The Past Two Weeks

If you follow my blog, allow me to thank you for following me and to apologize for not writing one the last two weeks.

The last couple of weeks have been difficult. We were supposed to run errands one day, but I had some sort of stomach bug. I honestly felt at one point like I might run a fever, which is really unusual for me. I got over that pretty quickly as I actually stayed home in bed. Something I hate to do. My wonderful kitty, Rusty, spent the day in bed with me, so that made things more pleasant. Thankfully, I love to read and have plenty of good books to help pass the time.

After a couple of days, I knew I was better, so we decided to run our errands. That morning, I got online for something before we left, I don’t normally do that, but I did this time. While I was on the internet, I checked my e-mail.  

I received an e-mail with news that I knew was coming, but caused me grief, nonetheless. My grandmother, in this case, my maternal grandmother had died. She was 95 years old so it wasn’t totally unexpected, but it was still hard. She was a wonderful lady.

I know that when I was young, she allowed me and my then pregnant mother to live with her when she found it necessary to leave my father. We lived with her till mother married her second husband.

After we moved to another state, we would sometimes drive down to see her for a few days. I always enjoyed those times. She lived on a farm with her second husband, Carl. The food was always fresh (as far as I know) and there was a whole farm to explore.

But what made those visits really special was Grandma herself. The home cooked food she prepared and going into town with her for shopping. Not mention that back then her mother was still alive, so we always got to see her too.

My strongest memory of her involves mincemeat pie. If you’ve never heard of mincemeat pie, let me assure you that it is made with meat. Beef that’s been finely chopped to be exact. It also has raisins, apples, fruit juice, and spices.

I mentioned in passing that I’d like some mincemeat pie. The next day after dinner, Grandma brought a mincemeat pie to the table for dessert. I was thrilled. Then my youngest brother, Wayne, said, “I don’t like mincemeat pie.”

I said, “How you do you know? We’ve never tried it.”

Grandmother looked at me, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “You’ve what?!”

I don’t remember what I said in return, but as I look back on this story, I think if I’d said, “You’ve never tried it . . .” I might have been safe. I enjoyed the pie, thankfully. I’ve had some since then, but none measure up to hers.

Also, I learned later that she’d stayed up half the night making it, which is why she was shocked at our reaction.

I feel blessed to have had her in my life for so long. Age wise, she outlived her own mother. I’m also thankful I got to be with her on her 95^th birthday. I had a feeling that trip would be the last time I would ever see her, but I hoped I was wrong.

I attended her funeral in Idaho, where she’d lived most if not all of her life and learned some interesting things about her. For instance, she was born prematurely and only weighed two (2) lbs. That kind of birth weight is a concern even today, so back then it was a literal miracle that she survived. She was a fighter from the beginning.

Even as she got older, she maintained her independence and fight till her body wouldn’t let her anymore. A former neighbor told us how after she quit driving, she would try to walk everywhere. In their little town, it’s possible to do that. One day, my grandmother started to go somewhere and she walked through the neighbor’s yard. The neighbor saw her going and offered her a ride. Grandma refused, saying she’d walk. A while later, the neighbor looked out to see Grandma sitting down. She went out and Grandma admitted that she needed the ride.

Another thing I learned about her was that if she liked you, you became family, regardless of blood. I’d kind of seen that in action with one of her caregivers when I visited her for her 95^th birthday, but I hadn’t realized just how many people she considered family till I met a couple of them on this trip.

There was a lovely couple, husband and wife, who’d bought Grandma’s duplex, then allowed her to live there rent free. While they were working on the other side of the duplex, as it needed some serious work done due to prior tenants, Grandma would come over and visit. They quickly became family.

There were other stories, but I don’t remember them all. I’m just grateful that she had such wonderful people around her during her last days on earth.

I think the hardest part of her death, for me, was the realization that she was literally my last living grandparent. I wouldn’t have wanted to die before her as she’d already suffered the loss of one grandchild, my brother, Wayne, but it’s still hard to know that never again will I call someone “Grandma” or “Grandpa.”

The Modern Women’s Liberation/Feminist Movement Part II

Continued from last week.

One of the worst for me was a man I dated and planned to marry after we’d gone through our church mandated pre – engagement counseling. IN essence, he’s the perfect example of why so many women are frustrated.

When we dated, he controlled a lot of our relationship. For instance, he didn’t like me to wear jeans, even though I find them to be comfortable and practical. If my hair was too short, he pouted at me. Worse than that though, was his refusal to listen to me when I expressed my needs or desires.

For example, if I needed a new purse he’d buy me one, but it had to fit his idea of what my purse should be. If I found one I liked, he’d insist I hand to it him for inspection. He was paying for it so I didn’t feel that I could or should argue. If it didn’t have enough pockets to be “organized,” he’d insist I put it back.

When we went engagement ring shopping, we saw a lovely ring with a round solitaire stone that had a gold leaf extending out one side to cover the wedding band. I tried to tell him that although it was a lovely ring, it didn’t fit my sense of style. He insisted that it was the perfect ring because when I married him, I’d be “turning over a new leaf” in my life. I think now that if we’d married, I’d have either tried to find a way to lose the ring or at least lose the leaf. The stone wasn’t what I wanted either.

There was also his habit of reaching over to tickle my butt in public. When I objected, he’d remind me that I laughed. Well, yes, I did. It’s a natural reaction to being tickled. That still didn’t mean I wanted him tickling my butt in public.

The worst part for me was that everyone around us thought he was so perfect for me. I couldn’t convince anyone otherwise.

We didn’t become sexually involved till after I moved into my own apartment for the first time. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the most considerate of lovers. I’m sure he didn’t know how, but I also didn’t feel like he’d listen to me if I tried to tell him how to please me. I got proof of that one night.

The mattress on our bed had a tendency to shift to one side during sex. I have no idea why. One night it shifted so far that I was seriously afraid we’d roll off the bed and into the dresser not more than two feet away. When I informed him our precarious position, his response was to tell me he was almost there and could I hang in there a little longer?

What the hell? I was seriously scared that if we rolled off the bed we’d have to go to the hospital, which would mean explaining to the church and my family what we’d been doing.

Then there was the time I was living back at my mother’s house after a live in job that hadn’t worked out. We were having sex in the bedroom I shared with another woman who wasn’t home at the time. My mother’s dogs started barking like crazy about something. I told him I thought we should get dressed and check on the dogs as I was worried they’d wake my mother’s husband who worked nights and slept days. He said they’d be fine. The next thing we knew my mother’s husband nearly walked in on us. Thankfully he had the presence of mind to get up and hold the door closed.

I could go on about his lack of listening to me in situations where it really mattered, but I won’t. He’s also not the only one to treat me that way.

My son’s father once complained because I was too tired to have sex with him. He said, “I always have energy for you.”

I looked at him and thought, “yeah, but you’re not in the later stages of pregnancy in the summer heat!”

The last guy I dated once made me feel guilty because I didn’t want to have sex with him one night. I’d had a rough day. I’d woken up with a headache, but had sex with him that morning in hopes that it would help me too. It didn’t. On top of that, I had to drive several miles to pick up my then young son, then drive several miles back to his apartment to be with him that night. Then when I didn’t want to have sex with him that night, he got out of bed and went over to his computer while I cried quietly.

He did apologize the next morning. He told me that he’d realized that I’d given what I had to give that morning.

So, it’s no wonder to me that women are still screaming about women’s rights. It’s no wonder to me that the signs have gotten so graphic. Women are angry. We feel like we’re not being listened to no matter how we speak.

I used to talk loudly to be heard or repeat myself a lot because I often knew I wasn’t being listened to. Over the last 15 years or so my voice has gotten quieter because I knew my roommate was truly listening to me.  Now I need to talk loudly again; possibly even scream. Only this time, it’s not just for me. It’s for all women who feel their voices aren’t heard by the very people who should be listening to them.

For too long we’ve been treated as if what we need, as if our comfort level is second to everyone else’s. The result is that too many of us can’t even do self-care beyond basic hygiene because we’re made to feel guilty if we try to do something purely for ourselves. It’s past time for that attitude to stop. It’s past time for women to feel free to take time to themselves while their men take on their normal jobs. Its past time for the attitude that “boys will be boys” is gone. Its past time for the idea that women who are raped or assaulted either brought it on themselves or that they’re crazy. Or worse yet, not believed because the man involved is a “good” man or holds power over someone.

We need to find our voices and keep talking till we get what we need. Till we’re no longer treated as if we’re a bitch for asking for what a man in the same position would be given. Till we’re treated as if what we need matters and that we’re not wrong for trying to take care of ourselves before we drop from exhaustion or lose our minds because we can no longer do everything that’s expected of us without a break.

I didn’t join in this year’s women’s march as I didn’t understand the fight we still face. Now that I do, I will consider joining in next year’s march. I may even make and wear a pink vagina hat.