Planning for Peanut: The Build-up to Birth, and "Buffy"

Sometimes it feels like everyone is fucking with the pregnant lady. The medical interventionists say that home birth is an insane risk. The home birth contingent insists that hospitals are traumatizing environments that can ruin your kid's introduction to the world. I've grown weary of all the books and websites, with their long lists of "don't, don't, don't" but then feel guilty that I don't spend more time reading about pregnancy. Various non-professional men have offered me unsolicited birthing advice, such as, "You should start practicing your kegel exercises while driving." Ugh, and the body assessments! Those have ranged from, "Hmm. You don't look that pregnant. The baby must be unusually small," to a certain acquaintance's typically tactless observation, "Well, now it looks like the baby's almost ready to come out." For real, dude? Wait til' you get a load of me in three and a half months... when the baby is actually about to come out.

This sometimes deafening chorus of "No, wrong way!" can be rather disheartening. I trust myself to do what's best for the baby and me, and I know I have good instincts. But I've experienced a recent increase in those Shit!-I-didn't-study-for-the-exam nightmares, and some days I just don't feel like talking to anyone. It's on those days, when I'm feeling down and defenseless, that I tend to think about "Buffy the Vampire Slayer".



Specifically, I'm referring to the late 90s/ early 00s TV series starring Sarah Michelle Gellar. It's certainly one of my favorite shows ever. Though I haven't re-watched it much since a DVD rental binge in 2005, I still consider Buffy to be one of the best heroines of all time. I now find her model especially inspiring, for two reasons ~

Buffy is never wrong Which isn't to say that she's perfect. She struggles with typical teen and college-age issues - school, dating, bouts of insecurity. More so, she faces the atypical struggles that come with being The Slayer, a young woman chosen to protect the world from demons and vampires. Endowed with a superhuman strength and healing ability, and assisted by her devoted friends (known as "The Scoobie Gang") as well as her trainer Giles, she usually comes out on top of any battle. But the singularity of her burden can be overwhelming, making her morbid and standoffish at times. It doesn't help that the love of her life, Angel, was a repentant vampire who turned evil after they slept together.

So Buffy's life is full of angst and she doesn't always react well to that. Who would? But even though her life can be super depressoid, it doesn't change the fact that her instincts and moral judgement are generally spot-on. This is perfectly exemplified in one of my favorite episodes, "Living Conditions". At the start of Season 4, Buffy and her pals begin their first year of college. Buffy's dorm roommate is Kathy, a chipper, annoying weirdo who listens to Cher's "Believe" nonstop, barrows Buffy's clothes without asking, openly clips her toenails, etc. As Buffy's anger and frustration mount, she insists that her roomie is dangerous and must be stopped. "Kathy is evil. I'm an evil fighter. It's simple. I'm gonna have to kill her." Fearing that their buddy has gone bananas, Giles and the rest of the Scoobie Gang trap Buffy so that she can't harm her innocent roommate, until it's revealed - SPOILER ALERT - Kathy is actually a demon. Even though this episode didn't fit into the larger Season 4 story arc, I see it as a major turning point in Buffy's character development. It's at that point I realized that when Buffy is actively trying to do what's right, she's never wrong. In fact, when other people try to dissuade her from doing what she thinks best, they are the misguided ones.

Given my aggravation with too much advice from too many questionable quarters, it's obvious why Buffy's correctness should comfort me. But may I just add that I can't think of another heroine who is portrayed this way. Consider two of my other favorites - Liz Lemon from "30 Rock" and Elizabeth Bennett from Pride and Prejudice. Both are hyper-intelligent women who make a joke out of everything. Lemon can be sloppy, arrogant and dour. Bennett can be a terrible judge of character. I like their flaws because they remind me of myself. But isn't it nice to have a lady protagonist who is both righteous and rightly confident, one who really ought to believe in her choices? Dudes have Superman. We ladies have Buffy.

Buffy is physically strong Okay, that's an understatement. She has innate superpowers, but she also works at it, training daily with Giles to make herself a better Slayer. While child-birthing may not be a superhuman ability (though it sure as hell seems like one!), it is innate; your body wants to push that little person out. You may want some drugs or need some instruments to help it along, or you may need a C-section, but I've decided I want to try to do it naturally. And I have to believe that nourishing my strength through exercise will help me give birth with greater ease.

That seems like common sense, right? I guess I won't know until I get there. At the very least, my fitness routine has helped me maintain my energy through these first five months. There's really no replacement for it. Unfortunately, pregnant women aren't much encouraged to work out. Most sources I've read recommend activities like "a brisk walk." That's great advice for someone who rarely or never exercises. But if you're used to running 5Ks every few days and you're in the low-risk category (which most women are), there's no reason you should stop running during pregnancy so long as it continues to feel good. I follow my doctors advice - "Stop if it hurts." Even when I'm avoiding pain, I can still break a sweat.

Alas, advocating prenatal exercise falls under the "do" category. And perhaps because a misdirected "do" can get you sued, there's a lot more "don't" advice. Don't run. Don't drink coffee. Don't eat soft cheeses. None of these apply to every woman or every situation, but it's easier to assume that we're all physically inactive, caffeine chugging, raw milk guzzling morons who don't understand the concept of moderation (or pasteurization). We're just expected to distrust ourselves and follow lowest-common-denominator "wisdom" instead. This is the definition of infantilization.

Oh, it gets me riled up! That's just another reason why I have to work out. I can't afford to let this shit distress me. And ever since I identified Buffy as my pregnant woman's role model, I've been relishing my workouts with greater zest. When I think of her doing a back flip before slaughtering a demon, I find myself standing a bit taller on the elliptical machine or smiling as I carefully execute a proper squat. I now like to think of myself as Tara the Baby Birther, and my gut feeling is that I'm going to do just fine on the exam after all.

Planning for Peanut: Frequently Asked Questions

Is it true that you're expecting? Congratulations!Yup, it's true. Thanks : )

Is it a boy or a girl?
It's a girl! Here name is Bernadette. She's due mid-October.

Why did you pick that name? Is there someone in your family with that name?
The Four Tops song was the inspiration. It is beautiful and intense, as she will certainly be.


I will warn her, however, that if any suitor should express their love in such insanely jealous terms, she ought to run the other direction.

I don't think Dan was completely on-board with this name until he discovered it means "strong, brave bear." That seemed to seal the deal.

Oh, and it turns out that my great-grandfather's sister was Bernadette Rousseau! What a coincidence. Coming from the French explorer/Detroit pioneer side of the family, it's a fun one.

How are you feeling?
Still feeling pretty good. I'm definitely transitioning into that third trimester state of periodic anxiety. I had a couple sleepless nights this week that messed me up for a few days. When I was watching a recent Mavericks/Heat game, I recalled a sad scene I witnessed at The Palace of Auburn Hills three and a half years ago and that made me cry. I guess these experiences will become more common in the next four months. I'm trying fall back on that coping mantra I learned from menstruation - "These bummer feelings arise from physical changes, not actual problems."

Are you still training at the gym?Why, yes I am - thanks for asking!

Okay, no one asks me this. But, I'm going to pretend because I'm proud I've kept up with my routine and I think it's done me a lot of good. A brisk workout is the best way to turn around an anxious mood. Since my current trainer doesn't spoil me with homework the way my old trainer did (shout out to T!), I've had to be more proactive in designing my program. At the end of the week, I don't tend to workout as often or as rigorously as I used to and that's okay. I'm still keeping up a good pace and challenging myself in little ways. Right now it's more about maintaining the less pregnant parts of my body and letting my belly do it's thing. Also, my generally liberal OB cautioned me against crunches, to which my response was, "You're giving me a medical reason to not do sit-ups? Yes, sir!"

I read "Exercising Through Your Pregnancy" by James F. Clapp, a very upbeat and carefully worded report on the author's study of physically active expectant mothers. His evidence suggests that working out throughout pregnancy can benefit the mother during labor and after pregnancy, and even bolster the health of the child on a long-term basis. Also, he found that a relatively high percentage of active women experience safe, early births (less than three weeks before the due date) - BOOYAH! That would be great, but of course baby can take all the time she needs (I say now). I already feel the benefits of exercise. It's energizing.

Have you had any of those weird, wacky cravings?
The unusual cravings are starting to kick in. I asked Dan to get me ice cream sandwiches the other night and all I want right now is a cinnamon roll. Those yearnings aren't that wacky, though I don't tend to have this much of a sweet tooth. For the past two months, the chief "want" has been red meat. Can't get enough of it. And it doesn't even upset my stomach like it used to. I was sampling sirloin at work last week, and when I tasted a juicy rare bit from the center I felt a warm fuzziness light up my whole body. It was like drugs!! I'm having fun with it.

But so far, no pickle and peanut butter sandwiches, or whatever. I'm kinda glad. That stereotype reminds me of a Cathy cartoon.

Are you going to have a baby shower?
Yes. We will definitely have one here in Chattanooga. Note the "we" - there shall be no gender sequestering. Nor will there be any silly games. I'm thinking Sunday brunch at our local karaoke bar. Dan and guests will be encouraged to imbibe.

I may want to do something extremely low-key when we visit Michigan in mid-July. In any case, we'll be registering online. This is weird for me because I don't like shopping and hate asking people to spend money on me (this is why I didn't do a wedding registry), but it isn't really about me. I will gladly cash in for my kid.

Will you buy sweatshop-produced clothing for your kid?
I should explain why this is a frequently asked question. At the start of 2010, I resolved to buy only sweatshop-free clothing or used clothing, and then blogged about my progress quarterly. I kinda regret writing about it, because documenting your principals can make people uncomfortable and act weird with you, and I'm pretty weak when it comes to dealing with that stuff. Nevertheless, these principals have made a big impact on how I shop for everything and I see that as a positive change.

I've always tried to acknowledge that this effort can be expensive and time-consuming, and that it's way more difficult for families and poor people. So, the short answer to the question is, yeah, probably some of it. I've already made exceptions for maternity clothes. I'll try to avoid buying sweatshop-produced goods for my kid, but more so, I'll opt for second-hand. I'm a huge fan of reusing. It's the most economically and ecologically sound option.

I think the best thing about shopping with a sweatshop-free mindset is that I just have less shit. I don't want to deprive my kid of any need, including fun and enjoyment. But, my mom taught me to appreciate minimalism and I'd like to pass that value down to her, as well. Or maybe she'll be a mall rat. That's fine, too.

Will you take a Lamaze class?/ Are you going to have a natural birth?
Yeah, I'm going for natural-as-possible. I'm looking into the Bradley method. The Lamaze breathing pattern seems weird to me.

Are you reading "Ina May's Guide to Childbirth?"
Yes, yes, but slowly. I like the birth stories - it's good to know what I can expect and to be reassured that I can handle it - but it's a lot to wade through. And then there are those wild hippie chicks. My favorite is the lady who said that when she started having contractions, she envisioned her yoni as "a big, open cave beneath the surface of the ocean, with huge, surging currents sweeping in and out." She continues -

I surrendered over and over to the great oceanic, engulfing waves. It was really delightful - very orgasmic and invigorating. Michael, my husband, was lying with me, and we experienced the wonderful rushing together for some time.

Finally, when it came time to call the midwives, the phone didn't work, so Michael delivered Jon himself. It all went very smoothly, and Michael and I were very clear, focused, and very high.

Whoa, lady! Is that some trippy shit, or what? I admit, I'm jealous. I will never be "far out" enough to have such a great time giving birth.

We thought about working with a midwife, but that just isn't where I want to put my money right now. I really like my OB. He's very relaxed and he works with midwives, which was one of the reasons I chose him. He knows that I want to go natural, but like me, he's into having a backup plan.

Will you nurse?
Yes. It's great for the baby and it's thrifty as hell.

Hmm, five months pregnant? ((stares at my body)) How much weight have you gained?
Let me answer your question with another question - where on Earth have your manners gone?!

Did I tell you about that horrible, scary thing that happened when my otherwise healthy kid was born?
No. Please don't. Why are you trying to freak me out?

Isn't it great to be getting all this attention?
Er, not really. Don't get me wrong, I love when family and friends check up on me and that everyone is so excited. But I've always hated situations in which lots of people are staring at me and/or I'm being interrogated; such experiences increase exponentially when you're getting married or having a baby. But I'm pretty good at protecting myself from that kind of thing. I stay at home a lot. And I'm lucky to live in a town where my condition is a cliche. Seriously, I see, like, ten pregnant women every day at work. Oh, and my boss is pregnant, too.

I've heard that the transition from center-of-attention pregnant lady to socially-isolated new mom can be really rough. Maybe it will help that I'm already such a homebody. We'll see. I never know exactly what's coming, but I trust that it will all be okay.

"Find a city, find myself a city to live in"

- from "Cities" by Talking Heads

Ten years ago, I spent the summer working the opening shift at a faux-French cafe in Ann Arbor, MI. Waking up for the 5am start-time wasn't easy (and having no one to account for my presence, I often overslept), but once I got there I loved those first couple hours of alone time. First I would prep the frozen Vie de France pastries while listening to Talking Heads' "Fear of Music". Then I would get the kitchen and coffee bar set up, move the pastries from the proofer to the oven and unstack the patio furniture. If I made good time, I'd reward myself with a cappuccino and a cigarette as I watched delivery trucks pay their visits to all the Main Street restaurants in the brisk light of dawn. And as I enjoyed those last moments of solitude, I'd ponder the lyrics of my favorite song from my current favorite album. Sure, this gig and this town were okay, but I longed for a real city, with more than just a Main Street and breakfast pastries made from scratch. But where would I go and, more importantly, why?

It took several years, but getting together with Dan helped answer those question. His career landed us in Chattanooga, TN and we look forward to going other places from here. Our mutual wanderlust has introduced so many possibilities. I'm apt to say that each new place is my favorite of all; Austin, Nashville and the Pacific Northwest have all held those honors. New York is magical, of course, but unless I run into a big pile of money I'm way past the point where I'd try to hack it there. And if money were no object, I'd sooner choose San Francisco for its better climate, stunning architecture and proximity to fresh produce.

But truly, none of those places made as much an impression on me as New Orleans, which I first visited a couple weeks ago. In just 42 hours, I fell in love. As David Byrne sang, "There's good points and bad points," but it all adds up to the most beautiful and civilized city I've ever encountered. Here were the highlights ~

A Serendipitous Meeting with a Faraway Friend Our buddy A happened to be ending a conference week the night we arrived. We picked him up from his Canal St. hotel and headed for the gayborhood bar next to our B&B in the Marigny. Though I've hung out with him only a few times (he and his beautiful wife L live in Chicago), A is definitely one of my favorite grad-school-friends-of-Dan. It helps that he loves talking about pop culture.

One of the first things he said was, "Have you guys been watching Treme?" Ah, yes! Dan and I are obsessed with this program (we don't have HBO, but we're catching up on the first season via Netflix). Anyone who loved The Wire will surely appreciate writer/producer David Simon's tribute to post-Katrina New Orleans and particularly its music scene. "You know Kermit?" Kermit Ruffins is a local jazz trumpeter who is prominently featured on the show. "I met him! He performed at one of our conference dinners." Oh, and Irma Thomas was there, too. Dan and I were practically drooling with envy. "You know that Black Eyed Peas song that goes, 'I got a feelin', that tonight's gonna be a good night'-"

"Oh, yeah!" I said. "I hate that song."

"Well, after playing a lot of jazz standards that was the last song he did, and it was ridiculous and awesome." I could appreciate that, but the story wasn't over. "I saw him in the parking lot afterward. He was wandering around with this gorgeous woman, carrying a beer in his hand. He looked like he was pretty high. He was about to get into an SUV and I knew I had to say something, so I went up to him and said, 'Wow, that was a great show. It was really an honor to see you perform.' All he did was smile, point at me, and say, 'I got a feelin', that tonight's gonna be a good night, that tonight's gonna be a good, good night...'." The three of us cracked up, Dan and I continued to laugh over that for days.

A Walk Without a Destination I hardly slept that night. I felt like a five-year old on Christmas Eve. Finally at 7am, I accepted that there would be no more rest and I'd just have to nap in the afternoon (never happened). Being so excited but tired, feeling so suddenly pregnant (I swear little peanut's "apartment" doubled overnight), the sultry, early summer air seemed like it could overwhelm me. So I took a deep breath, drank some coffee and plenty of water, armed myself in sunblock and determined that I would just let the city wash over me. From that point on, I seemed to be wandering through a dream.

We leashed up Dulce and headed toward the French Quarter by way of Washington Square Park. As the innkeeper told us, "You'll see a sign at the park gate that says No Bikes, No Alcohol, No Dogs, and then you'll see all three there." I could already tell that the people of this city have an excellent attitude. And he was right. Despite the mild lawlessness, the park was lively and green, and Dulce got to meet a few new friends.

We meandered along Decatur toward St. Louis Cathedral. Once I'd satisfied my minor craving for touristy sight-seeing (yup, there sits an actual American cathedral; no need for a tour), I was content to just absorb the bright pastel cityscape surrounding me. The architectural style - largely influenced by late 18th and early 19th century Spanish rulers - is unlike anything I've seen in this country or abroad. This shot taken later that night shows a common ironwork gallery



I love the ways that some buildings and porches abut the sidewalks, forcing interactions between residents and pedestrians, while other establishments are shielded by mysterious, brick-walled courtyards. I could spend a whole day peeking through the cracks between walls and under gates, catching glimpses like this



We wandered north toward Louis Armstrong park, then through the lower end of Treme and back toward our inn in the Marigny, just east of the Quarter. That's about the time we encountered a Banksy mural. What a fun surprise, not to mention that the work itself was quite lovely



Days later, I encountered this Goete quote - "I call architecture frozen music." It's the perfect expression of how I feel about beautiful buildings. To live and walk about a city that has long dedicated itself to prettiness seems to me a dream come true. Oh, and the oak trees! Don't get me wrong, there's dirtiness, too, and the roads are terrible, but that's all part of the package*. That town just aches with romance.

Cochon Butcher Our research pointed to Cochon as one of the best restaurants, but A clued us into Cochon Butcher, the more economical deli next door. After Dan wisely steered my away from the roast beef (they specialize in pig) I settled on the pork belly sandwich, which reminded me of the rich, succulent pork roasts my mom would make on special occasions. The best part was where the juicy meat met the braised surface. That's exactly what was in my sammy - thin slabs of tender yet slightly crispy meat, layered with mint, cucumber and chili lime mayo. It was one of the best things I'd ever eaten.

I enjoyed another one of the best things I'd ever eaten twenty minutes later when we split their bacon praline. I'd never had a praline before and I think the best way to describe this Louisiana version is "pecan fudge". The big chunks of smoky bacon within were salty prizes at the end of every creamy, sweet bite. I chewed those bits of pork like bubble gum, and the flavor lasted just as long. $2.50!!! I'm kicking myself for not buying thirty more. It makes that $7.50 Vosges bar seem like silly kid stuff.

The Best Pregnant Cocktail EverHaving discovered weeks ago that the Virgin Bloody Mary is the best non-alcoholic cocktail for a pregnant lady (it doesn't taste any different than the vodka version, and I love me some brine), I was quite pleased with the ones they were serving at the bear bar where we had taken A. The innkeeper informed us of their dog-friendly policy, so we took Dulce in the afternoon and I ordered a couple more. It was the perfect blend of spicy and salty, garnished with olives, dilly beans and pickled okra! It was practically a meal in a glass.

We sat at the bar near the open corner door and watched a gentle rain fall upon Elysian Fields. The owner approached us and introduced himself, shaking Dan's hand and giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Then he showered the dog with affection as she wagged her tail and shed white, feathery fur all over his floor. He hushed our apologies. "With the things that happen in this place, trust me, dog hair is nothing!" He chatted us up for a while and then a periodic parade of kindly, middle-aged gay men came over to pet Dulce. We just don't get this kind of society in Chattanooga.

Pennies from Heaven
Feeling so sleepy, I wasn't inclined to see a live show at a smoky bar, though fortunately Dan convinced me anyway. After dinner we set out for the Bywater District to see Kermit play his regular Thursday night gig at Vaughn's. By then it was pouring outside, but there was a sense of celebration amongst the crowd as it was the first rain in nearly two months. Waiting for the show to begin, we hung around inside for a while (got to see the table where Elvis Costello sat in that scene from the first episode of Treme - my favorite moment is when Steve Zahn's character, Davis, tries to make Kermit understand why this is a big deal and the only response he gets is, "Elvis?!"). Then we retired to the veranda to watch the rain and the gathering crowd. Kermit came out for a moment, stood in front of Dan and sparked a big joint, which he then passed to the guy collecting cover at the door. A couple nerdy dudes approached him, trying to strike up some casual conversation, but they were clearly as awestruck as we were. I don't think we were the only Treme fans in the house.

The show was a blast. In honor of the rain, he began with "Pennies from Heaven" and continued with a long set of other fun standards, alternately singing and playing trumpet. I got to dance to "Ain't Misbehavin'" and "Skokiaan", and I think the heat I was emitting from my pregnant body had a way of moving people out of my way, because I was able to get pretty close to the stage. You see, there is some advantage to seeing a live show when you are with child.

Nevertheless, I was pretty wiped out after an hour, so we listened to the show from seats on the veranda and watched drunk people act silly. One more obligatory tourist trip to Cafe Du Monde and we returned to our room for a real night of sleep before our long drive to Dallas

****

I kept saying to Dan that I was glad we had more adventure awaiting us after New Orleans or I would have found the return to Chattanooga quite depressing. I'm glad to say that being back hasn't been depressing at all. I'd missed our cat, my workout, my routine. This is where my home is now, and home makes me feel complete. I also have a stronger desire to make the most of what I have here - for instance, instead of bitching about the lack of great restaurants in this region, I'm going to take advantage of the excellent local ingredients available to me and become a better cook. I still don't want to stay here forever, but now that I've met the city that suits me best, I don't feel so desperate to figure out where we're going. Whatever happens, it feels good to finally know what I want.



*Coming from Detroit, I don't feel comfortable in cities that aren't somewhat dirty, or where living well means spending a lot of money. For instance, I never feel like I'm dressed nice enough when I'm in New York. SF is kinda that way, too. And then there are places like Austin or Portland where it's cool to be a freak, but I suspect that really means "dress like a hipster". Being in New Orleans, I truly felt that you could be whoever you are- whether you're young or old, skinny or fat, chic or dorky - and as long as you don't act like a jerk, it's cool.

In Search of a Gray Shades Detector

Last Wednesday, Lady Gaga provided one of the most satisfying TV moments in recent history and she wasn't even singing. Rather, she was mentoring American Idol contestant and metro-Chattanoogan Lauren Alaina during her rehearsal of Elvis Presley's "Trouble". When LA stumbled over the song's first of many "I'm evil"s, she confessed in an interview, "I don't want America thinking I'm evil!" Jimmy Iovine (Idol In-house Mentor and real-life producer) sort of rolled his eyes and said, "This is a character. Just change characters for me," but that advice was clearly going nowhere. That's when Gaga intervened, telling Lauren, "At the end of the day, the word 'evil' isn't that big a deal, is it?" And that was when the young woman stopped arguing and started singing with real passion.

Here's the deal - I really like Lauren Alaina, not just because she's from the town next door, but because she's talented and strikes me as a very sweet and humble young lady; I loved, for instance, her jaw-drop reaction when Jimmy informed her that she is actually a much better singer than Miley Cyrus. She also has this wonderful, unwitting way of using her stature and the nickname "Peaches" ("We're both from Georgia!") to make douchey Ryan Seacrest look just like the fragile man-child that he truly is, though he obviously adores her. So even though I don't care all that much, I think it would be nice if she won the competition.

However, if all this happened a year ago and I'd been witness to the "I'm evil" bit at that time, I may have had to switch players. Her illogical fear would have struck me as the pinnacle of blind, religious idiocy. I guess the difference now is that I understand Ms. Lauren Alaina comes from a community where many, if not most people often and openly discuss their faith (most likely some flavor of Christian Protestant). In this context, her concern is legitimate. I'm just glad that Lady Gaga was able to help her understand that singing "I'm evil" needn't express anything about your true identity.

Identity. It's at the heart of the biggest paradigm shift I've experienced as a southern newbie. I've never lived amongst such a large population of individuals who publicly identify themselves by their faith. Don't get me wrong, I knew plenty of religious people in the north. I'd guess that at least 20% of my high school female classmates wore hijabs, which clearly indicated that they were Muslim. I went to church every Sunday until I was 20 years old and I'd see several of my Catholic peers there, too. I had a sense of what others believed, but we didn't talk about it much. After moving to a college town, I was definitely hanging with a more agnostic crowd, but no one talked about that much, either. When I look at my northern Facebook friends' profiles, I find that most people hesitate to discuss their specific beliefs (either not responding to the query "Religious Views" or posting intentionally vague statements like "I have them"). Occasionally I'll see a specific designation, like "Lutheran", but that's the extent of it.

I can't express how different it is here, though I sense I've seen only a surface glimmer of the deep religiosity that pervades this region. The other day, I stumbled upon a neighbor's Facebook profile. I was surprised to learn that he's a minister in addition to the other job I knew he had. This never came up in conversation, but he makes reference to "the word" in the first line of his profile. Where I come from, that's unusual. But I've noticed this when I've happened across other locals on FB; So-and-so enjoys cooking, reading and Bible study. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I avoid "friending" these people, which certainly attests to my own prejudices. Though honestly, I'm also afraid I'll say or post something that will offend them (like this blog). After all, they aren't the weird ones in this part of the world. I am.

The thing is, I think that my weirdness is so obvious to some of the natives that they may hold back in my presence. If they don't know I'm godless, they at least figure I'm the wrong kind of believer, or the lazy kind, or a Satan-worshipper (which, near as I can tell, is the ultimate insult you can hurl at a weirdo; I don't think I'd heard it since the third grade, 'til I moved down here). Others favor me by assuming I believe in god, casually referring to some way in which he has "blessed" me. I'm always fascinated by those who broadcast their beliefs on t-shirts and bumper stickers with phrases like "Real Men Love Jesus". They aren't trying to start a conversation with any specific person, but I guess they're more than happy to engage in a chat if you're interested.


I am interested. More accurately, I'm curious. I prefer a society in which most people keep religion out of the public discourse because I think that's more polite. But as long as I'm living in the south, I'd like to get more familiar with these varying shades of religiosity. I suspect that the (generally pejorative) term "Bible Belt" is just too broad. I want to study the nuances. What inspires that dude at the gym to say, "If you don't finish all those reps, man, then you don't love Jesus!" Why do some people speak more about Jesus love while others focus on god's wrath? Is the community worship service at the local hipster coffee shop more or less exclusive than your average church, and how so? Is this town actually rather secular for this region (I'm pretty sure it is)? I can't imagine asking these questions outright, because that seems way awkward, so I'm just going to get spongy, do as much eavesdropping as I can, and see what I figure out via passive observation.

The day after Lady Gaga helped Lauren Alaina belt out a rather innocent Elvis song, I had a minor revelation while I was at work. It was family dinner night, when the store is overrun with hyperactive children and exhausted parents looking for a cheap, precooked meal. Compared to the rich, overindulged and manner-less brats I used to meet in Ann Arbor, these Chattanooga kids are angelic, so I don't mind 'em much. Plus, they always get excited to see me, the Free Food Lady. Anyway, a mother and her five sheepish moppets approached my table. As I chatted with mom about the on-sale olive oil and scooped samples, one of the girls quietly handed me a religious tract. I groaned internally, but did what I always do in that situation - say "thank you," tuck it in my pocket and wait until they leave before I throw it out. Again, I found her gesture rude but I certainly don't think it was meant that way. It may have even seemed a generous exchange - I gave her a bite of caprese salad, she gave me the opportunity to be saved. She and her siblings so well behaved in every other way, I couldn't help taking it as a mild compliment.

And then it hit me - so that's how all these families of five and eight and ten children maintain order! Coming from a seven kid Catholic family, I don't know why it took me so long to figure it out. How could two adults raise such an enormous brood without religion? It isn't impossible to produce that many well-mannered kids secularly, but a built-in community - not to mention the fear of god - sure as hell helps. For my siblings and me, the religion didn't seem to stick as much as the manners. Now if we'd lived in place where almost everyone believed in the stuff we were taught... I wonder how we would have developed.

On Behalf of My Community

Imagine the tallest tree in your neighborhood. Now imagine that tree torn from its roots and laying sideways down the middle the road. Imagine the tree crushing your neighbor's home. I don't think I could have envisioned these things a week ago, but I'm sad to say those images have become very real in the streets of my town.

Think of an exit along your nearest interstate, with all those sky-high signs advertising the nearest McDonald's or Days Inn. Now imagine every one of those signs blown out. That's the first thing you notice as you drive by the exit, before your eyes land upon the rubble that once was a restaurant, a gas station, a motel. That's how exit 350 along I-75 in Ringgold, Georgia looked when I saw it on Friday.



The storms and tornadoes that ripped through this region on Wednesday, April 27th made for one of the most frightening days of my life. I feel so lucky that my greatest losses were two days of electricity and the contents of my fridge. I want to be helpful to my community. Realistically, the best way to do that is financially. It isn't much, but I'm giving what I can.

It's weird being a relative newbie to the community during this time of enormous need. I wish I knew more people here so I could be helpful in those everyday, neighborly ways - offering a meal, a hot shower, a place to crash. So, I'm going to do the next best thing I can think to do, and that's asking my faraway friends to make their own contributions. I know that most of us are not wealthy and that there are a million meaningful ways you could spend the few extra bucks you may have. So I'm asking as a personal favor that you consider my community and make a donation in one of the following ways. If you donate, please send me a message with your mailing address so I can write you a personal Thank You letter.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to hear from some of you very soon ~

Quick and Easy
Text the word GIVE to 80888 to donate $10 to the Salvation Army or text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10 to the Red Cross

To Give to a Specific, Local Chapter of the American Red Cross
Chattanooga Chapter - Go to www.chattanoogaredcross.org, click the box in the upper right corner that says "Local Disaster Relief - Donate Now", and be sure to select American Red Cross Greater Chattanooga Chapter.

Northwest Georgia Chapter (which services Ringgold, GA) - Go to www.nwgaredcross.org, click the top red box on the left that says "Donate Now!", select American Red Cross of Georgia. When you get to the donation page, the first field will say "Gift Designation". Click "Other Chapters in the Region", then select "Northwest Georgia Chapter"

Verdancy and Verve

On my last day at my worst job ever, my boss said something to me that I cannot forget. I was alone in the first floor kitchen of the elder women's bridge club, brewing pots of coffee for the early morning card players, oil painters, and other ladies of leisure who frequented this members-only establishment. Richard* wandered in and was surprised to see me doing someone else's task. "Isn't Sherry supposed to be setting up the coffee cart?" She, my psychobitch tormentor, had decided to get one last dig at me by showing up for her shift two hours late. But I'd stopped caring weeks ago, and was just as happy to work without her. "Oh, she's running a little late today."

Richard considered this for a moment, then launched into a description of that morning's hellish commute. This included an unnecessary racial description of the guy who cut him off on the freeway. I responded with the requisite number of "hmm"s as I silently counted the hours to my final release.

He was quiet for a moment as I arranged linens and cups. "Well, Tara, I'm really sorry that this wasn't the sort of work that felt right for you. I think you've done a great job." Though he'd been my boss for just five weeks (he replaced the woman who hired me), we'd hit it off pretty well. Being a barrel-chested, crew cut-sporting Marine, he was such an oddball for the position that I couldn't help enjoying his presence in this labyrinth of chintz and china. More importantly, he liked to tell corny puns and I liked to laugh. All other workplace problems aside, I don't know how long I could have played "dodge the racist commentary", but our brief stint together was amicable. I was grateful for his praise.

But it was what he said next that struck me. "You've got a lot of energy and you'd do well at just about anything. I'd be happy to give you a recommendation any time. You just let me know."

"A lot of energy." It stuck out because I'd never thought of myself that way before. But he was right. I must have had a lot of energy to work long days on my feet and keep my sense of humor, especially in a place where I felt like most of my colleagues hated me.

Overall, work has been a far better experience since those days at the bridge club. My priorities are different. I'd rather have an hourly wage job than be miserable making a salary. I look for good bosses and minimal drama. I have to be excited about whatever it is that I'm "selling", whether it's great food or a fun experience. But mostly, I have to be doing something that feeds off of and replenishes my precious energy. Draining is not allowed! After all, I don't want to end up like this again ~



My cousin J recently posted this on Facebook. Despite its hideousness, I love it as a historic document. The clenched hands and that grey and miserable expression say so much about my twenty-year-old self. I don't know if I looked that way all the time (I hope not!) but I don't think anyone would have described me as energetic back then.

Many issues burdened me at that time, and work was the least of those. But when you don't feel good about yourself, it's easy to get into exhausting and unpleasant situations in the company of exhausting and unpleasant people. I have more self-respect these days, which means that I'm more self-preserving. The unexpected bonus is that - surprise! - I do have a great deal of energy.

Fast forward to my first trimester of pregnancy... I admit that I'm a complete and utter baby when it comes to nausea. I know no one likes feeling queasy, but I'm pretty bad at just dealing with it. I also love to eat, so disliking food was a heartbreaker, too. But the fatigue was the most frustrating part of it. Doing my grocery store demo job (which requires standing in one spot for hours, and handling food) was just awful, so I quit.

The bummer was that I liked my job and I was good at it. My boss said he might have shifts for me later, when I was feeling better. But in the midst of that funk it was really hard to imagine myself wanting to go back to that sort of work. Everyone told me that the second trimester is usually much better, but I'd never experienced these things before. Would I be one of those women who feels like shit all the way through the pregnancy?

Fast forward to a few weeks ago... Our tax return bump was petering out. We needed more money. But I was feeling restless, too. Since age 16, I've never been out of work for more than a couple months at a time. Even the idea of being a stay-at-home mom (pure fantasy) wasn't appealing to me anymore. With a baby due in October, I wondered if someone would hire me. I scoured the local job postings, looking for anything that might fit my abilities. But I knew that excitement factor was key. I need to be interested in the business that's hiring and I'm just not interested in dentists' offices or real estate companies. As far as my enthusiasm and skills were concerned, the grocery store was definitely the best game in town. Might they take me back? It was worth a shot.

I sent my old boss a gracious email, explaining that my second trimester had nearly arrived, I was feeling much better and I would be happy to work any shift that might be available. To my enormous satisfaction, he quickly responded that he'd never found a suitable replacement for me and that I was welcome to return.

The only thing more surprising than the enthusiastic homecoming I received from my old coworkers (so many people I hardly were thrilled to see me) was how much I loved standing in one spot, cooking cod fillets and chatting with customers for hours at a time. Now that I've regained my energy, I realize that it needs a structured outlet. I know I have an unusual attitude about the job market; for being pretty clever, I'm not terribly ambitious. But the fact is, I like working and once I'm there, I work hard. Staying at home with a kid is one thing, and I have no idea how much I'll want that until the kid is here. But staying at home with no kid is frankly depressing. I simply don't have enough projects or hobbies to consume this verve.

On my first day off after returning to work, we met our friends J and L in Sewanee, a gorgeous little college town about 45 minutes west of here. The four of us hiked a rocky trail full of waterfalls, skipping stones, lacy foliage and occasional views of a stunning, pastoral valley. I was pleased not only with my renewed vigor, but that all these months of working out had clearly improved my balance. My footing was sure, even as I climbed a giant rock toward the end of the trail. I asked J to take a picture and I laughed maniacally for comic effect. But it turned out looking exactly how I feel these days ~



The third trimester will make July and August quite challenging, but I feel awfully lucky to experience the second one in the Spring.


*As always, all names are changed (in the case of weirdos) or abbreviated (in the case of friends).

"I'm just a soul whose intentions are good"

I've lately learned something about myself. My biggest hangup is being misunderstood. I want to get over this gripe. I can't always control how I'm perceived by others, especially in a world where face-to-face and even voice-to-voice interactions are being superseded by electronic communication; without facial expression or vocal inflection, dialog is potentially rife with misinterpretation. I'm learning to work around this obstacle, but I also just need to accept it.

Still, I'm stubborn and I like writing, so I've decided to address what I consider to be some common misconceptions about moi. It's a fun exercise, and I may as well put it on the blog as no other venue is better suited to this sort of self-indulgence. I turn 34 tomorrow, so this is my birthday gift to me - one last chance to explain myself before I surrender to the power of an occasional yet inevitable false impression.

Vegetarian? No, but I love vegetables and fruit. All told, I prefer these to meat. If, for some reason, I had to choose between a diet that included lots of avocados but no pork or lots of pork and no avocados, I would definitely go with my guac-making friend. I adore sausage, but I love avocados even more. Fortunately, I don't have to make these dumb decisions so I get to eat what I want. Also, I enjoy meat substitutes like tofu and black bean burgers, but I am apt to cook the former with lard and order the latter with bacon when I go out to eat. Speaking of which, I tend to order vegetarian menu items when I eat out, unless the restaurant makes a point of telling me how groovy/sustainable/safe their meat sources are (though I often make exceptions for bacon, because I am weak). I have been on an almost entirely vegetarian diet during my first trimester but now that I'm in the second, I find meat more appealing. I even enjoyed beef the other day... until I had to go to the bathroom. Yeah, I tend to avoid beef for that very reason.

Democrat? Nah. I sometimes vote for Democrats because Republicans do have a way of taking a terrible situation and making it way worse, but truly these two parties are not so different. So I often throw a bone to the Green Party or the Socialist candidate in my vain attempt to foster the emergence of a viable third party. I certainly don't see myself ever campaigning for a Democrat, or any political candidate for that matter. All who seek office are to be distrusted.

But as that great cynic H.L. Mencken noted in his essay, The Politician, "After damning politicians up hill and down dale for many years, as rogues and vagabonds, frauds and scoundrels, I sometimes suspect that, like everyone else, I often expect too much of them." I made this mistake with Obama. I was genuinely excited to vote for the first black president and I still recall that moment with my ballot quite fondly. I didn't expect much from him, but I took his promise to close the Guantanamo Bay detention facility at face value. I now realize that was naive. In fact, he signed an executive order last month that reestablishes the indefinite detention of Gitmo prisoners, many of whom are being held without charges. This check against my unreasonable expectation is a valuable lesson. If I vote for him again, it will only be from fear of a worse Republican beating him. I no longer harbor any foolish "hope for change".

Certainly, I hold many values that are associated with Democrats. I think taxes are generally good and that rich people and corporations ought to pay more of them. I believe in government assisting poor people, kids and the elderly. I'm probably more disgusted by our foreign policy than your average Democrat but I don't worry so much about gun control. I think I should be allowed to get an abortion at any point during a pregnancy, for any reason. And if I ever find myself being forced to watch a sonogram when I want to terminate, I will bring popcorn and 3D glasses.

Mystic? I don't believe in god. If you know me even a little that should be no surprise. But theism isn't the only sort of mysticism out there. Though I've shed most of my Catholic inclinations, I find it's harder to rid myself of other superstitions. Mainly I'm talking about astrology. I learned a great deal about this when I was in my late teens. As far as western astrology goes*, I know the order of the signs, the start and end dates of each one, the associated element, and what each one signifies. I know a bit about eastern astrology, too. This belief in planetary alignment affecting personality doesn't jibe with my sense of reason, yet I fall back on it all the time. When I hear of a new couple getting together, one of my immediate thoughts is, "When are their birthdays?"

Honestly, astrology is a lot of fun, but it's also dangerous because it leads one to recognize patterns that aren't real, like "I always have problems with Pisces men." So when you find out that some dude you work with is a Pisces, that inevitably colors the way you see that person and how you interact with them, which is limiting. Any mystic belief system that cripples your sense of agency is worth questioning, and probably worth abandoning.

I'm facing a significant challenge to my latent astrological superstitions. My baby's due date is the same day as an ex-friend's birthday. This former friend had a toxic personality. I haven't seen her in fourteen years. I hope she's changed, though I doubt it. But that doesn't matter. The point is that I associate that date with her nutty behavior from a long time ago, and that just doesn't make any sense. So coincidence has provided me an excellent opportunity to get over this silly correlation once and for all, and I think that's good for me.

I admit, I still like tarot cards. I don't see it as a tool for prognostication. Rather, I think that symbols are a fun and useful way to tell stories about our lives, so we can make sense of ourselves; that's what dreams are, right? I don't do readings for other people (someone asked me to do one recently and it just felt useless), but I sometimes do readings for myself. It can be a good way to kickstart some healthy reflection.

Gleek? I admit that Glee is mostly a pretty bad show, though I still consider myself a fan. Salon's Matt Zoller Seitz wrote an interesting article that included this Yes!-worthy subheading - "The hit show's second season has been a chaotic, illogical, embarrassing mess. It's time for an intervention."

Yet while Zoller Seitz and I have a similar proportion of disdain and praise for Glee, our feelings about the specifics are quite different. Like many critics, he lauded the Grilled Cheesus episode ("an earnest, Afterschool Special-style contemplation of faith that improbably turned out to be one of the series' boldest, silliest, maybe finest hours"), which I absolutely hated - props for making Kurt an atheist, but it was downright infuriating that he had to learn a lesson about open-mindedness after being justifiably incensed at the sight of his pals holding a surprise prayer vigil beside his comatose father's bed. Needless to say, the story was emotionally overwrought. I don't mind Glee getting occasionally deep (Kurt coming out to his father was one of my favorite Season 1 moments), but I don't like when the drama is manufactured only for the sake of tackling a Serious Issue (unlike Kurt's outing, which was consistent with his character's development).

On the other hand, Zoller Seitz resents Season 2's removal of Kurt to the all-male Dalton Academy (a.k.a. Gay Hogwarts - I don't need to read Harry Potter to know that fan nickname is hilarious), saying that this "has been an unnecessary and mostly unenlightening detour." Wha-what? Gay Hogwarts' Warblers have provided some of this season's best performances, including "Silly Love Songs" and a version of "Teenage Dream" that is arguably the best of the series (not to mention that it got me to like Katy Perry).

My point isn't to nitpick a critic's appraisal of Glee. Rather, I think this disagreement highlights Glee's greatest flaw - its willful inconsistency. The show tries to be all things to all fans and in doing so, it succeeds about 10% of the time for everyone. But that 10% is golden! I simply can't resist a show about the redemptive power of performing arts. And truly, every episode has at least one joke that makes me laugh out loud. I wish that the musical numbers were as reliable as the humor, but when they score as they did with "Teenage Dream" I find myself immersed in repeat Youtube viewings. That's why I keep watching.


* I'm talking about the original twelve signs, not this facacta thirteen sign system that's got everyone freaking out