Author Archives: janaremy@gmail.com

Them “gay” books: a response

My daughter’s photo accompanied a BlogHer post this week, that same image of our old living room bookshelves that the  New Yorker online featured awhile back.  As I read the BlogHer post and looked at the photo, I suppose it was really the first time I thought about our bookshelves as “gay.”  I mean, these shelves were in the living room of a heterosexual married couple with two children.  Suburban, middle-class normal, not-gay.  Kind of.*

The author of the post used the photo of our living room to illustrate her discussion of why she doesn’t encourage (or allow?  it’s a bit unclear) her child to read “gay” books because she doesn’t want her to be “exposed to alternative lifestyles,” especially books that might depict intimate interactions between same-sex couples.

I grew up in a home with “traditional” values where I was often told not to read certain books because they had ‘inappropriate’ sexual content.  True confession: whenever I was told not to read something, I went right out and got my hands on a copy of that book and read it to try to figure out why it was forbidden. Perhaps this was because I found the world that I was growing up in to be awfully confusing.  My family belonged to the LDS church and we lived in the Bible Belt–there were so many arbitrary rules and restrictions in my home and in my Christian friends’ homes that it was hard to make sense of it all.  Books allowed me to either escape my own world, or to help me understand it better.  The school librarian was a close friend and she would let me read books on my lunch hour instead of going out to the playground with the other kids.  Sure, I read a lot of stuff that I didn’t understand–much of it about sex, which was a complete mystery to me having had to piece together a bit of schoolbus crudeness with some rudimentary biology lessons and nothing of that connecting well at all to the romantic scenes that played out on the pages of the novels that I read.  For example, I remember reading a scene in one of those ‘forbidden’ books where a girl and a boy started kissing at a party, and it mentioned him putting his tongue in her mouth.  I wondered about that a lot–I’d never seen anyone kiss like that and it sounded pretty gross.  But the girl in the book liked it.  Liked it so much that she then let him put his hands inside of her clothes.  Again, confusing.  I wondered why she let him do that.  Why it felt good to her.  And more than anything, why that was so scandalous that I shouldn’t be reading about it.  I probably thought a lot more about that scene (and others like it) than I would have otherwise–simply because I knew I wasn’t supposed be reading it.

So because the whole censorship thing didn’t work all that well on me, I decided that when my own kids started reading, I simply wouldn’t censor them.  Ever.  I went to the library with them and we talked a lot about the books they chose.  And on the shelves in our living room were books with explicit sexual content right next to books written by Mormon General Authorities (ok, truth: I did that on purpose sometimes–BoydK could really benefit from some time next to Nabokov, IMO).  There was always a mix of all kinds of stuff–nothing forbidden.  Occasionally I’d find my kids reading something that I thought warranted a conversation that went something like:

“I saw you were reading Such and Such.  What did you think about that?  Were there any parts that you found confusing or that you’d like to talk about?”

Interestingly, the only books that I remember causing me some alarm as my daughter read them, was the Twilight series.  I didn’t forbid it, but instead I did read along with her and then had a conversation about why it’s not okay for a dating partner to stalk you in your bedroom or to treat you violently during a sexual encounter.

Was it “gay” of me to let my teenagers read anything that they wanted off of our rainbow-colored family bookshelves?  I don’t think so.  Are my teenagers “gay” now because they read books with gay characters?  Well, they’re no more or less gay than they were before, I’d say.  Just like they’re no more or less heterosexual than they were before they read books with heterosexual characters.  But I’m also not invested in any particular outcome for my kids’ sexual expression.  They can be gay or not-gay or gay-ish or whatever suits their desires.  I suspect that they might approach their future relationships a bit like they have their reading material–pulling various items off the shelf and reading for awhile to see if it’s compelling enough to continue.  Maybe realizing that one is not right and putting it back and reaching for another.  Sometimes choosing a favorite genre and sometimes something in a new vein.

But the bookshelf analogy breaks down pretty quickly when you compare texts to people–humans can’t be as easily ‘read’ or ‘shelved’ as books can.  And maybe that’s the most important lesson that I want my kids to learn from those rainbow shelves: there’s a big colorful world out there and as they move out on their own they’ll come across all kinds of ‘content’ that challenges and provokes their point of view.  It’ll soon be their job to filter through all of that and choose the path that makes the most sense for their inclinations and passions.  And just like I can’t control the use of Creative-Commons-licensed photos of my daughter like the one above, I also can’t control my kids’ future choices.  Instead, I simply have to trust that they’ll be wise about the decisions that lie ahead as they select their relationships.

*Maybe we were gay–we did like rainbows and a bit of cross-dressing and were strongly engaged in the fight against Prop 8.  🙂

a murmur

I don’t bring a camera with me out on the ocean when I’m paddling. First of all, I learned from my few futile attempts to do so that you can’t hold a camera and a paddle at the same time. Second, you can’t stay still while you’re out in the canoe, so it’s near-to-impossible to take a photograph. Third, there are times that I want to look with my eyes and not with a lens–mostly because I need to see the full horizon and not just what’s in front of me.
But I did love this clip below, and wonder if I should try a little bit of video sometime (perhaps strapped to my head or the bow)? It would be amazing to be able to share the joy of having a pod of dolphins race alongside us, or the eeriness of paddling into a the harbor with bioluminescent creatures swirling around our boat…

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

falling (again)

I fell again today: the result of rain, new boots, and the slick marble flooring in the foyer of my office building. Ugh, some weeks are just like that, aren’t they? With the dull ache of bruised wrists and knees lingering long after the mishap. Sometimes it makes me feel like staying inside my comfort zone, with known terrain and few hazards…

A friend sent me this video recently, and I’ve had several of Brown’s ideas running through my mind ever since. I’m so good at being courageous and vulnerable in some parts of my life, so terrible at it in others. It’s a constant challenge to be open to the experiences of my life and to be generous with everyone that I meet, after having been hurt so badly by the losses of the past year…

Occupy LA: needs Quakers & models for nonviolent resistance

I received this letter from a local Friend about the OccupyLA movement and felt it well-worth sharing:

Last night the mood at Occupy LA was tense. Thousands of protesters had converged in Oakland, closed down the harbor, and wrecked havoc at an building that had once sheltered homeless people, but now was shut down due to budget cuts. LA Occupiers staged a peaceful but edgy solidarity protest in front of the Police Station across from City Hall. Several hundred young people were there, along with a sizable contingent of police, mostly dressed in shorts and trying to look friendly. Cop cars lined the street, their lights flashing, adding a festive or ominous air, depending on your attitude towards the police. It was the Dias de los muertos, the day of the dead, and many young people were in costume, looking spectral and ghoulish. Young men with bull horns orated for an hour or more, and then the crowd dispersed back to the encampment in front of City Hall.

As I wandered about, I had flash backs to the 1960s. Long-haired, bearded young men and lovely young women camping out, talking earnestly, and the occasional scent of pot. A potpourri of LA’s amazing diversity: diverse races, ethnicities and social backgrounds getting together for an all-night party that was both social and political, and never boring.

The General Assembly was canceled because of the rally. In its place a group of ukulele players gathered and played lively Mexico music while a man did a rhythmic foot-stomping dance on a small wooden platform. A little Anglo girl with blond hair danced joyously. A group of African-Americans were having a political discussion nearby.

As I wondered around, I encountered Communists, socialists, vegetarians, hippies, seekers, and an earnest young Evangelical Christian who called out from his tent and asked passersby if they believed in God. When I responded “Yes,” he asked me if Jesus was my Lord and Savior. I bent down, looked him in the eye and replied, smiling, “Jesus is my Friend, my guide and my Savior.” The young man seemed relieved.

I kept thinking of the story that Jesus tells in Matthew 23 about how we are to respect the Law, but not those who profess the Law without practicing it. Jesus says: “Call no one your teacher, or father, or leader, for we are all brothers and sisters and only Christ/God is our leader.”

The Occupies get the “no-leader” part of Jesus’ teaching. They realize that you can’t trust the authorities; they are mostly liars and hypocrites. But many of the Occupiers haven’t yet connected with or submitted to their Inward Teacher. They have learned to resist unjust authority, but haven’t learned the spiritual discipline (and the inward peace) that comes from Holy Obedience. In the signs and art and conversations I sensed a deep yearning for a spiritual as well as political transformation.

There is no religious presence at Occupy LA, like the interfaith tent I saw at Occupy Philadelphia, but there is openness to the idea of having such a tent, as I discovered when I spoke to some of the Occupiers.

My guide was a young Quaker from Orange Grove Meeting named Sergei whom I ran into by “chance.” Sergei is in his early 30s and has a long, anarchic beard, a jovial, bear-like appearance and a thick accent. He is articulate and thoughtful, and has been coming to Occupy LA on a regular basis for several weeks. (In case you’re wondering, he has a job: he is self-employed and fixes restaurant equipment). Sergei sees his mission as helping to calm down people who are agitated. Some are mentally ill. Others are simply enraged by the system. Some are both, like the Mexican man named Juan who used to be a school teacher, and then lost everything, including his wits. Juan wanders around shirtless, making loud and sometimes inappropriate political commentary. Sergei treat him and others like him with great kindness. Sergei explained that he is part of a group of Occupies inspired by Gandhi’s Shanti Seva (Peace Army).

Sergei introduced me to several of the young people who are helping to bring some measure of order to this colorful, vibrant but somewhat chaotic group. A young Latino named Anthony and an Anglo named Casey who help to convene the People’s Assembly (an unstructured alternative to the General Assembly) were very pleased that a Quaker had arrived.

“We need the Quakers!” they told me.

Casey had heard about the Quakers through Tolstoy’s book “The Kingdom of God is Within You.” He sensed that the Occupy movement needed Tolstoyan and Quaker wisdom.

Others I spoke to acknowledged the need for people who can teach and model nonviolent resistance and conflict resolution skills. When I spoke to them about ICUJP, the Parliament of the World’s Religions, and the interfaith community, they were eager for us to come down and share our experience and insights with them.

One of the important elements of Occupy LA is educational. On the north side of City Hall there is a “people’s university” where informal classes and workshops are being offered. On Saturday and Sunday this week, there will be a teach-in with notables such as Robert Reich, Ken Wong, William Black and David DeGraw.

Those I spoke to were also very receptive to the idea of having an interfaith tent, and an interfaith worship service like the one I attended at Occupy Philadelphia. Such a service, I suggested, could be held in the manner of Friends, with silence and opportunities for everyone to share messages and listen deeply. Such a service could include people of all faiths, as well as humanists and atheists.

Those I spoke to loved this idea. There is a deep need for opportunities to become “centered.”

I am proposing that we try to have such a gathering on Sunday afternoon, Nov. 13. I’d like to invite people from UDC, ICUJP, the Parliament, the Westside Interfaith Alliance and other interfaith groups to come and be a friendly presence. The important thing is to be open to listening.

It is also important to spend time at Occupy LA and get to know the people there. The more interaction we have with them and vice versa, the more likely it is that we will grow into a movement that can bring about the kind of change many of us dreamed about when Obama was elected.

Jesus was right: you should not expect our leaders to be our saviors. We have to re-build our fallen society from the ground up, guided by the Spirit and committed to peace, justice, and egalitarianism. This is the only way to stop the war machine and the Domination System.

You can see LA Occupy with live feeds at http://occupylosangeles.org/

Yours in peace and friendship,
Anthony Manousos
Blog: http://laquaker.blogspot.com/

anything can happen…

On a night like tonite:

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.
~Raymond Chandler

ballet class

Just a few days ago I was sitting in my office and a ray of sunlight hit the facets of a stone in a necklace that I wore around my neck and threw gorgeous sparkly patterns on the wall opposite my desk. Every time that happens I’m taken back to a time when I was a little girl sitting cross-legged on the wooden floors of a dance studio, wearing a turquoise leotard with my name embroidered in pink thread on my left shoulder and soft pink slippers with an elastic band across the top of the foot that was hand-sewn in by my mother. Miss Larkin would often start our lessons by pulling a delicate pair of slippers from her bag that were embellished on the edges with rhinestones. She would hold those shoes up high so they would catch the light from the windows and throw “fairy-sparkles” all around the room. She would then tell us that a dance studio was a magical place and show us how ballerinas walked (gently, with toes pointed out, arms held out at sides). She taught us how to move with grace and purpose, as well as how to stretch and arch our backs into bridges and baskets for the fairies. Miss Larkin didn’t believe in tutus and recitals–she believed in practice. Which we did.

Though I went to dances when I was in high school and college, I’ve rarely danced in recent years (except a brief stint to teach myself some bellydancing moves in an unsuccessful attempt to strengthen my hips and abs). For me, dancing is just too much a fight with gravity (and technology) to produce much pleasure.

Speaking of which. Gravity. Ugh. Yesterday as I was sitting at my desk and doing my work (not being distracted by sparkles), I felt a mechanical vibration run up my leg. I thought that maybe I’d left my cellphone in my pocket, but then quickly surmised that it was a vibration coming from my robotic knee, which was a warning that I had 15 minutes until the battery would run out of juice. I had an inkling that something was awry with my knee a few days ago, and suspected that it wasn’t charging well when I plugged it in at night. But…I didn’t suppose that I was running quite so low. So I rushed home to see if I could fix the problem. And on the way to get upstairs to the charger my juice ran out completely, my knee buckled under me, and I fell to the floor. There’s nothing like a fall to humble me, to make me remember just how fragile every step is for me. Luckily, I was just a bit bruised from the fall and not hurt too much. After fiddling with a few things on my leg I think I’ve got the knee working well enough to make it until I can see my prosthetist.

Some days it seems such a hassle to have a knee that fails so easily, that needs such constant repair, and that I can never fully trust to hold my weight. Every awkward step belies my dependence on a functional microprocessor and on expensive components that are not flaw-free. When I see ballet dancers like in the video below I wish (sometimes, desperately) that I could move with their ease.

But…though I don’t move like they do, I think I’m a dancer anyways–someone who lives in her body, who knows the pleasure of being flexible and strong, who can pick herself up off the floor after she falls, and who believes in persistent practice. Perhaps that’s the real lesson learned from Miss Larkin all those years ago.

Danse(s) from Sosh on Vimeo.

(hat tip to Allison for the video link–and for bringing back such tender memories)

it’s always darkest…

Love the message of the song below–I’ve had so many of those long dark nights myself…

On a not-so-related note: ran into an old friend at the gym tonite–someone that I hadn’t seen since I started grad school. She said I looked radiant and happy (more so that when she knew me before). That that make it a bit easier to reply when she asked a few moments later about how “John was doing these days.” Oy. That’s happened twice this past week–I never do know quite how to reply to such questions. Any advice?

postcards from the open road…

I realized that some of the highlights of my recent travels are starting to slip from memory, so I want to post a few of them here. So I won’t forget….

–arriving in NYC late-ish on a Saturday evening and surfacing for the first time (luggage in hand) from the subway stop at the corner of Times Square. What an intro to the city! And…what a way to be completely overwhelmed when one hasn’t eaten since breakfast in SoCal more than 8 hours earlier…(oh that NY pizza never tasted so good!)

–our charming hosts, Maria & Jay, and the several other fascinating European travelers that I met while staying in their charming historic home. I can’t wait to return and enjoy their hospitality again.

–the HopStop app for iPhone–getting me out of all kinds of ‘lost’ while wandering the city (thanks for the recommendation, Crystal!).

–eating Sri Lankan food (again), and realizing that I really need to learn how to cook it myself! And also finally meeting my blogfriend Erin that same night.

–sunshine in New York

–rain in New York

–overcast days in New York

–sleeping on a park bench when the jetlag hit so hard that first afternoon

–visiting the Tenement Museum, and learning about the ways that families have ‘made-do’ over many decades. Wishing I could peel away the stories of the spaces that I’ve lived in as handily as one might peel away the many layers of wallpaper and linoleum that are left behind.

—B&H Camera. Total camera porn, that.

–The New School campus–wishing I had attended a university so urban and hip (I especially enjoyed my interactions with the students that I met at the sessions there).

–being inspired by scholars who are working hard to make a difference in our broken educational system. Affirming to myself that I have my own work to do in this vein.

–sitting on sidewalk tables at night in the city, watching the traffic go by and realizing that I really could live in this place someday.

–the Lincoln tunnel crossing, twice daily.  With the Manhattan skyline view as we emerged on the New Jersey side, so pretty at any time of day.

–Giggling with a new French friend at Victoria’s Cafe, realizing that even though the ‘lounge singer’ style musical accompaniment wasn’t really our cup of tea, that it was still fun to compare the stories of our lives and realize how much we had in common (and how very rare it is for me to find someone who has a cancer experience anything akin to mine and can understand how that’s indelibly impacted my life).

–trains and planes and subways and a few long car rides.

–Fall color. New England.

–Seeing Walden Pond again.  Telling it a few stories and knowing that when I return I will have so many more important stories to share.

–Remembering Thoreau, Emerson, Hawthorne, and Louisa at Sleepy Hollow.  And Super-Sara, too.

–staying in the Forsythia Room at the Old Sea Pines on Cape Cod–my last stay there hardly seeming like two years ago, but also feeling a lifetime away.

–Eating fresh scallops in a coastal town that were so tasty, I’m almost teary-eyed just remembering them…

–sitting on the steps of a dock as the afternoon hours whiled away, watching the water levels rise and fall.  Realizing how much I’ve changed these past two years–huge, remarkable changes.  And also realizing that my past-self would not even recognize me now.

–driving up I-5 from one end of California to the other, my heart swelling with so much love for the land as the sun set over the golden hills around Fort Tejon.

–fraternizing with brilliant tech-minded scholars on the Google campus and realizing just how much I enjoy my vocation.  Knowing that I have so much to learn (i.e. coding), but that not feeling so daunted by that prospect anymore.

–celebrating a special anniversary with a fancy-pantsy steak dinner at a downtown restaurant.  Indulging.  Laughing.  Looking forward to the future.

–Singing in the car.  Yah, I do that on roadtrips and I’m awful.  And loud.

–Watching the sunrise from the window of a high-rise hotel and reflecting on everything that’s good in my life right now and knowing that life just can be that good sometimes.  It can and it is.

all the world’s a sunny day…

Last weekend I had the happy opportunity to see Paul Simon in concert. There are many moments from that evening that will stay with me for a long time, but this song just hasn’t left my brain since then, so I thought I’d share it here.

Having had a few of those moments when life loses all of it’s color, and also those when things are so vivid that the colors dazzle the senses, I can relate to much of what Paul’s saying here. I think it’s a conscious choice to live with a colorful outlook, even if we have to know those monotone moments to fully appreciate what it means to see a full spectrum…especially at this time of year, when all the world seems to flash in reds and golds and bright blue skies.

it is something…

It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look…. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.
–Henry David Thoreau

And…here’s a video that I took from a quiet corner of Cape Cod a few weeks ago: