Hillbillies

This post was initiated, or more accurately instigated by me turning on the TV to a showing of 1993′s feature film:  The Beverly Hillbillies .

First of all, did you know that Elly May is the same actress that plays?…well a lot of people on different TV series. And she looks like the original Buffy. But she ain’t.

Or that the grungy neighbor from Office Space is both Jethro and the sweet, albeit terrifying transsexual cousin?

How about the kicker: Jed is Ernest from Ernest  series?

That plus Lily Tomlin, in any role, kicks tail.

Okay but yeah, anyway, none of that is the point. The point is the movie was on for about 30 seconds before I realized OHMYSTARSANDGARTERS, these people are NOT that big of an exaggeration.

Stacy and Tracy may take this wrong, and I hope they don’t, but the Granny character is a LOT like my own dear old Tennessee granny. In fact I almost choked up with nostalgies over how their voices are the same. NOSTALGY TEARS OVER THE BEVERLY HILLBILLIES, Y’ALL.

Then there’s the fact that my daddy watches the original series. Like, all the time. He’s seen every episode (also Bonanza and Little House and I don’t know what else but a LOT of things).  So of course the music reminds me of him.

I hear tell that daddy can also (or could) do the crazy hillbilly type dancing that I know you don’t think exists, but it does, even though I have never seen the man animated, mama says his legs can kick up in all kinds of crazy ways if there’s a fiddle and and a banjo in the band.

The various wedding attendants from the end of the movie reminded me of the COUNTLESS people daddy introduces me to every time I’m there. It always goes something to the tune of:

“Manda, you remember ______.”

“No, no sir, I don’t.”

“He/She’s kin to you.”

“Oookay.” (i don’t say it disrespectfully, I just don’t EVER know what to say and USUALLY the person is right there, looking at me, equally confused about why this tan young woman has blue hair and is eating breakfast with Timmy.)

“They are your third cousin on your uncle so-and-so’s side from his second marriage back in the 70′s.” I’m not joking. It’s always so random and what makes it more confusing is usually, he can’t remember what my major was in college, but he sure can tell me how I’m related to EVERY person in town whenever I go there.

Now, let me clear this up: NOT EVERYONE IN TENNESSEE IS A HILLBILLIE. Not all of my relatives there are hillbillies. But bygollygeewillikers some are and some are and I’m related to a portion. or most. or all.

And this little mexibilly girl is grateful for ALL her heritage. Including the part I recall most from watching a ficitional but apt portrait from vintage American Television.

::It’s funny that in scheduling a lot of these old posts, this fell just after yesterday’s post about family….I spend a lot of time thinking about family, I suppose.::

it hurts to ask

::If you are related to me, I want to say something before you read the rest of this. I want to say that I love you, and I’m just a student trying to embrace where she came from, appreciate all the positive, mourn the negative, and understand what it all means. I am a meaning maker. And no amount of mourning, incredulity, or pattern-counting means that I reject, dismiss, or demean you. I love you, not what you’ve done or what you believe. And sometimes that’s hard. You know what, be honest: it’s hard to love me sometimes, too, based on what I say, do or believe. Okay, read on.::

 

I had to do a genogram. again. for class.

 

It’s like a family tree.

 

And it’s exhausting. For me and for those I’m calling, facebooking, texting. (Thanks Daddy, Tia, Gamma, and allllll my cousins.)

 

Do you know how many family members I DON’T know? And I only did two generations. Mine and my parents, and I included their parents but not siblings. I.E. my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. In addition to being huge and complicated, this project has been encouraging and devastating. Encouraging because I am stricken with how incredibly blessed I am to not have fallen prey to generational patterns of broken relationships, but devastating to see how far this brokenness extends. For example: out of the 47 relationships that were not ended by the death of one partner, only 7 are still intact, and only 4 of those are with couples who report to genuinely enjoy each other, and enjoy being married.

 

Let me ask you:  how exactly does one bring things up like, “Hey Uncle Soandso, you know that third illegitimate child (awful term) from the third woman who you weren’t married to, what’s his name?” On facebook. That’s how. Because I, like a coward, have spent the last 10 years making off-handed comedic remarks about family and running from them. Because in (I PROMISE) a way that has nothing to do with judgement, I want to scream “THIS IS NOT OKAY! This is not how children grow and thrive. These are not the patterns we should pass on.” But it’s the pattern they’ve seen. And it’s the thing they don’t question.

 

Seriously. Do you know how many divorces I can count on this tree? 10.

Dissolved relationships involving children (or not even relationships, as some of these children are the fruits of …shall we say passion?) NINETEEN. Nineteen times people have had kids but not gotten married or stayed together.

Of only four currently deceased within the generations I listed, two deaths were as a result of  suicide. Two currently in prison. I cannot even tell you how many have been in prison. I also cannot tell you how many affairs are not on the damnable thing because I just don’t want to go there.

I have question marks. Literally, people un-accounted-for. Because rumor and story have secured that they existed. But no one can tell me where or who they are.

Abortions are also not listed. But there are at least three. 27 children born outside of marriage. There are only 90 people total. Only 13 of those listed in the tree were born in (or shortly before) and are still in families with married parents

So what I’m saying is, from my current standpoint, one that does not celebrate the dominant narrative but very much believes in and prizes covenant marriage, fighting for children, honesty and hard work, in relationships, redemption and restoration and the value of keeping promises, I am broken hearted over the legacy I see.

 

HOW?! How do I mourn this without coming off as judgemental? Because I’m not mad at my grandparents for the fourteen partners they have among them (as opposed to the standard four). But I am torn up about it. I do see that you cannot go through what my family has gone through without a very intense lack of security. For some, it came out in blatant anxiety. (Like for me.) For others, it came out in a laissez-faire attitude or complete lack of respect for authorities. (I’d do better to count how many relative have NOT been arrested than those that have. Not to throw anyone under the bus. I’ve been arrested too.)  I do want to ask, “How did this affect you? How does it change the understanding you have of promise, or commitment? How did it affect the kids?”

Because it does, y’all. It does. I grew up knowing only this. Only broken relationships. Only the “We’re together until we’re not together anymore” model. AND IT CHANGED ME. I grew up cynical and sure that love was a joke, something for suckers. I had no concept of permanancy.
And because I love them. I usually suck at showing it (I’ve been “home” once in the past three years) but I value them and appreciate the inherent value of their humanity as well as the fact that generally, they are fun. They’ve done a hell of a job loving me. I tell you what, my family is not a judgey family. Say what you will, but I don’t get a lot of time talking to people with planks in their eyes. And they let me say and do and think what I want. And they have taught me so much about overcoming obstacles (these people are FIGHTERS), about approaching life with a smile, about questioning and FIGHTING FOR THE OPPRESSED. These are values I learned from the same relatives who embody everything listed above. God uses broken vessels, people.

 

And no one should be shamed for their past. Shame isn’t gospel-oriented. Justice meets grace, that’s gospel-oriented.

 

I called one relative and asked, “Could you help me with dates about marriage and divorce?”

 

“No,” she said, “I can tell you when the kids were born, but I don’t want to talk about the rest.” She spoke the rest of the conversation in pain. She said with her words as much as she did with her silence, or subject-changing. No one wants to look back (especially with an aspiring therapist) and recount the relationships that can only ever be labeled “failed”

 

I am hopeful in the source of all hope, but I am also mourning what society knows and my genogram shows.

 

“It Sounds Shallow” (never underestimate the beard)

I was talking with my friend the other day who was describing the guy she was dating (or, perhaps more accurately, ONE of the guys she was dating. I like to assert that all “oh he’s just my friend” obliviousness I get is from her) and based on what she was saying, it sounded like she really liked him. Until she said, “but I don’t really like him.”

Oh. Okay. “Well, what don’t you like about him?”

“This is going to sound shallow. But, he’s short! And he’s just not attractive.”

“That only sounds shallow because it is.”

“Yeah well…. I still go out with him.”

So I’m feeling pretty high-and-mighty about how my friend is sooooo shallow and lo and behold, like he does, my sweet Love shows me how I’m a big fat sinner who needs grace and needs to give grace and oh yeah, i shouldn’t be judgmental and OH YEAH, I do the exact same thing.

For backstory and to alleviate the tension I’m feeling for being such a jackwaggon, lemme give you some details. You know how they say every girl wants to marry her daddy? Something to the tune of you see your dad as perfect and look for in men the things you love in him? Poppycock!! Except that I have noticed more and more as time goes on that some of the very key things I identify as “daddyisms” (beard. guitar. deep voice. tattoos) are the things I’m most attracted to. :: amended. now there is the respectable hottness to account for::

So a few months ago, when I started (and have since ended) dating this guy, we were talking on the phone because he was out of town, and he said, “I shaved my beard.”

To which I replied “Oh my gosh are you serious?! GROSS!”

and he said, “No, I’m not serious, is that really how you’d respond?”

“Uhm…yes. Apparently, it’s exactly how I’d respond. NEVER underestimate the beard.”

And then later, I was facebook searching for someone and I came across a picture of an ex boyfriend, only he was scruffly when I dated him and in this picture, his face was NAKED. And for maybe the only time I’ve ever seen him, I thought, “Wow. I don’t find him attractive AT ALL. Thank God. I know he’s going to be in town for Christmas and if his face is naked like this, I got nothing to worry about.”

Yes, I thought that. Ugh.

Because I’m a shallow shallow creature.

So I Write About Dudes

I hadn’t thought much about this until the great “are you dating Aaron? cause those pics on facebook are soooo cute” debacle of very early 2012, followed  closely by the great “Oh my gosh what are people gleaning from my social media” re-evaluation of early 2012.

But i blog a LOT more about my male friends than I do about my female friends. Which is a bit counter-intuinitve as I want to guard against the mis-perception that people often get that either

a) i’m dating one of them or

b) i spend a significant amount of one-on-one time with different men.

Which, I don’t want people to think because

a) I don’t want to date any of my friends. If i did, i certainly wouldn’t pussyfoot around the issue. In all likelihood I’d blush on the inside, and run away muttering something about some obscure pop culture reference or quoting Shakespeare, but I would NOT be hanging out with them, nonchalantly. I’m not that smooth, pplfriends. PLUS, in the very wise words of my belle “Ritz, what if some handsome bearded man wanted to ask you on a date but he thought you were already dating Aaron?” GOOD POINT!

also,

b) I don’t think it’s wise for single, even moderately attractive (that sounds silly, i mean someone you could EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE find attractive) opposite-sex people to spend a significant amount of time in intimate or close settings, and for those who take me as an example (and some people do) i don’t want to give the impression that it’s a good idea.

So why do I blog the way I blog with dudes? Two answers:

First, because it’s really like 15 different male friends who I see maybe once a month to once a year each, so it SEEMS like a lot, but it’s not, so I blog about them because the time we spend is fun and usually has funny stories, which I always want to share because the world needs more consensual touch and more funny. (The consensual touch isn’t related to my dudefriends, i just strongly believe the world would run better if people had more good touch, and less bad.)

Second, it’s not really that I blog that much about my male friends, it’s that I DONT blog that much about my female friends. And in explanation, let me just throw us all under the bus:

I don’t blog much about my female friends, even though I have many more of them, and I spend MUCH more time with them than with dudes, because:

WOMEN GET JEALOUS. 

I’m not being sexist. I mean whatever, if you really take the definition a certain way then, fine, I am. But what I’m saying is that when I blog about Dirty fixing my door, Facu doesn’t call me crying or mention how he fixes things on my car, too. When I post a pic with the Giraffe, Corby doesn’t text me about how he was at the party too. AND THEY (inasmuch as I’ve ever known) DON’T CARE.  (if you’re new hear, Dirty, Facu, the Giraffe and Corby are all different male friends)

But my female friends do.

They will feel left out. They’ll struggle with feeling like they are not as important to me. They will wonder why they did not get mentioned, pics of US are not on the blog, etc.

It’s a common issue and I’ve had more than 5 close female friends mention how when they see traffic on other people’s social media, involving other friends and not them, they feel left out, lonely, and sad. Yes, literally.

But I didn’t realize I was accommodating for this until I realized how hard I was fighting (mostly internally, or via editing what I put out there) against people getting “the wrong idea” about me and my male friends.

(which, can we PLEASE cut ppl a break and let them just be or date or not date or figure it out or flirt or be attracted or be not attracted but still look cute together or just legitimately be friends uninterested in dating and maybe not tell every one in the world their exact intentions while they are figuring it out? no, we can’t? fine. we’ll kiss the whole she-bang goodbye. That’s not crazy. (that last sentence was srcsm))

Sooo…..that’s what I’m ruminating about right now.

And for the record, I’m nobody’s sancha. ;)

Perception: Blogging about Dudes

Let’s start out with a story.

Not too long ago, a friend was applying for jobs. Like we do. She found one that particularly suited her, at the same business where she’d already worked as an office aide for several years. She has a degree in the field she was pursuing and though she’s still learning and growing, pursuing further education, she was well qualified.

She was denied even the opportunity to interview because a senior exec in the small company, who had seen her work in the office, kitchen, and mail room, thought she was too silly and flippant for the very professional and polished position for which she applied.

My friend was F.U.R.I.O.U.S. She knew she could do the job, and do it well, and felt it was unfair to have been judged based on her previous behavior which was, albeit silly, perfect for the job she’d had at the time.  She knew that she’d have to be very different in her knew role, but also knew she’d was more than capable of the change.

Ultimately it didn’t matter how ticked or capapble she was. She’d spent two years being just one person in the eyes of those in charge. Almost a caricature, in fact. In retrospect, she learned two very important lessons:

1. Though you can’t live your life based on it, you should acknowledge that people are watching and paying attention and

2. You are the only person who can and is going to work actively to change the perception of you that others have.

Now, she’s learned to be a bit more guarded. Honestly, the selfish part of me hates that because she was/is a hoot and I don’t like seeing her at work or church and getting the toned down version of her. But I have reluctantly admitted that as I pursue a professional career in counseling, I have to do the same.

I have to acknowledge that people DO form ideas and judgement based on the information available. And often, I am the one who makes that information available.

I am the one who picks my clothes, thus giving others an idea of who I am and what is important to me. If I look like a slob all the time, it doesn’t matter how well i CAN clean up, people will think I’m a slob.

If I’m a loud crazy banshee who won’t ever be still, why would anyone think I can responsibly handle  a client in a counseling room quietly or with grace?

Or relating to the title up there, if I blog about dudes a lot, people are often going to think I’m dating them.

So….why do I blog about dudes? Stay tuned.

Mary, Martha, Maritza

My grandmother, “Gamma,” goes by her middle name, Ofélia. Her birth name was Maria Ofélia Piñon.

My mother, “Mama,” goes by a name she picked one day just because, Pilar. Her birth name was Marta Abdona Valle.

I go by Ritz. My birth name is Maritza Amanda Valle.

Maria, Marta, Maritza.

i love that.

I love getting to carry on the generational crazy. There are things about me that I definitely get from Gamma. I spent a lot of time with her as a child. Every once in a while, i say something and then gasp, because I sound JUST like my mom (spencer points it out too, brat.)

I love that between them they have overcome more obstacles than I am likely to ever see. Because I am not trying to marry a white man before the Civil Rights movement. Because I was afforded the grace of being lifted out of the poverty into which I was born. Because I have the gift of learning from the pain they had to go through.

Diana once gave me a card that said, “A woman is like tea. You never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”

I think gamma often represented her namesakes. Mary- the old definition, before our savior came. Mara, mary, bitter, wounded one. Ofelia, who died in pain from pursuing her lover.

I’ve talked before about how mama was the proto-typical Martha. Always trying, always working. I often read to her about sitting at Jesus’ feet. And she cries for the pain of how foreign and scary it would be for her to stop working at being enough. (Although, she’s given God a lot of freedom to change her, she’s submitted to his grace more and more, and it’s so sweet to see him love her into stillness.)

And I, I got no small measure of each of those things from them. I’ve pursued false lovers to my despair. I’ve let bitterness make a home in my heart. I’ve tried to work hard enough to be enough, and then hard enough to make me numb to the fact that I cannot be enough on my own.

But when Jesus saves, he doesn’t leave us as-is. He makes us new. I am a NEW creation. Not the leftovers from the broken life I knew before him.

I can only hope to show the world the gift of my namesake. To be the little blessed one, marked with the love of the maker, the plan, from the very beginning, to change his people’s weeping into laughter. The plan, from the very beginning, to take generations of chains from pain and sin and bondage and rip those chains away. Sometimes I still live like a slave, but I know the truth: it is for freedom that Christ set me free.

Overdue T-Giving Photies

more photies. these i have no qualms publishing because I LOVE MY SEESTERS. (and brudders)

i’m not just being psuedo cute. I’m trying to help you understand that this part of my family is not biologically realted to me. even though I get mistaken for Jenna sometimes. (crazies!)

non-stick is all about angles, y'all

could she be cuter? nope.

stylin' and profilin' in bebeseester's gymboree apron. don't be jealous. (okay, go ahead, be jealous)

shadow....

dancing

supermama joined the fun, too!

even curling up and reading is better together.

Moral of the story, where is laceface? LACEFACEILOVEYOU.

The Thing About Shooting Yourself in the Foot

The thing about shooting yourself in the foot is…

You know what I’m good at? Not counting the cost of decisions. Or not caring. Understanding that an action is the right or best one and just doing it.

Which in some ways is a great strength. If I don’t consider the cost, I don’t stutter or tremble or pause, I just go in and do whatever “it” is.

But mercy, it can also mean I get drug down and knocked out more than I think I will.

And then there are times when I’m wrong. I wasn’t supposed to do whatever “it” was, I just wanted to.

And then…there are times when I had no way of knowing.

Ya like how specific I’m being?

Anyway, I didn’t shoot myself in the foot. I do have a pretty gnarly injury on my foot but it’s the result of a fight I got in with a guitar case (i lost) and not though I think it will scar, I am not overly concerned.

I am just becoming aware that I like that when something is called for, I will usually pursue it. But I would like to grow in wisdom (I am always in need of more wisdom) such that I go into a situation knowing (as much as is possible) the things I’m facing, so I can prepare for them.

Okay okay, I’ll give you an example. It’s juicy. You’re welcome.

Soooooo my holiday plans involved La Familia. It was so wonderful. I truly, in every way, feel like part of the family with them.

Except that yes, I’ll acknowledge to no one’s surprise that I don’t feel like a sister to their oldest son, the only-man-i’ve-ever-been-in-love-with and oh-my-God-he’s-so-good-looking one. Which is usually not an issue but he was in town for la navidad. Whatever. We’ve totally gotten to this place where it’s not like “ohmigosh we can spend all our time together and it’s just fine and so fun and i totes don’t remember anything about our past, gag me with a spoon!” If not only because we are 80′s teenagers, but also because it’s just not that easy.

But we can talk, and have good conversations, and it’s fun and funny and good.

But I did NOT count the cost of when that went away. I had no way of knowing, really, and I don’t think it was the wrong decision to spend Christmas with them. I loved it, it felt like Christmas, it was wonderful and beautiful and I’m so grateful for them. But there came a moment last night when I just thought, “I need out of this place.”

Somehow staying, where I was loved and cherished and enjoyed and wanted wasn’t enough. My heart was wrestling with things I don’t understand and I don’t think had anything to do with the situation and probably I just needed sleep. But you know where you DONT want to be when your heart throws a coup? Around your ex. I’m just saying, y’all. So I left.

 

And I didn’t say goodbye…

 

and let’s just say, I learned the hard way, no matter how much you just want to leave,

 

sometimes you still ought to say goodbye.

marmurts

Once, years ago, Joy, David and I were hanging out. David decided to complain, because he’s a giant complainer (6’3″, at least), about his arm. He CLAIMED that he said “My arm hurts.”

But since he was being a big whiney-man, and because we have a country accent when we’re being silly, we all heard, “M’arm’urts” marmurts. Love it. Works with eyes and ears and anything if you just want to be silly.

meyeurts

mearurts

mfaceurts

Anyway my arm doesn’t hurt, but oiy my pride does. Cause I saw my arms in some less-than-flattering (is that how we “honest” now?) pictures.

 

But instead of dwelling on that, I thought I’d share. Take the marmurts gospel out to the world, pplfriends.

 

This Old Dog’s New Tricks

I’ve noticed some things about myself recently (like…over the last few months especially) and I feel like since I turned 26, I can definitely say two things about being my age:

I’m old enough to know I don’t know much,

But I’m old enough to finally start realizing what I do know.

My first semester of Grad School, the professor teaching my diversity class (counseling diverse populations) would chant to us every week, “I want to encourage you that someone could have had a different experience, though equally valid, as yours.” In other words, everyone’s world is comprised of millions and millions of different experiences and moments. And those are all shaping, important things. Even if they are NOTHING like the ones you did. This has encouraged me to become a lot more self aware in two ways.

First, in understanding and acting out of the truth that my assumptions, prejudices, and formulas for understanding and navigating the world will NOT match or serve everyone I meet.

Also, in understanding and living out that OTHER PEOPLE’S assumptions, prejudices, and formulas for understanding and navigating the world will NOT  always match or serve me!

And both of those things are okay!

I don’t know everything. I can’t fix or serve every situation. In fact, there are worlds of things I’ve never encountered or if I have: it’s only in a situation where I have failed brightly and miserably.

And that’s okay.

Because the other half of what i’m learning is that: I am learning. 

Though there are so many situations for which I have no skills or wisdom, I can learn. And I am learning.

The number one thing I’ve gotten to know better is: myself. I’ve learned to better (though not completely adequately) anticipate my needs. My schedule needs, how much and often i need to eat or work out. What items I need so i don’t over or under pack for a trip. I’ve learned how to look at something on a hanger and know just exactly how it will look on my body.

I’ve learned my habits and hangups and how to anticipate  and, when necessary, fight against the harmful things.

There are things that every person around me has known since the moment they met me that I just never knew until maybe last year. Like, that I am an optimist (i thought I was a realist, but don’t we all) or that I won’t really stay embarrassed that long no matter what the situation, or that I am, despite my best efforts, maybe the least stealthy person I know. (Ask Daddy-o. He does a PERFECT impression of me trying, and failing miserably, to blend in.) Or, and this has been a really hard lesson to learn:

that I am, and it all is, going to be okay (as in, i’ve started to stop freaking out when something goes wrong or I don’t know how something is going or… the wind blows inthe east.. And I’ve made enough of a pattern of it that I trust myself to handle things now).

 

what are some things you’ve learned about yourself recently?