ColumnConscious life, hear me roar.

The night before Thanksgiving, my family was safely tucked in their beds all under one roof. With my parents visiting for the holiday, we play a little bed scramble: My mom always takes my daughter’s bed upstairs, my daughter and I sleep in my bed, my husband sleeps on the couch, my son in his own bed and my dad, down in the guest room where he can snore his nostrils off in the peace of a well-insulated room.

At around 4 a.m. Thanksgiving morning, my mother came rushing into my bedroom and whispered that there was an ambulance out front. My room had become a carnival of lights swirling round. I jumped out of bed, threw on my winter boots and jacket, and ran out the door into the dark cold with tears already streaming down my face.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what was going on.

My neighbor, Imelda, is 91 and is at that point where sometimes she forgets our names, will tell the same story after five minutes and likes tight hugs where she never once did. This is a woman who has been a surrogate great-grandmother to my children for 13 years, has babysat, given me cups of flour and sugar and listened to me over coffee when I felt no one else would.

She is most certainly my friend, but fears for my life in the ever after as I have different beliefs from her. In fact, we’ve had a secret pact for years that whoever dies first has to do something like knock a book or a glass off a ledge to prove there’s an after life. She always laughs and says she knows she’ll go first but I tell her life is pretty random. You never know when a safe could be falling out a window…

In the cold, I stood at the foot of her gravel driveway, a place where we often meet and chat; moments later, her son (visiting from North Carolina) came out to brief me.

A basic need to use the bathroom had resulted in her falling, hitting her skull on a side bed table, striking open an artery and her son walking in to find his mother lying in a pool of blood – still trying to press her necklace that alerts people somewhere, that a 91-year-old woman needs help and might just die if they don’t come quick.

“They’re taking her to the hospital now,” he said looking at me for an answer.

If you’ve ever stood at night bathed in ambulance light, you might know that feeling of how fleeting life is – that we are always at the mercy of fate.

In that moment of cold, being half-asleep and looking from the outside in to her home, I felt such remorse for how busy I’ve been with work and family that I couldn’t have visited with her more the past six months just to sit and have coffee, bring her something hot to eat, play a hand of Gin Rummy and tease her that there’s no god.

Helpless, I walked across the street, kicked off my boots, hung my coat and snuggled back in with my daughter who was still sweetly sleeping and sighing in her dreams.

Later that morning, Imelda’s son came in to tell us that she was going to be all right, but remain in the hospital for a few days. That she was lucky. That she was as feisty as ever and wanted to go home.

When she does return, I will visit with her by her wood stove and make fun of her as she drinks whiskey from a styrofoam cup, while she deals me a weak hand and waxes passionately about why I need faith, need to stop leaving my family to go to New York City so much, need to put a new coat of paint on my house.

In the ticking of the warm room, I can look into her eyes knowing a secret. You see, one of her biggest dreams has always been that someone would find her interesting enough to write about; to know that she made an impact in this life that surpassed a girlhood in Grand Falls, New Brunswick where she married young, had five kids and “did her best.”

In this life, she has been everything to me, has never cared about my life as a fashion writer or editor, just that she matters to me.

This week’s column is dedicated to Imelda Morin, a 4’8″ woman from Canada who hates swearing, blasphemy and loose women.
Who I gave thanks to on Thursday at dinner, along with my entire family, that she’s still alive as you read this.

Between the Lines, is a weekly column navigating the sometimes-sharp, sometimes-blurred lines of life and culture between city and country.

Image: Horia Valdan

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Chicago is getting its very first Chick-fil-A in April and people are pretty close to losing their minds as the fast food giant expands across the Midwest. Chicago has enough problems with its collective weight (thanks, pizza), and Chick-fil-A’s staunch stance against gay marriage makes me queasy. The company also has this creepy statement of purpose: “To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to us and to have a positive influence on all who come in contact with Chick-fil-A.”

That’s a heavy sandwich.

With apologies to my transplanted, salivating southern friends,  I know we’ve done you wrong with the weather and we sort of owe you one but we don’t need another fast food restaurant and we definitely don’t need to welcome a business that hides behind Christian values to fuel bigotry.

While I am a vegetarian, I’m not made of stone. The company’s Eat More Chikin campaign is super cute. And I get that people have fond, buttery childhood memories that include the popular sandwiches. But we’re not six, and fast food chicken sandwiches are terrible for both your body and the planet.

I’m not saying you have to shell out for Karyn’s Cooked every day, but there’s a Subway across the street from the new location, so if animal rights and environmentally conscious eating aren’t your things, please, think of your ass! We’re all smart enough to know that 920 calories for lunch (original sandwich, medium fries and medium sweet tea) is too many. Sure, you can order a salad, but you’re at Chick-fil-A. Who orders the salad?

Eating your politics isn’t for everyone and it’s easy to go overboard with the food thing (see the Portlandia episode featuring Colin, the chicken), but there are some companies with politics so against everything I believe in that I simply can’t give them my money. Remember back in the day when Domino’s founder Tom Monaghan started donating to Operation Rescue and a bunch of doctors who provided abortions were killed? Chick-fil-A is one of these companies for me.

The company is very open about their Christian roots, and I like religious freedom. It’s a private company with every right to be closed on Sundays and give people discounts for going to church or whatever. But Chick-fil-A’s charitable arm, the WinShape Foundation, loves to hate on gay marriage and has close ties to the National Organization for Marriage’s Ruth Institute and “ex-gay” activists Alan Chambers and David Blankenhorn.

The Ruth Institute and the National Organization for Marriage’s line is that same-sex marriage destroys the fabric of society, and they’ve worked hard to pass legislation banning gay marriage or taking existing marriage equality rights away from same-sex couples. Chambers, of Exodus International, is a proponent of ex-gay therapy, which perpetuates the idea that there is something wrong with being gay – and after a year of highly-publicized teen suicides linked to bullying and homophobia, can’t we all agree that telling people there’s something wrong with them is a bad idea?

But will denying yourself the joy of Chick-fil-A make the world better for gay people? Across the country, college kids say it will and in Florida, Indiana and New York,  students have rallied to get the franchises kicked off campus. Change.org has a series of stories worth taking a look at but it’s too soon to say what will happen in Chicago. The Windy City Times is the best local source for news about the issue and has raised some good points. If there are gay and lesbian Chick-fil-A employees, none have complained of discrimination but that could be because there aren’t any. As the paper points out, the corporation openly favors married people and most of its locations are in states that do not recognize gay marriage, so potential gay and lesbian employees would appear to be automatically out of the running. Because Chicago’s human rights ordinance includes sexual orientation and gender identity, that could also be a key factor as the community decides whether to organize a boycott.

I know many of my butter-bun loving pals can’t wait for April and the chance for a little southern comfort, but organized or not, I’ll personally be boycotting Chick-fil-A.

Image: iheartmacaroni

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After days spent racking my brain to choose nine things you don’t need to be happy, now I can’t keep more from surfacing. If this list keeps growing, it might mean that happiness is attainable without anything at all. What a concept!

But just for fun, let’s continue counting. Here are 9 more things you don’t need to be happy. Really.

1. Optimism. There’s nothing more annoying than all the self-help mumbo jumbo that preaches “think positive” – and implies (explicitly or not) that by doing so, you will get what you want. This theory leaves us in the lurch and in fear of having even a speck of a negative thought. The universe is not directing the traffic of our lives according to our thoughts. We earth folk, although blessed with free will, are not more powerful than the randomness of life.

This is good news. If you happen to be a cynic or wake up on the wrong side of the bed once in a while, don’t fret. Having a positive outlook 24/7 is not required for happiness.

2. Caffeine. I’m actually sitting in Starbucks as I type this and it’s occurred to me that I could be a lot happier if there were fewer coffee shops serving rocket fuel to every human on the planet. Fewer Starbucks means fewer caffeinated people – and no landfill droves of millions of paper cups.

I was perfectly content for the six months I gave up coffee. Life was fine. But I can tell you this. The moment I took my first sip of a non-fat triple shot cappuccino after those six months, I was indeed rocketed into another dimension. I don’t need caffeine, but I like it. So there. Just don’t make me go to Coffee Bean. That’s where I draw the line.

3. God. Religion and anything related is a topic fraught with tension, but we shouldn’t ignore the obvious, which is that many people all over the world live life happily and successfully without worshiping or praying to any being. Organized religion is not the only road to salvation. Why is it that only the non-religious realize this?

4. Intelligence. I adamantly agree that women can be both smart and pretty, but if for some reason I had to choose, I think today I’d prefer pretty. Why? Because it gets tiring being smart. And I’m exhausted!

Most days I can’t watch the news, much less have an intelligent conversation about current events. Between the stock market, natural disasters, unstable psychopaths wreaking havoc on innocent people, world hunger, violence against women – I’m upset too often. What’s so horrible about a slight dose of ignorance? Call me stupid, but sometimes I’d prefer to be stupid.

5. Crystal Ball. The less I know about the future, the better. It used to be that I was riddled with fear if I couldn’t see how it all turned out; whether you’d stay or go, love me or leave me. So I would leave you first or better yet, never stay in the first place, because not knowing how and when it would end was too scary. Today I’m a different creature. I find comfort in the unknown and practice letting the future alone and being present for love and my life today.

6. Chanel handbag. Oops, how did this one get in here? I mean, really. No one needs a Chanel bag, period. And to be completely candid, I once purchased such a bag. It was at a time when my work was very lucrative and I thought (or hoped) a sophisticated, exquisitely made black bag would satisfy a deep yearning within me.

This morning I caught a glance of that particular Chanel hanging in my closet. Did it make me happy? When I first bought it, yes for about five minutes, but now…not so much. Actually, it makes me a little bit annoyed.

7. Resolved “issues“. I have no qualms telling you I go to therapy once a week. I’m one of those humans that grew up crooked and needed a little correcting. So be it. In fact, I think more people should be in therapy, especially married people.

Yes, a weekly appointment on my calendar means there is unfinished business, more “stuff” yet to come up and discuss. I continue to dig, deeper and wider and with more gusto. Why? Because the more I uncover, confront, grieve, accept, release, the better and happier I become. Everything need not be packaged up perfectly in a box with a bow, stored away in the basement in order for one to feel relief and some semblance of happiness.

8. Approval. We can’t control what other people think of us. People who don’t know you well will have perceptions and come to their own conclusions. The important thing is not to change yourself in order to get someone to like you. The key is not to care if they like you or not.

Of course, it would be ideal if everyone everywhere liked you, but if you love yourself and just one other person thinks you’re awesome, then you are. Quit trying to gain the adoration of people who don’t matter, and focus on the ones that do.

9. A reason. Did you predict we would end up here? If so, you win. It took me 17 reasons to realize 1) one might be happy and not care why or 2) one isn’t happy (or is) but doesn’t particularly appreciate someone feeding them reasons how or why or when one could or should be. Therefore, my last reason is a reason. It is possible to be happy for no reason at all.

So there, I said it. Now go and be happy, just because.

Image: con Costanza

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So the joke goes that there’s a guy stranded on the roof of his house. Flood waters are rising and he’s praying to God for help. A couple of kids come by in a canoe and say, “Hey Mister! Jump in!” Preoccupied with prayer, he ignores them and they paddle away. Soon the water level is higher and the local sheriff comes by in a dinghy, “Get in, pal! It’s gonna get worse!” The man says, “Please, officer, not now, I must focus on the Lord!” Before long the waterline breaks over the roof of the house and a helicopter comes by, dangling a rope ladder. “Climb up!,” the pilot shouts above the roar of his engine. With the water raging and chopper wind blowing fiercely around him, the man screams, “Leave me! The Lord will save me!” Finally, the flood overcomes the man. As he’s being swept to his doom he looks to sky and asks, “Oh Lord, why have you left me to die?!” “Left you to die?!,” booms the Almighty, “I sent you a canoe, a dinghy and a helicopter, you idiot!”

I couldn’t help but think of this joke when I heard the infamous and honorable Representative from Illinois, John Shimkus (who is currently seeking the chairmanship of the Energy and Commerce panel in the next Congress), tell us that we don’t have to worry about global warming. Only God, says Shimkus, can destroy this earth, not man, and after all, He made a deal with Noah not to flood us out any more. I feel like shaking this guy and saying, “your Guy’s sending you data and science and smart people, you moron! He’s speaking to you and he’s saying: ‘Save thyself!'”

The War on Science is on and some people are telling us that He/She/It doesn’t believe in global warming and neither should you. By way of background, here’s a right-on quote from a blogger on About.com: “One of the principle driving forces behind all this [science] denial is a desire to get around the conclusions of science when they conflict with some preferred ideology – political, economic, religious, whatever.”

The political and economic issues behind climate change denial seem clear. As my father used to say, it’s always about two things: money and dollars. Corporate polluters have a record of funding efforts to portray good science as bad, promoting the notion of “science impotence” (portraying science as a  failure based on the fact that certain phenomena remain “unexplained”), and of course funding the campaigns of science deniers (take a guess where BP put its money this last election cycle). But what’s with the religious attacks? I mean, if you’re looking for something apocalyptic, global warming experts are offering up some crash and burn on a silver platter.

Of course there’s a thesis to be written here and we can go back to Descartes gumming up Church works with his thinking therefore am-ing, and then, of course, there’s our man Darwin who really queered the deal. But while portraying evolution as a theory as opposed to fact might be harmless enough (if ignorance can ever be harmless), denying changes in the weather puts people at risk. I don’t want to question Rep. Shimkus’ sincerity of motives; let’s not presume that his beliefs are really a front for corporate-backed efforts to derail climate change legislation. But his (and other policymakers‘) anti-science stance is dangerous and is based on antiquated thinking that precludes the coexistence of science and biblical creationism, something our greatest theologians would find ignorant, at best.

The truth is, there’s plenty of room for theology to exist alongside science and even support its conclusions as perhaps information coming straight from God’s workshop – tools “delivered” to us so that we might better love and protect ourselves and our neighbors. Whether or not one believes in creationism as the genesis of life, analysis of facts on the ground is just that – and a method to help preserve that life, wherever it comes from. Who knows? Maybe, just maybe, alternative energy technology is a gift from, well, just ask the folks at the Evangelical Climate Initiative.

You know, whatever one believes (or doesn’t believe), it’s important to have enough sense to come in out of the rain. You might even consider such a logical maneuver as taking refuge in God’s house. In any case, most of us can agree to this: finding a port in a storm beats going down with the ship.

Image: radiant guy

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