One Thing Leads To Another

Being someone who's curious about all sorts of things and loves to learn, I frequently find myself exploring labyrinthine knowledge paths and picking up all sorts of tidbits I didn't expect. Such was the case the other day when, thanks to a random picture on Pinterest, I started exploring a new facet of a subject I've been interested in for a while.

One of the things I love about historical reenactment is that dressing in garb gives me an excuse to cover my hair. I love my waist-length tresses and all the things I can do with them, but I hate the way wayward strands tickle my face or get caught in anything from the hinges on my glasses to a closing car door. Being able to wrap everything up in a turban or other headwear without it looking out of place is a boon to me. So when I saw a pin on Pinterest with a type of hair wrap that was new to me, I wanted to learn more.

The path took me to some vendors I hadn't known about before, some blog posts and videos with wrapping techniques that I might use... and set me at the door to the world of "radical" (they frequently use this word to describe themselves) Christian women who follow 1 Corinthians 11 on the subject of headcovering.

I'm all for expressing one's religious beliefs in whatever (not-harmful-to-others) manner one feels called to. If you feel closer to your god by demonstrating your submission with a piece of fabric, I will defend your right to do so, and may even join you in solidarity if you are being attacked for your choice. Personally, I'm with you if your purpose is eschewing vanity, but I stop at the point where you believe you're less worthy, less godly, less anything than a man. Still, if that's what you believe, you're welcome to it, as long as it doesn't bleed over into public policy or my personal life.

The issue I have with this group of women is that, in their posts and videos, they focus on how attractive their methods of headcovering are. They spend a lot of time, energy, and money on what seems to be more of a hobby than a religious practice. They turn an article of submission and modesty into one of vanity, all while thumping their Bibles, and don't seem to notice the cognitive dissonance.

Herein lies my biggest problem with organized religion: those who are most vocal about the "rules" tend to be the worst at following them, but refuse to admit it. It's hard to take a group seriously or give them the respect they expect when their actions run counter to their words. Some of the most outspoken "believers" I've met have been the least godly, had the worst moral compasses, and been the biggest hypocrites.

As morality, character, and spirituality have come more into focus in my life of late, I've found myself dispairing at the fate of humanity. Our selfishness and greed have been growing, our willingness to take responsibility for our actions has all but disappeared, and we don't seem to feel shame for much of anything anymore. It's leading to anarchy, which is a situation that only benefits the most violent, the most opportunistic, the most conniving among us.

It's frustrating to be in a position where I'm searching for hope and structure, and the one place that seems tailor-made to provide what I want is also the poster child for the ills I'm seeking refuge from. But hey, now I know some news ways to wrap my hair.

First

One of my coworkers was recently diagnosed with cancer. It's a type that's got a high rate of successful treatment, and it was caught very early, so we're not afraid for his life, but he'll have to be out for a while for surgery and recovery. He had the first of two procedures earlier this week, and I expected to hear how it went the next day from one of the guys who have his number. When nobody had volunteered news by the second day after the procedure, I asked whether anyone had called him.

"None of us want to be the first one to call," said my manager.

I was a bit gobsmacked at this. I know that women in this culture are trained to be the caretakers, the communicators, the ones who maintain the social networks and keep the grapevine humming, and that men aren't, but this group of guys out-gossip some of the women at work by a significant margin, so to see them actively shying away from reaching out to see how a friend is doing... I can't quite wrap my brain around it.

Finally, one of the other (male) managers called, and I happened to overhear part of the conversation, so I know the guy's doing fine, if a little loopy on pain meds. But I'm still confused as to why the other men were so afraid of showing interest or compassion. It's one more reason for me to be glad I'm leaving this job for one that's closer to home, better paying, and less stressful.

The Purpose of God

I'm (finally) reading Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale for the first time, and a line about halfway through the book jumped out at me. The narrator is talking to God about loved ones with whom she's lost contact, and she says, "You might even provide a Heaven for them. We need You for that. Hell we can make for ourselves."

I had thought of the development of religion in a more granular way, as being helpful in explaining natural phenomena or acting as an excuse to dominate other people(s) -- as a collection of small reasons that gradually became a larger agenda. But Atwood's words are so simple, so succinct, and frame the concept in a way that's achingly sad: we're excellent at being miserable and making each other miserable, but to concieve of being truly happy we need our omnipotent creator. We wish and hope and dream about being happy... but only when we're dead and in the arms of a god we've spent our lives trying to please but simultaneously mucking everything up because we can't agree on how to do it.

Hell we can make for ourselves. And Lord, are we ever good at it.

Evolution

My little black cat is named Kira (a reference to both the Celtic name Kiera, meaning the dark one, and Kira Nerys, a Star Trek character). When I started spending time with my boyfriend, I found that he likes to play with her name; he'll make little alterations to it to suit his fancy.

One of the first such alterations was Kira Wildebeest. Apparently her manner struck him as wildebeest-like one day, and he's stuck with that ever since. Then, we discovered that she loves the taste of duck, so she became Kira Duck Wildebeest.

When we play with her feet, we talk about her toepads as "beans," and today I was chattering at her about her beans, li'l black beans, frijoles negros, and then the idea of her being a Black Bean Burrito hit me, so I told my boyfriend.

"Wildebeest and Black Bean Burrito," was his response. "Gotta have some meat in there!"

So now my little black cat is Kira, Wildebeest and Black Bean Burrito.

Because life is too short to not embrace a little absurdity now and then.

Fridge Forager

Those moments when I throw open the pantry and fridge and try to pull together something easy and tasty are always exciting. Will I come up with something amazing? Will this be a meal that even the racoons won't touch? It's like my own personal episode of a cooking-related reality show!

Tonight's "episode" was born of necessity; the meal needed to be quick and easy, include protein, only use one pan, and not involve pasta or rice. If I could avoid opening new containers without immediately emptying them, so much the better.

I won. It wouldn't be to everyone's liking, but I was thrilled with the result: scrambled eggs with sprats (similar to sardines) and beetroot-and-horseradish chutney that's been in the fridge since before I moved in. The chutney lightened the oiliness of the fish, the savoriness of the fish played well with the eggs, and it all just worked.

Happy cook, and happy cats who got to lick off the plate.

Section 8

When I started at my current job, I was in a difficult housing situation and trying to pay off a small mountain of debt as quickly as possible. As my coworkers got to know me over those first few months, they heard the horror stories about my then-housemate, and sympathized because most of them had been in similar situations at one point or another.

Since then, things have improved considerably -- I've moved away from the now-ex-housemate, have no housing expenses thanks to the generosity of my partner, and am making headway on my debt -- but there are a few coworkers who haven't heard about the improvements because we work on opposite sides of the building now. One of them came to me this morning to offer me an application for Section 8 (low-income) housing in the town I used to live in, because she thought it might help me get out of the awful situation I'd been in.

I'm touched that she's looking out for me. I'm also dismayed to learn how many of my coworkers are in subsidized housing. To my mind, it speaks poorly of an employer when a significant number of their full-time employees have to rely on social welfare programs to survive. It's a clear sign that wages are too low, and that the employer doesn't actually value his employees.

So... looks like I'll be hitting the job listings again. I wasn't looking forward to seeing how winter weather affects my new commute anyway, so I guess it works out.

Hot Stuff

When you've got a fire going and it's not quite as active as you'd like it to be, sloshing gasoline from the can on the fire will give it some extra oomph... and also set the gas can on fire. The scorch mark in the back yard is evidence of my housemate learning this lesson the hard way.