Florida Botanical Gardens

The Belleair Causeway

The view looking down from the top of the Belleair Causeway.

Feminist: Part 2

Back in 2015 I wrote a piece about being a feminist. I feel like it’s a good time to readdress the subject.

One of the points that I brought up in my original article was that I felt some ideas about feminism were outdated. I thought we had progressed enough as a society where it wasn’t as much of an issue anymore. Unfortunately that was very naive of me. 

Maybe it was a combination of being sheltered and a healthy dose of luck that I didn’t encounter as much bullshit in the first 32 years of my life as I did in the most recent five years. 

At first a lot of it came in the form of ridiculous advances from horrible men. After my last break up I was treated to an almost constant parade men that were aggressive, careless, or inconsistent. But what stood out as particularly unfortunate was the treatment I received was from two female coworkers when I became concerned about a customer who kept trying to pursue me after I told him no. They both said that I shouldn’t be so picky since I was single. At this point I was already accustomed to being treated poorly by men, but I didn’t expect my female coworkers to be perpetuate the stereotype that any attention was good attention. I felt truly alone but I went over their heads and got it resolved. The whole experience was exhausting. 

When the “Me Too” movement came to light I felt a mixture of comfort and horror. Comfort because there was a collective sense of acknowledgement but horror due to the prevalence of the abuses. How men cover up for each other and women are still seen as “asking” for it. The sickening rise of the Alt-Right an incel communities that thrive on hatred and misogyny. The belief the women owed men their bodies. Watching Christine Blasey Ford’s heartbreaking testimony and seeing Brett Kavanaugh getting sworn into the Supreme Court anyway. 

I have members of my own family who mock the “Me Too” movement every chance that they get. Even after they knew about some of the battles that me and my sisters have been through. It’s always minimized, brushed aside. Those same people love to support a president who brags about grabbing women. They think it’s funny. But it is frightening when you are on the receiving end. If you let it happen then you must have wanted it to happen but if you fight back you’re overreacting. You’re either not enough or you’re too much; but it’s always your fault. 

Men will love to tell you that they are not as emotional as women, but no man who ever says that has a problem expressing rage. It’s aways a cop out instead of acknowledging more complex and nuanced emotions.

When I went to the British Library in London I was blown away by a book by Christine de Pizan. She was a poet and author in the late 1300’s and early 1400’s. She was the first professional female author from Europe and she was a great defender of the intellectual and moral character of women. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of her before that day. It’s amazing to see a woman fighting like that so long ago. It makes you wonder how many other fascinating woman were written out of history or just plain forgotten. 

I helped my parents clean out the garage a while ago. My dad came across a box of things from his childhood home in Wisconsin. He found an old metal tin filled with his mother’s recipe cards. She passed away when my father was twelve and we don’t have many things that belonged to her. The recipes were from the 50’s and she had them organized alphabetically. Most of them were in her own handwriting. 

I asked my father if she liked to cook and he said yes. I knew she was a house wife but I wanted to know if she enjoyed cooking or did it because she had to.

I don’t know much about her but I know she was already married and divorced before she met my grandfather, which was rare at the time. I don’t know anything about her first marriage or why it ended. I don’t know what it was about my grandfather that made her fall in love with him. 

My father remembers that they would fight sometimes but didn’t recall why. I met my grandfather a few times and knew that he could be fiery and stubborn, but I’ll never know if she was fiery and stubborn to match. Was she defiant, passionate, opinionated? 

I am sure they loved each other but the way two people argue can tell a lot about them. Maybe I’m just looking for a way to know people who feel elusive. My grandfather dated a few people in the years after she passed but he never remarried. I’ve always wondered who she was beyond being a housewife with diabetes. Who would she have chosen to be outside of those limitations? There are so few things of hers that to have have some cards with here handwriting seems like a treasure. 

My grandmother on my mother’s was also an accomplished cook. She lived longer but passed away when I was two years old and I didn’t get a chance to know her either. Both sets of grandparents had children later in life because of World War II. Both of my grandfathers were drafted. My maternal grandfather was station in the Philippines and my paternal grandfather sustained a pretty serious injury when a gun backfired in training. He was meant to be stationed somewhere in Europe and ironically that injury probably saved his life. 

I’ll never know how my grandfathers mentality prepared to fight in the war. I’ll never know how my grandmothers coped with their absence. 

Both of my grandfather’s were children during the Great Depression. They remained cautious and frugal until the end of their lives. 

I was a senior in high school during the 9/11 terrorist attacks. 

I’ve lived through two “once-in-a-lifetime” economic crashes before I turned 37. 

Knowing how the Great Depression and World War II affected my grandparents I often wonder about the effects of 9/11 and the economic crashes of my own life will impact me in the long term.

I grew up middle class and with a happy childhood. I think it was easy to feel removed from a lot of the daily struggles. America has always been my home. 

But I support immigrants because I am descendant from immigrants.

I believe in increasing the minimum wage because I have seem my family struggle.

And I have never fought for my country but I won’t glamorize war. I have always been proud that my grandfathers fought for America but know what kind of impact war carries even on the winning side.

I think Covid-19 also pushed a lot of ugly truths front and center. About how more than anyone else the essential workers are all too often taken for granted and undervalued. How badly this country needs Medicare for all. 

One of the most deeply disturbing things I saw was during a photo of a protester with a sign that read “Arbeit macht frei”. “Work sets you free” written in German. A slogan that was plastered at concentration camps in World War II. 

The photo wasn’t some relic of the past. It was a modern photograph, in full color. It looked like any normal person you would see in a grocery store or around town. I audibly gasped when I saw it. That was no accident. 

The protester wasn’t fighting for their desire to go back to work, but fighting for others to work for them. The idea that others only exist to serve and they are expendable. It’s ok for other’s to put themselves at risk for haircuts and economy. 

I remember learning about World War II in school and how distant it felt. It infuriates me that does not feel so distant now. The same with rampant racism in this country. There are stories everyday about the mistreatment of minorities. I thought we came so much farther as a nation. 

I am aware that as a middle class white woman with a happy childhood my struggles are minimal in the grand scheme. It still hurts to see how backwards everything is now. 

It was rough reading my words from only a few years ago dismissing some aspects of feminism as outdated. 

A while ago in the midst of a fight with an ex boyfriend he ask me what our future children would think if they saw the way I argued with him. 

“I HOPE THEY SEE HOW I STAND UP FOR MYSELF AND FIGHT FOR WHAT I BELIEVE IN!”

I wonder if my grandmother ever said anything like that to my grandfather. 

I do not yet have children of my own, but in the years since that break up several of my best friends have had children. My unofficial but much loved nieces and nephews. I never shied away from holding them when they were moody or screaming. I loved to see how they tried to communicate before they could speak. Excitedly looking for hints to their unfolding personalities. 

So proud of all their parents who encourage boldness and sensitivity in equal measures for the boys as well as girls. 

One of the things I learned over the last few years was to be an individual as well as fight for others. My feminism never felt radical or imposing until I had something to fight for beyond myself. I saw feminism through an individualist lens for so long. If felt outdated because I wasn’t held back much personally. 

I’ll never know about a lot of the other woman who fought before me. So many of their voices lost to history. Or even my own grandmothers, are so are close but remain frustratingly elusive. I’m not the first person to have been in a bad relationship or be mistreated at work. But I am here and healing matters. 

There is so much left to fight for. The fighting is necessary. 

The Evening Hunt

Golden Afternoon

Jax soaking up the sun. 

Harlequin Flower Beetle

Typically found in Texas, this striking beetle was on the steps outside of my condo in Florida.

Old Stones and Unlocked Memories

Helping my parents organize their garage I found a few of my forgotten treasures. My love for unique rocks goes back farther than I realized. 

Years ago, when my family lived on Farragut Drive, I remember walking with my mother around the neighborhood. We stopped at a house down the street and my mom was in the drive way talking to the lady who lived there. The woman had a pile of rocks for decoration. One rock in particular caught my eye in the sun. It was a medium sized flat rock with subtle stripes, red freckles and loads of sparkle. I was about six years old at the time and was very familiar with the earth toned rocks from the yard. But I had never seen a rock so beautiful. It glittered in my hands as I studied it. The woman told me that she collected the rocks from places she had visited. She mentioned where the rock had come from but its been so long I don’t remember. She saw how much I liked it and told me I could have it. I was struck by her generosity. I wonder if she would be surprised to know that I still have that rock after all this time.

When I was about seven we had a school field trip to the Science Center. I think it was also supposed to be a sleep over, however, I had to leave early because I had my first communion a church the next morning. I fussed about missing my chance to go to the gift shop. My best friend Laura was there as well and her mother Jan had been one of the chaperones. Jan told my parents she would pick something out from the gift shop for me. While chaperoning she noticed how I gushed over the unique rock specimens, geodes, and crystals. She told my parents she knew exactly what to get me. A few days later she stopped by the house and surprised me with with a geode and an agate slice. The geode, I know I still have but I have misplaced it. I am sure it will resurface one of these days. The agate slice was a brilliant blue with lovely crystal “teeth” in the center. I always remembered what a thoughtful gift that was. 

Years later I would visit Laura in Virginia and she took me to the Natural History museum in Washington DC. We got separated and we she found me again I was talking with a random kid at the museum about how fascinating the rocks were.

Around the time I was fourteen I was at a Catholic middle school. The art teacher was friends with a man named Crowfeather. He was an Apache Indian who spoke the Lakota language. He visited our school with his three children Brandon (Big Bear), Sean (Running Wolf), and Cassie (Wind in Her Hair). Brandon was about my age but his other two children were younger. He visited our school and set up a tipi. Some of us school kids helped set it up and paint designs all over it. I remember some of the other kids complaining because the tipi had been set up on the soccer field so they couldn’t play for a while. I had zero interest in sports but I was completely transfixed with Crowfeather and and his culture. I spent as much time as I could before and after school hanging out with him and his kids just soaking in all in. 

He was at our school for about a week and towards the end of his visit some kids had slashed up the tipi. When I got to school and saw what had happened I was heartbroken. I remember standing outside with Crowfeather and the art teacher. The art teach was upset and I was sobbing. I had been treated to a week of culture, art and education. I couldn’t believe that anyone would destroy something so beautiful. 

“Why would anyone do this?” I stammered.

Crowfeather was calm and remained light hearted. He overlooked the mess and said “It’s not a bad day, its just a technicality”. 

I was reassured by his level headedness. He told me I was sensitive and I will never forget they way he said it. It was one of the only times in my life that that was said to me as a compliment. It felt like an honor. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stone. He handed it to me and told me to keep it. It was from the Colorado Rockies. I have always cherished that experience. I wrote down their names all those years ago so I would not forget their kindness.