Friday, Dec. 05, 2003 - 3:32 a.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.
When I was a Little Girl
When I was a little girl, I made believe that I was in a world that had been hit by a disaster. I would invent something that everyone needed, and it would become a cultural thing, like vietnamese straw rain hats. I went to Sweden and got clogs. I could run in them. I made believe that I had invented these perfect shoes that were easy to slip on, that were waterproof, and good as summer or winter shoes. I used to wrap blankets around my body, like Ancient Greek clothing and wear my clogs, and walk around the snowy neighborhood, pretending that I was able to face the world with only these clothes. I felt very heroic. I was sort of a strange Luddite idealist socialist survivalist.
When I was a little girl I would walk with my rubber boots through the spring melt. The puddles. I would wade through slowly, feeling out how deep the water was in various spots, imagining that I was mapping a huge lake, instead of the road where the sewers were blocked. Sometimes I made dams out of clean snow and used them to block the greasy water that flowed towards the sewer grate. I imagined that I was cleaning the environment, as the rainbow scum built up behind my dams. I was sort of a strange earthworks, environmentally friendly explorer and geographic planner.
When I was a little girl I would imagine that I was the leader of a roaming group of children. There was no one over the age of twelve. At thirteen the kids had to go and join the adults and learn to be an adult. The children were like the buffalo, or the Masaii, and were self-sufficient in all things, and lived off of the land, travelling travelling. We didn't need adults who were boring souls concerned with drab details and insisted on settling down, obsessed by finances and schedules and being sexy. I drew whole societies of orphans, and made up clothing and dwellings that they would create with their own hands. Independence and autonomy within a group were our social ideals. I was a sort of heroic, primitive child-power tribal leader.
When I was a little girl, I imagined all the time that I was doing an ad for a superb product. I would wash the bottom of the electric skillet (painfully blackened on) with a Jets, for the better part of an hour, and imagine the whole time that I was doing a demo for the excellent product. I was a demonstrator, a salesperson, a glowing example of honest enterprise and fantastic products that were worth your attention and money. The products I pushed were the best.
When I was a little girl I adulated American Indians, people who travelled the world and wrote up their stories in National Geographic, pioneers, people who lived close to nature, girls and boys who lived long ago, such as Victorian times, and wore pinafores and knee-britches, and also my Grandmother. I loved nonfiction about animals, other cultures, sad stories of Indigenous peoples, and poor people, and stories of magic in the cracks of the real world. I read Farley Mowat, and Life magazine, National Geographic, Edward Eager and CS Lewis.
At twelve I devoted my life to saving the wolves of the north. I ranted at people about the evils of hunting. I wanted to do winter camping, live with the wolves and eat mice in the north, join Greenpeace. I hated cars and modern man.
I wonder how much I have changed since then.
0 People have left cute, callous or caring comments on the wench's wordiness!!
ps, you'll need to email me for a username and password
Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily