Reflection In The Mirror

It takes a long time to sound like yourself. Miles Davis said that and I concur. Three years ago tomorrow, I started this blog without a clue of what I wanted to say or how often I wanted to say it. Turns out that writing two paragraphs became an almost daily routine, turns out that I included pictures. Didn't give it much thought at the time, but over the years, people have commented a lot about the picture element -- everything from approval, maternal worry, disgust, confusion, take your pick. I've had all sorts of reactions myself, some diplomatic, some, umm, less so. I've written entries to explain myself or chosen not to at times. But as I'm revising my memoir, I realized that it is perhaps God's way of directing my attention to a way of structuring the book. When we get asked something over and over to the point of absolute madness (Someone asked me if I found the comment the other day about dangling myself in front of the "wolves" (and for the record, I do not consider men "wolves" or anything else) interesting to which I replied, No, I find the whole Madonna/whore complex a real bore. But it got me thinking as I sat in my office, struggling to figure out what my book is about. I wrote it; you'd think I would have a clue. Wrong!

We create our identities all the time. We choose clothes and haircuts and foods and movies and music and friends. We define and refine; we asked to be noticed or not. The subjects I write about are not sexy, but sometimes the pictures are. Is this juxtaposition a bad thing? I don't think so. We're never one thing even when people try to box us. And who is more guilty of boxing ourselves at times than our own minds? I'm far from perfect in any sense of the word -- I have an eight inch scar down my stomach that makes women cringe. I'd hate to have that, I've heard more than once. And I have a big ass and thin hair and dark circles under my eyes. Sometimes I look good, other times I don't. Many rape victims are reported as saying that a big part of them died after the attack. Or that they wished they had died. I understand that feeling, but I don't want that to be me. How do people know that they have died in movies? They can no longer see their reflection in the mirror. I can still see myself, good and bad, and that's something.

Michelle's Spell of the Day
"I knew secrets could be shameful. But I didn't realize they also had power." Heather Sellers

Cocktail Hour
Drinking movie suggestion: Wristcutters

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Monday!