Mrs Metaphor

…or on the guitar stand as it were. I promised I would post a picture of my other mid life crisis endeavor, my guitar. As you will recall I studied piano for a length of time and cello as well but never have played guitar. Thus, in the wake of my 40th birthday I went out and picked out this sweet young thing (sorry, Steve…the sexy electric won me over):

I have gotten into this habit of naming things, especially instruments. To me, it gives them a depth and me an understanding that this is more than a “thing,” yes? I think this practiced developed when I began cello lessons with Norman Johns of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra when I was in high school.  He introduced this concept to me when he introduced his cello as “Sophia.”  It stuck with me so much that when I acquired my own cello a few years ago I named her “Sophia” as well, in remembrance of those days.

So, in light of this, I’ll tell you that my guitar is called “Marlene.” I named her after a Suzanne Vega song that I have always loved, “Marlene on the Wall.” In the tune, “Marlene” refers to a picture of Marlene Dietrich, the german born actress. When I sat down and started playing my guitar that was what came to me first. I was struck by her dark, sultry nature and her engaging moodiness, thus…she is Marlene.

I’ll leave you with a mid 80’s performance by the incredible Ms Vega.

National Blog Posting Month

Why do I do things like this? Why on earth would I accept a challenge to post one blog entry a day for the entire month of November?

I wonder if it is because I really WOULD like to see the internet explode. Curious (spoken in my best “Spock” voice.”)

I’m still working out the whole NaBloPoMo page thing to have the posts RSS feed there but you’ll see my marathon posts here on mrsmetaphor. No sense reinventing the wheel, yes?

I’ve always loved the form of the Haiku…so simple and yet chock full of possibilities. Less is more, yes?

My friend Julie provides the following information about he art form of Haiku; in addition to the well known syllabic rhythm of
5
7
5

The Haiku traditionally would also refer in some way to the weather or the seasons. How cool is that?

So, in light of today being slighlty chillier than yesterday (always a good sign in the “south” as it were) then I shall give you another assignment while I write my next scintillating post. (Is she stalling you ask? Um, yes, what of it?)

Your assignment is to ….WRITE YOUR OWN HAIKU…

I’ll model this for you:

with fall comes relief
sweltering evenings will pass
southern summers suck

I added a little alliteration there at the end just to jazz it up but you get the point….now, off with you. Give me your best work, this counts toward your midterm grade report.

Based upon the clever commentary by Rachel in a previous post here on Mrs Metaphor I’m giving myself a week or two off from the pressures of literary fifedom and starting a new trend, “Make your own Metaphor.”

Remember the basic definition of a metaphor as found in Webster:

Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English methaphor, from Middle French or Latin; Middle French metaphore, from Latin metaphora, from Greek, from metapherein to transfer, from meta- + pherein to bear — more at BEAR
1 : a figure of speech in which a word or phrase literally denoting one kind of object or idea is used in place of another to suggest a likeness or analogy between them (as in drowning in money); broadly : figurative language

I’ll give you the subject matter and you must draw your metaphor (comparing this subject to something else and not using the words “like” or “as” remember….)

Here is your assignment this week…you may make it as long or as short as you would like, if you need additional paper you may raise your hand and I will virtually send one back to your seat.

Your subject is, “What did you do on your summer vacation?”

I’ll even model this for you briefly.

In the midst of rural tennessee, the winter brings with her solitude and wonder, stillness and cool crisp evenings.   We have spent the summer welcoming June and July, bags unpacked, filled with friends and family, who came bursting onto the scene with immense vigor.  They make our home a full scale replica of Grand Central Station…thank God for air conditioning and the  approaching of Fall.

Ready? Begin.

One day while perusing the internet I was struck by a blog called Mary Kay Sucks. As I have stated in my previous posts on this blog I had never sold or even purchased Mary Kay products and yet I was drawn to the site.

So I’ve been spending some time on this blog which is now called Pink Truth, a name which I find now suits the mission much more aptly.

When I began this series and began to spend the time on Pink Truth I really felt as though I had a neutral stance. After all, I had nothing to gain nor lose in this argument. I was Switzerland. It was fun to watch and fun to comment on what I saw.

The truth is, however that I am not sure how one can truly stay neutral in this case. Neutral implies coasting, cruising through without propelling oneself, moving without noise or effort. As I read the stories of these women and those of the women who still engage in Mary Kay Cosmetics I was moved by the tender and fragile synchonicity of the pieces as they moved together. So much depends upon the other.

At the risk of sounding provacative there has existed a symbiotic relationship between MK as a community and MKsucks. When something happens in one universe it directly applies to the other. Sometimes this would be clothing worn by upper ranking consultants, sometimes it would revolve around emails or notices that had gone out but it was a ripple effect. I often wonder, if the ProMk people and MK corporate had just ignored PT would it just have fizzled to a close at some point? If this was merely a small group of “disgruntled” former and current consultants who “didn’t work hard enough” then certainly, the blog itself would have floundered when the participants felt finished with lamenting, yes? We really can only run on the fuel of negativity for so long and then, I believe most of us will meander toward a different avenue.

It’s the television mentality. We can only watch the same show for a length of time and then we get bored, get a life, get interested in something else, get rid of cable…we are a fickle but drama-loving lot and there is much drama to be found if only we look.

But where I feel PinkTruth is headed is much deeper than that. This is not a television show, a fictional program which ends when the film stops or we stop watching, whichever comes first. This is a chronical of the lives of real people; good and bad and in between. It began as a place to gather and has now progressed into a place to greet. The oldtimers in PT wait at the door, no longer terribly concerned with who is wearing what to Seminar, no longer grousing about which products are being discontinued. They wait at the door to greet newcomers. They answer questions patiently if not pointedly. They sit as the wisewoman in their tent, listening to people as they enter and offer their experience as testimony. Make no mistake, they are driven and have purpose but it it not quite as one might think. It is not a drive to destroy but rather rebuild that which they and others have lost. It is not a purpose of revenge but rather of restoration.

As with most things and people, they fail at times. They fall into old trends of catty commentary and joke-making but it becomes more and more incidental as time progresses. It becomes footnote instead of fodder.

I have heard it said that the word “Protestant” as it refers to the Church is no longer relevant. The Protestant Church is truly no longer protesting, they are creating something of their own. In a sense, Pink Truth is doing this as well. They are no longer merely an extension of the community of Mary Kay Constultants, albeit the unhappy arm of the community.

In the face of injustice how do we respond? Can we truly be neutral in this?

When I want to know how much I weigh I use the high tech fat analyzer scale in the closet of my bathroom. Not only do I want to know my weight but I want to know more than that; of what does that weight consist? I want data, raw numbers to interpret and apply to what I know of my body already.

When I worked in the outside world and wanted to gauge my progress I would lookward my peers, co-workers and collegues. I would see what they did, how they acted, how clean or messy their desk appeared and glean from it what I might to become more successful.

In my current profession, that of mother and domestic goddess I often employ the same means of evaluation although it has morphed into a self depreciating and defeating practice.

I visit houses of my friends and always find myself lacking. Jenny’s home is always spotless and her children well groomed. While Pat’s home is not spotless her children are extremely well behaved and she is incredibly creative with them. Tracy’s home is spotless, her children well behaved, she homeschools, grows and cans her own vegetables and is an unbelievably sweet person. It’s no wonder that I am friends with each of these women. They all possess qualities that I admire.

Aside from being my friends these women are in effect my collegues in this business of parenting and house-tending. It is understandable, I suppose, that I would look to them and their ways when I measure myself in this vocation. The struggle for me is to really see their lives without drawing the negative connotations implied in the different ways we run our proverbial ship.

My home is far from spotless. There is a half hearted but well meaning structure for where things belong. There are days when the floors are clean and the bathrooms smell fine, the laundry put away, the dishes done and all is well with the world. Then there are days when the floor is so sticky it’s embarrassing, the dishes piled high in the sink, the children wearing yesterday’s underwear because the laundry is awaiting my attention. And then we find our moments of what I call “Ordinary Time”. Clean clothes that are not yet put away, clean dishes, still in the dishwasher, sweepable floor and merely a thin layer of dust on the bookshelf.

It seems that I keep house the way I homeschool; a somewhat disorganized but well meaning and “organic” manner. There are days when we stay in our pajamas all day and sit around reading and playing with art stuff. There are days when we hit our “schedule” like clockwork and get all of our subjects finished. There are mainly days, though, that fall in between. Ordinary Time. Half the kids are dressed, half in pajamas. Some have brushed their teeth, others staunchly refuse. The dog’s been fed at least once. We finished our math work and part of the required reading for History. The television has been on for far longer than I even care to admit. These are the nights I quiz my husband and require him to tell me that our children will not be permanently damaged by my lack of follow through. His standard response, “They’re great…they really are” is all I need to hear.

Ordinary time, is where we live. These in between days make up the bulk of the year and yet I find that I still feel as though I’m playing catch up. If given the choice between Slouch Time, Ordinary Time and High Time I guess in the end I’d like to be a slouch with a spotless house on a regular basis. I want it all but I don’t REALLY know anyone who can do this and keep her sanity.

I think back upon my three friends to whom I compare myself.

I can look at each of their lives and see how they differ from mine, I could draw unfavorable comparisons to how well I do things, how they lack just to make myself feel better I suppose. But in the long run, when day is over what really strikes me is that I AM friends with each of them because of the qualities they possess; kindness, faithfulness, joyfulness, creativity just to name a few. I admire these qualities because I have them too whether or not I realize this on a regular basis. What brings us together really is seeing those things in each other that we find to be valuable.

My hope is that I begin to use sentances such as, “what I love about Pat is….” rather than “what makes me jealous of Pat is…”

My hope is that I will begin to live in and through this Ordinary Time… and see how it lives in me.

third in an ongoing series…

There is something I should note going forward; Anna is not the only friend with whom I have had this experience. There have been several friends of mine who have struggled with infertility and miscarriage. I can say that almost each time I was pregnant, including miscarriages I walked with a friend who was also pregnant. Three times I went on to deliver a healthy baby and they did not, three times they went on to deliver and I did not. I have also walked with friends who never got pregnant, never miscarried and never stopped desiring motherhood even so.

I find myself skittish now about how to move with other women. This is sad to me. I think, perhaps, what should have come from this relational distress should be a greater understanding of how to find our common language. It is easy to speak Hope, easy to offer up bite sized helpings based on scriptural references. God WILL grant you the desires of your heart, He DOES have plans for you, plans to prosper you, Remember the persistent widow…blah blah blah…easily said. While all of these moments of Hope are genuine, prayed for, shared, they are not always meant to be delivered by someone who has no need for that particular brand of Hope.

I think what would have been life giving would have been for us to operate with Grace as a mediator, rather than Hope. Grace is difficult to speak because Grace operates so often without words. Grace is quiet and still. Grace does not require action but rather waiting and breathing and listening. When Hope enters the room it fills in the empty spaces like expandable foam, entering into the cracks but Grace, Grace is the air we breathe. It is what fuels this “walk beside me empathy” that is required. Hope may be dashed to the rocks when spoken in the silence but Grace is sweet when given, in noise, in quiet, in grief.

What sells? Controversy, action, intrigue, suprise endings…and cosmetics.
Of all the posts I have read this week on MKSucks, the one I am most saddened by is a woman who boasts that she quit her nursing job to focus on her MK business. She reasoned that she would rather leave her job making $40-50 an hour as a nurse to pursue higher income in MK. She is entirely content with her choice and who am I to argue what is best for her and her family, yes?

Unless I am someone who is in need of a skilled nursing professional, what then? My response to her was that I felt it was a loss to the profession of nursing, the world does not need another cosmetics salesperson but we are sorely in need of nurses.

What is it that drives someone to pursue an endeavor such as MK? From reading the ProMK sites it appears to be just as they advertise; wealth, friendship, love, faith and fun. From reading the stories of the women who have been hurt by their MK experience the song is the same…they were in need of some part time income (wealth), some were coming out of a divorce (love), some were enticed by the idea of working for a Christian company (faith), some were just looking for friendship (fun.)

Each woman in the MKsucks stories ended up losing much more than they gained. What is striking though are the similarities in the stories…too much time away from the family, an excess of inventory, feeling trapped by not being able to confide their true emotions, being shunned if they spoke badly of the company and most notable, the debt they incurred. The amount varied from one to another, the greatest amount I saw being $40,000. The interesting thing is that the woman who posted this debt incurred from her MK business was NOT disgruntled. She came to post on Mary Kay Sucks to chide them for their behaviour, to tell them how disgusted she was with the site and to say how happy she was with her MK business. She did not respond to the people who posted after her. Many posts were sympathetic, asking her if she really understood that $40k in debt was indeed an incredibly difficult hole from which to emerge.

The women on MKSucks often make comments about having an impact on Mary Kay Intl. Sometimes the comments take a turn for the worse and degenerate into a comical feeding frenzy but the thread is there, the original hope that this tide will turn the course of that ship.

I don’t know if it’s possible to turn this ship around especially when so many ProMk people seem content with the dream that MK offers, I doubt that Mary Kay Intl. really has an interest in changing course. They are, after all, a corporation. Their main goal is to make money for their shareholders. To make sweeping changes would cost a great deal of money. It remains to be seen if this wave of discontent, fueled by MKSucks and other sites like it, is strong enough to cause more than a little seasickness. Time will tell.

choppy waters ahead….

This is why I don’t watch television. Honestly, I don’t watch television. It’s not because I am standing on some high moral ground, spouting long winded diatribes about the objectification of women, the poor treatment of minorities or the immense level of violence, unnecessary nudity and innuendo we see in television programming for the most part. It’s because I become completely immersed in the stories. They could be half hour long comedy programs, hour long dramas, movies of the week, how to shows, infomercials, even home shopping channels…it doesn’t matter. I sit there with the remote in hand and just gaze in awe and wonder at the sheer amount of absolute garbage I can shovel into my brain. And I love every single minute of it. It’s like candy, no, it’s like Godiva chocolates…no wait, it’s like Godiva Chocolate ICE CREAM.

So as I sit at my computer pretending to do my work I keep two windows open in the background; Mary Kay Sucks, Mary Kay Rocks because it has become my new obsession of sorts. Between the two sites I spend most of my time on MKS to be honest. It has the most action basically, I guess it’s Desperate Housewives meets 20/20. Then I check out MKR on occassion. Because they spend most of their time actually talking “shop” over there though it’s hard to find a discussion that keeps my interest. I have learned a lot about the MK thinking on MKR however. I also like to see if I can identify some common monikers while I am there and find the cross talk. It’s Infomercial meets Antiques Roadshow.

I have been posting on both sites, asking questions and again, marvelling at the complexity of the whole thing. I always come away with an intense impression that this goes so much deeper than it seems. My main thought in each post is to try and see each woman or man who is taking time to write their story. I read the good experience stories, I read the bad experience stories and I even read the ones in between good and bad experiences. The posts which get the most attention obviously are the nasty ones and there are nasty ones, believe me. This is where the ratings go up. It’s sweeps week.

What is interesting is that you won’t find nasty posts on the MKRocks site. Their purpose is to be positive, to show the positive side only. I can understand that. This is their work, their business. They don’t want to spend time defending their company on company time so to speak. They do moderate their posts, as MKSucks does, but at MKrocks they remove or do not allow the negative posts to come through. This gives the impression that the negativity does not exist.

MKSucks, however, will allow the negativity. In fact, she seems to revel in it when it comes from ProMK people. Unfortunately for the ProMK people though, these posts tend to be ill concieved, angry to the point of ferocious, poorly written and downright beligerant.

Now, of course, it is possible that, as some ProMK-ers have suggested, MKSucks only shows the posts from ProMK people who fit this template. I don’t know if I believe that. I have been pouring through the site lately and have seen a great many posters who are polite, well spoken (well written) and ProMK. These posts are usually met with a mixed bag of “thanks for posting, glad your experience was good,” or “You are in the Pink Fog, let us know when it lifts,” or “How can you say that when so and so did this…”

If you walk into a room of recovering alcoholics, people whose lives have been destroyed by the stuff and wave around a bottle of Jack Daniels extolling it’s virtues and telling everyone there how YOU don’t have a problem with drinking and that there must be something wrong with them because they DO…then, I guess you’d get a mixed reaction too, but mostly it would be a bad reaction I’d think.

On the other hand, not all people who drink alcohol are alcoholics, just as not all MK Consultants and directors are corrupt. Everything in moderation I suppose.

more to come…stay tuned…

Second in the series….

I have no comparison for Anna’s experience. There is nothing I can compare, any loss or unfulfilled dream I can imagine that can equal the absence of motherhood. I cannot compare it to never having a car or a house or a career because we are talking not about a “thing” but rather about a human and about a transformation of one’s very being. That may seem like an overstatement but I don’t believe it is.

For someone who desires motherhood the experience of having a child, whether by adoption or biologically, brings with it something which changes forever the fiber of one’s being. Well known humourist, Erma Bombeck once said that to become a parent means forever wearing your heart on the outside of your body. There are very few joyful things in life that cause this degree of vulnerability really. A good friend struggling with infertility said recently that “right now my personal need to mother children is right under breathing, eating and shelter.” It would have been easy for me to take that statement to a place of judgement, to “call her to a higher place” and tell her that it sounded like she was elevating motherhood to an idolatrous level and then what she said next was so beautiful that I was floored. She said that what she needed, what she was desperate for in fact was “walk beside me empathy”. When she said this to me I immediately saw how little I had understood.

All this time with Anna I had been trying to either walk ahead, shouting directions on how she should move, how fast she should walk or just saying “come up here…THIS is where Jesus is!” or I was lagging behind and making myself more deserving of grief than she, “Well, yes, but I’VE suffered too! Can’t you see how much grief I have had??” Now what I really wish I had done was stand next to her, walking as she walked, asking once in a while if she would like to stop and rest and just listening and hearing that it was hard. Walk beside me empathy, Christ on the road to Emmaus.
Of course I have had pain, I have had hard experiences too in the field of fertility but that is not really what comes into play when I am walking with a friend who is suffering. We cannot move our emotional furniture to make space for Joy to live because Grief brings with her some very heavy pieces. All the light in the room is eclipsed by the weight of the fabric on the windows, the need to protect oneself from the glaring daylight of reality, statistics and desperation. The only air to breathe MUST come from a third party in the room.