Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

21 May

On body size and love and beauty and worth . . .

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , , , , , , .

day 98/365 Body imageSo there’s been a lot of hullabaloo lately regarding comments made by Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries. If you live in a cave and therefore don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s the gist — According to Mike Jeffries, Abercrombie & Fitch won’t carry sizes larger than a 10 because “In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids. Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.”

Personally, I think Jeffries is a prick, but I also think people are jumping on the wrong issue. There’s a Change.org petition going around trying to get Abercrombie & Fitch to start carrying larger sizes, as if the store catering to smaller frames was the problem in all of this. It’s not. There are retailers that cater to small frames and those that cater to larger frames, those in between and those who cover them all. I don’t have a problem with Abercrombie & Fitch only carrying small sizes. Even at my lowest weight, I wouldn’t have been able to shop there . . . and you know what? I was always perfectly okay with that.

The issue here isn’t the what but the why. It’s this idea of coolness and popularity and who fits into those categories . . . who is allowed to fit into those categories. I have always been overweight (well, save maybe 5 or 6 months in 7th grade). I have never been cool or popular. I can assure you that these two facts are completely unrelated.

The problem with Jeffries’ comments (and I feel the need to point out that if you’re outraged by his comments, you probably haven’t been paying attention to the world in general because his sentiments are hardly unique) is that they put a misguided emphasis on “coolness” and popularity and perpetuate the idea that body type dictates a person’s value.

I’ve been happy to see those coming out in support of a body-positive culture where we don’t judge people’s worth (including, but not limited to – coolness, popularity, sexiness, desirability, happiness, self-esteem, and health) based on the size of their pants. To be not only comfortable, but delighted in our own skin should be attainable for everyone – from a size 00 to a 46 and in between and beyond.

But . . . but . . . it’s just unhealthy to be overweight! Saying overweight people can be sexy is glorifying obesity and is just as bad as handing out Big Macs by the truckloads at high schools!

The Mozaïk~Curves Project, Positive Body Image !Listen. Being happy with yourself as you are today, regardless of numbers on a scale or dress size, does not mean we should stop working towards healthier lifestyles, and it does not mean we are advocating for obesity.

I am not at a healthy body weight. I know this. I don’t need you to tell me and guess what, anyone else who has weight-related health issues doesn’t need you to tell him/her either. We know. When we stand up and say that we can still be happy, still be sexy, still enjoy life, we are not telling people to go out and put on an extra 150 pounds because hey, it’s fun!

This may be one of the most difficult concepts to grasp – it is perfectly reasonable for people to love themselves as they are while still working to improve themselves. I have an entire chubby person to lose. Would it be better if I hated myself along the way? Or is it okay for me to look in the mirror and find myself attractive while working to improve my health? Because I spent nearly 20 years looking in the mirror and hating myself and all it managed to do was help me get fatter. I think I’d like to try loving myself instead.

Abercrombie & Fitch is not the problem. Mike Jeffries and people like him aren’t even the problem. The problem is within us all . . . the problem is the inability to find beauty and value within ourselves and within others . . . to look beyond the “ideals,” the “coolness,” and the “popularity” and to focus, instead, on our inherent worth as human beings.

Photo Credit

Photo Credit

11 May

Does it ever get easier?

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , , .

HeartWill there ever come a year when tomorrow doesn’t bring sadness?

Will there come a year when the scale of happiness and mourning is heavier on the former?

Because tomorrow, like every other day, I will relish my daughter’s hugs, kisses, and I love yous and I will cherish the handmade treasures I’m not supposed to know are coming, but in the midst of it all, my heart will still be breaking.

Will there come a year when Mother’s Day is no longer equal parts being a mother and being a motherless daughter and only, or at least mostly, be just about being a mother?

Will I sit in my rocking chair with a grown child and grown grandchildren and young great-grandchildren surrounding me and smile without a trace of pain?

When I am 60 or 70 or 80, if I am lucky enough to live so long, will I be content in the knowledge that I am at an age when children are meant to lose their mothers?

Will it hurt less when she’s not supposed to be here?

Does it ever get easier to reconcile the loss with the gains, the sorrows with the joys, the what is with what will never be?

Because I adore my child more than words can say but I see her grandmother in her eyes and it crushes me that she doesn’t know the light of my mom’s smile or the joyful sound of her laugh.

Because Mother’s Day is that bittersweet place, that time when I’m reminded of what so many others have, that day when jealousy rages through me . . . because why can’t I have mine?

Because it’s not fair and I don’t want to accept it, though I know I have no other choice . . . and some days I want to be normal and some days I want the world to see that this pain has never gone away and as much as I hope one day it will get easier, I somehow don’t believe it ever will.

Photo Credit

7 May

Big fat liar

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , .

I’m a liar. I’ve been lying to myself and to everyone else for some time now. I want what I say to be true, but it’s just not. I can’t handle the images in front of me because they remind me of the truth. There’s one who knows, knows what’s in my heart. One who’s oblivious to those images that sting me.

I sit alone and dream of those things that I’m beginning to believe I’ll never have. Maybe they’re not meant to be mine. I try to be grateful for all those things I do hold — and they are wonderful things — but inside there’s still a piece missing, and I want it filled.

I make jokes. I laugh. I make a million and one excuses. None of that is real. The heartbreak is real. The longing is real. But I can’t expose that. I can’t reveal that I am once again a failure. I mean, it has to be me, right? I am the common denominator.

I see those who have what I’ve always dreamed of and I’m ashamed to admit my jealousy. I don’t want it, but I can’t get rid of it. I’ll continue to lie, or better yet, avoid the subject all together when I can.

I’m tired. I say I’ve given up. I wish that were true. I still hold onto that little sliver of hope, that string that’s barely there. I’ll continue to hold on, waiting for that final break . . . I wait for that little sliver of hope to disappear. I welcome that release. I look forward to the loss.

This is an old post that is still very true. I deleted it a while ago and am resharing it now because of this post at The Daily Post that encouraged its readers to explore what was lurking in their Drafts folder.

Funny enough . . . I just realized that I originally posted this exactly 2 years ago.

10 Mar

A Catholic mother, a gay son, and a used bookstore

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Books, Life. Tagged: , , , , , , .

We arrived at The Book Trader early on a Saturday afternoon and dropped off two bags of paperbacks looking for new homes before making our ways through the narrow aisles in search of our own treasures. I browsed through History, Politics, True Crime, and Education, picking up books, carrying them around, putting them back, and starting all over. Nothing jumped in my lap, nothing called my name.

I climbed the stairs to the second floor and found my first treasure in Science Fiction. I jumped haphazardly through the rest of Sci-Fi and Fiction and Literature. My daughter sat on a chair by the window reading her Pokémon comic book. My boyfriend joined her with his own stack of books. I continued jumping from shelf to shelf.

BooksHold on. I just want to check one more thing.

Oh, wait. Sorry. Two more things. Then I promise, I’m done.

Oops, I lied. Just give me a few more minutes.

And so it went. From Fiction and Literature to Poetry to Horror to Chick Lit.

Okay, okay. I’m done.

And I made my way to the cozy reading corner with my three precious finds. That’s when I spotted the LGBT section in the corner by the window.

This is the last section I want to look through. I SWEAR!

CoverI pulled out my phone and starting scrolling through Goodreads, looking for some of the LGBT titles from my to-read list. I didn’t find any of them. I picked up a few books, thumbed through them, put them back.

Then I picked up A Catholic Mother Looks at the Gay Child by Jessie Davis. This isn’t exactly the kind of book I would seek out, but it jumped out at me because of its pristine condition. Its shiny cover and gleaming pages didn’t seem to belong in a used bookstore. With the exception of the price scrawled on the first page and the personal message on the inside cover, this book looked like it had never been opened.

It was that personal message that drove me to add the book to my pile –

MessageTo Father Jack
Orlando Task Force
God Bless -
Sincerely,
Jessie Davis

I don’t know the significance of that message. I don’t know the relationship between the author and Father Jack. All I know is that this book was meant to be read by someone and yet the binding was never cracked and it was sitting on a shelf in a used bookstore. Someone needed to read this book, this copy and that person would be me.

This wasn’t the most enjoyable book I’ve ever read. The writing isn’t exactly stellar and given our differences in religious beliefs, I didn’t agree with the author’s thoughts regarding other issues (namely sexuality and anything non-Christian). But this book wasn’t intended for me – I’m not trying to come to grips with having a gay child and well, I’m not Catholic. I think Davis comes off a bit preachy, but when I strip that away, this a book about a mom trying to make a difference . . . about a mom trying to help the world, and specifically, the Catholic Church, accept and love her son for who he is, to help them understand that homosexuality is natural and not something a person chooses. And I commend her for that.

I would never have picked this book up from Barnes & Noble. I doubt I’d have given it a second look if it was on a friend’s bookshelf or reading list. The only reason this book made into my hands is because it sat on a shelf in a used bookstore, and I am happy to have given it a home.

7 Mar

Tranquility amongst gravestones

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , , .

My daughter talking to her mom-mom Janice on our last visit to the cemetary, 9/4/10

My daughter talking to her mom-mom Janice on our last visit to the cemetery, 9/4/10

I haven’t been to the cemetery in about two and a half years. I once made a point of going at least once a year. It’s not a morbid place for me. I’ve always been comforted there. While I know there is nothing really there but bones in the ground, there is solace in having a special place to talk to my mom. But for the past couple of years, I’ve been struggling more than I have in a long time and that struggle has kept me from the place I once found peace.

First, I reached the point when I had lived more of my life without my mom than I had lived with her . . . and the following year, I reached the point when I became the age when she died. Those have been two very difficult milestones for me.

I don’t remember things the way I used to. I can no longer conjure the aural memory of her laugh or the way she felt when I hugged her. I look through pictures to remember her smile . . . or her scowl. I hold on to her things in order to keep a piece of her with me. I have a blanket she smuggled out of the hospital. In nearly 18 years, I haven’t washed it . . . but it no longer smells like her. The scent of her perfume has faded. She’s slipping further and further away from me and it’s terrifying.

My thoughts begin to spiral into all of those unhealthy places . . . it’s not fair, it’s not right, I was too young, she should have been there to see me graduate from high school, go to college, get married, have a baby, get divorced . . . futile feelings, I know, but still they are there. I want to pound on the chest of the universe and make her take it back, make her rewrite history and give my mom back to me.

I feel like a child again. 16 and watching them lower her casket into the ground. 16 and going back to school like everything is normal. 16 and laughing with friends while inside I’m falling apart. 16 and jealous of every girl who had a mom to welcome her home every day.

I’m still jealous. I’m jealous when someone talks about mom babysitting or mom calling too much or how yummy mom’s dinner was or going to mom’s for a weekend visit. I’m jealous and I don’t want to be the one who visits mom in front of a gravestone in the cemetery.

For all of that, I have stayed away . . . thinking that once I go, I’ll start to cry and I won’t be able to stop. Thinking that the peace I’ve come to expect from our yearly picnics and rituals of sharing food and drink with my loved ones in the ground will not be there when I need it.

And I think that’s part of the problem. I miss my sanctuary. I think a visit is long overdue.

2 Mar

Another long Saturday that has left little time or mental capacity for writing

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , .

The family's haul of books - can you guess which ones belong to whom? :)

The family’s haul of books – can you guess which ones belong to whom? :)

We left late this morning (after the obligatory 2 hours it takes to get the three of us completely ready to leave . . . though I feel the need to add that I’m a grab-my-stuff-and-go type and it’s really the other two who have a knack for finding a gazillion last-minute things that need to be done) and headed down to The Book Trader, a second-hand bookstore in Old City. We dropped off our books (for which we’ll receive store credit once they have a chance to go through them) and spent a good deal of time squeezing through the narrow aisles searching for our treasures. I decided, after about the 3rd (but not final) time I said, “hold, I just want to check for one more thing,” that I need to go back some time on my own when I’m able to spend several hours perusing the shelves. I did manage to find a couple of books that were actually already on my to-read list, which was pretty awesome.

We left The Book Trader in search of lunch and stumbled onto a comic book store instead. I fawned over the Doctor Who merchandise and the Buffy graphic novels, none of which I bought because I’m sure I can find the Doctor Who merchandise for half the price on Amazon and I can’t justify spending $16 on a graphic novel when I’ll finish reading it in one sitting. Damn frugality! We did find boxes of $1 comic books, so I let my daughter buy three Avengers comic books.

I wasn't fast enough with the camera!

I wasn’t fast enough with the camera!

Up the street and around the corner, we found our lunch –a quaint corner deli with some super yummy homemade soup.

The next stop was Franklin Square, which I was kind of starting to regret because the sun went away (normally, I would like that, but no sun plus wind equals cold). Still, the kiddo had a great time . . . and I love the way kids manage to find friends everywhere. Abby immediately ran up to two little boys and the three of the played together like they had known each other for years.

So focused!

So focused!

After the playground, we headed to the bus (we were feeling a bit lazy at this point) and then down to the South Street. Abby used the time waiting to draw picture of pine needles. We didn’t wait long and the bus ride was short. We walked around South Street for a tiny bit before heading to South Street Souvlaki. They were, unfortunately, out of calamari (which was the entire reason we went there), but we made do with lots of other Greek yumminess.

Our evening ended with some over-priced but super tasty frozen yogurt and the long trek home.

I have nothing incredibly thought-provoking to add to our Saturday adventures . . . I have no meaningful insight to provide . . . just exhaustion . . . and a smile.

24 Feb

Mailbox

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Education, Life, Prompts & Challenges, Yeah Write. Tagged: , , , , , .

MailboxI was 20 or 21. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older. I can’t remember his name. Once a week, we would meet at the Trenton soup kitchen. I was volunteering. He was forced to be there. One of the conditions of his probation was that he would work toward his GED. We had a long way to go. He didn’t know how to read.

I had heard of people who went through life not knowing how to read, but the concept was completely foreign to me. I struggled with reading in 1st and 2nd grade. They even held me back a year. But I had a great teacher the second time I was in 2nd grade. I had an incredible mom who worked with me at home and read with me every night. And I loved books. I loved books so much I wanted to be able to read them on my own. By 5th grade, I was a tutor for 2nd graders who struggled with reading.

Maybe the man at the soup kitchen didn’t have a great teacher or a supportive mother who had the time to read to him every night. The truth is I didn’t know his backstory. The truth is I didn’t really care. Because there he was, sitting next to me, determined to learn how to read . . . and I was determined to help teach him.

There were other patrons of the Trenton soup kitchen who were working on their GEDs, each one at a different level. Some of them were there by choice. Most of them weren’t. Some of them took advantage of the situation and worked hard. Some of them didn’t. Some of them found excuses to get up for a drink or to go to the bathroom or to sharpen a pencil . . . grown men and women acting like school children. Grown men and women still fighting against the world, still guarding their secrets of learning disabilities, still afraid to admit they needed help, still afraid to ask for it.

But not my student. He was always bright-eyed, always anxious to learn. He knew he made mistakes and he wanted more out of life. He had dreams and they all began with learning how to read. The words I had taken advantage of for so many years were squiggly lines on a page to him. We started slowly.

On our second meeting, I brought out the approved workbook. I opened to the appropriate page and placed my finger under the first word. My student excitedly pointed to the word “us” and exclaimed, “I know that word! That’s mailbox!”

I was confused as to how he read “mailbox” from “us.” I smiled and corrected him gently. He sank just a tiny bit and said, “Oh. I thought it was mailbox because ‘u’ and ‘s’ are written on every mailbox.” I smiled again and told him that was really good thinking. Then I explained what the U.S. on the mailbox really meant. He laughed and we continued working.

That moment gave me just the smallest insight into my student’s ability to function in the world without knowing how to read. I thought it was brilliant of him to have made that connection. I wondered how many other connections he made in his day-to-day life and how many of those connections enabled him to keep his secret.

As difficult as things might have been for me at the time, knowing how to read made everything so much easier. I left our lesson that afternoon thinking of how intelligent a person must be to make it through life without the benefit of understanding written words.

I only worked with my student for a couple of months. The following semester, my schedule conflicted with that of my ride. I’m a public transportation girl and buses in Jersey suck. I never even said good-bye to my student because I didn’t know my last day there would actually be my last.

Every so often, I wonder where he is now. I have no doubt in my mind that he learned to read and the thought of how many doors that opened for him makes me smile.

Photo Credit

16 Feb

I don’t feel like writing

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life, Writing.

I don't want to writeIt’s 9:43pm on Saturday night and I have nothing ready to post. I really want to go to sleep . . . or at the very least, veg out on the couch and watch a movie or read a book. I definitely don’t feel like writing. I just spent the last 40 minutes working on a post that I’ve decided to temporarily abandon because it’s just not working for me right now.

I’ve had a long (but wonderful) past couple of days. There’s been a lot of quality family time, a night out with old friends (and way too much to drink), an overdue trip to the bookstore, and even some awesome productivity on all of my household endeavors (I have my dining room table back! Woot!). I’m mentally and physically drained.

I have a lot of things I want to write about, but I just don’t have the mental capacity to do any of them justice. I want to write about how my working from home has kind of spoiled my daughter because she’s just completely unaccustomed to me not being home. Ever. I want to write about how I reread one of my old journals the other day and how that facilitated a lot of thought about my lifelong obsession to be thin . . . and how that obsession has done nothing but help me get fatter. I want to write some poetry or possibly finish the short story I started a couple of days ago. Maybe tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.

For tonight, I’m going to hang out with my boyfriend and attempt to make it through a documentary on mythology that we’ve wanted to watch . . . and then pass out for my standard 3 hours of sleep. Maybe the other way around.

Good night and sweet dreams!

Photo Credit

11 Feb

Organizing my house and my life

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , .

I would usually post my Movie Monday today, but I didn’t really watch any movies this week. It’s been another long week. We’re still in the process of rearranging pretty much every room in the house. I’m exhausted, my back is killing me, and I really don’t feel like writing anything remotely intelligent. I’d like to write something about how all of this organization of the physical things in my life could translate into a personal organization, but I’m not quite there, so we’re just going to settle for whatever drivel comes out right now

I managed to finish my daughter’s craft area today, which may not sound like a big deal, but we have A LOT of craft supplies and they were EVERYWHERE (I should have taken a before picture).

Crafts 1

Imagine all those things inside the containers just thrown on top of the table

 

Crafts 2

Abby’s old dresser is now her craft drawers

Kes has been working on the walk-in closet/his office, which left me with a shelving unit that allowed me to finally get all of our board games in one place. Woot! It could be considered kind of sad how excited I am about that.

Board games

We might need more games

All of our new dressers have left the dining room and made it to their respective bedrooms. Oh, and I added a sheet to Abby’s reading nook so that it doubles as a fort. I think that qualifies me for fabulously cool mom status!

Reading nook

The reading nook

 

Fort

The fort

 

The goofball's self portrait from inside the fort

The goofball’s self-portrait from inside the fort

Kes even took the boxes of Christmas decorations down to the basement. Once again, I’m super excited! My life is so thrilling.

We’ve also been packing as we’re rearranging and cleaning. We were planning to move last July, but the universe didn’t quite allow that to happen. This coming July is our new goal and it’s looking very doable. I figure the more we can pack up now, the less we’ll have to do later . . . . not to mention, the more we can throw away/give away, the less we have to pack up ever.

It’s 4:30pm and I’m ready to pass out. I have over 4 hours until that’s even a possibility though. I’m going to try to wake myself up with a shower now . . . and then on to play with the kiddo . . . probably with the newly organized board games and crafts.

9 Feb

Taking time to slow down

Posted by Dayle Lynne in Life. Tagged: , , .

It was the winter of ‘94/’95. I can’t remember if it was before the New Year or after. I was a customer service attendant (that’s a fancy term for grocery bagger) at Genuardi’s. They were calling for massive amounts of snow overnight. I was working the 4pm to 7pm shift.

For three hours, I didn’t move from my spot at the end of the cash register. I bagged gallon after gallon milk, carton after carton of eggs, loaf after loaf of bread. And so it went with the seemingly endless lines. Every cash register was open. Almost every register had a bagger.

Blizzard 1I asked my manager if I could stay on for a couple of more hours. It was a Friday night and I was only working a 4-hour shift the next day. But the law said that 15-year-olds were only allowed to work 3 hours on weeknights. As I walked out of the store that night, I counted over 35 people waiting in the express lane. The rest of the lines were longer.

I opened my front door the following morning and there was a ridiculous amount of snow on the ground. I put on my boots, bundled up, and headed to work. The usual 7-minute walk took me half an hour, but I managed.

The store was empty when I walked in. There were two cashiers. I was the only bagger. Everyone else had called out. After an hour of no customers in either line, my manager bought us breakfast sandwiches. I went to grab an orange juice and noticed a single loaf of bread left on the shelf. There was no milk and no eggs.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI had 4 customers in 4 hours of work. After cleaning everything that needed cleaning, I sat on the bag shelf talking with the cashiers. At noon, I bundled myself up again and started the trek home. I still couldn’t take my usual short cut, but the sidewalks had been shoveled and the roads had been salted and plowed. It only took me 15 minutes to walk home.

By Sunday, the entire world was back to normal and hundreds of people in my suburban town were overstocked on the “necessities” of milk, eggs, bread, and more. I wonder how much milk was poured down the drain, how many eggs and pieces of bread were thrown in the garbage.

Even the worst blizzards I’ve seen haven’t left me incapacitated for more than a day or two. I’m fairly certain that most people live with more than two days’ worth of food in the house. So what makes people panic so much? What elicits this fear?

Every projected snowstorm and blizzard, I think back to that winter when I was bagging groceries. I think about the countless people lining up in grocery stores, most of them buying things they don’t need. I think about how I won’t bother, how I’ll make do with whatever is already stocked in my kitchen, and how I’ll be just fine.

I think we rush around too much. We focus on all of the things standing in our way of getting where we want to go, and we don’t stop to just focus on where we are. I’ve been guilty of this many times. I still am sometimes. I yell at my boyfriend because he has “no sense of hustle.”  He takes his time with everything, even when we’re rushed, and it drives me bonkers . . . but the truth is, I envy him.

I’m learning though . . . slowly but surely. Working from home has made the biggest difference. While there are definitely some difficulties, it’s allowed me to slow my pace. There’s no more rushing to catch a bus, no clocks to punch . . . I work a schedule that fits my day. I get done what I need to get done, and I’m left with plenty of time to slow down and enjoy the moments with my family . . . even those . . . especially those that leave us boarded up for a day or two.

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Photo Credit

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