilt

when a couple from my church stopped by.  The wife, a quilter herself, admired the assembled top (this picture is just for illustrative purposes– not my own work) as it lay across my ironing board and said “Oh, isn’t that neat; you’re nesting.”

I was feeling irritable because the angles hadn’t met properly and there was no way the top was going to lay flat without taking in most of the center star, negating the focus of the color choices.

That my ineffectual efforts as an artist were admirable (or worse, “cute”) was not something I wanted to hear right then.  I did my best to be gracious but that word nesting would not go away.

I heard it again as each of my subsequent children neared birth, and hated it each time.

Looking at it from this end, I can deduce that the perceived insult came from the implication I was behaving in an unnatural way that could be explained away (dismissed) as a mere flurry of hormonal activity.  This was nothing I could hope would last and my natural, slatternly, ways would return once I was settled into my new routine.

No wonder I felt insulted.

Naturally, none of the nice people I know would actually mean this.  Consciously.  But It’s made me want to be more careful in commenting on anything that lumps an admirable activity (e.g., tidiness, creativity) into some kind of generality.

Anything that is out of the ordinary for an individual has taken effort, and whether “hormones” or “instinct” have helped push the first-step, those intangibles shouldn’t get the credit or be allowed to dilute the sense of accomplishment that stepping out of “normal” allowed.