International Adoption

I once watched this movie on Netflix. It was a documentary about these institutions, those deemed "orphanages" in places like the Ukraine. I balled my eyes out watching it. You saw these skeletal children who all looked like infants even though most were school age children, laying in bare beds, rocking back and forth to self-soothe themselves. I could not believe this sort of place existed on this Earth in 2014. How could anyone work there? Or even allow that place to remain open and functioning?

The reality though, was this was the face of the unwanted. No one cared enough to stop this place from existing because other than the families that went there to save a child, mostly international adoptions, no one gave a shit about those kids. They were left there to rot and those that worked there did what they needed to do to keep these aching, living skeletons alive, but at the end of the day, they went home to their own lives.

It just makes be very sad and very angry. The other night I watched, The Normal Heart. Another movie with so much commentary on how society is so quick to do nothing when faced with a side of humanity that is sickening and weak and so wrong. One of the best quotes of the entire movie was Ned Weeks's argument to his dying, AIDS ridden partner, where he exclaims "Felix, weakness terrifies me. It scares the shit out of me. My father was weak and I’m afraid I’ll be like him. His life didn’t stand for anything, and then it was over. So I fight. Constantly. And if I can do it, I can’t understand why everybody else can’t do it, too."

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Were we always a society of people who generally did nothing except for the few? I have always been a fighter. I fight for myself. My family. My friends. My students. My animals-- I don't know how to not fight. If I felt pulled or impassioned by a cause, I have always been there and I have always seen it through to the end. And I just don't understand why everyone else can't do it too.

It is not always easy to be a fighter. Sometimes it does cause problems in my relationship. Phil is more of a fixer than a fighter. As he says, once I get an idea into my head, I am off fighting through the trenches for it and making sure I do it despite how he feels on the subject. I am often quick to come back with how he doesn't own me and this is who I am. Maybe someday we'll find more common ground on the subject. Until then, I think comprise is key and also reminding him on how on more than one occasion that very quality came to completely benefit him.

Even though I get so frustrated because I find it so much easier to just do than to sit back and allow travesties to go on. Or to not help if I can, even if it means what I take on makes my own life harder. Isn't that the point of it all?

I read another foster mom blog today. She adopted a boy from the Ukraine, a 4-year-old boy who didn't even fit into 12-month-old clothing because he was so malnourished. She wrote, "I have become convinced that to be indifferent, to do nothing, to ignore, to refuse to act, to stand back and allow broken and wounded populations to continue to suffer...this is the great sin of our lifetime. We are a generation of emotionally paralyzed people, and thus our behaviors become paralyzed. We spend so much time waiting for a sign, a signal, a calling...that we forget to DO. This simply must change. We as humans, as fellow travelers in this life, in this moment, must work, and work HARD to change what is unjust. The moment is now. Stalling has only ever cost us liberties, time, and lives. The procrastination just isn't worth the price."

When did we all become pacifists?  How are we all so blind and okay with being blind as long as it doesn't affect our lives?

You can read more about this mom and her adoption at her blog, The Sometimes 8 Irons.She shared many pictures of her son from before and after his adoption.

Every Girl & Her 3 Big Loves

There's this theory that every woman has three big loves of her life. This theory was largely perpetuated by one of my all time favorite shows, Sex and the City, wherein Charlotte inadvertently insults Carrie by saying every woman gets three. Carrie then takes it the wrong way when she realizes that that would mean she was done and at the time single.

I was reminded of that episode today. For some reason, perhaps it's the change of the seasons or all the change that's happening in my life right now, but today, two people closest to me where bringing up the big loves of my life. Note: This means I've had my big three (maybe three and a half).

And at almost 30, about to move in with my longterm boyfriend into the house we just bought, I am okay with that. However, it did get me thinking and it reminded me how each woman in my life had picked a different love for me to wind up with.

Christmas 2014.

There was my high school into college sweetheart who was my first everything. We drifted apart our senior year of college for a variety of reasons, but I think the big one was that he is very happy living a life in the town that he grew up in and I have always had my sights set on bigger things. That year, I had lived abroad for the first time and my wanderlust thirst was only beginning. We're still friends and talk on occasion. Most importantly, we're both happy too. My dad always thought that this love would be the one I married.

Then came the big one, my first relationship after my high school sweetheart. I was just out of college and trying to figure myself out. I hadn't found a job yet. He was four years older and the exact opposite of my ex-boyfriend. He knew how to woo a girl-- flowers, phone calls until all hours of the night, cute little things...it didn't take long for me to fall hard. And then, for it to all fall apart rather quickly. We were young. He still had a lot of jerky boy crap to go through and he had to live out his college days. It was devastating though and it hurt me for a long time. This love plunged me into moving around, taking big risks, dating really stupid guys and just not caring. Years later, we would try to be friends but somewhere in him saying something stupid to me on Facebook and then asking me for advice about a girl he was dating....it just didn't last long. Before it got to that point though, my mom thought that this was the love that I would marry.

Now here's the half. And no, no one thought I would marry this one. This was the broken guy, the emotionally unavailable guy that liked having me around, but God forbid he ever commit and seriously, how dare I even think about dating other men. Being with him was like a drug and it became a really bad addiction. The drama and the constant up and down with him was at times exhilarating especially when there were times where I felt like I "won." Won what, I am not sure, but at the time if something went my way or filled a want, then I had won and it made me want to keep going. When he did finally half-ass commit, it was short lived. I had a date set that I was going to dump him, he beat me to it though and for some reason that hurt more than anything else he had done. Later on, we tried the friendship thing. Also, short lived. I call this my half because looking back now, I think I was more addicted to the chase of it than I was in love with this person. He was pretty crappy to me...a lot...but it was really like a drug. One that I was happy to finally have kicked and after him? Well, I called every guy out on their bs the moment I found it in dating. No one thought this was the love I would marry, but this was the love that changed me and made me harder to get.

Which leads me to Phil, my last love. The kind of love that wrote me a poem on our third date, and came with me on my grand European backpacking tour, who brings me diet soda and rubs my feet (with lotion) and tucks me int bed at night. The kind of love that washes my hair and brings me flowers because it's Thursday and he wanted to. The kind of love that makes up the worst songs and sings them to me when we cuddle. The kind of love that I can see being the father of my children and growing old with him. The kind of love that lets me be myself, even if that means I make ASMR videos on school vacations just for fun. The kind of love that I know I'll marry. 

Moving Forward

I started this blog years ago and at first it started as a photo project that didn't really work and then it became my own where I wrote about my first real "adult" heartbreak and moving on from it. Then, after dating all kinds of idiots, I wrote about finally finding a non-idiot who really was the biggest idiot of them all.

And then, I sort of just stopped writing.

I got busy with other things-- with teaching and traveling, mainly backpacking through Europe (with the man I eventually met), and finding myself in a good, loving relationship and then before I knew it, with moving out completely on my own with no room mates or college lifestyle to fall back on.

And then, I finished my masters and begun the steps towards a PhD.

....And then, I bought a house.

However, most importantly, I think I'm finally learning the importance of just breathing and enjoying something. I've worked really hard to get to this point and I have done it on my own and unlike some women my age, I have done this without the help of a husband or live-in boyfriend.

I've gotten to the point of having what I wanted and I sort of noticed the enormity of that feeling as I was packing up my kitchen for the move to my house. I took off all of the magnets that Phil and I collected throughout Europe, along with the ones I picked up on my own travels including a couple magnets I bought on a class trip with my 8th graders last year and one I got at the local museum in the city that I teach in.

I was a little sad as I looked them over before I packed them and realized how exciting each of those moments were that inspired a magnet purchase and now they're all over. And at times, I don't know if I fully appreciated them as I lived them or maybe that's just because I'm looking back now.

It sort of made me realize now that as this year winds down, there are things that I want to do next year to make me enjoy everything that I have now more. I want to blog more and read for fun more. I know that my PhD classes are going to take up most of my time, but I would like to make time for things I like do like blogging and reading. I really would like to finally finish the book I started for my thesis or the second year of Miss Burton's Class. It's just hard and for the first time in many years, I have found manuscript writing to be beyond difficult. Maybe that can be next year's plan or something soon....

Who knows.

Book Review: Sunflowers by Sheramy Bundrick

Art historian and professor, Sheramy Bundrick shines in her debut novel about the final years of Dutch painter, Vincent Van Gogh.

There is nothing easy about writing historical fiction. Once a writer adds art into the mix, the project becomes something entirely different as many artists, especially those like Vincent Van Gogh are not so easily defined. Furthermore, having the ability to blend factual art historical information with the fiction a writer creates, is difficult and can often produce novels that are more of a creation as opposed to a well-researched, factual backdrop with a fictional story also added for entertainment.

This, however, is not the case with Sheramy Bundrick's Sunflowers. As an art historian and professor, Bundrick brings to the table a strong set of skills and research that are more than evident in her fictional retelling of the final two years of Dutch painter Vincent Van Gogh's troubled life. She recounts with some liberty, the time that the struggling artist spent with a young woman named Rachel – the very same lady that would be presented with a fragment of his ear.

In reality, there is nearly nothing that has survived in history about the real Rachel, other then a document that lists her name, address, occupation and that she was the woman Van Gogh asked for at the brothel to present her with a piece of his ear. Other artists such as Bernard and Gauguin mention Rachel in their writings and letters only in passing, referring to her as the "cafe girl" or "a wretched girl" respectively.

Irregardless of the reality of the factual, historical relationship between Van Gogh and Rachel, Bundrick writes her story having imagined what it might have been like had there been a relationship between the two people while incorporating factual information regarding the time period and Van Gogh's work.

Moreover, Bundrick creates this mixture of fantasy and art historical fact seamlessly. She captivates her readers from the very first page and does not let them go until they reach the inevitable end of both the novel and of Vincent Van Gogh. Her intricate descriptions make her readers feel as though they are part of the dingy cafe where Vincent and Rachel meet to talk, part of the garden where he draws her and even part of the city and busyness of the city of Arles as a whole.

Overall, Sheramy Bundrick's work is captured best through Susan Vreeland, author of Life Studies, " [Bundrick] lays bare in rich, compelling scenes the mystery of the turbulent and misunderstood final two years in Van Gogh's life." Sunflowers is a gem of a first novel and makes for an interesting glimpse into the mental decline of one of the world's most famous artists.

Sunflowers – A Novel of Vincent Van Gogh by Sheramy Bundrick is available for purchase through Avon with ISBN 0061765279.

Book Review: The Sidewalk Artist by Gina Buonaguro and Janice Kirk

When a struggling New York writer escapes to Paris, she finds herself falling for a charming yet secretive sidewalk artist.

A blocked writer, unhappy with her life and relationship takes off for a Parisian vacation. It is there that Tulia Rose encounters beautiful chalk drawings of some of Raphael's most beautiful and famous creations of cherubs and light. The chalk drawings' artist Raffaello, intrigues Tulia. She quickly finds herself asking if she loves him? Or is he a stalker? Or could he even be the reincarnation of the Renaissance artist Raphael?

Tulia's story and eventual love-affair takes her across Europe to lush settings that are both dreamy and romantic. Readers are indulged in sensual Paris, dream-like Tuscany and beautiful Venice as Tulia navigates herself through her budding affair and eventual break-up with her New York boyfriend, Ethan.

The settings are beautifully described and detailed by an author with a keen eye for the intricacies that the romance of Europe offers its visitors. Buonaguro writes, "What truly moves Tulia is not the Eiffel Tower or Notre Dame Cathedral or any of the wonderful sights. It is the little things.

A windowsill with a pot of geraniums and a glimpse of lace curtain, the way the sun glances off a puddle, the echo of her heels as she walks down a narrow cobblestone street, the taste of coffee at an outdoor cafe, the sound of children calling out to each other in French," making it easy for the reader to fall in love with Paris even if they haven't had a chance to make it there yet.

The downfall of The Sidewalk Artist, in my opinion was Raffaello - Buonaguro's hero. Instead of being the romantic artist that was meant to sweep readers off their feet as they read, I found Raffaello to be more creepy than to be someone with whom I would want to disappear into the European countryside with. I kept waiting for a plot twist wherein the entire story line became something sinister and it was with that thought that kept me from completely falling in love with the story though I did find the idea of the parallel plot and romance to be creative and intriguing.

The Sidewalk Artist by Gina Buonaguro and Janice Kirk is available for purchase through St. Martin's Griffin with ISBN 031237805X. It was released on April 1, 2008.