I haven't blogged for a week and a day.
I missed my absolute favorite holiday in the world.
I have been living in a drugged up fog for the last five days. Vicodin anyone?
That stuff is lethal; but in no way can take the place of a good old fashioned turkey dinner with the house full of people -- which as you may gather by now, G didn't have.
It started out so innocently; just over a week ago, I started having this sensation on my left side of the face, ever so slowly penetrating my lower jaw, and finally culminating to extreme pain in one of my back molars. Excruciating, mind numbing, hyperventilating pain. I got so dizzy I couldn't keep my head up or my eyes open.
Finally reaching enough nerve to turn myself into the dentist the day before Thanksgiving, all they could offer me was drugs and to wait it out over the holiday and very, long weekend. What else was a girl to do. Fine. Give me drugs and send me on my way.
My favorite day was a blur.
Now to be honest, it has been a blur before; normally for reasons of insanity trying to accomplish cooking the bird along with a dozen other side dishes -- perhaps being so bold as to trying something new, testing family and friends with the latest recipe to make brussel sprouts more palatable or tweaking the way we always do sweet potatoes with cardamom or ginger and maybe not even putting marshmallows on top. Going rogue with thanksgiving is one of my favorite things.
Of course, having a few cocktails while cooking...a glass of wine here...another glass of wine there...throw a little in the gravy...and the blur of the day takes on a whole new meaning.
Football in the back ground.
Praying for the night and morning low clouds to turn miraculously into snow showers -- or at the very least a heavy drizzle -- sitting in my second story corner window perched out over the valley, never mind the four rows of freeway below, just keep your eyes above the tree tops and everything will be fine -- a girl can dream here in southern California, a girl can dream.
The best part of thanksgiving this year is that it was a blur and just a mild blip; looking back I don't remember much of anything. I don't even remember if I was sad or if I cried -- and knowing myself, it is more than likely that I was and that I did.
'Oh well', as the old family saying goes; it's a blur. Yay me.
It turns out my favorite holiday became a time of solitude and reflection, albeit drug induced; but what a buzz kill for a girl who loves to celebrate giving thanks with the people I love for all the reasons that this land is great and this country was inherently homemade in a sea of noise and chaos.
It was really quiet.
One thing I did do, once the pain killers and antibiotics kicked in-- which was somewhere between Friday evening and Saturday morning-- I finally resurfaced with the ability to at least read a book...
And all four hundred pages went down like a spoonful of sugar.
In keeping with where G left off, Going Rogue was just what I needed; it was the chocolate pecan pie that I never got to partake, let alone bake.
I tried to keep an open mind; I tried to pretend I didn't already love her; I tried to imagine myself reading it from in the shoes of the intellectual feminist elites, like the Naomi Wolf's of the world (of course, I would have to be one to really know one, which I am not). I don't think it worked, however, I can't think of one critical comment to say.
I loved the fact we get to get inside her head throughout the book with snippets of what she was thinking, little ah ha moments, capturing another dimension of our girl. I loved the fact it went further back describing her family, especially pairing her fathers influences and decisions with how it shaped Sarah. I loved the fact that the family's rituals and sense of tradition run deep. I loved the fact portraying the protective nature of her parents of the days when the children were young -- limiting television and outside media influences, appreciation for books and study, and instilling a true love for the outdoors -- created Sarah into the independent, strong willed, and enterprising American woman we see today.
There is a side of me quite jealous actually. Ever since the summer I was fourteen, when the family was knee-deep in a cold Colorado stream fishing for trout, I wished I could have spent more time outdoors. And here was Sarah -- gorgeous, sweet Sarah -- weaving tales of caribou and moose and salmon catching like it's just what we do, no biggie, up here in Alaska. I'm telling you, this isn't just about lipstick on a pig, this woman is about Paul Bunyan in a dress.
I loved getting dirty learning how to gut a fish on the fly, smelling the evergreen as the wind rustled through the trees, and putting on the stinky ball cap with my hair pulled up underneath. Even though there was a boy in sight who I happened to not be related, it didn't matter. Even though my recollection reminds me he was really cute, it didn't matter. I was letting it all hang out without a care in the world watching my papa take apart beaver dams that were inhibiting the bubbly brook from making its way -- all to wake up the next day and have to start all over again. Damn beavers.
There were moments when Sarah was so spot on with the Alaskan perspective, things like this:
"In Alaska, much of our local news involves natural resource issues, balancing needs with environmental ones...being "green" isn't about wearing Birkenstocks and driving a hybrid; it's about survival."Predominantly within the covers of her memoir was the underlying nuance that she is real -- and no amount of media coverage by Katie or Charlie would ever get that, nor would they ever want to reveal that. I can only hope by now the two of them have read the book and realize the harm done by unilateral attacks on Sarah's character that only they are in the position of correcting -- for the record, of course. But no matter, after spending a couple days inside her head, I don't think it really matters to Sarah -- as like I said on November 23rd, she is so much more than that.
Oh, she's a feminist alright. More feminist than most wanna-be's. She is the real deal. She is the quintessential conservative display of feminism if there ever was one and would put anyone in the N.O.W. to shame. Matter of fact, I think Todd's grandmother -- a Yupik Eskimo elder and first commercial fisher woman on Bristol Bay -- might actually have Sarah beat and while at the age of ninety is still going
What's the difference between liberal feminism and conservative feminism -- the conservative just does it already, like yesterday. No need for fan fare, press releases, discussion groups or legislation changed. The notoriety and attention is actually frowned upon; as all it is is just doing what needs to get done -- it's just doing what we were put on this earth to do -- it's just turning ourselves over to a Higher Power and Higher Purpose under heaven -- doing what we love and loving what we do. Conservative feminism isn't measured by what school we came from or hanging on the answer to a condescending question -- it rests in what we actually do to bring about change -- the good kind of change -- the change you can actually believe in.
I believe in Sarah -- more so than I did yesterday -- and with any luck, will grow in deeper appreciation and respect as time marches on.
I may be just coming out of my thanksgiving fog, but upon the wake of reading all about Sarah, I am humbled by her ability to grow into the American woman we see today. She is three years younger and blows my resume to bits and pieces; she not only has the executive experience to be a presidential candidate, she has the purebred American spirit built into her charismatic mainframe we see gracing the cover of Newsweek and the like. Sarah makes me want to be a better conservative follower, a better American woman myself -- if only to have half of the enterprising energy this woman seems to have going on, just imagine what a little old G could do.
Yes, thanksgiving was a blur, but one thing I'm quite clear about -- we haven't seen the last of the woman from the last frontier. Sarah is like the aurora borealis meets red, white and blue -- if we keep our eyes open and our minds free from preconceived misgivings -- we might witness someone truly wonderful and life changing walking within our midst.
Make it a Good Day, G
Hope you remember to click Dear America...you will love the song and the spirit ...and when you see that big horsey grin, remember G's getting her G back...please be patient and know I'm "not retreating, just reloading" AND Read Sarah's book. It's a whole new world.
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