Thursday, November 8, 2012

Lighten Up

Yea, I'm a blonde. Most of the time. Currently though, my tresses  match those of my son and daughter, the beauties, Dark Mark, and Dark Danika. It's a long story. But when did that stop me from tellin' it?

I had an important telephone appointment for my son, Paul. It was scheduled for 10:00 am. So the multi-tasker that I am, applied a dark blonde Loreal mix and tied up all that ammonia in an Ingles' grocery bag. Perfect. At 9:35, I'd jump in the shower and be ready for the call, no problem.



"Hello, Mrs. Anderson? I know I'm calling early. Can you talk now?"

"Sure."  (No body language, no slow southern drawl, no Skype.)

Long story short, by the time I got in the shower, the color had been working its magic for an hour.

I went to work. Rob looked at me.

"Uhhh, honey? Did you color your hair? It's green."

So, I made an emergency appointment with my stylist. No blonde streaks to temper the blackness. She said emphatically, "No way. You'll fry your hair. You'll have to wait."

So here I am, dark. A bit gloomy. A generous swatch of solemnity. My dark period.

I'm in mourning over the election.

I guess the point here is, and I  mean this with the sincerity of a good blonde joke... I guess I'm not a true blonde.

I'm not a Pollyanna. Just because I highlight and am mostly cheerful.

There are some real issues. Basic human rights. Not entitlements. Things like the freedom to be  born, or to be an American ambassador living among the volatile and guarded with some kind of ammunition or security. To be three other nationals and die heroes, yet without dignity. This basic.

My stomach twists seeing how spoiled we've become. Let the rich man pay the taxes. He's the snide one. He's can afford to feed the rest of us. That's just it. He's not rich. He's declaring those small business taxes as personal. That over $250,000? It gets folded back into the business, so he can pay his employee or two. He chases leaks on a metal building. His kids mow the grass to make gas money. His wife helps with shipping. She answers the phone and watches him bust his tail everyday. But he doesn't mind. He says, "Schlepping games is like changing your kid's poopy diaper, because it needs to be done. You tend to your business."

He's got three sons in college. Tuition has gone up 30%.

Groceries are through the roof. Gas? We won't even go there.

The most ingratiating straw that sticks in my craw...

The slap in the face towards my religion. The buffeting and the spitting didn't end with Christs' crucifixion. Jesus continues to weather the blows. In a country touted for its' freedom to worship.

I haven't noticed any big bad Mormons crashing planes into buildings.

Supposedly strong independent women who claim that war is being waged on them by those white Republican men. Pleeeeeez. Has anyone read The Kite Runner or A Thousand Splendid Suns?
Read those and get back to me on your opinion about waging war on women.

Law school, sure it's expensive. Actually, I'm too busy taking care of my family to care about your sex life and what you think you deserve from the tax payer.

Nobody is taking away your birth control. Nobody is telling anyone they can't take up with their same sex partner. Regardless of what the majority of people who vote believe what constitutes marriage, I suspect that people in love are going to do what they want anyway. 

I'll say one thing about abortion in this country. One thing. If we don't think that Roe vs. Wade has not influenced the decisions of responsibility our sons and daughters face, we are kidding ourselves. Alright, two things. That issue of rape and incest? Less than 1% of all abortions.

There's my rant. Most of it, anyway.

Here we go again. Four more years. Yep. I'm sitting all pretty and polite at the tea party. I'm not supposed to feel angry. I'm seen as intolerant. I'm a bigot.

A swift kick in the chest on all hallowed Election Eve. That's what it felt like.

My son asked me to text him the progress of the electoral map. After Ohio, I typed, "I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Scott. I love you."

I cried. I'm worried for my kids. I don't like the parallelism of our president with anti colonists. I don't like sliding down this muddy slope of socialism. I miss the red white and blue.

Thank God for work to do.

We unload trucks of games. Christian board games. Scrabble and Cranium. We're shipping them right back out the door in time for Christmas shoppers. I'm glad to be busy. It takes my mind off what I can't control.

I listened to Christian music over the shipping computer. It helps. God is bigger than all of this.

I went home and mopped my floor with that good smelling lavender stuff.

I cooked dinner and read to my baby girl.

I laughed at a few funny facebook posts. I listened to more inspirational music.

I'm lightening up.

Previously posted is the perfect song for good hair days, in spite of governmental toxic processing.

It's called Shine.

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