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redbearded_celt
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Name: eugene
Gender: Male
Interests: books, movies, and strong ale
Expertise: literature
Occupation: having conversations
Message: message me
Member Since:
5/22/2007
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| She is the great-granddaughter of German, Welsh, and Scottish immigrants. She was raised on the east side of Indianapolis in what used to be an Irish neighborhood. By her own choice she went to one of the toughest schools in the downtown area. To date she is the only person I have ever seen deck my father, and he didn’t retaliate. She has a terribly accurate and powerful right hook, tough as nails in the face of life’s stresses and tragedies, has a sharp tongue that lacerated any whom she did not like, but gentle and welcoming to those she cared for. She is my mother.
A friend recently said to me that I am a momma’s boy. I told her that I was no sissy, and she knew better than that. She explained that in light of my mom’s personality, me being a momma’s boy, does not mean I have a soft character. I had to concede to that.
My mom was always around us three kids (she took in my cousin, and treated her as her own, because my aunt was too self-absorbed to be a mother), and would take us places downtown. One of my favorite haunts was The Children’s Museum. I loved looking at the dinosaurs, and seeing actual fossils, but that was only a precursor to the real treat. On the fifth floor is the science section, and the merry go around that was from 100 years ago. So there I am, eight years old, and I was wide eyed at the wonders. There were experiments in optical illusion with a little house that was designed to look longer than it appeared on the outside. Then there was stuff with the static electricity where you could you put your hands on this metallic orb, and all the hair on your body would rise. It was interactive learning, and I would devour every moment I spent there.
When we were finished with the science section, the final treat would be the 100-year old merry go round. There were horses that bobbed up and down, or there were stationary horses, and a bench you could sit on while you went in a circle. It was at this time, I fell in love with knowledge, and I wanted to know every single thing about the world around me. Mom always referred to that to us kids as “doing something special;” and looking back it was special indeed.
Last summer I took Carrie to The Children’s Museum along with my mom, dad, my cousin, and her family. I shared with her one of the few good parts of my childhood, and even took her to the fifth floor. I was overwhelmed with nostalgia, and a little bit of jealousy. I saw little kids, having the same fun with the interactive learning that I had, and wanted to join in the fun. Then, I took Carrie over to the merry go round, and she expressed the same wonder, I had expressed so many years ago.
However, things were a little strained as I got older. Because we have similar personalities it made the fighting scary. Mom wouldn’t back down and say something. I wouldn’t back down and say something. One upping the other, and what would happen is we would seek to tear the other down by any means necessary. Last man standing won is how we fought. When we clashed the knives would come out, and my brother and dad would leave the room. Sometimes I won, and she would go on in silence and sulk, or it was the other way around. It was vicious, and not something I would want to go into great detail. However, I did hone my arguing and debating skills in that atmosphere.
Oh, but God help us if we were both sick. We don’t want to be around other people when we’re sick, and we certainly don’t have the patience for other people when we’re sick…especially each other.
I was twenty two, and it was a Saturday afternoon. I was sick, and my mom had the same thing. I went into the kitchen to get some food. Mom was at the counter making her tuna salad for later on in the evening. When I walked in, she started yelling at me, and picked at me while I decided on what to eat. It was uncalled for, and I was in no mood. I slammed the refrigerator door, and roared "“Goddamnit it, mom! Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch?!” I stormed out of the kitchen, and went into my room to listen to some death metal while I calmed down. It took about twenty minutes, and when I came out, she was still in the kitchen making food. I got a bowl of cereal, and I sat at the table brooding in silence while eating. She came up behind me, and said “I guess we don’t get along too well when we’re sick do we?” I said “Nope.” And continued eating. This level of fighting and arguing played a part with the relationship I have with Carrie.
A year ago, we had a vicious argument after we had finished shopping. She said something that hit below the belt. I kept quiet. Not from amazement or hurt, but I had several things forming in my head that would have reduced her to tears. I did not bite my tongue, but I reminded myself that Carrie is not wired like my mother, and I would not respond the way I wanted to. The outcome would have cost me a very good friend, and I wasn’t about to risk it.
When we came home, Carrie stormed into the bedroom, and slammed the door. I put on some black metal, and proceeded to put away the groceries. I could hear her ranting and raving about how much of an asshole I am, then there was a long silence, and finally a short mumble. When she came out of the room, I had just finished with the groceries, and she was wide eyed. She had told me that she spent the whole time venting to my mother about me. I nodded my head in acknowledgement. She said “Your mother told me the stories about how you two used to fight, and my worst thing to you was you and your mom getting warmed up.” I agreed, and I told her that was exactly why I kept quiet.
Nowadays, my mother and I have a better relationship; an adult relationship. There has been maybe one slip up between the two of us in the last year, and it wasn’t anything major. While there is that kind of relationship between us, she is still mom. However, because my mother has grown more as a person, she has become mom to the twenty-somethings that live in her apartment building. Her official position in the complex is Hall Monitor, which is the go to person in the apartment building. This person will take the issues the residents have, and present them to the manager at a monthly meeting. Which she does, but she goes many steps further.
She checks on the twenty-somethings to make sure they are ok, and that they are eating. If she has extra food, or my dad’s diet changed that week due to doctor’s orders, she will take the excess, and give the food to whoever wants it. Of course, because they are twenty-somethings, they will get a little rambunctious, and a little too loud. She will go to the loud person, and in her own way, peacefully tell them to lower the volume. To which the response is a stammering "Y-Y-Yes, ma’am. Y-Y-Yes, Mrs. Smith.” It made me laugh. I asked her “Ma, did you have some kind of body language that intimidated them?” She said “No, I just told them politely that I am old, I have no life, and would they please keep it down.” That’s who she is, and if I am a momma’s boy, I can’t think of a better person than her to call mom.
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| I just learned today that my "truth and understanding" blog insulted somebody because they thought that I had blogged at them. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I used a conversation that I had with this particular person as an example to illustrate my point. If you have read that blog, you would know that at the end, I pointed the finger at myself since I am just as guilty as the examples I used. The sad thing is, I heard of the offense through the grapevine. I just scratched my head, because I don't understand why this person didn't call me, or ask me face to face about what I had written. I wasn't angered just perplexed.
I write as a hobby, and not professionally, but I do adopt a manner that is common in professional writers: they write about what they observe. I myself became an unnamed example in a friend's blog on relationships, and didn't think once that he blogged at me; although, I was a bit embarrassed at myself, but even then that wasn't his point. I don't blog at people, and I most certainly don't blog at friends if I have an issue with them. If I have an issue with a person, I say it right then and there to the person's face. Those who genuinely know me will tell you that my aggression is anything but passive.
On the other side of the coin, however, when I have received texts or even been blogged about by another person, I pick up the phone and call the person to find out how I angered them. Maybe it's just my personality, and that bluntness and directness are as natural to me as breathing. Maybe what I say hits nerves, or catches others off guard because they're not used to a personality like that. Whatever the case may be if I offend you by how I write call me, or speak to me face to face. I would like to know how I caused an offense, or insult when I could easily point out to you that I did neither. Having these kinds of conversations will help me to improve my communication, help me to understand the person who is offended, and would give the offended person an understanding of me.
I think the question comes down to whether or not one likes to nurse a self-righteous grudge. Hell, I'm guilty of it too, and I have a couple of brothers who have no qualms giving me a kick in the pants to bring me to my senses. If insulted, I roar at the person who did the insulting by telling them what I think of them, where they can go, and help them on their way. As a Christian that is not a good thing to do. St. Paul states that when insulted or offended we should approach that brother or sister, and tell them what they did to us in all gentleness. That gentleness in turn will make it easier for that brother or sister to see the error of what they did, and seek forgiveness from you and God. Obviously these are words I don't want to hear, but then this way can lead to a very lonely existence. Whether you roar and debase the person, or go the passive aggressive route of talking to other people instead of the person who insulted or offended it is unacceptable behavior. Seeking peace is the only option. | | |
| Saturday, I observed a conversation between three people. One does a voice that "sounds black," and as a name to go with that voice: Leroy. This person wouldn't do it around black people, and said so as he was being prompted by three of his friends. He added that he do it around "them" meaning black people since there was a black person sitting two tables over from them. The response from one of those friends was "Oh, they would think you're a wigger." I was absolutely disgusted with the behavior, and it sent me over the top when I heard that word. I told the person to not say that because it was disgusting and deplorable. In retrospect, I think that I should have clarified why I was a little hostile in my offense.
I grew up on the east side of Indianapolis, and the schools I went to were half black, and half white over all. By default, I had some black friends just because of mutual interest. I am ignorant of black culture, but I did learn early on that there is a difference between n____r and n___a, and that as a white kid, I had no business or right to say it. White people now, and in times passed have used n____r to put down, oppress, and malign black people. The word itself means ignorant trash which is how white people have labeled, and even stereotyped black people. So what do you think it means when a white person observes another white person acting what they think is black, and calls the person "acting" black a wigger? What they are doing is taking a stereotype they have of black people, and applying it to a white person they see acting that stereotype by dropping the N and replacing it with a W. That's disgusting. That's deplorable. Which is what I think of racial prejudice, and stereotypes. | | |
| My new favorite drink at starbucks is the apple juice infusion with chai tea. Funny thing is I was doing something similar a couple months before. Besides myself, my friend gRegor keeps a healthy stockpile of many different teas; and just recently he discovered the joy of loose leaf tea...much stronger(yum!). Every now and then he will have apple cider mix. One evening while watching movies with him and a few other people the thought crossed my mind of making hot apple cider, and then putting two stash raspberry green tea bags to steep. It was a wonderful combination! A match made in heaven!
Something similar happened when I was seven. Two of the things I hated most was gelatin, and apple juice. The hatred for gelatin came from my great-grandmother. Whenever my brother or I got sick, Mom took us over to our great-grandmother's side of the house. She had recipes, and remedies from her father and in-laws who came across the pond. When I had a bad cough, she would put honey on a tray with some lemon juice, and bake it then give it to me to help my throat. However, when the sickness was in my stomach she put gelatin into cranberry juice, and made me drink it. I was so revolted, I vomited in front of her. So I was given tomato juice, she marched me down the hallway to her bed, told me to get in, and in a gravelly scot accent told me to "lay down, and quit your whinin'! You'll be feeling better soon enough."
The apple juice? I absolutely hated the taste; and so did my brother. We liked the junk food...especially the sugar. You would have had an easier time training a cat than getting us to eat right. In my seventh year, my mother was exasperated, and through that she thought of an effective plan. My brother and I love jello. It was like kool-aid, but kind of solid and fun. So she borrowed some gelatin from my grandmother, mixed it with apple juice, and put it in the fridge for a few hours. When it was ready she asked us if we would like some jello. We cheered as a seven year old and a four year old could, and she brought two golden jiggly squares into our eager hands. We scarfed it down quickly, and said "That was good mom!" She looked at us triumphantly, and said "You just had apple juice you little bastards! How do you like that?" I felt tricked, and somewhat betrayed, but those feelings passes quickly because I really liked the "jello." Thus began my enjoyment of apple juice.
How I used to view apple juice, and gelatin is the same way I view religion, and philosophy. There is a use to them, and I have devoured the books out of ravaging hunger and necessity, but they left me unfulfilled. While I receive good points, and a way to see the world differently, I find that it doesn't change my present situation. I read the likes of N.T. Wright, Brian Mclaren, Tony Campolo, and Ken Wilber to name just a few, and I enjoy their works. However, I think of their words, and how they aren't struggling the same way I am struggling. Day by day, I don't know about shelter, food, and clothing...the basics. Granted, I am not struggling to the same extent as most people are right now, but I do have questions.
My impression is that the people who have a thought or two about religion or philosophy are not struggling like this, and I wonder how their ideas are going to do something basic like pay my rent. In light of the questions I have, and the books I have read, I have come to the conclusion that in order for religion or philosophy to work it must be practical. As Hans Kung put it in his On Being A Christian it is "common sense without illusion." Practical theology. Practical philosophy. To put it on the level, I think that the apple juice infusion with chai from starbucks is a good illustration of that. If you have ever had chai tea, you will know of the spicy, holy goodness it is. Is there anything healthy about it? Eh, maybe...maybe not; but it is good to the senses. Apple juice is good for you, helps your body to function properly, but is sweet to the taste.
That is why I think that practicality is necessary for religion and philosophy. you have the intellectual satisfaction, and enjoyment with a practicality that is realistic and easily applicable. Something for every person no matter their station in life. Because the strength of these views is determined by the strength of the harshness and doubt we face in this life, and not by the comfort we feel. | | |
| My new favorite drink at starbucks is the apple juice infusion with chai tea. Funny thing is I was doing something similar a couple months before. Besides myself, my friend gRegor keeps a healthy stockpile of many different teas; and just recently he discovered the joy of loose leaf tea...much stronger(yum!). Every now and then he will have apple cider mix. One evening while watching movies with him and a few other people the thought crossed my mind of making hot apple cider, and then putting two stash raspberry green tea bags to steep. It was a wonderful combination! A match made in heaven!
Something similar happened when I was seven. Two of the things I hated most was gelatin, and apple juice. The hatred for gelatin came from my great-grandmother. Whenever my brother or I got sick, Mom took us over to our great-grandmother's side of the house. She had recipes, and remedies from her father and in-laws who came across the pond. When I had a bad cough, she would put honey on a tray with some lemon juice, and bake it then give it to me to help my throat. However, when the sickness was in my stomach she put gelatin into cranberry juice, and made me drink it. I was so revolted, I vomited in front of her. So I was given tomato juice, she marched me down the hallway to her bed, told me to get in, and in a gravelly scot accent told me to "lay down, and quit your whinin'! You'll be feeling better soon enough."
The apple juice? I absolutely hated the taste; and so did my brother. We liked the junk food...especially the sugar. You would have had an easier time training a cat than getting us to eat right. In my seventh year, my mother was exasperated, and through that she thought of an effective plan. My brother and I love jello. It was like kool-aid, but kind of solid and fun. So she borrowed some gelatin from my grandmother, mixed it with apple juice, and put it in the fridge for a few hours. When it was ready she asked us if we would like some jello. We cheered as a seven year old and a four year old could, and she brought two golden jiggly squares into our eager hands. We scarfed it down quickly, and said "That was good mom!" She looked at us triumphantly, and said "You just had apple juice you little bastards! How do you like that?" I felt tricked, and somewhat betrayed, but those feelings passes quickly because I really liked the "jello." Thus began my enjoyment of apple juice.
How I used to view apple juice, and gelatin is the same way I view religion, and philosophy. There is a use to them, and I have devoured the books out of ravaging hunger and necessity, but they left me unfulfilled. While I receive good points, and a way to see the world differently, I find that it doesn't change my present situation. I read the likes of N.T. Wright, Brian Mclaren, Tony Campolo, and Ken Wilber to name just a few, and I enjoy their works. However, I think of their words, and how they aren't struggling the same way I am struggling. Day by day, I don't know about shelter, food, and clothing...the basics. Granted, I am not struggling to the same extent as most people are right now, but I do have questions.
My impression is that the people who have a thought or two about religion or philosophy are not struggling like this, and I wonder how their ideas are going to do something basic like pay my rent. In light of the questions I have, and the books I have read, I have come to the conclusion that in order for religion or philosophy to work it must be practical. As Hans Kung put it in his On Being A Christian it is "common sense without illusion." Practical theology. Practical philosophy. To put it on the level, I think that the apple juice infusion with chai from starbucks is a good illustration of that. If you have ever had chai tea, you will know of the spicy, holy goodness it is. Is there anything healthy about it? Eh, maybe...maybe not; but it is good to the senses. Apple juice is good for you, helps your body to function properly, but is sweet to the taste.
That is why I think that practicality is necessary for religion and philosophy. you have the intellectual satisfaction, and enjoyment with a practicality that is realistic and easily applicable. Something for every person no matter their station in life. Because the strength of these views is determined by the strength of the harshness and doubt we face in this life, and not by the comfort we feel. | | |
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