Marrying George Clooney

i’m at a loss.
truly.

i’m one of these women who for the life of me can’t understand the term pro-life. i just don’t frickin’ get it. i mean i get the whole right wing, religious right pro stand. actually, truthfully, i don’t ‘get it,’ i mean i get that it’s their term. the whole pro-life debate.

but truthfully, i find it repugnant.
insulting.
especially for folks like me who really deeply love and appreciate life, and who know for a fact that all those pro-life people also happen to make – get this – choices every single day.

but this is what i really don’t understand, what makes me left of sick to my stomach:
this whole birth control movement that teaches and instills the vital and singular importance of abstinence as a preventative. it denies the human truth that human sexuality begins peaking in the teenage years. you can’t stop it. we must teach and instill self-respect, self-love, the power of NO, birth control. the vital and necessary importance of condoms.

it’s not just black or white, there’s a whole grey area that’s filled with choices, decisions, opinions, and opportunities.

let me tell you what i saw on TV the other day, i saw a 25 year old woman who had just killed – with her bare hands – her twin babies. newborns. she said after she killed the first one, the second one was much easier to kill. a 25 year old who did not want to have babies. she did not want to have children. but wasn’t allowed to get an abortion and carried these twins full term, and then killed them.

and now three lives are completely destroyed. three. two babies. one mom/woman.

maybe we oughta go around to all the women’s correctional centers and jails, and interview and ask these young women had they been given the chance – the choice – to make a choice would they have chosen to have a child and then kill it. or would they had aborted it.

there is something horrifically wrong when abortion is considered murder, but taking a baby to term and ending it’s life seems to have little or less controversy. there’s very little press & print about this issue.

this truly deeply horrifies me.

the whole RIGHT TO LIFE movement encouraging (many of) our young children to have babies. to give life. to stop the “cruel and vile and horrific” cycle of abortion. because abortion is murder.

the billboards that fill the highway. the fear of god right there. RIGHT there.

and then some of these young girls and boys abuse and kill their babies. leave them in garbage cans, beat them to a pulp, burn them to a crisp, sexually abuse them, and abandon them.
they are NOT WANTED.
NOT.
WANTED.

some, not all, young girls are carrying babies they cannot, for the life of them, love. some of these young girls (and boys) are not taught the value and dignity and importance of THEIR OWN LIFE, THEIR OWN EXISTENCE.

Pro-life does not – DOES NOT – equal love, or compassion or humanity or decency.

this is an epidemic.
babies having babies they don’t want, and can’t afford to take care of – carrying that resentment and anger on one shoulder, as they carry the baby on the other. along with carrying a child, they carry a major burden.

this must stop.

this isn’t PRO-LIFE.

don’t kid yourself.

the 60′s, the 70′s.
i’m not talking age.
i’m talking two decades – the 1960′s, the 1970′s.

for one second, please, close your eyes and think about the music, the art, the films, the fashion, the cultural revolution that came out of that time, those years.
the hairstyles, the clothing.
the artists, the writers, the photographers, the musicians, the designers.
the television, the theater, the movies.
the women’s movement, the magazines, the architecture … quaaludes.

it was perfect.
stunning.
sexy.
vibrant.
celebratory.
dynamic.
engaging.
transformative.
brilliant.
enlightening.
exciting.
creative.
shameless.

hopefull.

powerful. invigorating. inspiring.

a generation of groovy. cool. hip.

well….
HELLO!!!!!!!
WE are the words, the music, the paintings. the sculpture, the houses, the buildings.
WE are the artists, the writers, the filmmakers, the designers, the fashionistas, the architects, the movement, the revolution, the ideas, the visionaries, the entrepreneurs, the educators, the doctors, the weavers, the leaders, the teachers, the nurses, the lawyers, the builders.

we are a generation that changed the world.
and…
we will not disappear.
go homeless.
feel depleted, and abandoned.
worry sick about worrying sick.
lose our voices & our healthcare.
stand on the sidelines.
lose our way. our jobs. our identity.

no. oh no. we will not.

how about re-igniting THAT TORCH?

… the phone call from my friend in LA telling me to turn on the news.
… thinking, “oh my god, someone lost control of their small plane, how horrible, sad.”
… covering my mouth as the second plane hit the building.
… feeling my knees buckle.
… all my friends who worked down there.
… trying to get ken on the phone. trying trying trying trying. TRY. ING.
… hearing my neighbor screaming, no no no no.
… hearing ken’s voice finally on the other end of the phone. my heart calming down for a second.
… walking to my friends apartment, looking up at the sky.
… that morning sky. at first so perfectly blue…
… then smoke filled.
i remember…
… kindness.
… goodness.
… fear.
….worry.
… anger.
… horror.
… terror.
… the pain.
… the sorrow.
… the firemen. the police. the EMS, the doctors, the nurses, the fire trucks & ambulances.
… the workers.
… the running.
… the faces.
… tears, millions & millions & millions of tears.
… the smell of death.
… the hundred & hundreds & hundreds of photos posted on the walls. on the trees. on chain linked fences.
… have you seen? have you seen? HAVE YOU SEEN?
… the families.
… the days & weeks that followed.
i remember…
… the funeral arrangements.
….the marriage proposals.
… the “thank you’s”, the “you’re welcome,” the “please, here, sit.”
… the husbands, wives, friends, partners, children, pets found.
… the lives lost.
… julie’s shoes. her name & her phone number scribbled on the soles in magic marker, just incase… just incase she didn’t make it home.

… and i remember my mom calling, she was just at the beginning stages of dementia, when she was finally, finally, able to get through to me on the phone, her first words: “i don’t like your phone machine, i like your real voice.”

i’ve been reading a lot about going grey lately.
and thanks to barbara hannah grufferman it’s getting a huge amount of press.

last week a friend asked me, “how do you like being grey?”
i didn’t know what she was talking about.
“you know, your hair, how do you like the salt and pepper?”

ah. that.
i love it.
i love it so much i don’t even notice.

i love it just as much as i love my laugh lines.

but it took me a very long time to get here. and getting here is very much about liking myself, feeling comfortable in my skin, enjoying the journey. accepting all of me. good, bad, overweight, overwrought… the whole “she-bang.”

i grew up, like many women, with a mom who placed much more emphasis and importance on how i looked rather than how i felt. “don’t wear that, wear this; make-up….wear make-up, good god you look so plain, lipstick, wear lipstick; i don’t like your hair, i hate those shoes. and what’s with the schmata, you look amish.”

i grew up wearing tons of make-up, and blowing my curly hair straight, and wearing clothes that looked good but didn’t always feel good. and heels. high heels. for a girl who is afraid of heights…

it took me so long to embrace my own life. to stand tall without heels, to sparkle without glitter, to shine without lipgloss.

and while i’m not an advocate of plastic surgery or botox for myself, what i truly deeply believe and support is feeling good about life, the journey, the experiences, who you HAVE BECOME in the world and how you see yourself through your very own eyes. with or without mascara.

i wrote a blog the other day about abortion rights, and of course i’m pro-abortion, and i got a lot of e-mails – both pro and con. and i remembered, as i was reading, a few weeks ago (while i was on the subway), sitting across from a woman who had very obviously had a face-lift. i’m guessing she was around 75 years old. her face was tight and her lips were pumped, and her hair was brown. a silky brown. and while i was staring at her, at the work done on her face (and yes, i know… i know… staring is NOT GOOD. i keep telling ken that, “don’t stare, honey, don’t stare…”) the thing that struck me the most – truly, deeply struck me – she wasn’t happy. not at all happy. she looked younger, tighter, and yes, hipper … but not at all happy. not at ease. a sadness. and maybe she had a bad day, or a bad week… or a bad year. maybe she lost a loved one. that’s not unlikely. but as i sat there, what occurred to me – and what hollye dexter and i talk about all the time – is that happy & unhappy comes from deep within. inside. it’s palpable. it’s not something you can cut away, or pump up, or lift.

you can’t wear happy because it’s really truly deeply in your eyes.

and it’s just like being in love.

when we’re in love – with another person, with life, with our pets, with our self, with our work, with our faith, with our friends, family, with our country – there are no wrinkles, or grey hairs or schmata’s that become the focal point. you can’t fake it. orgasms you can fake, love you can not.

the one thing i believe we all should be firming up is knowing in our souls how extraordinary we each are. how unique and gorgeous and vibrant we each are. how powerful and miraculous we are. oh my god, we have so much to contribute to this world. so much. so much to do.

i don’t wanna be younger.
i want to be wanted. i want to be needed. i want to be useful.
and i’m pretty sure i can’t get that in a bottle.

not even one that says bubbly.

IMAGINE THIS…

His name is Emmanuel Kelly.
He was born in a war zone.
He was found by the nuns in a shoebox, alongside his brother.
Abandoned.
Limbless.
With no identity.

It took the courage & heart of one woman.

ONE WOMAN.

To love them and nurture them and inspire them, fill them with hope & courage & dignity & oh my god, so much love.

He has the face of an angel.
The voice of a Buddha, a Saint, a God.
The spirit of all goodness.

His heart is massive.
His faith is unlimited.
His courage is undaunted.

IMAGINE being him.

IMAGINE …

… BEING HIS MOTHER.

imagine being a hero.

This is a direct quote, (cut and pasted), from THE HUFFINGTON POST:
“South Dakota can require doctors to tell women who seek abortions that they have an “existing relationship” with their fetus that is protected by law and that they can’t be forced to undergo the procedure, a federal appeals court ruled Friday.

The law mandates that the doctor must tell an abortion seeker that she “has an existing relationship with that unborn human being and that the relationship enjoys protection under the United States Constitution and under the laws of South Dakota.”

I wanna talk about abortions.
I wanna talk about a relationship between MOTHERS & DAUGHTERS.
I wanna talk about the relationship between the man & the woman and the non-existing relationship that many many, many, many men & women have after having sex, and the relationship between that woman & her unwanted pregnancy.
I wanna talk about how no one – NOT ONE SOUL – should ever tell you how to live your life, or ABORT the choices that you want to make because you have chosen to live a better life.
I wanna talk about the children who are unwanted who end up dead or in prison because they never felt love or cared for because they were never wanted in the first place.
I wanna talk about my friends who are lesbians and queer and gay who make the very best parents because holy shit they wanted to have kids BECAUSE OF THE LOVE THEY HAVE IN THEIR HEARTS and souls.
I wanna talk about the foster care system and the folks who RETURN their kids because, well, they didn’t want them anymore.
I wanna talk about the billboards that line the highways that say: ABORTION IS MURDER, across from the billboards that say: MOMMY WANTS A GUN FOR CHRISTMAS, SUPPORT THE NRA.
I wanna talk about SEX AND DEATH, even though death is not a popular sexy subject, and sex is so fucking taboo.
I wanna talk about rape and pedophiles and sexual abuse and a woman’s right to speak the truth and not be vilified.
I wanna talk children being protected, women being protected, men & boys being protected from sexual predators, and child molester’s and priests & spiritual leaders who in fact believe that God is in the details: the secret shameful details the ones that should be hidden and tucked away.
I wanna talk about the little girl who was 14 years old, and had a baby and two years later killed both herself and the baby and left a note saying:
THIS WAS MY ONLY CHOICE.

No. It. Wasn’t.
I wanna talk about saving our girls & boys from this kind of shame.

hollye dexter and I are doing just that with THE SHAME PROM.
please, join us.

we are starting a SHAMELESS e-Volution.

Now. Today. This moment.