It's Not Okay...

It’s not okay to tell someone that they are wrong because they don’t do things the way you would do them, as long as they aren’t hurting themselves or other people.

It’s not okay to make someone feel bad about themselves for exercising their legal avenues of redress when their rights have been violated.

It’s not okay to re-victimize someone. Ever.

Actually, it’s not okay to victimize someone.

It’s not okay to make this about your own victimization when you are wrong.

It’s not okay to intentionally hurt someone to make yourself feel better. Ever.

It’s not okay to hurt my family or my friends.

It’s not okay to be passively aggressive.

It’s not okay to be aggressively passive.

It’s not okay to be mean to someone just because the relative anonymity of the internet makes you feel safe. What it makes you is a coward and weak.

It’s not okay to force the way you think and feel on other people.

It’s not okay.

Little Things

A while ago, a friend of mine sent me a knitted false breast pattern for women who have had mastectomies. She asked me if I could redesign it in crochet. I did, and it has been well-received. I have gotten numerous comments on it from people who have donated scores of them to cancer centers and oncologists’ offices around the world.

Here is a picture of the one I made:

And yes, I pierced the nipple. I was being silly. Not quite sure now why I made it in teal, though.

Yesterday, I got this comment:

You have saved my sanity! I cannot thank you enough for this pattern. I had a mastectomy 4 years ago after a botched lumpectomy. At the time, prostheses were available free of charge (in Australia), but when I elected to have a prophylactic mastectomy 2 years later, they were no longer free & would have cost $800AUD. Of course, I couldn’t afford this, so have been wearing a liftup bra with a removeable bag which is SO uncomfortable & HOTTTTT. Now, I can wear all my pretty bras again. Again, thanks for giving me my life back. Warmest regards, [Name redacted]

My heart is so full right now. A simple, little thing that took all of an hour to re-work and crochet has given this woman and others like her a second chance to reclaim a piece of their femininity.

I am in awe of all survivors out there.

The Gift of Misery

Ok. This is a song that I wrote the other day. It's depressing, but it's reflective of my headspace when I wrote it.

"The Gift of Misery"

The tears I shed
Have never dried.
The voice in my head
Never lied.
He told me I was a monster,
So I believed it.

He scraped away
Bits of my soul.
Day after day,
I would never be whole.
He told me I was imperfect,
So I achieved it.

For two dozen years,
I crashed and I burned.
I gave nothing
And got it in turn.

The truth in the lie,
The fire in the ice,
The pain in the heart,
It doesn't think twice.

The fear in the dawn,
The hope in the night,
The gift in the misery,
Better end it right.

What is Beauty?

What is beautiful?

An argument could be made that beauty in a person is a combination of physical attributes, assembled in a pleasing manner. A tiny waistline, large brown eyes, full lips.

It could also be said that beauty stems from personality traits. Self-confidence, a sense of humor, compassion.

It could also be that beauty is a combination of those things. A sweet smile, a loving heart.

A friend of mine expressed some concern about finding a woman to be striking, and yet not being physically attracted to her at all.

I pointed out that, in my experience, a “beautiful” face, when attached to an ugly personality, becomes ugly in my eyes.

Likewise, homely features can become more attractive when they are found gracing a kind soul.

So being beautiful is not, I think, a mere matter of being graced with distinctive features or the money for a good cosmetic surgeon. It’s about allowing the good attributes of one’s personality shine through unprepossessing features.

Being beautiful surely has something to do with a nice back side or a pixie nose, but it’s more to do with the light in your eyes or the words from your mouth.

And everyone is beautiful to someone, even if that someone is only yourself.

Be beautiful.

This Christmas

Friday is Christmas Eve. Normally, this time of year is seriously dread-filled for me. Everywhere I look, I see penguins (mom’s favorite animal), snow globes (something she collected) and Christmas lights (she loved going about to see everyone’s house).

I hear carols in the air, which reminds me of her singing, which was truly a thing of beauty. I see her standing at the lectern at midnight mass, leading the congregation in song.

This year is the eighth without her, the ninth Christmas since she’s been gone. By all rights I should be sad and longing for her.

The weird thing is, I’m not really missing her all that much. Or, at least, I’m not missing her in the same way as has been my wont.

I’m not spending too much time weeping, as I have in year’s past, or indulging in the whiny misery of “I Miss My Mom.”

It’s not that I don’t miss her, because I do. But this year, a dull ache has replaced the stabbing hurt that I’ve nearly always felt before.

And I feel guilty about it, but I’m not feeling *too* guilty about it. So I’m feeling guilty about that. It’s a vicious cycle.

So I’m actually feeling pretty good about Christmas this year. Getting to see my parents and Herself’s. This whole being married thing is making things a bit more complicated, but we’re working it out. There’ll be food and drink and presents and a lovely time had by all.

I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m just going to enjoy it.

Merry Christmas, yule sona, Festive Non-Denominational Winter Gathering, Happy Saturnalia, etc.

Simply Having a Wonderful Hooking Time

Ah, yes, Christmas. That joyful time of year when kids try to be on their best behavior, when not pulling their frustrated and tired parents through store after store demanding things that Santa can bring them.

Watching snow fall, sitting in front of a merrily crackling fire (on DVD), eating too much and deciding the calories consumed on holidays don’t actually count.

Spending time with people you love but don’t really know very well, spending time with people you can’t stand but must because they are related to you.

Wrapping gifts made with my own two hands. This is a big deal for me, and one I hope the giftees in my life appreciate. Not the wrapping necessarily, because I am a big fan of the gift bag and tissue paper route, but the making of things.

I start in October or November, and I don’t stop until the last person on my list has something that I think fits their personality or their attitudes.

This is very special to me, because I put a lot of time and effort into making things. More than that, I put my heart and my love into crocheting the right thing for the right person.

This love affair is not easy to explain to most people, because most people simply don’t understand the need I have to make. To create. To pour a little bit of my soul into a yarn and crooked stick to cause something new to come into being.

And Christmas gives me a huge excuse to make a bunch of stuff, particularly stuff I want to make but don’t want to keep. My friends give me the excuse to make beautiful or silly or weird things that I don’t have room for or the inclination to keep for myself.

I can’t really explain the pride I feel when I walk into the inlaw’s house and see her mom wearing the socks I gave her last year, or when I see a very special baby wearing an Owl hat that I was asked to make for him.

I love being asked if I can make something, and saying, “Well, of course, I can,” particularly when the person asking starts with “I don’t know if you can crochet it, but…”

But I’m getting to be more selective about who I will hook for. I won’t just make something for someone because they ask. Even if they are willing to pay me. That’s too much like being in the business of making things, and that zaps all of the fun out of it for me.

I won’t crochet for anyone who doesn’t seem to appreciate the work and the love that goes into something. I create because it makes me whole and well and not a little un-crazy. But I can’t give something of myself to someone who tosses the creation aside.

I love giving something to someone whose eyes light up when they receive a gift. I love making things for people I love. And I love making things for people who love me back.

Because something made by hand is a part of the maker. I’ve been crocheting since I was 12 years old. I’m really quite handy at it. I’ve crocheted things that boggle even my mind. I’m not bragging, but I’m very proud of the work I do and the time and care I take with it.

So if someone gives you something handmade this year for your self-chosen Holiday experience, remember: they are giving you a piece of their heart. Treasure it. Use it. Wear it. Display it. Unless it’s something inappropriate for Grandma to see.

Circles

I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about the value of the people in my life.

Every person I have met has affected me in some way, whether I realized it or not at the time, whether it was produced a good effect or ill.

I have made friends and family, with love, with amusement, with ease.

I have lost friends and family, with pain, with carelessness, with heartache.

But the people in my life who matter most have traveled with me through the hard times and the easy, the sad times and the happy.

I met my girl because of my best friend. I met some of my best friends because of gaming. I stopped talking to some people because they couldn’t accept me for who I am.

Some I have let go. Some have let go of me. But the people who matter most to me have stuck.

Miles don’t seem to matter. I can live within twenty minutes of someone I have known since second grade and not make the effort to see them, or I can drive for two hours simply to be in the company of a family who have made me theirs and I them.

Last night, I spent the evening with people who have come to mean a great deal to me in a short period of time, when, in times past, I would have elected to spend the evening at home, alone.

Life is all about intersections and connections. Who knew eight years ago when I left Evansville that I’d have so many people to call my own?

I’m really starting to appreciate my own value because I’m starting to see myself through their eyes.

As Christmas draws near, I wish to celebrate the friendships I hold most dear. To friends, old and new, I say, thank you. Even if we have never met.