{what we mean when we say we’re ‘blessed’}

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Well, here’s a rare moment, me actually being in the know on a pop culture news item WHILE IT’S HAPPENING. Go, me.


Poor Wolf Blizter.

By now everyone has seen and commented on his slightly pushy conversation with the Oklahoma tornado survivor, standing in the midst of collapsed houses, playing with her toddler. We all know, by now, that reporters love natural disasters because they give them those ratings gold that few other things can provide, and Wolf Blitzer – probably an otherwise legitimately genteel and perfectly nice person – likely angled them in between some rubble, just so it could be seen on camera. Just so he could say she was blessed. Just so he could, awkwardly, ask her if she “thanked the Lord.”

Though why he asked, when it was so clearly not his business, no one knows.

To sidestep the elephant in the room. *I* believe in Divinity. I go to church(es) – sometimes with more or less cynicism than I should bring along, but I attend. I make myself part of the community of believers. I believe that matters of faith are, in large part, like matters of politics: personal, tap-roots kinds of things that determine which way one’s mental trees grow. I consider myself to be both a thinking person, and a person willing to suspend disbelief on some topics. I hope that an inquiring mind doesn’t prohibit me from having a faith (though I know that for some people, and some variations of faith, it does). I know that what Wolf Blitzer said was pushy and invasive. Why would you ask someone who hadn’t volunteered it about their religious point of view, especially on live camera? He was after something — and maybe he got it. Or, maybe he got something else entirely.

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There has been a lot of fomenting and foaming about the mouth (to which I won’t link) about what Blitzer said to the woman he was interviewing. The thing is this: it’s not that big a deal, for two reasons. One, we don’t any of us have, in dot matrix print on our foreheads somewhere, the words “Christian” or “Not Christian.” I think he was, clumsily, trying to ask about her stance on faith, and I don’t know why he felt he needed to know, especially since a.) he wasn’t a friend and b.) he was there to talk about the tornado, and the woman’s narrow escape. Perhaps because she was sharing a personal vignette on national television, he decided she needed to share ALL of her personal thoughts?

The second reason I don’t think this is all that big a deal is this: the woman and the reporter are Americans. Americans talk God all the time, whether they believe in Divinity or not; it’s a weird leftover from a Puritan past. If you don’t believe this about Americans, I challenge you to live where people don’t come from a long-ago Puritan past. It makes a difference to the linguistic patterns like you wouldn’t believe. Saying “we’re blessed,” is American shorthand for lucky – and many people don’t actually believe in a Divine Blessing thing going on, but they will say, “Thank God it’s Friday,” even though, if pushed, they’d say, “what God?” This really is an American thing! In my limited experience of five years in Central Scotland, I find that British people don’t so casually invoke God (except for in profanities). So, Americans talk God, yes, they do. Culturally, folks, you have more in common with many Christian “generalists” than you might think, so maybe hold back on the urge to Other so hard?

Blitzer’s trespass was not so much that he was talking faith. The problem was not just talking – he was nosy and ham-handed and pushed. It wasn’t enough that the woman had escaped with the clothes on her back, her husband and her child, he wanted to stick his grimy fingers further into the bleeding gash in her world, and expose her guts. That is never right.

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I believe in Divinity – but have many friends who are complete agnostic non-believers, atheists (which is not the same as agnostic, there’s a difference), Jewish believers, Muslim believers, and humanists. I avoid certain religious discussion with my Jewish friends – and I don’t think it matters, we share a lot of items a faith without arguing over Messiahs and the Trinity (which, I fear, isn’t particularly Biblical anyway, but let’s not Go There). I am on nodding acquaintance with the idea that there is no God but God, so my Muslim friends and I can talk in general terms, or avoid talking faith altogether. Fine. I can talk social justice with my non-organized-religious humanist friends, I can talk Pirates of Penzance or Bernstein’s Chichester Psalms with my Unitarian friends (no, seriously. My friend Jo tells me of the many great musicals she’s been a part of for her church’s musical program). I am a person who feels the importance of a lingua franca to bridge the various thought streamlets, brooks, rivers, lakes, and open water of my varying friends. I’m more of a “something-in-common” seeker than a difference underliner. I wish we all could be; it would save reporters from asking prodding, dumb questions of rattled strangers on camera.

Maybe that’s what Blitzer was doing – trying to find a “something in common” between one young mother and the rest of his viewing audience. Well, FAIL, on one level. On the other hand, if people could then gather under a similar banner of “Go Gently! Don’t Push! Speak Cautiously! Build Bridges!” well, then, we will have gotten somewhere.

{the seldom-seen girl}

Hark at the beauty queen, here. She swanned up and asked for her picture to be taken. Cheeky insouciance in a feather boa. This girl is my goose-bumped (it was March in Scotland – and, if you look at the people in the background, you see COATS. Despite the dry day, it was not really warm enough for that romper, but I think she’d just made it in Home Ec) patron saint: She Who Must Be Amused.

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You’d be wise to read the whole piece yourself, but I can summarize: Rebecca Rabinowitz says fat kids are seldom seen as just themselves in literature, and consequently feel invisible. In our lit, as in our society, the fat = shameful conflation persists, largely because the shame bit is carried along by those of us who aren’t a projected “normal” size, and it’s got to stop. That’s a few of the ideas in the piece in a nutshell.

This is such a blind-spot topic – because it’s something that’s constantly there, but like racism in certain parts of the world, it’s something you drink in with the water from the time you’re a child, so it doesn’t seem abnormal. (We always wonder how the folks who have the segregated proms could do that – but if it’s normalized from when you’re a child… well…) Large folk are automatically either victim or bully or threat – never just themselves in a story. They’re the Problem Child, Issue of the Week, Lifetime Movie character you don’t want in your novel. Even when it seems like we’re trying to portray large people as sympathetic, it sometimes comes across as such an effort. In writing a character in A LA CARTE who was fat, but was vexed with her weight, and spent a somewhat inordinate amount of time worrying about it, I wanted to write about a girl who had a handle on her problems. She worked out when she was frustrated. And she ate when she was unhappy. True to life, yes; this character had a lot of insecurities and hang-ups – but I’m still sad that I didn’t know better and take the opportunity to subtly preach some acceptance. I should have handled that better. But, my own confession is I don’t handle the idea of “acceptance” as well – I truly thought (and it was gently inferred to me) that I should be “setting a healthy example.” Mental health, I guess, doesn’t count.

After reading an article quoting a 2006 interview with the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, and contrasting his “we don’t want fat people wearing our clothes” position with H&M’s subtly introduced size 14 swimsuit model, Rabonowitz’s words echoed in me again. They sounded even more loudly after discovering Militant Baker’s response to the idea that some brands aren’t for people over a size 10 (via Sorrywatch). When I see the cute, snub-nosed Militant Baker chickie with her curvy size-18 body assimilating the status-group norm for sexy bodies for her own transgressive use (Oh, how I love sociological vocabulary) it makes me laugh – but sigh a little, too. She shouldn’t have to make a point that a CEO should have already known.

Which leads me back to my patron saint. While I don’t at all consider her fat, plus-sized, or anything but a regular teen girl, I know that I also don’t see “normally.” She’d be on a plus-sized page, were she in a magazine. Well – so what if she is considered plus-sized. I think she’s adorable. Her smirk, her come-hither boa, her hands-on-hips, and in-your-face ‘tude. She’s everything she should be, and viva that verve.

{a dream of poppies}

FLASHBACK MACHINE Through the wonders of technology, I am posting this in January, on a day where it is bitterly cold, and I am having trouble thinking forward to a day when poppies will be blooming again. This will run in the middle of May, when ostensibly poppies will bloom again. Thank you, Mary Oliver, for believing for me.

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POPPIES

by Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn’t a place
in this world that doesn’t

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?

~ from New and Selected Poems, Vol. I (Beacon Press, 1993)

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{gleeee!}

Step 1: Visit the EDGAR AWARD website.

Step 2: Input your search years.

Winners for All Categories for All Years

Year Award Category Title Author’s Name Publisher/Producer Notes
 2013  Best Young Adult  Code Name Verity  Elizabeth Wein  Disney Publishing Worldwide – Hyperion  

Step 3: Happy Dance.

YES!!!!! It’s CODE NAME VERITY, a book I felt was definitely bound for greater things than a mere however-many-week run on the NYT bestseller list. I was slightly disappointed that it wasn’t THE ALA winner on tons of lists, but Honors are quite a happy thing as well — and enough to ensure that Liz will be still book-talking this book for library groups four years from now, when she’ll have to reread it to refresh her memory on what she’s supposed to be talking about… And now this, the one award she thought was a “long-shot, but I’m going to the award dinner anyway, because what are the chances I’ll get asked to do that again?” Yeah. She said that.

“Long shot” my foot.

CONGRATULATIONS, dear Liz!!! May your tribe increase.