Choose Your D-Word
Dammit, stoppit -
staunch the flow,
hold it fast so
it won't go.
Darn it - mend it,
learn to sew.
Weave up holes
before they grow.
Diff'rent meanings
clearly shown -
do you want it
stopped or sewn?
One is not the
other's clone -
choose before the
word has flown.
Only one word
can apply.
Choose your d-word,
let it fly.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg - (an undated verse from the unfinished file)
I was raised to not cuss. Sure, my parents both dropped the occasional sh*t or d*mn in moments of extreme frustration, but we didn't hear such words bandied about in polite conversation.
Being a temperamental child, I became adept at substituting other words when I was angry. (Most of the time. I was still apt to drop a few genuine profanities when I was fairly certain nobody was around to hear them. Nobody's perfect.)
"Darn it" was a perfectly acceptable phrase to utter when things went wrong, and so I spent my childhood constantly darning things.
One day in my thirties I sat down and made some notes about the way the two words differed. Somewhere along the line it had occurred to me that the two words that I'd considered synonymous really weren't. To darn something is to fix it, but damning (by LDS - Mormon definition) is stopping, or blocking, like the Hoover Dam. By typical Christian definition, it means "condemning" - either way, HUGE difference.
Darning is a dying, if not dead, art. (Does anybody darn holes anymore?) We're such a commercially-geared, disposable society that we toss out our socks when our toes break free of their confines.
Unlike sewing, darning doesn't bring the two sides of the hole together - instead it fills the hole with a criss-crossed weave of threads that is often stronger than the original knitting. But on the downside, like a garment with a sewn on patch, something darned will never look new. Even with a good colour match a darn will always be obvious - it will look different, and feel different from the rest of the item concerned.
I suspect that darning fell out of favour because we don't like to advertise our thriftiness, or put our imperfections on display. Appearances are too important to most of us; we want to look nice - and (usually) want our clothing to be in good repair - to look "like new." In a society too often inclined towards disposing of anything that seems worn, it's no surprise that we don't see a lot of darned sweaters or socks.
Figurative "darning" certainly has its applications, but still isn't utilized as often as it ought to be. Two things immediately come to mind when I consider what is worth my darning efforts.
First of all, I'm worth a darn. I've got a few holes that need more than a stitch or two. There's not a whole lot in this world that I get to determine, but I can decide how to improve myself. Some of those fixes won't be pretty, but I'm not going to worry about how perfect I appear at this point. I have a few flaws that could stand a good fix - a bit of darning wouldn't be amiss, and perhaps where the holes once were I'll build something that really matters - something that strengthens my character or sustains my spirit. I might find important causes to involve myself in, or develop new talents. I can try to be open to new experiences and the knowledge they offer me. I can concentrate on being more kind, or compassionate, or on working toward becoming more patient and peaceful.
Self-improvement is kind of like cleaning out your closet - you need to be the one to make choices - decide what you'll keep, what you'll mend, and what you're willing to sacrifice. Nobody else gets to participate in your sacred ritual of closet-cleaning, so why should anyone else be welcome to point out all of your flaws, or consign your soul to some cosmic scrap heap?
I might be a "fixer-upper", but I don't deserve to be condemned.
Once you've made some progress on your self-renovation, you can turn your attention to strengthening the second most important part of your life - your relationships.
Relationships are often filled with holes that might seem too gaping to mend. When you try to sew up that big old hole you'll always see a pucker, right? So don't sew it - darn it. The fix will be obvious, but it will create something stronger than you had before. That "hole" can be replaced by a bridge between two different points of view, an outward testament to the fact that you were willing to shift your priorities from having relationships that "look good" to ones more honest and open - with the strength to endure whatever changes and challenges they might face.
People, especially those who've touched our lives, aren't a disposable commodity. Most "things" don't matter that much - we can donate our old clothes to Goodwill without ever giving them another thought. We can change opinions and cede long-cherished beliefs without feeling a huge, permanent void in our lives. However, if we can walk away from a family member or a longtime friendship without a backward glance - then there's something missing from our own soul. There's no comparison between the person you barely knew and blocked online, and refusing to engage with "realtime" friends and family members. The people who've mattered to me, the ones with whom I share memories, history and genes, will always be worth a darn.
I suppose it's no great surprise that "darn it!" was the commonest exclamation of my youth. We were required to fix things endlessly, that was the generational expectation of our parents, who were raised during the Depression. "Make do, or do without" was their mantra. It was a cultural expectation in the faith I was raised in too. Darn up your holes in order to be holy. If you can't believe it, the fault lies with you - so you'd better do some fixing. Ideologies - political and religious, can get darned until there's nothing of the original fabric left... Sometimes they'd be better discarded - stopped, instead of "fixed". In my opinion, we'd be better off putting more stock in the people in our lives than worrying about who agrees with us. Why do we expend so much time and energy maintaining the outward appearance of agreement - "making nice" - when we could be focusing on being kinder, more accepting, and more tolerant of other's differences? Maybe instead of damning with the faintest praise we could darn up some holes with renewed compassion, with fond remembrance, genuine compliments - and most especially - with love.
I've walked away from a few ideologies throughout my life; stopped believing, chosen to discard them and made a darned decent effort to not publicly condemn them. I'm doing my darnedest to hold onto relationships with all of the people I care about - no matter how often we disagree. You are still my sister, my brother, my friend, my neighbour. I intend to keep my darning needle handy.
I can substitute one word for another - even when the meanings are changed. I can - I have, and I will - change my mind plenty of times before I depart this mortal coil. I haven't got my life sewn up yet, it's an ever evolving work in progress. There will be things I'll darn, and things I'll - well, stop doing - or even condemn. But I'll not be damned - stopped, or condemned - for trying to continue caring, or for believing in the power of love.
Love is the best darned thing around.
Tuesday 19 June 2018
Friday 1 June 2018
Strange Armour - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Strange Armour
A sandwich board of mattresses
she felt she had to wear;
each day so full of battle stress
emotions were laid bare.
Was there a sign upon her back
inviting kicks and blows;
inciting others to attack
and multiply her woes?
Thus every day she'd bear the weight
of strange armour she chose,
and though attacks did not abate
she felt numb to the blows.
But at the end of every day,
with arms and shoulders sore,
her tortured muscles had to pay
for all the weight she bore.
Until at length she came to see
the armour she preferred
restricted all her movements free
and pain simply deferred.
At last she stood with armour shed -
and yes, the world was rough -
she would get hurt, and sometimes bled,
but would, at last, grow tough.
Unpadded she was light and quick,
her range of movement free;
at times she could avoid a kick
with some agility.
Still other times she seemed to sense
attacks before they came,
and fled before blows could commence -
and for this felt no shame.
Her padding she no longer missed,
in fact, it seemed to be
that many conflicts did desist
once she was armour-free.
Strange armour many of us choose
in effort to protect
from battles we fear we might lose
and dangers we detect.
But strangely, sometimes armour acts
as something to incite
those who desire to grind an axe
or prove themselves "more right."
Be brave, my friend, and fight without
the padding that you choose -
You will get hurt, without a doubt,
but burden you will lose.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 2018
I was upset by an online exchange I had with a complete stranger.
"What do you have to do to survive these days? Sometimes I feel like I need to go through life wearing a sandwich board made of mattresses!" I said to my husband.
"Good imagery!" he replied. "I sense a poem in the making!"
That brief exchange got me thinking about the weight of many of the types of armour that we choose to put on. The ways we attempt to self-protect are often only a temporary fix - a way to numb the immediate, but lesser pain that we initially experience. But like the sandwich board made of mattresses in the poem, a lot of our protective armour does us more harm than the attacks it's trying to protect us from.
I spent a lot of years of my life trying desperately to protect myself with all kinds of ineffective armour. I tried on anger and sarcasm. In my insecure youth there were times I wished fervently for the protection of an invisibility cloak. As an adult I hid behind beliefs that often didn't sit right with me, tenaciously hanging on for years, even after I realized that the afterlife promised to me (a woman with an "unbeliever" for a husband) really sucked. But, doggone it - I'd been taught that this was the only way to live, and that leaving would make me a sinner, so I hung on - for decades.
I hung on by my fingernails even when people told me I should leave my husband and find someone "more righteous." I hung on when I was made to feel small; made to feel like I had to live small - all scrunched up inside myself among people who were ready to condemn on a whim. I hung on when I began to see that I'd been fed a false narrative. I hung on while every hymn began to sound like a funeral dirge that was sucking the life out of me. Yup - I excelled as a hanger-on.
Through it all, I donned one kind of strange armour after another. I put on a helmet of denial. I tried on protective eyewear that kept me (for a time) from seeing that I wasn't happy - but it also prevented me from seeing most of the good in life. I suited up every day in the kind of full-on body armour that kept me safe from "outside influences" and from the slings and arrows tossed by what I thought of as "my tribe". I continued to think of them as mine even when it became painfully apparent that I was't really one of them.
And when I took off that armour at night I ached. I hurt everywhere - misery to the bone and the soul. I tossed and turned at night and then suited up again in the morning.
One day I looked around and realized that "my tribe" didn't seem that happy either. I couldn't do anything about what I perceived as their misery and apathy, but I could do something about mine. It was difficult for me to trade false certainty for certain vulnerability, but that's what I did.
Eventually I began to remove the protective layers - one at a time. My anger arrived first, and I'm pretty sure it'll be the last piece I'll divest myself of. But let me tell you, I feel less burdened - in spite of the twenty pounds of stress weight I gained as I learned that I could still be me - and maybe even a better and kinder me - without padding. I don't need to "belong" in any particular group to be accepted. I can accept myself - warts and all - as a contributing member in the larger and more diverse group called humanity. I'm allowed to love the flawed, because I am the flawed. I'm allowed to be ignorant, but happy.
I can doubt all I want, and stop bailing when the boat takes on water. I can take a nosedive into the depths of uncertainty and explore. I'm no longer being dragged under by the weight of all my armour.
Every day might not be a fairy tale filled with unicorns, but at least I can see rainbows after rain and dance without worrying about falling off my pedestal.
I am free - and light. Someday I'll fly.
A sandwich board of mattresses
she felt she had to wear;
each day so full of battle stress
emotions were laid bare.
Was there a sign upon her back
inviting kicks and blows;
inciting others to attack
and multiply her woes?
Thus every day she'd bear the weight
of strange armour she chose,
and though attacks did not abate
she felt numb to the blows.
But at the end of every day,
with arms and shoulders sore,
her tortured muscles had to pay
for all the weight she bore.
Until at length she came to see
the armour she preferred
restricted all her movements free
and pain simply deferred.
At last she stood with armour shed -
and yes, the world was rough -
she would get hurt, and sometimes bled,
but would, at last, grow tough.
Unpadded she was light and quick,
her range of movement free;
at times she could avoid a kick
with some agility.
Still other times she seemed to sense
attacks before they came,
and fled before blows could commence -
and for this felt no shame.
Her padding she no longer missed,
in fact, it seemed to be
that many conflicts did desist
once she was armour-free.
Strange armour many of us choose
in effort to protect
from battles we fear we might lose
and dangers we detect.
But strangely, sometimes armour acts
as something to incite
those who desire to grind an axe
or prove themselves "more right."
Be brave, my friend, and fight without
the padding that you choose -
You will get hurt, without a doubt,
but burden you will lose.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, May 2018
I was upset by an online exchange I had with a complete stranger.
"What do you have to do to survive these days? Sometimes I feel like I need to go through life wearing a sandwich board made of mattresses!" I said to my husband.
"Good imagery!" he replied. "I sense a poem in the making!"
That brief exchange got me thinking about the weight of many of the types of armour that we choose to put on. The ways we attempt to self-protect are often only a temporary fix - a way to numb the immediate, but lesser pain that we initially experience. But like the sandwich board made of mattresses in the poem, a lot of our protective armour does us more harm than the attacks it's trying to protect us from.
I spent a lot of years of my life trying desperately to protect myself with all kinds of ineffective armour. I tried on anger and sarcasm. In my insecure youth there were times I wished fervently for the protection of an invisibility cloak. As an adult I hid behind beliefs that often didn't sit right with me, tenaciously hanging on for years, even after I realized that the afterlife promised to me (a woman with an "unbeliever" for a husband) really sucked. But, doggone it - I'd been taught that this was the only way to live, and that leaving would make me a sinner, so I hung on - for decades.
I hung on by my fingernails even when people told me I should leave my husband and find someone "more righteous." I hung on when I was made to feel small; made to feel like I had to live small - all scrunched up inside myself among people who were ready to condemn on a whim. I hung on when I began to see that I'd been fed a false narrative. I hung on while every hymn began to sound like a funeral dirge that was sucking the life out of me. Yup - I excelled as a hanger-on.
Through it all, I donned one kind of strange armour after another. I put on a helmet of denial. I tried on protective eyewear that kept me (for a time) from seeing that I wasn't happy - but it also prevented me from seeing most of the good in life. I suited up every day in the kind of full-on body armour that kept me safe from "outside influences" and from the slings and arrows tossed by what I thought of as "my tribe". I continued to think of them as mine even when it became painfully apparent that I was't really one of them.
And when I took off that armour at night I ached. I hurt everywhere - misery to the bone and the soul. I tossed and turned at night and then suited up again in the morning.
One day I looked around and realized that "my tribe" didn't seem that happy either. I couldn't do anything about what I perceived as their misery and apathy, but I could do something about mine. It was difficult for me to trade false certainty for certain vulnerability, but that's what I did.
Eventually I began to remove the protective layers - one at a time. My anger arrived first, and I'm pretty sure it'll be the last piece I'll divest myself of. But let me tell you, I feel less burdened - in spite of the twenty pounds of stress weight I gained as I learned that I could still be me - and maybe even a better and kinder me - without padding. I don't need to "belong" in any particular group to be accepted. I can accept myself - warts and all - as a contributing member in the larger and more diverse group called humanity. I'm allowed to love the flawed, because I am the flawed. I'm allowed to be ignorant, but happy.
I can doubt all I want, and stop bailing when the boat takes on water. I can take a nosedive into the depths of uncertainty and explore. I'm no longer being dragged under by the weight of all my armour.
Every day might not be a fairy tale filled with unicorns, but at least I can see rainbows after rain and dance without worrying about falling off my pedestal.
I am free - and light. Someday I'll fly.
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