Peace

One year ago today, my friend's six-year-old daughter drowned in Otsego Lake during a church outing.

I attended her funeral. It was beautiful in ways I had not expected. Many shared anecdotes. And because kindergartners say and do some pretty ridiculous things, most of the stories were amusing and sweet. At the end of the service, everyone sang "You Are My Sunshine."

Please don't take my sunshine away.

2009 was mean to my friends. So many really terrible things happened to them, and they're only in their early twenties. A few months before Aileen died, a friend of mine lost both her mom and brother suddenly (which was especially tragic because her dad died in 2007). Another friend's house burned down, and she presented her honors thesis three weeks later, as scheduled. She's unstoppable. They all are.

I know some of the world's most resilient people. They're honest and open; they don't pretend that what they've been through was easy (one of them referred to 2009 as "the biggest pile of shit ever"). But they've managed to keep going, and I admire that so much, because that same year, I freaked out over things that were not nearly as awful as what my friends experienced. (Not that I should compare myself to others: we all have our ways of dealing with things.)

Cheesy as it sounds, all of this made me realize just how much I have. Stealing a line from the late Rachel Corrie, I've just been trying to "act out of love, not anger or ego--especially with political stuff." And I like to think it makes a little bit of a difference. If nothing else, I've got a lot of inner peace and just want to share it with everyone, because it's wonderful.

Last week, a friend (the one whose house burned down, actually) helped me bake a "peace cake" (pictured above). And we shared it with people on the SVSU campus. I left a huge slice with one of my friends and found out later that she shared it with two people I don't happen to like very much. It made my day.

The world isn't perfect. BP is destroying the Gulf of Mexico. People talk shit about each other all the time. But there are incredible people on this earth. And I think we all have the capacity to be one.

I'll close with my favorite line from one of the songs I've been listening to lately.

"At this point in my life, I'd like to live as if only love mattered: as if redemption was in sight, as if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs--no matter if you find it." - Tracy Chapman, "At This Point in My Life"

RIP, Rue McClanahan (1934-2010)

I heard on the news that Rue McClanahan passed away this morning after a massive stroke.

The Golden Girls is my favorite show. It's a slap in the face of ageism; where else on TV do you see women their age playing something other than someone's grandmother?

In 2008, Estelle Getty--who portrayed sassy Sophia on the show--died. When The Golden Girls premiered in 1985, Getty was only in her early sixties. As Sophia though, she got to live it up well into her eighties. So it made me really sad to hear that at eighty-four, she died after a battle with dementia, of all things.

I find McClanahan's death just as ironic as Getty's. She was over a decade younger than her costars (including Betty White, who just last month, hosted SNL at the age of 88).

I am going to spend the rest of the day watching reruns of The Golden Girls and eating cheesecake.

"It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw. I've gone to look for America."

Last night I was a featured reader at the monthly "Free Speech, Spoken Word, Music, and Open Mic" event at Espresso Express in Bay City. Directly afterward, I drove to my parents' house in Grosse Pointe, where I'll be living until I figure out what the hell I want to do with the rest of my life.

I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend my last few hours in the Bay City/Saginaw region of the state. So many great people turned up: my parents, former Cardinal Sins editors, people who teach (or have taught) at SVSU, plus a few friends I've made recently and wish I'd gotten to know earlier than I did.

And at the end of the night, my friend Ben got up to the microphone, picked up a guitar and said, "This is dedicated to Amelia." He then busted out a medley of Lady GaGa songs. (!!!)

At some point during the winter 2010 semester, I decided not to return to SVSU in the fall. And it's funny: once the decision was made, I was suddenly at peace with myself. I was happy with my decision to leave, but not particularly anxious to get going. I spent my last few months in Saginaw enjoying my classes, my job as editor-in-chief of Cardinal Sins, and the company of those I've met since I enrolled at SVSU nearly three years ago.

Quite the contrast from how I went about things during the fall 2009 semester, right? I stopped worrying about things (or--more accurately--I worried less about things). And stuff still somehow managed to fall into place. I did well in my classes, and was really proud of this semester's issue of Cardinal Sins.

And I had a hell of a lot of fun as well. I got to spend a day hanging out with Bonnie Jo Campbell when she came to campus [insert fan girl giddyness here]. I took part in a spontaneous game of kickball (never mind that I suck epically at kickball). And late one night, I helped a friend paint "the rock" outside the freshman dorms for his LGBTQ lit class. As he put it, it was our last chance to "make a mark" before I left at the end of the semester.

All's well that ends well, right? I'm glad I came to SVSU, and I'm even glad I stuck around as long as I did. But at the same time, I am content with my decision to move on.

What's next? I'm not sure. (That's right. For once, I lack a solid plan.) While I love and will never abandon writing, I'm not so sure I want to major in it. I thought about running off to save the world for a year while I figured out what I wanted to do instead, but I can't imagine not being in school for the first time since I was but a wee babe. So I'll be at Wayne State in Detroit. I can't justify going to an out-of-state school unless I find a program I love (especially since money is tight right now--my dad's no longer working full time and we lost our health insurance). I don't know what I want to do, so I figured I'd just live with my parents & get my BA from Wayne State. And I'm going to pretend I have enough money to travel. I know the I-75 a little too well, and can't picture myself spending my whole life in Michigan.

But I could be wrong. If you told a younger version of myself that I'd someday want to pursue something other than writing, she'd laugh in your face and tell you to stop telling filthy lies. :-)

Crazy, crazy. We're all crazy.

It's the week before finals, but oddly, I don't feel too out of whack. I mean, I'm stressed. But I'm not overwhelmed.

This semester's issue of Cardinal Sins was released to the pubic on Monday. The night before the post-publication reception, I realized that even though it's the most exasperating thing I've ever done, I really will miss being editor-in-chief. A sign I've grown? I like to think so.

Another reason I'm not as stressed out as everyone else is right now: Last semester, I was a mess. Every week felt like the week before final exams. I'm calmer now; things are back in perspective. I've spent the winter semester getting my ducks in a row. Apologizing constantly for what's over & done. If you freak out, you're not supposed to show it.

Right now I'm reading _My Sister, My Love_ by Joyce Carol Oates. It satirizes social climbing parents in affluent suburbs. And I grew up in Grosse Pointe, so I think it's hilarious & brilliant.

The thing about JCO: Her characters are all so friggin' bizarre. And yet, she writes so well and so honestly about people. I think we're all a whole lot crazier than we let on.

Guess I shouldn't be too hard on myself for being honest.

If you're going to be a bigot, I'm going to be a "spaz."

My sister has this bad habit of saying "you're so gay" when she means to refer to something as "dumb." She uses the n-word with alarming regularity. And today I said something to which she responded, "You're such a Jew."

I always call her out on it. And her response is always the same: "Stop being such a spaz."

This morning our parents were sitting there with us when I called her out on it. Paige again told me to "stop spazzing." I went on about how I was quite serious, and wouldn't have bothered to call her out had I not found the comment offensive.

My parents then told me to stop overreacting, because it's "just a phrase" that doesn't mean anything.

Well, cool. If it's just a phrase without meaning, could you remove it from your vocabulary, then? Because it obviously won't be missed.

Bay City Gallery Walk - 04/01/2010

I'll be reading some of my poems tomorrow evening, April 1, 2010, sometime between 5 and 8 p.m. at Ward Studio, 904 N. Water Street in downtown Bay City, Michigan.

I would love to see you there. :-)

The case for children's/YA lit

Every now and then I wander up to the fourth floor of SVSU's library, where the children's/YA books are kept. I do this whenever I'm especially stressed out. (Ahem--like when Cardinal Sins is due to press within a week...)

Anyway, not only is that part of the library so quiet I can hear myself breathe, but for some reason or another, looking through the books I read when I was younger never fails to make me feel entirely at peace with myself.

Nothing irritates me more than people who disregard children's/YA lit just because they no longer fall within the age range of its targeted audience. I'm an avid reader as an adult because I fell in love with reading when I was a kid. So even now, I go back and read books targeted toward elementary/middle school-aged readers.

My all-time favorite YA author is Han Nolan, who won a National Book Award in 1997 for her novel _Dancing on the Edge_. I read that book when I was twelve years old and loved it. The protagonist was so well-developed that I actually found myself sharing her mindset. For that reason, I was as caught off-guard as she was by the things that happened to her. Psychological mindfuck, for the win--something that can only be pulled off by one hell of a good writer.

In 2006, Nolan released a new YA novel: _The Summer of Kings_. I found it in the library at my high school and, remembering how much I had loved _Dancing on the Edge_, picked it up and read it. I was surprised by how much I still loved Nolan's writing. By that time, I was 18 and reading books targeted toward adults.

Since then, I've gone back and read a few more of Nolan's books. _Send Me Down a Miracle_ and _If I Should Die Before I Wake_ are just as good as the ones I mentioned above. I think she appeals to me just as much now as she did when I was younger because she doesn't underestimate her audience. She's very political, but equally subtle: something I admire a lot in any writer who explores that territory. The fact that she does so successfully while writing for young teenagers is pretty astounding.

I probably wouldn't be reading Han Nolan as an adult had I not first read her when I was in middle school. Knowing that has made me go looking for books I never got around to reading as a kid, and I've come across some pretty interesting stuff.

You might too. Go read some YA lit (or some other genre you wouldn't normally pick up off the shelf). You just might surprise yourself. :-)

Addendum, 03/25/2010:

I just found out that Han Nolan will be releasing a new book this fall!