fashion clothes

Yesterday, a new pope was named, and the set of circumstances in my life couldn't be more different if I had tried to imagine how much things would change.

I consider myself to be a recovering Catholic, which really just means that I will probably forever associate myself with the Church I was raised in even though I take issue with a large and growing number of their social policies.  I attended Catholic school.  I taught religious education for four years.  I was confirmed and married in the Church.  All my children are baptized.  It's with a heavy heart that I lost my connection to this institution I was raised in.

This new pope represents hope for so many people around the world, though I fear that might be somewhat misleading.  Yes, he is a Jesuit and a humble man, a far cry from Benedict and his affection for very exquisite things.  Refusing even the papal car, he has already demonstrated his commitment to staying humble. I believe that he may indeed help the Church find it's way back to the service of the poor, the caring for the downtrodden, to humility and more. Or at least I hope so.

As he is an outsider and not a member of the Roman Curia, there are some who fear he will struggle to find truth and honor in the wake of the Vati-leaks scandal, others who hope the very fact that he is an outsider will make progress.  There are those who fear that the inner circle of Vatican leadership will not be amenable to any attempts he may make to reform the Church in terms of dealing with the abuse cases and the controversies.

Then there is the matter of Francis' views on all the things the Church has grown notorious for, primarily his opinions about homosexuals, which he has been quite vocal about.  I find it so terribly ironic that the Church can condemn the very sexual activities that occur within even the highest levels of leadership as an abomination.  Homosexuality, in his eyes, is wrong.  A sin.  He was outspoken about his disapproval of Argentina's marriage equality measures, which gained him a lot of criticism even in his home country.

The rumors that Benedict resigned because of the threat of exposing homosexual activities within leadership continue to swirl.  As much as the Church may want to believe and insist that homosexuality isn't a part of normal human sexuality, and exists even within those wearing the robes of faith, they are kidding themselves. They are refusing to look in the mirror in any genuine way, passing judgment on their followers, decreeing from the mountaintops to do as I say, not as I do.

Francis is of the most conservative branch of the Church, and there is no reason to believe even for one second that any substantive changes will come in the areas of marriage equality, or contraception, or abortion rights, or the role women play.

This new wave of leadership may very well just end up as more of the same. There are many faithful who are welcoming of that inflexibility, of the refusal to bend at the will of an evolving society, who respect the Church more for holding steadfast to their beliefs.  All of which is well and good, I suppose, but all of which will also continue to alienate people like me.

I hold out irrational optimism for the Church to practice love, tolerance, forgiveness and peace, not just in words, but in reality.  To fight for human rights, regardless of who someone loves. To own their multi-level responsibility in violating the bodies of too many children at the hands of predators, to stop hiding it, to admit it openly, to make real changes to protect the victims, to remove the criminals that have harmed others. To recognize that involving women in leadership is essential to change and relevance in the world today.  To recognize that celibacy is impractical and may very well be the root cause for so much dysfunction within the Church.  To understand that honesty and openness is the way back into the hearts of millions of recovering Catholics.

Until then, I'll be at my Ecumenical Catholic Church. Where everyone is welcome, where women are in leadership, where priests have families, where love is evident, where tolerance abounds.

What I'm thinking about this morning is way too profound and deep, too thought provoking and life altering.  About how much life can change in an instant, and how rarely we are ever in control of those moments.  Big stuff.

Be grateful that someone gave me a topic to write about already, and I'm not writing about any of that nonsense.

My friend Ginger over at Spicey Mom wants me to take on Easter, which could very well be her least favorite holiday...which makes sense if you know that she's an atheist.

Her beef with the holiday is that, like everything else it seems these days, it gets bigger and bigger, more and more commercialized, filled with more expectations and demands every year.

Gone are the days when the "bunny" drops off a modest basket with a few bucks worth of candy and calls it good. Now, baskets are huge and toy filled, kids make requests for what they want, and start asking to go see the bunny to make good with the big guy.

Aren't baskets supposed to only have actual eggs in them anyway, if we're being technical?

If the bunny has failed to meet expectations, you're sure to hear about it within a few days after the kids go back to school, because there is some kid who inevitably got a bike or a scooter or an actual rabbit for Easter.

Your kid is pissed, wonders why they didn't get anything cool like their friends did from the bunny, ponders the unfairness of the magic world of the seasonal gift-givers.  As a parent, you just feel like you're a failure.  Like no matter what you do, it's not going to be good enough.  Some other parent is always going to get their kid something more awesome.

Here's my take on it.

Ready?

Stop caring.

Seriously.

I've never worried too much about what other people get their kids, whether it's Christmas, birthdays or random Tuesdays.  My children's basic needs are met, they are well fed, there is a roof over their head, and they've acquired enough crap already to basically be hoarders.  If they don't get a basket full of stuff they're only going to play with for five minutes, it's no one's loss and it saves me money.

Besides, I've never done the traditional baskets.  I'm cheap and practical, and my kids know that.

I get them a seasonal toy like sidewalk chalk or a butterfly net or a kite, but most of what is in the basket is even more practical.  Like a new swimsuit and a pair of sandals, which they get every year.

Don't worry, I buy them a package of Peeps and a chocolate bunny too.  They aren't completely deprived, but they'll get even less candy this year than usual because of the little boy and his sugar issues.

Sometimes we go see the bunny, some years we don't.  I happen to think a six foot tall rabbit is terrifying, and don't blame the kids when they hesitate.

Occasionally, the kids will mention something about someone getting something better than they did, and I just tell them that life's not fair.  Because it's not.

I'm not going to try and compete with other parents.  Even if I wanted to, I don't have the financial means to do it.

Why?

Because life's not fair.

^^^see what I just did right there?

I tend to think that we aren't doing anyone any favors by perpetuating the idea of keeping up with the Joneses, even when the Joneses are wearing bunny ears and poofy tails.

St. Patrick's Day is a bigger deal around here anyway.

What about you?  Is Easter a big deal for you?  Do you celebrate only the religious aspects, or does the bunny come to visit?

I had a couple things I planned to write about today, then I found inspiration for a theme. A few news stories broke in the past week that interest me deeply.  They have to do with public health issues.

In my former life, I was planning to be an attorney specializing in health law.  I followed the Medical Board of California as part of an oversight organization, I took all the health law classes I could in law school.  I minored in Bioethics in college, and enrolled in a MPH program as my last foray into the education world.  I technically was in a public health management focus, but my heart found it's true passion in epidemiology, which is the study of disease patterns.

My career ambitions were motivated by things that happened to members of my family as a result of a doctor's misdiagnosis and resulting negligence. I worked in risk management for a while.  I worked with HIV+/AIDS patients, assisting them in all legal issues for a while too.  I've sat in on ethics committee meetings, I've seen the patients, I've mused about the legal ramifications of any and all treatment decisions.  I've watched people get forced into isolation because of contagion risks.  I've seen up close and personal what damage cigarettes and poor diets can do to the human body.

Public health is a true passion of mine, and it's with that obvious bias that I write about the things pissing me off today.

Off we go.

Antibiotic Resistance 
Over the past few decades, more and more antibiotic resistant strains of bacteria have emerged.  Broad spectrum antibiotics, the strongest ones we currently use, cannot treat all the strains that exist currently.  There is a very real threat to the safety of the entire world if this trend continues, which it almost certainly will.  One need only to look to the past epidemics of untreatable diseases to understand the inherent dangers involved here.

This past week, Sally Davies, the Chief Medical Officer in England urged a global response to this issue. She is encouraging development of new antibiotics and the preservation of the arsenal currently at our disposal.  She urged better tracking of resistant disease, and cooperation between industries and nations, for the sake of us all.

Antibiotic resistance is a catastrophic threat to medicine, she said.

This is a topic that has been unsettling in the health care field for a long time here in the US, but one that has largely gone unnoticed by those in positions of power that could actually address the issues.

The causes of growing resistance are many and varied, and need to be addressed at the level of nations, not individuals.

First, there is some degree of resistance that comes naturally as the bacteria evolves on it's own.

Second, it's not news that antibiotics are overused quite often, given as prophylactic treatment and for viral infections where they will do no good.  Patients need to get out of the habit of asking for/demanding antibiotics and doctors need to stop writing the scripts for them.  Not only is it bad for everyone in the long run, it creates drug resistance within individual patients as well, requiring them to be placed on stronger and stronger medications when they actually do have infections.  There is also a strong argument to be made that habitual antibiotic use damages the human body's "good" bacteria as well, creating additional problems for the patients down the road.

Methicillin-resistantStaphylococcus aureus, commonly known as MRSA. Might look pretty under a microscope, but this could kill you.

Third, patients need to take antibiotics as they are prescribed.  Far too many patients stop taking the medications a few days into treatment, because they begin to feel better.  What happens is that the weakest bacteria are killed, leaving the stronger ones festering.  Repeat it a few times, multiply it by thousands or millions of patients, and you quickly find yourself fighting bacteria we can't treat.

Fourth, we need to crack down on the antibiotic use in our food supply.  Over 80% of the antibiotics sold in the United States are given to livestock, not to treat diseases, but in the hopes of avoiding them so that the ranchers can grow bigger animals faster.  These animals harbor resistant bacteria, which they can transmit not only to other animals, but to humans who eat them.  Again, these drugs are routinely administered in low (sub-treatment) levels to otherwise healthy animals, and no one in the United States tracks that use or regulates it.  The European Union banned the use of antibiotics for the purpose of growth in 2006.

Fifth, we need to stop using antibacterial soaps, gels and cleansers.  Used originally only in healthcare settings, these products have flooded the consumer market feeding on the fears of germaphobes.  There is no evidence that they work better than an old fashioned hand washing.  They expose skin, the largest organ, to dangerous chemicals.  They kill good bacteria, and encourage further growth of superbugs.  There is no legitimate reason for these products to be sold in the public market, and the fact that some schools are now requiring children to use them bothers me tremendously.  Just wash your hands.  With soap.  Regular old fashioned soap.

These are huge problems that need to be addressed from the level of the individual sitting in a physician's office, to corporate responsibility, to nation-wide funding of research and regulation of the use of the drugs we have.  If we keep ignoring them, we are just tempting fate to throw another plague at us.  During the Black Plague, a third of the people in Europe died.  A third.  It is not outlandish to suggest that we are at an ever-increasing risk of history repeating itself, and we need to take the necessary steps to ensure we are armed with the tools to fight it.

Bloomberg's Soda Ban
NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg doesn't care much about making enemies, which is often the personality trait of his that gets people to love or hate him.  His most recent crusade has to do with serving sizes of beverages that have sugar added to them.  Just yesterday, a judge in New York blocked application of the law, claiming it is arbitrary and capricious because it applies only to restaurants and certain other entities under the thumb of the health inspector.

Bloomberg vowed immediately to appeal the decision.  He has previously fought for limits on trans-fats, labeling in restaurants, and public smoking bans, all in the name of public health.

Love him or hate him, he's passionate.  And he's got a point, a valid one.  Individuals make poor choices, society pays the price.

We live in a free country, yes.  We also live in one populated by people who make very poor health choices, and where those choices result in long term disabling conditions like diabetes and cancers. One soda of the designated serving size almost surpasses an adult's daily recommended sugar intake. If people really want a 2-liter bottle of soda, they can still buy one in a grocery store, even in NYC.

The whole reason that the field of public health exists is to oversee society as a whole, to steer behaviors, to force manufacturers to be truthful, to protect people from the harms out there, and yes....sometimes to protect them from themselves.

It is absolutely condescending, but to some degree, it's also necessary.

Public health isn't supposed to be popular, it's supposed to save lives and improve health, not just for individuals, but for all of us.

As an Irish lass, this is a big week for me.  For reasons that I can't exactly explain, at some point in my teenage years, learning about my Irish heritage became important to me.  I attribute it to being raised in a cookie cutter suburb where just about everyone was a part of the same mainstream culture.  It wasn't enough for me, I wanted a connection to more.

My first best friend in the whole wide world was half Taiwanese, half Jewish.  Her home was filled with treasures, family tradition, authentic home cooked meals and more. I immersed myself in it.  I longed for the same connection with my family's past.

My family emigrated to the United States during the potato famine like many Irish families did at the time.  Some made the move, but not all.  We still have a family village outside Cork, and I dream someday of visiting there.  A cousin went after he finished college and ended up staying for months longer than expected, meeting so many members of the family.

True Story.

We've always had corned beef, cabbage and potatoes on St. Patrick's Day, but over the years I have become more famous for my soda bread.  For many years, I prepared an entire meal for the preschool on St. Patrick's Day, wanting to teach them that this celebration isn't just about wearing green, pinching people and leprechauns.

When I was pregnant with my oldest, we chose an old Gaelic name, Aidan, not realizing that name would become one of the most popular.  We chose it because of the heritage, not because of the trend.  I wanted to spell my oldest daughter's name Ashleigh, but we settled on the more common spelling for some reason.  In the event I ever have another daughter, I already know what her name will be.  It would, of course, start with an A.  It would, of course, be Irish.

One of my favorite traditions every year is to attend the St. Patrick's Day parade.  My girls have begged to dance ceili for a long time.  As much as I would love to enroll them, the schools are far from where we live, the classes are very expensive and the outfits cost a small fortune.  Maybe someday when they tire of soccer...

Right after we married, my husband went to the Irish shop in San Diego that has been run by the same woman for years.  He knew I wanted a claddaugh ring, but he wanted to make sure it was authentic and came from Ireland.  I've worn it every day since.

Not long after that, I went to get my tattoo.  A four leaf clover, for luck and for family.  I knew that I would never fall out of love with it, and almost fifteen years later, I haven't.  I'm proud of it, and have so many ideas of other traditional Irish symbols I would love to turn into body art.

There is the fun side of it too, the part where I play with it all.  A few years ago, the leprechaun started coming to visit us.  He's naughty.  He dyes the milk green, he turns the furniture upside down.  He sprinkles glitter on everything and hangs underwear from the ceiling.  The kids seem a little more determined to catch him with each year, though they haven't managed to yet.

He'll be here in a few days.  The parade is this weekend.  The feast will be prepared, the soda bread loaves made.  I'm sure the kids will talk me into some ridiculous rainbow treats for their classes, like usual.  The keg is full of a homebrewed stout, made with Irish hops, and the Jameson has been purchased.

Let's put some Irish on it.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Here are some of the links to recipes for things I have prepared in celebration of St. Patrick's Day.

I wasn't going to write anything today, yet here I am.

A few nights ago, as I stood on a field watching soccer practice and chatting with some of the other parents, my phone vibrated.

It was an email.

A message from the director of the Denver production of Listen To Your Mother, asking me to audition.

The auditions were originally supposed to take place yesterday, and I was okay with that.  The storm was coming, and I'd have an excuse to beg off.  To say thank you, but no thank you.

Then they pushed it back to next week, assigned me a time.

I have an audition in six days, and I have no idea what I'm going to do.


I have 2-3 minutes to sell myself.  To make them like me.  I'm leaning towards a serious piece because I think that is a lot easier to convey in a short period of time than humor is.

I posted about how I was completely freaking out about it on my Facebook page, and some of my loveliest fans immediately told me that it would all be fine, that I would rock the audition, that I would do great.

If only I had such confidence in myself.

This, all of this...my writing, the stories I tell, my sense of humor, it's all easier from behind a screen.  It's taken me years and surviving hell a few times to really find my voice here.  To believe in myself again, to use this platform to share information, to raise awareness, to raise money for charity, to do good.  I use it to rant and bitch, to laugh and cry, to process the things I go through personally, even if I almost never actually write about what they are.

This version of me, the one with the Wonder Woman costume kicking ass and taking names, I like her. I like her a lot.

She's good at a lot of things, it's true.

She's never stood on a stage with a microphone and tried to sell it to someone in person, though.

The one time that someone recognized me in public for my blog I was startled and didn't really know what to say.  It was fun, but terrifying.

The people who read what I write, you all, you're real.

I get messages occasionally from some of you, messages that tell me that I helped you somehow, that I made you feel like you weren't the only one going through something, that I inspired you to start writing or take pictures or be silly.  I made you laugh, I made you cry, I made you think.  Those messages keep me going, tell me that I'm doing something worthwhile here.

Sometimes I need that more than you know, mostly because I don't have nearly as much self-confidence as it might seem.

I've doubted a lot of things in the past few years.  Re-evaluated every single piece of my life.  Wondered if I'm where I am supposed to be.  Wondered why things happened the way they did.

I've tried to stop writing a few times.

I can't.

This is who I am.

I'm the girl behind the computer screen.  She's smart and strong and resilient and brave.  She's honest and real and good.  She has integrity, she has depth of character, she is talented.

I have six days to get her to believe she can stand on a stage and convince other people of it all too.

Wish me luck.

Not that it's going to matter much to us right now, hunkered down in the house amidst the most anticlimactic snow storm of the year, but the time changes tonight.

Seriously, Weather Channel.

If you're gonna start naming storms, save it for storms that drop more than a couple inches.  I'd better see more than a few flakes swirling around outside if you call something Triton.  I want a real blizzard where I can build snow caves and it takes two days to dig out.

Impress me OR stop naming the very average, very unimpressive, regular snow storms that come through when it's actually winter.

Back to my original point....the time is changing tonight.

I think it's funny that people always complain about the time change honestly.  It doesn't really phase me at all.  We've never had more trouble suddenly getting the kids to go to bed or wake up on time, even when they were babies.  We've always immediately adjusted to the Spring change, welcoming it even.

This time of year, I'm glad to have another hour of sunshine in the afternoon.  My soccer playing, bike riding, skateboarding kids are pretty happy about it too.  My husband gets downright giddy that the ball of fire is still up when he gets off work.

I'm even MORE excited about the fact that it means that come Monday, I won't have to fight with my bitch of a garage door anymore.


You see, in late February and early March, the angle of the sun in the sky in the afternoon is just so that it hits the sensor for the garage door and renders it useless.  I can't shut the damn thing without orchestrating this complicated maneuver religiously, where I back out of the garage almost completely, but with just the right amount of the bumper blocking the devil rays of light from hitting the sensor, then backing out with a fraction of a second before the door comes slamming down on the hood.

Seriously, I should videotape this crazy daily dance.  I have to start trying to leave early just so I can get out of the driveway in time to pick the kids up.

I may or may not scream many curse words at the garage door on a daily basis while we perform this in and out dance of holding buttons down, then the light flashing at me when the door stops.

Fucking door.

It taunts me.  And laughs a maniacal laugh.

My favorite is when the dogs wonder what the hell is going on and wander out into the garage, looking at me with their heads tilted to the side all confused dog like.

Eventually, they start to think that I'm not actually leaving, since I seem wholly incapable of closing the damn door and they come out to see me.  Say hi.  Wonder if they get to go for a ride.

So, then I'm usually stuck in the driveway with a door that won't go down and two clueless wandering dogs.

EVERY.DAMN.DAY.

I'm pretty sure I've heard my neighbors laughing at me a few times.  It is that bad.

You will never hear me whine about losing an hour on the Sunday that the time changes in the Spring.  I never have enough hours in the day anyway, and losing another one isn't really going to make a difference.

AND I won't have to fight with the garage every day.

C'mon Daylight Savings Time.

Save me.