advertising

It's possible that no one will like me after this post. But I have to take that risk. So listen up, because I'm going to say this as kindly as I know how:

A significant other is MOST LIKELY not going to apparate out of thin air. Or out of sheer desire to have one. Or out of tears shed. Or out of years waited. Or out of elaborate recipe combining any number of the following ingredients: luck, fate, dreamlife, prophecies or fortune cookies.

Like most milestones in life - high school graduation, driver's licences, university degrees, home ownership, building a family - finding a spouse takes some work. It should be considered a goal. YES, I SAID A GOAL. It should be preceded by preparation, fueled by vision, and celebrated with gallantry.

"But that sounds like so much work... I'm just looking for someone who will love me for me, someone I don't have to alter myself for, someone who I can spend the rest of my life with."

Oh, OK, young teenager with no driving experience, no driver's ed certification, no comprehension of the rules of the road: here's a licence. Just because you want one. Go wild.

I work at an advertising agency and, let me tell you, advertising is a science unto itself. And it works. It's the subtle art of revealing to a potential customer their own desire for a product or service.

"Don't you want this toothpaste?" advertising asks. "It tastes great and it fights cavities!"
"Hey... I do want that toothpaste. I want a great tasting, cavity fighting toothpaste!" customer responds. Boom. A sale.

Here's where the logic in many young (and old!) adults breaks down (and, sadly, the breakdown is even more obvious in the church where we're more liable to make the spouse-search entirely dependent on D-E-S-T-I-N-Y- which often translates into S-U-P-E-R-S-T-I-T-I-O-N): "I'm looking for a gorgeous/handsome spouse [enter various dimensions and attributes here] with a steady job, a kind heart, money, an education, a vision for their life, the respect of their peers, a future on their horizon, and a bounce in their step. I, however, am an unkempt, over/underweight individual, with no particular interest in personal higiene, decorum, or, God forbid, SEXINESS, a terrible case of finding the niche I should be in, no concept of who I want to be in 3, 5, or, God forbid, 10 YEARS, a vague hunch at where I'm going in life, few friends who mostly pity me, and a horrible chip on my shoulder from being single for so long."

Before you take this personally (my first question would be: what would make you take it personally?), let me assure you that I, again, most likely, do not have you in mind. Unless you are any boy I dated in my early 20s. Then there is a very good possibility that I am referencing you.

I don't like cutting down a tree without planing one in its place (no carbon footprint!) and since I've done some clear cutting today, let me leave you with advertising tips:

• Gentlemen: groom yourselves. You don't see supermodels walking around with T-shirts that read "Klingons Do It With Honour" for a reason. Pick a reliable friend and go through your wardrobe. Ask your female friends which area(s) of your body require less hair. Get healthy. Get some funds. And, with those funds, ask a lady out for a coffee.
  
• Ladies: soften up. Like attracts like, so if you're looking for The Ideal Guy to sweep you off your feet it won't kill you to become what men find ideal. When men approach you, take a tip from Arabella:
  

  Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;

  Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
  

  You can turn down a guy without castrating him. And, if he has a heart of gold but lacks the body of Brad Pitt, at least attempt a coffee with him.
  

If you make no effort, be prepared to be met with no effort. If it's important enough to cost you sleep and peace, perhaps you should stop meditating on the gift of singleness and wake up to the fact that marriage MEANS something to you, you earnestly DESIRE it, therefore it is a GOAL of yours and run after it as if it is!

Dear Abby out.

Oh, I am out of breath in this fond chase.
The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace.
Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies,
For she hath blessèd and attractive eyes.
How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears.
If so, my eyes are oftener washed than hers.
No, no, I am as ugly as a bear,
For beasts that meet me run away for fear.
- Helena, "A Midsummer Night's Dream"

curses

Eating the fruite of good and evile = epic fail. We all get it. But now that it's done, it's interesting to detangle the rest of the Genesis story, especially the conversation that occurs in Genesis 3.

ACT 1, CHAPTER 3
Adam: "Wasn't me. Was wife."
Eve: "Wasn't me. Was snake."
God: *facepalm*

Then He outlines the following:

1. Serpent, you're toast.
2. Eve, childbirth's going to suck and you'll have to fight the urge to usurp your hubby.
3. Adam, you don't get off easy. Shouldering headship = labour pains.
   

What we commonly refer to as the "curses" of Genesis (I've heard childbirth called a "woman's curse") were actually the repercussions of having opened the door to sin on planet Earth. Step out into traffic, you'll get hit by a car. I even wonder if God was outlining the consequences as a warning, a type of caution that might, just might, make us wonder how things might have been...

At CoffeeSwirls, I found this lucid post about the curses from Genesis 3 and a summary that I appreciated:

To wrap up, let me just say that we are not cursed by God to total destruction. There are consequences for our actions.

When Jesus came to set the cosmos right, he reported: "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." If he was showing us how to live with a kingdom mentality and that the kingdom is among us EVEN NOW (interesting read here), then shouldn't we be viewing these consequences warily. Should we be asking, "Yes, but...what do these things look like redeemed?"

Practically speaking, if Jesus hung on a cross to bear all manner of curses on our behalf: what should marriage, childbirth and career look like redeemed? I've been intrigued with turning curses into blessings ever since engagement, since I didn't feel like entering marriage with a skewed opinion of headship. Now I'm interested in the childbirth since women I know have experience pain-free childbirth. PAIN-FREE. Ie: free of pain.

If we're living on this side of "the greatest overpayment in history"*, why not?

* I believe this is a John Arnottism, meaning: Jesus' death in payment for all sin, of everyone, everywhere, for all time.

gender roles

I don't often post on subjects as nebulous as gender (there is a history class in university that I recall every time I hear the word "gender"...the same class in which I was reprimanded for writing a paper taking the side against a prominent feminist in history...a mistake I did not duplicate, although now I wish I had - GRADES BE DAMNED, SOMETIMES FEMINISTS HAVE IT WRONG)

however

I found it interesting, nay, telling, that my husband and I parted ways today to celebrate the bachelor/bachelorette of a couple who are friends of ours.

The bride-to-be enjoyed an afternoon of elaborate sandwiches and tea, reading her greeting cards out loud, passing them around the room to admire, opening prettily-wrapped lingerie, having herself photographed with each gift, and sitting in a circle whilst each girl present narrated how they first met and first impressions, how her and her fiance are the perfect match, and well-wishes and prayers for the future.

The groom-to-be went paintballing. Then to the Crooked Cue for beers with his buddies.

Amused as I am, I can't help but wonder at the mystery that is gender. As a woman who once referred to herself as "one of the boys" I now know that there is so much more to the equation. I daydream about home decor, buy magazines to inspire my creative fashion sense, feel sexy in 4-inch stillettoes, get a kick out of watering the flowers in the front garden, apply makeup daily, research alternative birth control, interview nearly complete strangers about pregancy, and shave 50% of my body hair FOR FUN. I can't talk myself out of it. It's just...natural.

Before Andrew gets home from the Crooked Cue, I think I'll give myself a pedicure.

What are little boys made of?

Snips and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails,

That's what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of?

Sugar and spice, and everything nice,

That's what little girls are made of.

obamalot

We know they're referred to as opinion columns for a reason, but an article in yesterday's Globe & Mail has left me incredulous. For months now I have been familiarizing myself with the Globe's Life section and, in particular, Sarah Hampson's report in her weekly column: "Generation Ex". Yes, it's as dire as it sounds. Hampson, herself a divorcee, makes good the column's word to label Generation X as the "ex" generation, commenting on divorce rates, the supposed health and mental benefits of divorce, prenups, custody battles, infidelities... Delightful.

My issue is not that she writes about divorce (although, as a subject, it's fairly limiting) but that her personal experience with divorce and, therefore, her bias comes out as often as it can. Her ex-husband is referenced with embarassing frequency. "Generation Ex" reads like a personal blog, not a column for a national newspaper. A co-worker/friend of mine, a copywriter, quoted her sister regarding Hampson: "If she weren't writing for the Globe & Mail, she'd be a mompreneur".

[This has been building for a while, I apologize. And now, on to The Point...]

Ah, yes, yesterday's article. Title: "Obama fairy tale? Reality check, please". It opens with "Pardon me for not swooning..." and ends with this quote about the marital rough patches during Obama's first campaign for Illinois Congress (Hampson makes the error putting it during the presidential campaign) from Richard Wolffe's biography, Renegade: The Making of a President:

There was little conversation and even less romance. She was angry at his selfishness and careerism; he thought she was cold and ungrateful.

tacking "Ah, now that's reassuringly real." on as a final sign-off.

As the self-proclaimed spokesperson for "seasoned married people", "those who have been divorced" and "those of us who have been around the marriage block", Hampson goes after the Obama's date night on May 2nd with all the venom of a sore loser. She accuses their evening, which she refers to as a "swoonfest", of being "scripted", "perfectly executed", and "predictable", likening it to a reality TV show.

Read the whole article, I beseech you. It's astounding. Who scoffs at a date that doubled as "a playful rebuke to husbands everwhere who can't seem to plan anything more elaborate than an occasional outing to the local Pizza Hut"? Sounds like the reality Hampson wants to reassured by is that Michelle, having had stood by her man THROUGH the his campaigns, can't possibly now be benefitting from a marriage that didn't choose divorce as a cure-all. There must be a catch. Please, let there be a catch. All I got was Pizza Hut.

Let's Dr. Jekyll this date night: as far superior as the New York Times is to the Globe, so Maureen Dowd's article, "Can The One Have Fun?" is to Sarah Hampson's. Not only does her opinion not smack of jaded cynicism, it's well written, intelligent, and informed. She coyly pulls Dubya's pants down with a brilliant run-on sentence, winks at the stresses of the presidency, and then paints this poetry:

I loved the “Pretty Woman” romance of the New York tableau, the president, who had not lived an entitled life where he could afford such lavish gestures, throwing off his tie and whisking his wife, in a flirty black cocktail dress, to sip martinis in Manhattan, as Sasha hung over a White House balcony and called out goodbye.

(Incidentally, Hampson grumbled that the same New York tableau was "all so millenial and exemplary...what with Michelle in her fringed, sleeveless cocktail dress and the Prez in his open-neck white shirt and dark suit...he looked like a metrosexual from the pages of GQ magazine".)

Dowd even uses the SAME QUOTE from Wolffe's biography, but pairs the marital standoff during Obama's campaign with some refreshing context:

Wolffe limns what those of us who traveled with Obama could see: He was often grumpy on the campaign. He missed his family.

Hence, making good on the presidential promise he made to his wife - to take her to Broadway show. And, yes, she argues, he is allowed to do it in style (speaking of style: "limns"?! Win!).

I've blogged about the phenomenon I refer to as Epic Tales of Retrospect before, as well as my admiration for wives who love husbands 'till death do them part. Generation X can be so focused on proving the challenges and hardships of marriage (all valid) that we consistantly miss the beauty, the magic, and, yes, the glamour of a husband and wife in love. When we see it, we distrust it, being so long estranged.

But there, I've broken out in neck flush just blogging about it.

captain vegetable

Hubby is good at challenging me. In fact, it's one of the things he does best. Not merely challenging, but actually succeeding in changing my mind about something. My mother tried for years with very little payoff. Sorry, mom.

My mother now observes Andrew challenge me on THE EXACT SAME ISSUES as she has since I was in grade school - and get away with it - with a mix of delight and chagrin. I suspect it has something to do with his extreme hotness.

The latest has been regarding vegetables. We all know we should eat more, they're good for us, too much meat is bad, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, but it's been an uphill battle of convincing me since I consider myself to have carnivorousness (it's a word! I looked it up!) in common with our pets.

He explained to me the Hallelujah diet (it's OK to snicker):

The diet in its current form focuses on health and nutrition from a biblical standpoint. It follows vegan principles and consists of living (raw) foods, juices, and distilled remineralized water. A daily ratio of 85% raw and 15% cooked foods is followed.

Which neither of us are keen on following in its entirety, but it reminded Andrew of this scripture in Numbers:

The LORD heard you when you wailed, "If only we had meat to eat! We were better off in Egypt!" Now the LORD will give you meat, and you will eat it. You will not eat it for just one day, or two days, or five, ten or twenty days, but for a whole month—until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it—because you have rejected the LORD, who is among you, and have wailed before him, saying, "Why did we ever leave Egypt?"

Hopefully he'll post more about this because it's interesting to hear the revelation that unfolded, re: nutrition in a desert climate, how meat would have tampered with digestion, and how God wasn't so much cursing the Israelites as much as informing them of the consequence of their demands.

Today, when packing my lunch for work, I added two grapefruits, four yogurts, and an apple. They should go down nicely with my chicken and rice. On a related note, I've had this song in my head since last night's discussion:

white hot

I'm not about to turn my blog into a fashion commentary as well as a place for theological, biological, marital, and poetic analysis. I just thought I'd post some pretty pictures.

My brother accused me of just liking "new, pretty, white" things. It's true. Andrew can verify. When we go shopping, I must have him forcibly steer me away from any collections of white. White shirts, dresses, scarfs, shoes.

The Sartorialist posted some delicious shots of white worn on Governors Island in NYC. Like Scott, I am prone to notice white against lush, green backgrounds. Although white is synonymous with winter, I've always matched it with the heat of the spring/summer season. I'm convinced it sprung from childhood.

Anne introduced me to the White Way of Delight...
...and the white dress she wore to recite The Highwayman at the White Sands hotel...
...I remember snowball trees behind Bendale Bible Chapel...
...and feeding swans at Ontario Place...
...the DON'T PICK THOSE, IT'S ILLEGAL trilliums at the cottage...
...and, growing up, some of my favourite pieces of white...

midwives, doulas and water births

Mom, mom-in-law, spiritual mothers, eager friends/babysitters, brothers from other mothers, and sistas from other mistas:

NO, I AM NOT PREGNANT.

I am, however, interested in writing a post about birth. Speculation being what it is, I felt it necessary to preface this post with the above disclaimer. [pause for open-mouthed looks of incredulity and feigned exclamations of: "Who, me? Oh no, I wouldn't have assumed..."] Of course not. Not you.

I've been following two blogs recently, a daddy blog and a mommy blog. Before you Google either term, I'll warn you: most of these blogs are dump sites of tawdry drivel from parents who firmly believe the sun rises and sets on their precious spawn. NOT SO with Ryan's blog or Heather's blog. Disclaimer #2: The colourful language used by both authors might not be suitable for persons under 16. The colourful detailing of pregnancy, birth, and lady bits might not be suitable for anyone unmarried, unpregnant or ever wanting to have kids. Ever.

A post on Heather's blog and a morning spent navigating the labyrinthine pages of Wiki, and I became somewhat familiar with the terms "membrane sweep", "cervical check", "cerclage", and "effacement". I leave out links to these terms on purpose. Google image search with MUCH caution.

Since hubby and I have opted to go the road less traveled in terms of birth control, in favour of my healthy, natural hormonal functions, it's now no surprise to see how well I'm taking to the idea of a healthier, more natural method of childbirth. My favourite, so far, has been the water birth option. It could my my extreme love of swimming or the memory of the vivid illustrations from The Water-Babies that I read when I was younger, but I'm smitten. BIRTH IN A POOL? EPIC WIN.

I have a friend who is a midwife, another who is training to be a doula, and Andrew's mom works at an OBGYN office and I plan on questioning them all to PIECES once I really get on this baby train, in the same way I researched the heck out of something as supposedly second-nature as lovemaking and birth control. Anyone out there with advice or anecdotes about birth? My nerd instincts are kicking in and I'm feeling the urge to read medical terms.

Good thing I married someone who's idea of pillow talk is whispering sweet grammar in my ear. Two peas in a pod, we are.