Well, it's more than two weeks since my last post, and I have good news. Two days ago, voters in my city (I, alas, live outside the city limits so I couldn't vote) rejected a nasty anti-GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender) city charter amendment, 58% to 42%. Too close a margin by my lights, but at least injustice did not prevail.
I did a little door to door persuasive canvassing against this measure, but not as much as I would have liked to do. My hip has been bothering me off and on since last summer, and it went out again a few weeks ago, rendering long walking impossible. So I did what was still within my purview: I wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper against "Charter Amendment One," and my spouse and I gave money to the PAC opposing the ugly attempt at depriving up to 10% of the city's population of their civil rights protections.
But let me tell you what bothers me the most about this whole incident. The folks who cooked up the hateful measure tried to use fear tactics to stampede middle-of-the-road voters into joining with right-wing "religious" (I don't consider bigotry compatible with real religion) forces to enshrine discrimination against the GLBT community. Their argument: that when the City Commission added the word "transgender" to the language guaranteeing civil rights protections to gays, lesbians and bisexuals, they were somehow making it legal for men in general to go into women's restrooms. They claimed this put women and girls -- there was a lot of talk about the safety of children -- at risk.
First of all, it's already illegal for predators to peep at, stalk or attack women and girls, in restrooms or anywhere else. Second, a transgendered person who is transitioning or has had surgery to become a woman is very unlikely to be a sexual predator targeting other women. And what do women in restrooms have to fear from bisexuals, gay men or lesbians? And how does depriving this whole diverse population of their civil rights make women's restrooms safer? The whole "argument" is not only ludicrous, it's insulting.
But the real root of it is the grotesque but unfortunately widespread notion that somehow, anyone whose sexual preference isn't "normal," i.e. heterosexual/"straight", is intrinsically immoral. This has never made any sense to me. In my by now considerable experience, whether someone is a good person or not has nothing to do with their sexual preference. It has everything to do with their notions of honesty, honor, responsibility, self-discipline and self-respect. And my gay and lesbian and bisexual and transgendered friends have at least as much character as I do.
More on this subject in my next post.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Back At Last: Some Thoughts on the Hiatus
I'm back. It's been a long hiatus, ever since January 19th. What got me all tied up? Life. Taxes (mine, my spouse's, and my mother's: all done now, happily). Dealing with the fall-out from the dramatic break-down of the economy. Trying to gear up for another challenging year despite very low energy. Which remains sub-prime, to make a bad pun.
But I've been doing a lot of thinking. Funny how deadlines on things you don't care for (like taxes) get the mental juices flowing on just about every other topic. You'd rather be (fill in the blank) and you manage long mental "escape routes" even as you slog your way through column after column of (mostly depressing) figures.
Two things caught my eye these past few days. One: the tabloid headlines about singer Rihanna going back to her abusive boyfriend even after he hit her so hard that apparently her injuries require surgical repair. Two: an almost generic article in the local paper about the ongoing problem of deadbeat dads (it's obfuscatory to say deadbeat "parents," fathers (if you can call them that) hugely outnumber mothers in the category of people who refuse to pay anything to support their children).
Well, that got me to thinking. Why do these patterns persist? Why are we still submerged in a wave of wife- and girlfriend-beating, and another of men who refuse to live up to their responsibilities after they collaborate in putting children into the world?
There's a one-word answer to both: patriarchy. Now, it needs to be elaborated a little. We live in what is still an overwhelmingly patriarchal society, where the majority of men, whether they realize it or not, are accustomed to being the primary focus of attention within their intimate circle. Women are, so goes the party line, supposed to be independent entities, to have a career and so forth, but the bottom line remains that if a woman is in a relationship, her environment is still pervaded with subtle and not-so-subtle pressures and expectations to put the relationship first, while men are expected to put their jobs first (with the woman, if there's one in the picture, tagging along behind).
In most relationships involving a man and a woman, the man, consciously or unconsciously, expects the woman to revolve around him. If he's particularly insecure, anxious or controlling, or all of the above, then any sign, real or perceived, that he's not the center of her world, that she's not willing to sacrifice or subordinate her job, best interests, hobbies, friends, family, even her kids so that she's at his constant beck and call, can result in mental or physical abuse meant to re-establish what he considers the "right order" of things. Even the best of men in this society have imbibed the notion that they and their needs should always be primary. Even a woman in an otherwise largely egalitarian relationship finds herself apologizing for behavior the man does not feel driven to apologize for, and praises her partner lavishly for doing things he takes for granted when she does them.
I don't care how ideal your partnership situation is, if there are a man and a woman involved, the woman is almost certainly accommodating the man a lot more than he accommodates her. I married when I was nearly 30, not a pliable young girl, and my spouse is not a patriarch, but nonetheless I'm the one who moves hundreds or thousands of miles when his job changes, not vice versa. I'm the one who had to create a new social circle every time this happened, while he could dedicate himself to his work. Because I was trained to create and manage a home and followed my default mode instead of standing up on my hind legs and hollering, I -- a woman who hates housework and home-tending -- have ended up responsible for a big house, a yard, a pool, and pretty much all the accompanying paraphernalia.
Before my eyes is the object lesson as to what I don't want for my future. My mother, widowed for more than a decade, is in her mid-seventies. She always found home-making rewarding and loves her garden, but now she finds herself stuck using the vast majority of her dwindling energy to maintain a complex much like the one I live in, only bigger! She's unable to face the mammoth job of dissolving this complex and the emotional upheaval of relocation -- I don't blame her a bit, it's a monster -- which means she'll likely stay there until she dies, and leave me to deal with it all. That, I admit, is not something to which I look forward.
So I'm mustering up my energies and laying the groundwork for downsizing and disposing of lots of loved and unloved junk in an orderly and ruthless fashion before I turn 60, which gives me less than ten years. And I'm going to do it. Because I want to be able to lock the door on a condo and hit the road when I so desire. Because I never was much of a gardener and don't want to stay home all winter to make sure the tender plants are covered every time there's a freeze. Because it's a pain to make the arrangements (and pay the bills) for the maintenance of a tiny private pool that hardly anyone ever uses. And so on.
But mostly because, between having to deal with all the responsibilities and distractions loaded on the average hausfrau, plus a lot of the kind of jobs my father did in my parents' marriage (like the taxes and overseeing the investments (not a fun task at present)), and also managing pretty much the entire social context for myself and my spouse (plan events, make sure relatives and friends get birthday presents and cards, and so forth) plus keeping a weather eye on my mother and his parents, "my work" (like this blog! and my book project) shows precious little progress. Which is very frustrating, and not something I intend to tolerate for much longer. Or I'll end up a resentful, boiling, nasty rhymes-with-snitch.
Life is short. In patriarchy, it's hard even for women with the privilege of higher education and some means to make sure it's what they want, as well as what those around them want.
The struggle continues.
But I've been doing a lot of thinking. Funny how deadlines on things you don't care for (like taxes) get the mental juices flowing on just about every other topic. You'd rather be (fill in the blank) and you manage long mental "escape routes" even as you slog your way through column after column of (mostly depressing) figures.
Two things caught my eye these past few days. One: the tabloid headlines about singer Rihanna going back to her abusive boyfriend even after he hit her so hard that apparently her injuries require surgical repair. Two: an almost generic article in the local paper about the ongoing problem of deadbeat dads (it's obfuscatory to say deadbeat "parents," fathers (if you can call them that) hugely outnumber mothers in the category of people who refuse to pay anything to support their children).
Well, that got me to thinking. Why do these patterns persist? Why are we still submerged in a wave of wife- and girlfriend-beating, and another of men who refuse to live up to their responsibilities after they collaborate in putting children into the world?
There's a one-word answer to both: patriarchy. Now, it needs to be elaborated a little. We live in what is still an overwhelmingly patriarchal society, where the majority of men, whether they realize it or not, are accustomed to being the primary focus of attention within their intimate circle. Women are, so goes the party line, supposed to be independent entities, to have a career and so forth, but the bottom line remains that if a woman is in a relationship, her environment is still pervaded with subtle and not-so-subtle pressures and expectations to put the relationship first, while men are expected to put their jobs first (with the woman, if there's one in the picture, tagging along behind).
In most relationships involving a man and a woman, the man, consciously or unconsciously, expects the woman to revolve around him. If he's particularly insecure, anxious or controlling, or all of the above, then any sign, real or perceived, that he's not the center of her world, that she's not willing to sacrifice or subordinate her job, best interests, hobbies, friends, family, even her kids so that she's at his constant beck and call, can result in mental or physical abuse meant to re-establish what he considers the "right order" of things. Even the best of men in this society have imbibed the notion that they and their needs should always be primary. Even a woman in an otherwise largely egalitarian relationship finds herself apologizing for behavior the man does not feel driven to apologize for, and praises her partner lavishly for doing things he takes for granted when she does them.
I don't care how ideal your partnership situation is, if there are a man and a woman involved, the woman is almost certainly accommodating the man a lot more than he accommodates her. I married when I was nearly 30, not a pliable young girl, and my spouse is not a patriarch, but nonetheless I'm the one who moves hundreds or thousands of miles when his job changes, not vice versa. I'm the one who had to create a new social circle every time this happened, while he could dedicate himself to his work. Because I was trained to create and manage a home and followed my default mode instead of standing up on my hind legs and hollering, I -- a woman who hates housework and home-tending -- have ended up responsible for a big house, a yard, a pool, and pretty much all the accompanying paraphernalia.
Before my eyes is the object lesson as to what I don't want for my future. My mother, widowed for more than a decade, is in her mid-seventies. She always found home-making rewarding and loves her garden, but now she finds herself stuck using the vast majority of her dwindling energy to maintain a complex much like the one I live in, only bigger! She's unable to face the mammoth job of dissolving this complex and the emotional upheaval of relocation -- I don't blame her a bit, it's a monster -- which means she'll likely stay there until she dies, and leave me to deal with it all. That, I admit, is not something to which I look forward.
So I'm mustering up my energies and laying the groundwork for downsizing and disposing of lots of loved and unloved junk in an orderly and ruthless fashion before I turn 60, which gives me less than ten years. And I'm going to do it. Because I want to be able to lock the door on a condo and hit the road when I so desire. Because I never was much of a gardener and don't want to stay home all winter to make sure the tender plants are covered every time there's a freeze. Because it's a pain to make the arrangements (and pay the bills) for the maintenance of a tiny private pool that hardly anyone ever uses. And so on.
But mostly because, between having to deal with all the responsibilities and distractions loaded on the average hausfrau, plus a lot of the kind of jobs my father did in my parents' marriage (like the taxes and overseeing the investments (not a fun task at present)), and also managing pretty much the entire social context for myself and my spouse (plan events, make sure relatives and friends get birthday presents and cards, and so forth) plus keeping a weather eye on my mother and his parents, "my work" (like this blog! and my book project) shows precious little progress. Which is very frustrating, and not something I intend to tolerate for much longer. Or I'll end up a resentful, boiling, nasty rhymes-with-snitch.
Life is short. In patriarchy, it's hard even for women with the privilege of higher education and some means to make sure it's what they want, as well as what those around them want.
The struggle continues.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sage-ing the White House
Finally another sign of life from the overloaded Pagan Pundit. Between the looming advent of tax time, house guests, and assorted challenges I won't detail here, I haven't been able to think of anything but my book manuscript, continuing house repairs, and being a supportive spouse. But, just in the nick of time, I want to pass on something I heard on the Rachel Maddow Show (9 p.m., MSNBC, Monday through Friday) a few days ago.
One of her guests, comedian Kate Clinton, spread the word that she, a rabbi and a shaman, and whoever else wants to join them, will be gathering at 6 p.m. tonight at Dupont Circle in Washington D.C., which is as close as security precautions will allow them to get to the White House, to burn sage and other cleansing herbs and do a cleaning and banishing on all the bad intentions, bad vibes, bad actions and bad ju-ju dumped upon our nation these past eight years.
There's no way I can get to D.C., but I intend to be out in my yard at 6 p.m. Eastern time burning whatever my intuition tells me to burn and doing a banishing and cleansing ritual of my own. Probably walking counter-clockwise around the house, at least! For the few, the enduring, the proud who follow my blog, may I suggest you do the same, either at 6 p.m. Eastern time or at whatever time suits your schedules before the inauguration of President Obama (doesn't that sound great?) at 11:56 a.m. tomorrow, January 20th.
Of course, the key is not only to smudge and cleanse for all we're worth, but to rally our best energies to do our part, each where and when we can, to turn this country around and move it toward its greatest potential, not its worst. I think it's possible.
One of her guests, comedian Kate Clinton, spread the word that she, a rabbi and a shaman, and whoever else wants to join them, will be gathering at 6 p.m. tonight at Dupont Circle in Washington D.C., which is as close as security precautions will allow them to get to the White House, to burn sage and other cleansing herbs and do a cleaning and banishing on all the bad intentions, bad vibes, bad actions and bad ju-ju dumped upon our nation these past eight years.
There's no way I can get to D.C., but I intend to be out in my yard at 6 p.m. Eastern time burning whatever my intuition tells me to burn and doing a banishing and cleansing ritual of my own. Probably walking counter-clockwise around the house, at least! For the few, the enduring, the proud who follow my blog, may I suggest you do the same, either at 6 p.m. Eastern time or at whatever time suits your schedules before the inauguration of President Obama (doesn't that sound great?) at 11:56 a.m. tomorrow, January 20th.
Of course, the key is not only to smudge and cleanse for all we're worth, but to rally our best energies to do our part, each where and when we can, to turn this country around and move it toward its greatest potential, not its worst. I think it's possible.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Baltic Bee God -- and Goddess
Some unexpected free time for a quick post. I did a lightning Internet search and discovered that the Baltic region, and specifically Lithuania, have a tradition of tall, hollowed-out tree stumps carved into the likeness of a grotesque, bearded man and lidded with a thatch roof, with an opening in the mouth through which bees can access a hive within (and a door in the back for the beekeepers to extract the honey). The grotesques honor the bee god Babilas, a Pan-like figure associated with fertility.
There is also a Baltic bee Goddess, Austeja or Austheia. Information on her can be found in the most recent issue of The Beltane Papers (Late Summer 2008 edition, in an article by Goddess historian Patricia Monaghan), at thebeegoddess.com, and in Miriam Dexter Robbins' book The Living Goddesses. The name Austeja appears to blend the word for "weaving" and the word for "flying." (Just an aside: the Sanskrit word "Babila" means "swift." An obscure link between the two bee deities?)
A fascinating beekeeper's museum some 60 kilometers north of Vilnius in Lithuania features a number of Babilas beehives. Open from May to October in Aukstatija National Park, near the town of Ignalina, this museum celebrates an annual Honey Festival in August (which is also the month of Austeja's old feast day). The bee is a symbol of friendship in Lithuanian culture and the term "biciulis," derived from their word for bee, is an affectionate form of address for another person. When bee colonies became over-large and part of a parent hive's population "hived off" to another location, moving from one farm to the next, it established a ritual kinship between the two farm families, "biciulyste" or bee-kinship.
The museum's website is www.muziejai.lt/ignalina/biciu_mus.en.htm
More if I can find it!
There is also a Baltic bee Goddess, Austeja or Austheia. Information on her can be found in the most recent issue of The Beltane Papers (Late Summer 2008 edition, in an article by Goddess historian Patricia Monaghan), at thebeegoddess.com, and in Miriam Dexter Robbins' book The Living Goddesses. The name Austeja appears to blend the word for "weaving" and the word for "flying." (Just an aside: the Sanskrit word "Babila" means "swift." An obscure link between the two bee deities?)
A fascinating beekeeper's museum some 60 kilometers north of Vilnius in Lithuania features a number of Babilas beehives. Open from May to October in Aukstatija National Park, near the town of Ignalina, this museum celebrates an annual Honey Festival in August (which is also the month of Austeja's old feast day). The bee is a symbol of friendship in Lithuanian culture and the term "biciulis," derived from their word for bee, is an affectionate form of address for another person. When bee colonies became over-large and part of a parent hive's population "hived off" to another location, moving from one farm to the next, it established a ritual kinship between the two farm families, "biciulyste" or bee-kinship.
The museum's website is www.muziejai.lt/ignalina/biciu_mus.en.htm
More if I can find it!
Baltic Candles
Back in the U.S. since December 28th, but despite warm weather, snowed under in work of various kinds. We hosted a dozen people for New Year's Eve, then had the painter/carpenter in for more touch-up work on the house, and now I have house guests for a week. But I did want to convey some moments from the Frankfurt Sacred Night Market (Weihnachtsmarkt).
The weather was none too clement, mizzling rain and accompanying cold, but the three of us: my spouse, his brother and I: sallied forth in good humor nonetheless. The brightly lit booths illuminated the night, and the curtains of chilly precipitation. Two carousels were in full operation, with cheerful tunes and happy ranks of riders. And our mood was soon lifted further by hot mugs of Gluehwein (mulled wine)!
What really lifted my spirits most were the many craft booths. Almost no mass-produced Chinese or equivalent throw-away stuff. Gloves, wooden ornaments and toys, artwork, sculpture, blown glass -- even a booth heavy with witch dolls, dressed in cloaks of many colors, full of glitter, with knowing eyes.
We hadn't managed to get there until almost 7 p.m. and everything closed down at 9, so we hurried along, stopping again for what we thought would be egg nog but what turned out to be a hot egg drink (fortunately just as potently laced with alcohol), and then again for sausages grilled on the spot, and then again for Belgian fries with curry sauce. Yum!
Just as things were starting to shut down, I spotted a small booth selling honey and hand-made candles. Sometimes my gut instinct tells me exactly where to go. I left the men and started talking to the couple, who were from East Prussia.
East Prussia and the Baltic states (Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia) are one region where their long-time adherence to the Old Religion i.e. Paganism is concerned. In parts of this geographical area, Paganism persisted well into the 19th century, and in some families it never really vanished. I studied the candles and found several I was immediately drawn to, particularly one honoring the queen bee. But then I spotted a particular image:
A head, as archaic as those on Easter Island, which had obviously been carved out of a monumental tree stump, a wood and perhaps thatch "hat" on its head. The man of the forest, the Green Man. With bees crawling from the base toward his mouth.
The couple explained that these carvings are still made in rural East Prussia. The carved tree stump contains the bee hive, and is believed to protect the farmstead.
We managed to discover a second one in the booth. I bought them both, wrapped them carefully, and brought them safely back here, where they sit on my altar.
One of those magical incidents that make a trip instantly memorable, Goddess-blessed. I'll do a little more research on this figure and share anything I find with you!
The weather was none too clement, mizzling rain and accompanying cold, but the three of us: my spouse, his brother and I: sallied forth in good humor nonetheless. The brightly lit booths illuminated the night, and the curtains of chilly precipitation. Two carousels were in full operation, with cheerful tunes and happy ranks of riders. And our mood was soon lifted further by hot mugs of Gluehwein (mulled wine)!
What really lifted my spirits most were the many craft booths. Almost no mass-produced Chinese or equivalent throw-away stuff. Gloves, wooden ornaments and toys, artwork, sculpture, blown glass -- even a booth heavy with witch dolls, dressed in cloaks of many colors, full of glitter, with knowing eyes.
We hadn't managed to get there until almost 7 p.m. and everything closed down at 9, so we hurried along, stopping again for what we thought would be egg nog but what turned out to be a hot egg drink (fortunately just as potently laced with alcohol), and then again for sausages grilled on the spot, and then again for Belgian fries with curry sauce. Yum!
Just as things were starting to shut down, I spotted a small booth selling honey and hand-made candles. Sometimes my gut instinct tells me exactly where to go. I left the men and started talking to the couple, who were from East Prussia.
East Prussia and the Baltic states (Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia) are one region where their long-time adherence to the Old Religion i.e. Paganism is concerned. In parts of this geographical area, Paganism persisted well into the 19th century, and in some families it never really vanished. I studied the candles and found several I was immediately drawn to, particularly one honoring the queen bee. But then I spotted a particular image:
A head, as archaic as those on Easter Island, which had obviously been carved out of a monumental tree stump, a wood and perhaps thatch "hat" on its head. The man of the forest, the Green Man. With bees crawling from the base toward his mouth.
The couple explained that these carvings are still made in rural East Prussia. The carved tree stump contains the bee hive, and is believed to protect the farmstead.
We managed to discover a second one in the booth. I bought them both, wrapped them carefully, and brought them safely back here, where they sit on my altar.
One of those magical incidents that make a trip instantly memorable, Goddess-blessed. I'll do a little more research on this figure and share anything I find with you!
Friday, December 19, 2008
On Holiday(s)
Here I am, three thousand miles away from home -- if my latest address is home, which I sometimes doubt -- in grey weather, cold too, trying to get the time change behind me and start soaking up the holiday spirit. The spouse and I are sitting in the hotel lobby, both working away on our computers. In a little while I'll get myself in gear and head off to do some errands.
So this is "holiday time." The candelabra in the breakfast room all contain 7 "candles" -- is that just to distinguish themselves from Hanukkah lights or because 7 simply comes out as the most symmetrical and elegant number of light elements? In any case, the real candle on the breakfast table, surrounded by evergreen branches and gilded pinecones, is "ecumenical" in that its appeal pre-dates Christianity by quite a space of time.
Yule, like the summer solstice, is above all a festival of light and fire. When I was packing on Monday, I dug out my velvet ritual bag (which I've had for about 15 years now -- red, with a symbol that combines the pentacle and the sign for female (or the planet Venus. Not that I think "men are from Mars, women are from..." -- facile and over-generalizing, always a dangerous combination). There were two considerations: weight of the luggage and what was most appropriate to the season. Yule, a fire festival. So I put in my tiny brass burner, two little cones of Yule incense from one of my favorite providers, and incense matches in frankincense, sandalwood, and bayberry to honor the time (and patchouli just because I like it). Compass and bloodstone pendulum. Tiny travel candle (in a tin). And that's it.
The colors for Yule are just as pre-Christian as the candle/taper/light and the evergreens. Red and green: red for fire, green for growth and manifestation. Fire to keep us warm, sun-fire to invite the sun closer again, green as a sign of our hope and belief that new shoots, new leaves, new crops will once more come in time.
Tomorrow we're going to the "sacred night market" -- the Christmas market, but I just gave you the literal translation of the German word for it, "Weihnachtsmarkt." I look forward to the spiced wine, the traditional holiday edibles like "Lebkuchen" ("the cake of life"), and the many beautiful, and even the tacky, things that will be offered for sale at the myriad outdoor stalls. Northern Europeans are hardy folk, neither the buyers nor the sellers jib at spending long hours in near-freezing temperatures to seek or purvey the perfect holiday gift, treat or decor. More when we return!
So this is "holiday time." The candelabra in the breakfast room all contain 7 "candles" -- is that just to distinguish themselves from Hanukkah lights or because 7 simply comes out as the most symmetrical and elegant number of light elements? In any case, the real candle on the breakfast table, surrounded by evergreen branches and gilded pinecones, is "ecumenical" in that its appeal pre-dates Christianity by quite a space of time.
Yule, like the summer solstice, is above all a festival of light and fire. When I was packing on Monday, I dug out my velvet ritual bag (which I've had for about 15 years now -- red, with a symbol that combines the pentacle and the sign for female (or the planet Venus. Not that I think "men are from Mars, women are from..." -- facile and over-generalizing, always a dangerous combination). There were two considerations: weight of the luggage and what was most appropriate to the season. Yule, a fire festival. So I put in my tiny brass burner, two little cones of Yule incense from one of my favorite providers, and incense matches in frankincense, sandalwood, and bayberry to honor the time (and patchouli just because I like it). Compass and bloodstone pendulum. Tiny travel candle (in a tin). And that's it.
The colors for Yule are just as pre-Christian as the candle/taper/light and the evergreens. Red and green: red for fire, green for growth and manifestation. Fire to keep us warm, sun-fire to invite the sun closer again, green as a sign of our hope and belief that new shoots, new leaves, new crops will once more come in time.
Tomorrow we're going to the "sacred night market" -- the Christmas market, but I just gave you the literal translation of the German word for it, "Weihnachtsmarkt." I look forward to the spiced wine, the traditional holiday edibles like "Lebkuchen" ("the cake of life"), and the many beautiful, and even the tacky, things that will be offered for sale at the myriad outdoor stalls. Northern Europeans are hardy folk, neither the buyers nor the sellers jib at spending long hours in near-freezing temperatures to seek or purvey the perfect holiday gift, treat or decor. More when we return!
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Go Gators!
Yes, odd and possibly reprehensible as it may seem, I do love to watch American football. Never got a chance to play it, though I've played quite a few other team sports. But I grew up watching football (and baseball, and basketball) with my Dad, a true fanatic, not just a fan. And somehow life is not complete without occasionally plopping my butt down in front of a TV and screaming my lungs out for the team of my choice (complete with animadversions on bad refereeing and commentary on questionable coaching decisions). Obnoxious of me, I know.
So it filled my heart with glee that the University of Florida defeated Alabama in the Southeastern Conference Championship game in Atlanta yesterday. The majority of football "scholars" thought the Crimson Tide (i.e. Alabama) would roll over the Gators (i.e. Florida), but I always believed the Gators could win. Which does not mean I watched the game live. If I have a superstition, it's that if I watch a team I really care about play in real time, they're likely to lose. I kept well away from temptation by going to my favorite cafe, which doesn't have a TV set. But I admit I checked on the score when I thought the game must be over, and found the Gators were winning. Just as well I didn't watch, though, since as late as the end of the third quarter Alabama was ahead and seemed to be pulling away, so my blood pressure would have been sky-high and the volume of my yelling considerable! I know my faults.
I watched this morning, however, when the game was repeated on the Sunshine Channel, and slurped up every precious minute while continuing to deal with holiday preparations, in this case wrapping and packaging. The last parcels that have to be mailed will be taken to the post office tomorrow and Tuesday. My lists of tasks to be completed remain four sheets of legal paper long, and I object, as I always do, to the hustle and bustle imposed upon us by the felt obligation to sustain commercially dictated Yuletide jollity throughout the month of December. And that's nothing compared to the suffering of the poor salespeople and cashiers in department stores and supermarkets, who are subjected to holiday Muzak starting long before Thanksgiving!
Anyway, this Gator fan is a happy clam. I'm sorry that one team has to lose for another to win. Alabama had a perfect season going into the game, and now has to deal with the bitter taste of not winning the conference title and being denied a shot at the national championship. But there's always next year, and Alabama is deep in talent, they'll be in the thick of the hunt again, as, I think, will the Gators. Now I can relax until the Gators' bowl game, which I assume will be the BCS Championship in Miami on January 8th. And I promise not to bore you with football again until at least then!
So it filled my heart with glee that the University of Florida defeated Alabama in the Southeastern Conference Championship game in Atlanta yesterday. The majority of football "scholars" thought the Crimson Tide (i.e. Alabama) would roll over the Gators (i.e. Florida), but I always believed the Gators could win. Which does not mean I watched the game live. If I have a superstition, it's that if I watch a team I really care about play in real time, they're likely to lose. I kept well away from temptation by going to my favorite cafe, which doesn't have a TV set. But I admit I checked on the score when I thought the game must be over, and found the Gators were winning. Just as well I didn't watch, though, since as late as the end of the third quarter Alabama was ahead and seemed to be pulling away, so my blood pressure would have been sky-high and the volume of my yelling considerable! I know my faults.
I watched this morning, however, when the game was repeated on the Sunshine Channel, and slurped up every precious minute while continuing to deal with holiday preparations, in this case wrapping and packaging. The last parcels that have to be mailed will be taken to the post office tomorrow and Tuesday. My lists of tasks to be completed remain four sheets of legal paper long, and I object, as I always do, to the hustle and bustle imposed upon us by the felt obligation to sustain commercially dictated Yuletide jollity throughout the month of December. And that's nothing compared to the suffering of the poor salespeople and cashiers in department stores and supermarkets, who are subjected to holiday Muzak starting long before Thanksgiving!
Anyway, this Gator fan is a happy clam. I'm sorry that one team has to lose for another to win. Alabama had a perfect season going into the game, and now has to deal with the bitter taste of not winning the conference title and being denied a shot at the national championship. But there's always next year, and Alabama is deep in talent, they'll be in the thick of the hunt again, as, I think, will the Gators. Now I can relax until the Gators' bowl game, which I assume will be the BCS Championship in Miami on January 8th. And I promise not to bore you with football again until at least then!
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