Roses at Twilight
Known as common goldstar, common star-grass, eastern yellow stargrass, or yellow star grass. It is an ornamental plant, member of the Lily family, native to the eastern United States and Canada. The yellow 6 part blossoms will open in the morning time and wilt during direct heat or sunlight. Blooming occurs in April and ends in May. It will be found in open areas, prairies, glades, bluffs, dry woods and fields. Growing up to 6″ in height, it grows best in full sun to partial shade.
Are you fashion crazy?
We moms are always talking about “Me Time.” We seem to spend a lot of brain power thinking about it and how to get it. I even recently saw a red carpet reporter whose sole assignment was to ask celebrity moms how they get the all-important Me Time. And, each celebrity had different answers. Pedicures and coffee were favorites. Lunches and going to the gym were mentioned. Basically any activity that doesn’t involve the children can qualify, although if doesn’t involve the children OR the husband, then it is really considered a treat.
And I know why we say this. It’s because being a mom is tiring. And draining. And some days it’s not all that fun or even interesting. Being a mom requires lots of hard work, lots of putting others first, and lots of doing things that you don’t necessarily feel like doing. So, when we have been…
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The sort of language used to assert men’s dominance over women has a pretty recognizable pattern across the cultural landscape. Men, we are told, are in charge of things because they have something women (supposedly) lack: physical strength, honor, higher cognitive facilities, or the mystique of the male organ itself. Women, sadly “lacking” these qualities, need to be “protected” from the all-consuming lusts of strange men.
This can be spun as noble chivalry, brutal domination, or a playful battle of the sexes, but at the root it’s the same: women are denied the freedoms that men take as a God-given right, assigned subordinate status, and coerced into performative gender roles.
In this dialectic, men’s protective abilities and ravaging urges come from the same place and are both aimed squarely at women. Language, of course, did not create the patriarchy, but language is a powerful method of inscribing the possible, shaping…
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You know that feeling when you arrive into a room and you feel like you are imposing?
Say you end up with a group of people who know each other really well. Everyone is polite and attentive. And then the conversation might fall into the charm and ease of familiarity. A falling, a rolling: shared memories that come up because just a word can be enough to bring them up. The chuckle when she said that, a chuckle that can ripple through the group, accompanied by sideways glances of affection. You don’t mind this at all; you might be sitting back and enjoying that roll. But someone looks up and notices you are not being included in the conversation. There is a checking; a feeling of being checked. And someone else might turn to you and ask you a question. It is such a polite question; the atmosphere becomes more formal. And this tonal shift is a shift of…
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It’s been kind of a shitty few weeks here at Trudge Inc. By that, I mean not my version of Heaven on Earth. Which I realize is a tall order. But this version didn’t even come close. Not to what I’d prefer to orchestrate. As my version. Which, although perhaps a little complicated to arrange, wouldn’t cost very much. Except maybe in hurt feelings.
Anyway, this was something very else.
Some low-grade depression, some ass-kicking physical pain, and a sprinkling of mid-ranged irritants. All culminating with an ill-timed blow-up with my mom. The day before her birthday. Yeah I know. I’m the worst son ever. But I don’t want to brag about my ranking. Fact is we fired at each other at point blank range with armor-piercing rounds. And that seems to have brought up all these unpleasant feelings. For both of us. Go…
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I’ve never told anyone these things. My parents, my sister, my friends – no one. So heads up. You’re the first to know.
For the last few years, I have grown, slowly but steadily, to despise the way my body looks.
When I was a kid, I was always told how skinny I was. I didn’t break fifty pounds until I was eight years old. In high school I was always the smallest – height and weight – of my friends. I grew up knowing, somehow, intuitively, that ‘being skinny’ was something good, that it was something I should maintain. In high school, that belief was confirmed and reinforced by magazines, friends who were constantly ‘dieting’, and my school’s insistence on athletic rigor and social ostracism of students who didn’t fit the body ideal. But I was always warned that, as a woman, ‘my time would come’, I would have kids…
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