How to Make Mistakes?

"We have all heard the forlorn refrain: "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!" This phrase has come to stand for the rueful reflection of an idiot, a sign of stupidity, but in fact we should appreciate it as a pillar of wisdom. Any being, any agent, who can truly say: "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time!" is standing on the threshold of brilliance. We human beings pride ourselves on our intelligence, and one of its hallmarks is that we can remember our previous thinking and reflect on it – on how it seemed, on why it was tempting in the first place and then about what went wrong.

I know of no evidence to suggest that any other species on the planet can actually think this thought. If they could, they would be almost as smart as we are. So when you make a mistake, you should learn to take a deep breath, grit your teeth and then examine your own recollections of the mistake as ruthlessly and as dispassionately as you can manage. It's not easy. The natural human reaction to making a mistake is embarrassment and anger (we are never angrier than when we are angry at ourselves) and you have to work hard to overcome these emotional reactions.

Try to acquire the weird practice of savouring your mistakes, delighting in uncovering the strange quirks that led you astray. Then, once you have sucked out all the goodness to be gained from having made them, you can cheerfully set them behind you and go on to the next big opportunity. But that is not enough: you should actively seek out opportunities just so you can then recover from them."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cognitive scientist and philosopher Daniel Dennett is one of America's foremost thinkers. In this extract from his new book, Intuition Pumps and Other Tools for Thinking, he reveals some of the lessons life has taught him

Mellow Yellow is the New Uptown Brown!

Lemony Lemon Brownies

Ingredients:
1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup flour
2 eggs, large
2 tbsps lemon zest
2 tbsps lemon juice
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

For the tart lemon glaze:
4 tbsps lemon juice
8 tsps lemon zest
1 cup icing sugar

Directions:
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

2. Grease an 8×8 inch baking dish with butter and set aside.

3. Zest and juice two lemons and set aside.

4. In the bowl of an electric mixture fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the flour, sugar, salt, and softened butter until combined.

5. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, lemon zest, and lemon juice until combined.

6. Pour it into the flour mixture and beat for 2 mins at medium speed until smooth and creamy.

7. Pour into baking dish and bake for 23-25 mins, should turn golden around the edges.

8. Allow to cool completely before glazing. Do not overbake, or the bars will dry.

9. Filter the powdered sugar and whisk with lemon zest and juice.

10. Spread the glaze over the brownies with a rubber spatula and let glaze set.

11. Cut into bars and serve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not sure of the original source for this recipe. It was posted on a friend's facebook. But, I love lemon! So, I'm sharing this.

To the Children of My Heart

An open letter to my "Heart Children"

Dear Ones,

I've adopted you over the years as my special Heart Child. (or maybe you adopted me) Perhaps it is because you have no mother, or have an estranged mother, or have had to develop your own "inner mother". Perhaps you have a perfectly wonderful Mom, and I'm happy for you because of that.

Perhaps you walked into my life alongside one of my own Birth-Given Children, and my heart was captured by you because you brought joy to my child. Perhaps you and I are still in touch even though the old ties with my son or daughter are gone. Or you both may have gone your own ways as your life paths diverged. Perhaps you are no longer in my life either. Whatever the reasons, it doesn't matter. You are still a child of my heart.

You've shared your life and loves with me. It pleases me when you have joy. My heart aches when you are discouraged. Sometimes you've turned to me for guidance. Sometimes you've given me guidance. Though we have this special friendship, it is not always expressed. It is understood. But, I sure do love it when you refer to me as your "other mother".

You know I love my Birth-Given Children more than the world itself. They are my heart and soul. But, Dear Ones, there is room in my heart for you, too. I'm sending you my best wishes and love today wherever you are.

Honoring Grief

We live in a society that fears death, and we're raised up to believe death is undesirable... "bad".

Imagine what it would be like to have grown up in a society that didn't fear death! There are such people who celebrate with joy. They honor the person who died. 

Since we've been brainwashed and have this ingrained negative viewpoint and emotions regarding death, choosing to change will be challenging, but it can be done. We can still grieve the loss of the one we love simply because we miss them.

My personal viewpoint is: 
Live life as though you will die tomorrow and all the bullshit falls away. 
You will know who and what's really meaningful to you. 
In the meantime, live life to the fullest extent of your being. 
Take the good things and be glad. 
Take the troublesome as challenges to overcome and grow character. 
Love yourself and extend that love to others who are able to accept it.
Honor your friends by remembering the good times with them.

WORKSHOPS AND CLASSES WITH ELLEN BASS

WORKSHOPS AND CLASSES WITH ELLEN BASS


TRUTH AND BEAUTY
May 28 - June 2, 2013
Taught by Dorianne Laux, Marie Howe, and Ellen Bass
Mabel Dodge Luhan House, Taos, NM

Marie Howe, Dorianne Laux, and Ellen Bass are poets who work to tell the truth in ways that show us the beauty of life, even in the midst of heartbreak and loss. If you want to encounter more truth in your poems, to express it in the most beautiful way possible, to craft poems that reflect the inextricable marriage of truth and beauty, love and death, the luminous and the ordinary, please join us for this special workshop. For more information about this workshop, visit the page here. To register, email Jen Petras at jpeachtree@yahoo.com.

Big Sur, California Highway 1 facing south near Bixby Bridge
photo by Elizabeth Munroz

9TH ANNUAL WRITING AND KNOWING POETRY WORKSHOP
with Ellen Bass, Dorianne Laux, and Joseph Millar
August 4 - 9, 2013
Esalen Institute, Big Sur, CA

There is a world inside each of us that we know better than anything else, and a world outside of us that calls for our attention. Our subject matter is always right with us. The trick is to find out what we know, challenge what we know, own what we know, and then give it away in language. Mainly this will be a writing retreat—time to explore and create in a supportive community. Though we’ll focus on poetry, prose writers who want to enrich their language will find it a fertile environment. For more information, click here.

WRITING FOR OUR LIVES
September 28 - October 5, 2013
La Serrania, Mallorca, Spain
In this small, intimate workshop, you have the opportunity to create writing that is more vivid, more true, more complex and powerful than you've been able to do before. This will be my seventh year teaching at La Serrania and it's always a deep pleasure to return. La Serrania is remote, gorgeous, and inspiring. If you'd like a chance to sink deeply into your writing, enjoy delicious food, go to sleep in a simple, yet elegant room, wake to sheep bells, this is the place. For more information,click here. For information about La Serrania, visit www.laserrania.com. To register, contact La Serrania. If you have questions, you can email me.

How to Starve a Gopher (part 2)

I'm hoping these plants will help protect my garden from a Gopher. I did a search for "what gophers wont eat", and these are some of the suggestions for my region, central coast California.

Escallonia is an evergreen shrub often used for hedging

Fuchsia is one of my favorites.

Grevillia is an evergreen flowering plant. I know little about it, but there are 350 species. I wouldn't have room for them all in my yard. And I bet if the gopher doesn't like them he/she wouldn't want them there!

I still have a long list of these trees and bushes that gophers are not supposed to like. It just occurred to me that posting a picture for each one is going to take me a long time. I still have another list of other kinds of plants that I want to post information about. So, I will make links out of the following names and you can click to go see them.

Check out what the gopher did to my garden!

Hydrangea

Lantana

Nandina

Oleander

Pomegranate

Ribes

Rosemary

Salvia
(native and nonnative)

How to Starve a Gopher

I've been thinking about how to get rid of my unwanted garden guest. What if I had plants that the gopher didn't like? What if he or she or they couldn't find any good munchies?

So, I did a search online for "what plants don't gophers like" and came up with an interesting list for my area of the country. Don't know if these plants are available elsewhere or in what other places they will grow.  The article I read had all their fancy names, so I've looked up their popular names and I've decided to post some pix of some of them here.

Arbutus unedo is also called Strawberry Tree. One of my neighbors has this in her garden. Sure is pretty.

Buddleja is also known as Butterfly Bush. This is one I've been planning on putting in my garden anyway, so the sooner the better!

I have a Callestemon in my back yard. Well, actually it's on the other side of the fence, in the neighbor's yard. But, it hangs over into my yard. It's commonly called Bottlebrush. The hummingbirds LOVE it!

Ceanothus, also known as California Lilac is not a Lilac at all. I found this interesting bit of information on them. "Gather a handful of "Blue Blossoms", add a few drops of water, and one has a fine soapy cleanser, a feature used by Native Americans who also bend the flexible stems for the circular frames of their basketry."

Cistus is also known by the common name of Rock Rose. I've seen this in gardens around here (Central Coast California). It makes a good ground cover without being invasive, from what I've observed.

Tomorrow, I will post some more pictures.

Please note these are not my photos, but are from links throughout the web.

Go Away Gopher!

 I have a gopher in my garden, or perhaps two or three. I don't know. I've never seen the little buggers, but there sure is plenty of evidence. On the one hand it's pretty nice to see that the soil in my garden that I was intending to loosen up has already had that job done.

Thank you Gopher. However, I didn't want the soil to be turned up over there, Dude!


Needless to say it's a love-hate relationship.

Last year I saw some evidence in my back yard. It didn't worry me as I have nothing growing back there, not even grass.

Well, a couple rose bushes and some trees, yes. But apparently gophers don't care for them. What else do gophers not care for? That's what I've got to figure out!

Apparently they LOVE what I've got growing in my front yard, but I can't quite determine what it is. I've cleared out all the weeds. (A really big job) and find that they like my rare white California poppies. I can't imagine how that's enough to keep them around. I've only got a few. I've got some other miscellaneous plants, but I can't tell if Gopher has been munching on them. He just seems to like making tunnels and mounds... everywhere.

I've been reading up on the pesky rodents and find that there's no guarantee you can get rid of them, unless you asphyxiate them with the exhaust fumes of your car or hire an exterminator. The first is illegal in most states. The second is quite expensive.


Of course, there is the trap and kill method. I had a friend come over and set the traps, but that Gopher is an escape artist!

Interestingly, a lot of articles say to not use your bare hands to touch or set the traps because gophers don't like the scent of humans. If that's the case, why don't I just roll around naked on my front garden and see if that gets rid of him?

Letter to a Dead Mother

Genevieve Deane 1953
Niagara Falls, NY

Dear Mom,

I keep having all these little mini conversations with you in my head as I go about my days. I noticed I've been having more and more of them lately. Little things, like "ooh... you would LOVE this new Vermont white cheddar cheese I found!" or "You would be telling me to go sit down and have a cup of tea now."

At first I wondered how it was after all this time that you are on my mind. Then it dawned on me. Your birthday, in a few more days, you would have been 92 years old this year.

Why your last five birthdays didn't bring you into my daily life, I don't know. But, here we are.

Today, I was standing at the kitchen sink,washing dishes,  looking out the window, remembering how you got to have your sink moved to the front window of your kitchen. You wanted it that way so you could look out into the yard and down the street on Cayuga Island "to keep an eye on the kids".

When was that? I think about 1948. I think. That house is still there, Mom. Did you know that? I bet you wouldn't like what they did to the place. I sure don't. It certainly lost it's charm.

It's funny how the most mundane act can bring on an obscure memory. I wonder if your mother ever stood at the sink and thought of her mother. I wonder if she got along with her mother. You always said how wonderful your mother was, and how well you got along but I never believed it.

You and I got along so poorly, it just didn't seem possible. It was always a mystery to me that mothers and daughters could be friends.  I've been mulling around thoughts about how difficult and painful it must have been for you.

Even after I came to an understanding that you did the very best you knew how in your parenting of me and stopped my blame game, I can understand now why that didn't pull down all the fences between us. The brick wall, yes, but not all the scars were healed. I'm so glad that at least you and Little Sis had such a good connection. Your love for each other was obvious.

I'm not saying you didn't love me. Nor am I saying I didn't love you. It's just clear to me that it was stunted and strained and unfulfilled. I do wish we could have healed that more than we did.

I think about your last years in the nursing home. I picture myself in the same situation. What is to prevent me from ending up there? Nothing I can think of, unless I experience sudden death. Slow deterioration seems to be the most evident cause of nursing home inevitability. Even the most well-meaning, loving kids can intend to see you through your last years in your own home. But, things change. Circumstances change. Stress toleration levels change. And truly, I look at my kids and think as you did... I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to take away a moment of their own chance to enjoy life, to be free to enjoy their later years without being weighted down by an aging incomprehensible parent.

There are things now that I didn't understand in the past, I wish I could tell you. I wish you could have the satisfaction of thinking "I told you so". I know you wouldn't say it out loud. But, I am well aware of the feeling I get when my daughter says something to me and I think, "Ah... there it is. She now knows how it feels. She now understands." She doesn't always acknowledge that she realizes I once went through it myself. Something like that kind of understanding could bind us together, give us that feeling of relief that there no longer is that one thing standing between us. But, that is not always going to happen. The fences are still up. Barbed wire fences, in fact. So sharp and prickly, still after all this time. I just throw up my hands. I no longer reach out and try to smooth it over, no longer try to make it better. Now I understand, Mom, why you did the same thing I am doing now. All that energy just for another stab to come later. Not worth it. Painful, yes. But, less painful than to continue to try to heal something that is scarred over so badly.

I know you know what I'm talking about. Would you want me to say, "I'm sorry" now that I understand some of what you went through with me? Would it have mattered? Or would there be that same hesitation I feel in not believing it will cure anything? Would it only be a band aid hiding the wound? When you pull the band aid away, it may be healed, but still the scar is evidence that the damage has been done. Nothing is erasable. It seems.

Am I being negative? Pragmatic, I think. I look at the facts. On the phone the other day, I was struck by how a subject that would never be considered inflammatory to anyone else was perceived as a possible threat. Being a mom, I don't want to inflict pain upon my child, so I agreed to no longer discuss it. And truly, that's okay. It was not important. I can talk about it with friends instead. The perception that I could be the cause of incredible turmoil and pain because of it makes me hesitate to speak, to say anything unless asked a direct question. And then I wonder what would be the "right answer". How can this not turn into another moment of pain indelibly burned into the heart of my child? So, I've agreed to the suggestions made now, and wonder if I follow through that her fears will come to fruition.

Is that how you felt, Mom? If I say, no.. let it go or yes... let's discuss it, it seems the results might be the same, a woman who is stressed out because she believes she's damned if she does and damned if she doesn't.

I remember one day, when I was going through the family photos you gave me there were many pictures of you and your friends smiling, having a good time. It dawned on me.... somebody LIKES her... lot's of somebodies. It seemed a mystery to me. There were people who liked my mom enough to go places with  her, make quilts with her, have lunch with her, laugh with her, play board games with her have long conversations with her. They were not threatened by what she might say or do. They accepted her for who she was. These were people who sent her loving birthday cards with comments praising her good qualities that I could not see in her. My mom was in reality a likeable, lovable person, non-threatening person. She was not the dangerous half-rabbit half-scorpion who might strike at any second.

Velva, Eva, Al and Gennie Borden

I'm sorry, Mom. I wish I could make it up to you. Of course, it's too late. Or is it? Can you hear my thoughts, feel my feelings, sense my final understanding and regret? Are you in a place where these things are all evident to you? Or does it even matter now that you are gone?

The most obviously thing I can think of is that the healing is one sided. I feel better because I can now relate to what you may have been feeling. I understand more of how it was for you. But, sadly, it is only like having half a blanket when you are cold. I need the other half a blanket. Then, we could sew the blanket back together and wrap our arms around each other with the blanket snuggled 'round.

From Mirror

Photo Art
by Elizabeth Munroz

Evade your eye.
Try to see as others do
what is desired or refused.
What went wrong.
Or right, then wrong.
Objectively, what hangs.
Pull yourself together.
Years are neither kind
nor cruel. You drag on.
The girl is gone.
Consider that it might be time to call in
a professional. Blood is fearless, runs
to meet a touch, indiscriminate, remembering
the first time it fell in love with the world, unaware
that now you are alone.

Karen Solie

From "Mirror"

WORKSHOPS AND CLASSES WITH ELLEN BASS

Big Sur Coastline, California Highway One facing north near Bixby Bridge
Photo by Elizabeth Munroz

THE WRITING LIFE
February 8 - 10, 2013
Esalen Institute, Big Sur, CA

This workshop will help keep the channels open. We will evade, elude, and distract the censors that silence or limit us. We'll approach our experience from new angles to find the story or poem within the events of our lives. We'll question the stories we think are true and experience the power of not-knowing and discovery. For more information, click here. To register, call Esalen at 831-667-3005.

TRUTH AND BEAUTY
May 28 - June 2, 2013
Taught by Dorianne Laux, Marie Howe, and Ellen Bass
Mabel Dodge Luhan House, Taos, NM

Marie Howe, Dorianne Laux, and Ellen Bass are poets who work to tell the truth in ways that show us the beauty of life, even in the midst of heartbreak and loss. If you want to encounter more truth in your poems, to express it in the most beautiful way possible, to craft poems that reflect the inextricable marriage of truth and beauty, love and death, the luminous and the ordinary, please join us for this special workshop. For more information about this workshop, visit the page here. To register, email Jen Petras at jpeachtree@yahoo.com.

9TH ANNUAL WRITING AND KNOWING POETRY WORKSHOP
with Ellen Bass, Dorianne Laux, and Joseph Millar
August 4 - 9, 2013
Esalen Institute, Big Sur, CA

There is a world inside each of us that we know better than anything else, and a world outside of us that calls for our attention. Our subject matter is always right with us. The trick is to find out what we know, challenge what we know, own what we know, and then give it away in language. Mainly this will be a writing retreat—time to explore and create in a supportive community. Though we’ll focus on poetry, prose writers who want to enrich their language will find it a fertile environment. For more information, click here.

WRITING FOR OUR LIVES
September 28 - October 5, 2013
La Serrania, Mallorca, Spain
In this small, intimate workshop, you have the opportunity to create writing that is more vivid, more true, more complex and powerful than you've been able to do before. This will be my seventh year teaching at La Serrania and it's always a deep pleasure to return. La Serrania is remote, gorgeous, and inspiring. If you'd like a chance to sink deeply into your writing, enjoy delicious food, go to sleep in a simple, yet elegant room, wake to sheep bells, this is the place. For more information,click here. For information about La Serrania, visit www.laserrania.com. To register, contact La Serrania. If you have questions, you can email Ellen.

Wait

"Oh, No!" She cried in the midst of her dream.

Oh No! awakened her, without the memory of why the foreboding and despondency was coming through her in waves like nausea.

The mirror told it all. The dark circles. The sleep tangled hair. The frown frozen on her face. The dried salt rimming her eyes. Telltale signs. Had it been a long dream? It had been bad?

What was it? Seeming to be her mother? Looking back against time? Regretting and understanding the missed opportunities for cherishing the joy? Instead dying into the darkness?

Perhaps.

The awakening to the sense of the glass is half full. Half full with a cesspool of dark liquid threatening to suck her into the burning acid of heartache. It tortures her soul. She clings to the side of the glass. The fragile glass, like herself, ready to crack under the weight of pressure.

The cup of tea, the piece of toast, the swallowing of pills. Nothing to detract from the sensations of the dream still enveloping her.

Hang on! Hang on! It will go away!

Wash a dish. Feed the cat. Pace back and forth. Clean a cupboard. Keep distracted. It is like a persistent oily, ugly debt collector his foot well placed in the door. Hold him back! But, he has gained entry, and now inside, is at the shoulder, leaning his face too close, breathing stale air.

No escape! Grab a banana. Turn on the TV. Make some pudding. Clean off the counter. Put a banana in the pudding. Add some walnuts. Yes. Food will put it off. It used to do that so well. Like an alcoholic with the relief of a drink. But, no. Food doesn't do it anymore.

The grip is in the stomach. The eyes are tight. The forehead crinkled in pain. The cheeks begging for release of tears. The prayers for comfort. But, it does not work. So, it is another bad ride.

All she can do is wait it out.

1955 Grand Canyon Kids

I’m so hot and sweaty. It’s so stuffy in the car. We are so cramped and have been traveling so long. I hate the desert. It feels like the sand is in my eyes and every breath I take smells of dirt. I sure wish I could take a long bath. 

Seven people stuffed in a car is too much. I hate sitting next to my baby sister. She’s salty from crying and she smells like she peed in her pants.. I knew Dad should have stopped at that last gas station like we asked. I wish my mother could stop griping. Her voice grates on my nerves.

Even with all the windows open, it’s so hot. The sun burns through my eyelids. I can’t even shut out it’s evil fire. I don’t care if we are going to see the famous Grand Canyon. I have seen enough and traveled too long.

Finally! We are here and us kids pile out of the car. Uncle Caz wanders off quickly to take a million pictures. I’m so glad that old man’s onion breath is out of my face. I’m getting out of here and away from everybody to explore.

But, no, Me and Dave have to watch the kids while Mom and Dad sit in the car and talk. For once my big brother takes up on my side. We are NOT going to watch Wendy. She might fall in the canyon. (I might want to push her, maybe). Okay! Hooray! We don’t have to take her.

We run. We run so fast. We leave little Roger whining in the dust. Ha! Ha! But, he’ll catch up! He’s a big boy He can handle it. He won’t let us get away with it.

Ooooh! What’s this? Wow, Look at that mistiness. So magical, like the world isn’t quite finished up here, yet. Purples in the trees and orange canyon walls. All rosy, and...Hey! it’s not so very hot and stuffy anymore. Feel the breeze! Pine trees. Oooh! Smell the pine trees.

“Let’s stand on the railing, Roger, then you can look down. Down, deep into the bottom of the world.”

He looks at me and I realized he wants to know just how deep into the bottom of the world. “No, that’s not where the devil lives..... Look. There’s a river down there. See, the green, sparkling ribbon?”

Roger and I are on the railing. The metal feels cool as we lean our bodies against it. Dave points out the beautiful rainbow across the way on the north side of the canyon. “It must be raining over there.” He explains. I proudly think to myself, my big brother knows everything. He walks away to investigate something else.

Suddenly, my scalp feels, like someone is tickling me. Then, it feels like little bugs are crawling. “My hair! Oh, my hair, It feels so funny!”

“Ha! Look at you!” Roger says. “Your hair is standing up! Straight up,  in the air!”

“You, too!” I laugh. He squeals and giggles. I feel so buzzy, so vibrant, so tingly, so....What is it? This is a new feeling. I have never felt this way before. So strange! It is like a million butterflies are fluttering their wings all over me.

“HEY!” Dave shouts in his scary voice. “Get off that Rail! Right NOW! A deep chill of fear runs down my spine. Something tells me Dave’s command is an emergency. We run like wild Indians, back to the car. 

Dave scoops Roger up and runs with him, as the lightening strikes the very spot where we just took our last breath.

What Marriage is Not

What Marriage is Not 

by Elizabeth Munroz

These are my opinions based upon 65 years experience and more than one legal marriage. My happiest and longest relationship is not blessed by a piece of paper or a representative of any religious affiliation.

Marriage is not living happily ever after. Happiness comes from within and can be experienced by anyone married or not.

Marriage is not sustained by romantic love, as that can fluctuate naturally and often disappoints those who expect it to remain steady or constantly increase.

Marital bliss is not based upon who takes out the garbage or washes the dishes. Household maintenance is necessary in everyone's life to whatever extent they choose. Negotiating these chores by agreement is great but there always comes a time when one needs to take out the trash at midnight in a snow storm. If the person whose "job" that is happens to be sick or not home, the other person can do it with resentment or love, or just common sense the job must be done.

Marriage is not uncomplicated.

Marriage is not resentment free.

Marriage is not disagreement free, or turmoil free or argument or angst free.

Marriage is not static. Like any aspect of life, the relationship constantly changes. Expect to deal with it.

Marriage is not a clear contract with all the rules written in stone. People's interests change as they mature.

Couples need to negotiate how they live with one another when those changes occur.

Marriage is not about honesty. It's not always best to tell the truth. "Your hair looks awful!" "I hate that you shaved off your mustache!" "Honey, I had a one night stand while you were away last year." "Dearest, I did too, and I will tell you all the details, whatever you want to know."

Marriage is not where each person can be expected to live by the "rules". There's always the chance the beloved will find interest in another no matter how perfectly in love the couple may be.

Marriage is not about reading articles on how to improve the marriage, unless both agree to read and learn from and renegotiate based upon the information provided.

Marriage is not about completely understanding everything about the spouse. That is not possible no matter how hard you try. Even they do not understand everything about themselves. And if at any point they think they do (or you think it) things change. "I will never take a job away from here, we will never move away. I love it here. This place is my soul!" Never say never.

Marriage is not meant as a right to own another person or control another person's thoughts, beliefs or behaviors. Everybody knows this without me saying so. Right?

Marriage does not give the right to punish or get even with the other based upon one spouses standards of expectation. Ditto, as above.

Marriage is not based on unspoken understandings. As romantic as that sounds and as much as some couples may claim it is so, clear communication needs to occur regularly because people change their minds or have new information the other one does not have. It's like repairing and rebuilding a car engine together. You cannot read each other's minds to do the job, especially if you are on opposite sides of the car.

Marriage is not a God Given Gift only available to and sanctified by Christians or American politics. (sorry folks)

Marriage is not made holy by a representative from any religious affiliation, though one may obtain a piece of paper claiming it so.

Marriage is not made civil by any legal representative from any government agency, though one may obtain a piece of paper claiming it so.

Marriage is not just for a male and female of a certain age. This comment is based upon observation, cultural mores, and societal fickleness, and is subject to attempts to change by people elected into the role of lawmakers. Example: Jerry Lee Lewis


Marriage is not just for people of the opposite sex.

Marriage is not just for two people only.

Marriage is not based upon sexual unity.

Marriage is not constrained by the mores of society. If I want to marry my cat, I am marrying my cat without say so of others. (No, I am not married to my cat.)

Marriage is not based upon what the stories in books, movies and on TV portray.

Marriage is not whatever it is we all expect it to be. The reality of trying to live up to an agreed upon nebulous idea put forth by media, family, friends and our local culture is the epitome of incubated failure.

We will find out what marriage is by living under the label of it and each creating what their own marriage is. "Honey, we should always have holidays at my parents." "You're right, I can't stand mine." "Dearest, I like it when you wear leather." "I hate to wear leather. You do it!"

I have more opinions on what I have experienced of what marriage is not, but I have a doctor's appointment and must desist.

Would love to know what you think. Just click "comments" and go to it.

A Little Girl Writes a Story

Once upon a time there was a little boy who wanted a pony.

He asked his father.

His father said OK, when I get the mony.

Good said the little boy.

One day his father had 30 dollars.

One day his father said I got enotth mony to buy a pony.

Goody!

He name it, Tiny.

His father said what did you name him?

Tiny.

The End

_____________

September 1970
Story by Laurie Shuman at age 6