I like to believe that I live by a philosophy birthed by Virginia Woolf--that to be a successful writer one must have a room of one's own and kill the angel in the house. It is the second part of this philosophy that I'm considering today.
The Angel in the house is a phantom in my head that harps on loyalty, charity, forgiveness and humility. These are not bad qualities, and they are a part of my life philosophy. However, the Angel in my head is also the first lady of martyrdom. Oh woe is me.
The goal is to kill the Angel in the house--invite equality into your living room and express yourself. I have a room of my own. I am married to a man who encourages and supports me. I have ideas and the ability and means to express them. I have succeeded.
But the Angel does not die so easily. She finds other places to live. Like in my cubicle. If Virginia could see our lives today, would she add another point to the list for success? Would she change the mantra? Kill the Angel in the cubical?
I believe she would.
Angel, I'm calling you out. Pack your damn bags.
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Friday, June 30, 2006
Slipping through the looking glass
Something caught me by surprise today. I've lost 27 pounds.
You are probably wondering how this caught me by surprise. Well, it did Alice and I'm not sure whose body this is.
I've been overweight since kindergarten. Unpleasant names to cutting comments, I've been "rubinesque" forever. Eventually, I embraced my bodacious bod and began tweaking my self-image to include extra B's (boob, belly and butt). I even learned to love myself. *gasp*
I'm not a career dieter. I sometimes experiment, but I've always been non-committal. My mother is convinced that I lost a few pounds on a diet with her when I was 16. It must have been significant because I've blocked it from memory.
I was raised on fast food--Big Macs, White Castles and Imo's pizza. In my 20's, I learned to cook and ate much healthier. In my 30's, I discovered activities like gardening, step aerobics and of course, belly dancing. But, I never dropped much weight.
A few weeks ago, Weight Watchers came to my office. The rally call came--join the weekly meeting. NO WAY! I'm anti-diet and it cost too much. But when the second session came up and I became inspired by the success of a co-worker, three more of us signed up.
I signed the check and went to the first meeting. Then, I bitched all the way home. I pitched a full out 3-year-old fit. I think I may have even pounded my fists on my friend’s dashboard. I'm not always open to suggestion.
I turned the whole flex point diet into a game and played "how many points is this?" with my coworkers. I didn't really expect results. Just like my college experience when I went to school because I loved it. Eventually, I had 42 hours with a 4.0 before I realized what that meant. This diet has been equally surprising.
Suddenly, I'm facing the possibility of actually achieving a goal I've had for 30 years. I used to say, "If I could just lose this weight, everything would be perfect." Well, I finally stopped believing that and suddenly I’m wearing some fat girl’s pants.
I feel like I woke up under a mushroom and a Cheshire cat just winked at me.
You are probably wondering how this caught me by surprise. Well, it did Alice and I'm not sure whose body this is.
I've been overweight since kindergarten. Unpleasant names to cutting comments, I've been "rubinesque" forever. Eventually, I embraced my bodacious bod and began tweaking my self-image to include extra B's (boob, belly and butt). I even learned to love myself. *gasp*
I'm not a career dieter. I sometimes experiment, but I've always been non-committal. My mother is convinced that I lost a few pounds on a diet with her when I was 16. It must have been significant because I've blocked it from memory.
I was raised on fast food--Big Macs, White Castles and Imo's pizza. In my 20's, I learned to cook and ate much healthier. In my 30's, I discovered activities like gardening, step aerobics and of course, belly dancing. But, I never dropped much weight.
A few weeks ago, Weight Watchers came to my office. The rally call came--join the weekly meeting. NO WAY! I'm anti-diet and it cost too much. But when the second session came up and I became inspired by the success of a co-worker, three more of us signed up.
I signed the check and went to the first meeting. Then, I bitched all the way home. I pitched a full out 3-year-old fit. I think I may have even pounded my fists on my friend’s dashboard. I'm not always open to suggestion.
I turned the whole flex point diet into a game and played "how many points is this?" with my coworkers. I didn't really expect results. Just like my college experience when I went to school because I loved it. Eventually, I had 42 hours with a 4.0 before I realized what that meant. This diet has been equally surprising.
Suddenly, I'm facing the possibility of actually achieving a goal I've had for 30 years. I used to say, "If I could just lose this weight, everything would be perfect." Well, I finally stopped believing that and suddenly I’m wearing some fat girl’s pants.
I feel like I woke up under a mushroom and a Cheshire cat just winked at me.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
A Prairie Home Companion finds its voice on film
The compelling quality of radio is that it is perhaps the most intimate experience a person can have... next to marriage.
For nearly 15 years, I have scrubbed the tub, folded laundry, and pulled the weeds alone while listening to Garrison Keillor's tales of Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty, and Lake Woebegone. This evening, I watched A Prairie Home Companion in a theatre filled with people who knew the theme song and got the jokes. It was almost like a meeting of the Secret Brotherhood of the Chatterbox Cafe.
PHC is complete. Completely funny. Completely melancholy. Completely engaging. The stage is set with the romantic accoutrements of a live radio show. Most fantastic are the performances of Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lilly Tomlin, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madson, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, and dare I admit it, Lindsey Lohan. And there are secret gems. Names you'll only know if you've listened to the live show. Names like Sue Scott, Tim Russell and Tom Keith.
As an avid listener, I tried to reign in my expectations. A movie can never fully imitate what you imagine. But, PHC invites your expectations. It gracefully maneuvers where others only clod. The grounding element is the man himself, Garrison Keillor.
This films unique quality is that it fosters and nurtures its best asset, that soft-spoken, unshakeable, dry wit that is the Keillor voice. The medium changed. The characters came to life. A camera moved in for a close up. But Keillor remained the unassuming storyteller who merely weaves his way through his last show—just another Prairie Home Companion.
As the final credits rolled, I realized that there was not a single poor performance, not a plot line I didn't buy or scene that didn't fit. And even more exciting is the pleasure of being well entertained by a movie as satifying as the radio show.
For nearly 15 years, I have scrubbed the tub, folded laundry, and pulled the weeds alone while listening to Garrison Keillor's tales of Guy Noir, Dusty and Lefty, and Lake Woebegone. This evening, I watched A Prairie Home Companion in a theatre filled with people who knew the theme song and got the jokes. It was almost like a meeting of the Secret Brotherhood of the Chatterbox Cafe.
PHC is complete. Completely funny. Completely melancholy. Completely engaging. The stage is set with the romantic accoutrements of a live radio show. Most fantastic are the performances of Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, Lilly Tomlin, Tommy Lee Jones, Virginia Madson, Woody Harrelson, John C. Reilly, and dare I admit it, Lindsey Lohan. And there are secret gems. Names you'll only know if you've listened to the live show. Names like Sue Scott, Tim Russell and Tom Keith.
As an avid listener, I tried to reign in my expectations. A movie can never fully imitate what you imagine. But, PHC invites your expectations. It gracefully maneuvers where others only clod. The grounding element is the man himself, Garrison Keillor.
This films unique quality is that it fosters and nurtures its best asset, that soft-spoken, unshakeable, dry wit that is the Keillor voice. The medium changed. The characters came to life. A camera moved in for a close up. But Keillor remained the unassuming storyteller who merely weaves his way through his last show—just another Prairie Home Companion.
As the final credits rolled, I realized that there was not a single poor performance, not a plot line I didn't buy or scene that didn't fit. And even more exciting is the pleasure of being well entertained by a movie as satifying as the radio show.
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Volunteer Addiction?
Been away, back now. Sorry. Life sometimes hits like a ton of not-so-proverbial bricks.
I volunteered at a food pantry yesterday instead of sitting at a desk all day hating the words "work" and "order". (Job related stress seeping into the happy hatch.)
Anyway, the company I work for, an awesome company by my measure, offers all employees the opportunity to spend two blissful days a year working for a charity. I have had the good fortune to work with Habitat for Humanity and Heat Up St. Louis! Yesterday, I worked at the Food Bank.
Good karma for me. Good karma for the company. That's a win-win.
This is a really cool company policy for other than good karma reasons. First, you get to do something that you know is going to help. And that offers a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. For instance, I know that my teammate, Mar and I can haul drywall for a grateful future homeowner fast enough to make the big construction dudes raise their eyebrows. I know I can perform like a circus barker in front of eager football fans heading for a game and actually convince them to part with twenty-dollar bills to help pay heating bills. And, along with 15 co-workers, I can help feed more than 6,000 people in one day.
Secondly, you get an opportunity to get to know people from other departments, people you know only from the hallways. Wow, I work with some incredible folks. It is amazing to see a large group of people put some elbow grease into it, as my mother would say. We don't know each other, but suddenly we are a rock solid team. We'll do what it takes and we'll make it happen. I feel like the Rosie the Riveter, "We can do it!"
Thirdly, you get one day away from whatever it is that is pushing you to reach for the phone to call in sick because you need a bloody break. Amen.
The crazy thing about these volunteer days is that they get me so pumped up that I forget my limits. I forget that I ever had limits. I sleep like a kid that swam all day and wake up grateful to be able to help.
It could be an addiction, I tell ya.
I volunteered at a food pantry yesterday instead of sitting at a desk all day hating the words "work" and "order". (Job related stress seeping into the happy hatch.)
Anyway, the company I work for, an awesome company by my measure, offers all employees the opportunity to spend two blissful days a year working for a charity. I have had the good fortune to work with Habitat for Humanity and Heat Up St. Louis! Yesterday, I worked at the Food Bank.
Good karma for me. Good karma for the company. That's a win-win.
This is a really cool company policy for other than good karma reasons. First, you get to do something that you know is going to help. And that offers a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. For instance, I know that my teammate, Mar and I can haul drywall for a grateful future homeowner fast enough to make the big construction dudes raise their eyebrows. I know I can perform like a circus barker in front of eager football fans heading for a game and actually convince them to part with twenty-dollar bills to help pay heating bills. And, along with 15 co-workers, I can help feed more than 6,000 people in one day.
Secondly, you get an opportunity to get to know people from other departments, people you know only from the hallways. Wow, I work with some incredible folks. It is amazing to see a large group of people put some elbow grease into it, as my mother would say. We don't know each other, but suddenly we are a rock solid team. We'll do what it takes and we'll make it happen. I feel like the Rosie the Riveter, "We can do it!"
Thirdly, you get one day away from whatever it is that is pushing you to reach for the phone to call in sick because you need a bloody break. Amen.
The crazy thing about these volunteer days is that they get me so pumped up that I forget my limits. I forget that I ever had limits. I sleep like a kid that swam all day and wake up grateful to be able to help.
It could be an addiction, I tell ya.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Shred, Baby, Shred
I was afraid of my office until yesterday. After two personal days and all the will power I could muster, I finally see an end to the paper jam.
I'm a self-proclaimed compulsive neat freak who loves to organize. (There's a line that makes a prospective employer's mouth water.) However, I've realized that I have a hitch in my neurosis. If a letter needs to be read, but can be read later, it is put into "the stack". Like my earlier fear of banks and post offices, the time has come to pummel this hitch.
The Stack in my office stuffed my office. Yes, neatly hidden and organized, but a major CF nonetheless. The Stack lived neatly in trays on over my computer, neatly on top of my desk, neatly inside my desk, neatly in the bill file, neatly on the bookshelf, neatly everywhere!
I do have systems. The important things do happen. It's The Stuff that comes in the mail and email from my HR dept and everyone else I have an account with that clogs the machine. Even though I can be heard ripping and shredding junk mail every week, people insist on sending me newsletters on my benefits, letters about improved service, or just other crap regarding my accounts.
"This is important, I'll read it later." But I won't.
But as of today, I have. I've finally emerged like a spring tulip. Hehe! I spent two days reading, filing and shredding. Now, not only do I know all about the pet insurance my company now offers, my chi is flowing freely. Amen!
I'm a self-proclaimed compulsive neat freak who loves to organize. (There's a line that makes a prospective employer's mouth water.) However, I've realized that I have a hitch in my neurosis. If a letter needs to be read, but can be read later, it is put into "the stack". Like my earlier fear of banks and post offices, the time has come to pummel this hitch.
The Stack in my office stuffed my office. Yes, neatly hidden and organized, but a major CF nonetheless. The Stack lived neatly in trays on over my computer, neatly on top of my desk, neatly inside my desk, neatly in the bill file, neatly on the bookshelf, neatly everywhere!
I do have systems. The important things do happen. It's The Stuff that comes in the mail and email from my HR dept and everyone else I have an account with that clogs the machine. Even though I can be heard ripping and shredding junk mail every week, people insist on sending me newsletters on my benefits, letters about improved service, or just other crap regarding my accounts.
"This is important, I'll read it later." But I won't.
But as of today, I have. I've finally emerged like a spring tulip. Hehe! I spent two days reading, filing and shredding. Now, not only do I know all about the pet insurance my company now offers, my chi is flowing freely. Amen!
Saturday, March 04, 2006
Nummy, Nummy, Shimmy, Choo-Choo
I'm a sweaty mess, but I feel good! I just spent the last hour practicing a new choreography, and I'm very close to nailing the footwork.
When I was a little girl, I went to dancing school like so many other little girls. I danced in tap and jazz, like many other little girls who got the thumbs down in ballet class. That was okay with me. I liked tap and jazz better *sticking out my tongue and sending the raspberries to all you tutus out there*
I wasn't graceful enough and I certainly wasn't built for it. But when it came to tap... well I could take down the house, literally. I tapped all the way to the chorus line--with the teenagers! But, I had to end my dance career when I went to a new school. I never quite got over it.
Between 7th grade and 36, I pondered going back to dancing school. I danced in the talent shows, went to all of the high school dances, and for 10 years, I religiously attended ladies night. I have never been afraid to get into the center of the dance floor and work up a sweat.
So, it really isn't too surprising that 3 years ago I started belly dancing. I'd always wanted to try it--but then there isn't much that isn't on my list of things to try before I die.
After months of seeing classes in the YWCA and Continuing Ed catalogs, I finally committed to going to one class. I was afraid at first. I was sure that I would be lead to the back of the room and asked not to return. Just like ballet. I could not have been more wrong. I highly recommend Aren's class at Shaw VPA. www.bellydancemirage.com
All my life, I've been holding in my tummy. Today, I'm pushing it out. When I shimmy, I'm glad that I jiggle like Jell-O. What started as something of a lark, grew into a great exercise and has blossomed into a full-blown commitment.
Sure, the costumes are beautiful, the music exotic, and it is an ego boost. But, it can be much more than that. I've discovered an appreciation for whole new cultures. I've become more comfortable with my body and developed some fantastic friendships. But, one of the things I believe is most profound is the new found joy I've discovered in just being a woman. This is the great celebration of woman-ness.
Just wrap a coin scarf around your waist and shake your hips. Once you hear those coins jingle, you'll feel like you’ve just heard the most delicious secret. And you will never be the same.
When I was a little girl, I went to dancing school like so many other little girls. I danced in tap and jazz, like many other little girls who got the thumbs down in ballet class. That was okay with me. I liked tap and jazz better *sticking out my tongue and sending the raspberries to all you tutus out there*
I wasn't graceful enough and I certainly wasn't built for it. But when it came to tap... well I could take down the house, literally. I tapped all the way to the chorus line--with the teenagers! But, I had to end my dance career when I went to a new school. I never quite got over it.
Between 7th grade and 36, I pondered going back to dancing school. I danced in the talent shows, went to all of the high school dances, and for 10 years, I religiously attended ladies night. I have never been afraid to get into the center of the dance floor and work up a sweat.
So, it really isn't too surprising that 3 years ago I started belly dancing. I'd always wanted to try it--but then there isn't much that isn't on my list of things to try before I die.
After months of seeing classes in the YWCA and Continuing Ed catalogs, I finally committed to going to one class. I was afraid at first. I was sure that I would be lead to the back of the room and asked not to return. Just like ballet. I could not have been more wrong. I highly recommend Aren's class at Shaw VPA. www.bellydancemirage.com
All my life, I've been holding in my tummy. Today, I'm pushing it out. When I shimmy, I'm glad that I jiggle like Jell-O. What started as something of a lark, grew into a great exercise and has blossomed into a full-blown commitment.
Sure, the costumes are beautiful, the music exotic, and it is an ego boost. But, it can be much more than that. I've discovered an appreciation for whole new cultures. I've become more comfortable with my body and developed some fantastic friendships. But, one of the things I believe is most profound is the new found joy I've discovered in just being a woman. This is the great celebration of woman-ness.
Just wrap a coin scarf around your waist and shake your hips. Once you hear those coins jingle, you'll feel like you’ve just heard the most delicious secret. And you will never be the same.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Embrace the big mush inside
2 hours. It takes one hour and forty-five minutes to get to the good stuff.
Call it a chick flick; roll your eyes and wave me away. But, if I could bottle the last fifteen minutes of Sleepless in Seattle, I'd keep it close and spritz the air every time life seemed too routine. If Holly Golightly wouldn't tolerate humdrum, why should anyone?
Oh, I do love Mr. & Mrs. Smith-style action. You can't beat the break from reality that comes when you hang out with Mr. Potter or a bunch of hobbits. And, I always enjoy sorting out life with Ulysses Everett McGill, Pete, and Delmar.
But, this week I have complete control of the TV (insert evil laughter). I'll be wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and hangin' with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts or Audrey Hepburn.
Tonight I spent the evening with Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Julia and Hugh in Notting Hill. Until my husband returns, I'm going to catch up on my chick flick fix.
Who knows? When he gets back, I might be itching for a little Jet Li... Unleashed, maybe?
Call it a chick flick; roll your eyes and wave me away. But, if I could bottle the last fifteen minutes of Sleepless in Seattle, I'd keep it close and spritz the air every time life seemed too routine. If Holly Golightly wouldn't tolerate humdrum, why should anyone?
Oh, I do love Mr. & Mrs. Smith-style action. You can't beat the break from reality that comes when you hang out with Mr. Potter or a bunch of hobbits. And, I always enjoy sorting out life with Ulysses Everett McGill, Pete, and Delmar.
But, this week I have complete control of the TV (insert evil laughter). I'll be wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and hangin' with Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts or Audrey Hepburn.
Tonight I spent the evening with Meg and Tom in You've Got Mail. Tomorrow I have an appointment with Julia and Hugh in Notting Hill. Until my husband returns, I'm going to catch up on my chick flick fix.
Who knows? When he gets back, I might be itching for a little Jet Li... Unleashed, maybe?
Sunday, January 15, 2006
No there isn't a murderer in my home...
Yes, that is me making all of that racket. Yes, the neighbors heard me. But, I don't care. I'm happy.
Tonight, I was late to the Broncos-Pats game, but not too late. I saw the second half and ohhh yes! The Pats are out of the playoffs! Can I hear a universal HAAAALLELUJAH! Very satisfying. The balls were flying--30 yards? Sorry, Tom, but that's Lynch with your ball. Interception!
Okay, so I'm a softy, and I felt a little guilty about being so damn happy, but I've been waiting for this for too long. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if it had been the Rams kicking the Pats butt.
Tonight Denver moves on to the next round, and they took out New England! Congratulations Denver, you ROCK!
PS- Jake, the Grizzly Adams look works for ya, dude. Hey, I like football, but I'm still a girl. ;-)
Tonight, I was late to the Broncos-Pats game, but not too late. I saw the second half and ohhh yes! The Pats are out of the playoffs! Can I hear a universal HAAAALLELUJAH! Very satisfying. The balls were flying--30 yards? Sorry, Tom, but that's Lynch with your ball. Interception!
Okay, so I'm a softy, and I felt a little guilty about being so damn happy, but I've been waiting for this for too long. The only thing that would have made it sweeter is if it had been the Rams kicking the Pats butt.
Tonight Denver moves on to the next round, and they took out New England! Congratulations Denver, you ROCK!
PS- Jake, the Grizzly Adams look works for ya, dude. Hey, I like football, but I'm still a girl. ;-)
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Aaack, there's giant hairball in my throat!
When I'm whining all of the world is a stage. Without a doubt making you laugh reduces my mammoth problems to their rightful ittybittyness. A favorite hobby of mine is inspiring your laughter. In fact, I'd liken it to the rush a skydiver has when that other foot steps into 2,000 feet of solid air. It's my extreme sport.
If you're being wronged, I'm ready to listen and then shuffle off to a butt kicking. I'm relentlessly loyal and thou dare not be crossed. If you're happy, sad, indifferent, I'm a giant ear. Share and I'll laugh, cry and suffer a lack of commitment with you.
But when bad stuff happens to my family and me, my ability to speak evaporates. Suddenly, my inner ear starts screaming, "You sound like a bloody drama queen!" Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that look of extreme concern on your face.
Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate my friends and family and the fact that they care. Hell, I'm tickled as heck to have friends and family who care. How lucky is that? But, okay, when the house comes down around me and whatever the worst is has happened, I loose my skills.
Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth. Thank you? I appreciate your concern? Over used. I desperately want to find the exact word that will completely express exactly how much I appreciate you and the fact that you care. But, there I am, lost. Babbling. Graceless. I'd love to have some grace. I hope in my next life I do.
What I do have is a drive to fix it. Since I can no longer communicate, I instead become driven to fix it. Who? When? Where? How? What are the options? Line up those geese, Duckie, and let's get passed this.
I'm very empathetic and I'm totin' a load of compassion. Heck, I couldn't even handle the death of a 25 ft gorilla. King Kong was truly misunderstood. But, when I tell you something really sad has happened; please forgive my graceless, incoherent sentence fragments. I'm working on it. Really.
If you're being wronged, I'm ready to listen and then shuffle off to a butt kicking. I'm relentlessly loyal and thou dare not be crossed. If you're happy, sad, indifferent, I'm a giant ear. Share and I'll laugh, cry and suffer a lack of commitment with you.
But when bad stuff happens to my family and me, my ability to speak evaporates. Suddenly, my inner ear starts screaming, "You sound like a bloody drama queen!" Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as that look of extreme concern on your face.
Don't get me wrong, I totally appreciate my friends and family and the fact that they care. Hell, I'm tickled as heck to have friends and family who care. How lucky is that? But, okay, when the house comes down around me and whatever the worst is has happened, I loose my skills.
Nothing sounds right coming out of my mouth. Thank you? I appreciate your concern? Over used. I desperately want to find the exact word that will completely express exactly how much I appreciate you and the fact that you care. But, there I am, lost. Babbling. Graceless. I'd love to have some grace. I hope in my next life I do.
What I do have is a drive to fix it. Since I can no longer communicate, I instead become driven to fix it. Who? When? Where? How? What are the options? Line up those geese, Duckie, and let's get passed this.
I'm very empathetic and I'm totin' a load of compassion. Heck, I couldn't even handle the death of a 25 ft gorilla. King Kong was truly misunderstood. But, when I tell you something really sad has happened; please forgive my graceless, incoherent sentence fragments. I'm working on it. Really.
Saturday, January 07, 2006
Evicting the Bouncing Yellow Ball
In school it was the administration vs. the students. Then boss vs. employee and average person vs. politician. All my life there has been an us and them. However, we and they both want to be happy. Neither they nor we want to suffer. We really aren't so different, but it is so easy to ignore what we do not see.
Somewhere in Bangladesh a woman fell asleep at the sewing machine she was working at for a pittance a day. Somewhere in China a girl is trapped in a system reminiscent of the early 20th century coal mine company town. Somewhere down the street from me is a third generation hardware store about to go out of business.
Now, all things in moderation. I believe we all tote some serious Karma baggage, but this is when and where I take responsibility for my actions and the results. I know that not buying shampoo and toilet paper from Wal-mart will not save the seamstress, the factory worker or the hardware store owner from the Karma that is their own. However, it is my choice not to support company practices that I would not practice myself.
I have never liked Wal-mart anyway. Have you ever shopped in a Wal-mart? It's pure suffering. I actually got more satisfaction from surprising someone with kindness than anything the store had to offer. But, I digress.
I'm not really into resolutions, but I am resolved. No more Wally World for me.
Somewhere in Bangladesh a woman fell asleep at the sewing machine she was working at for a pittance a day. Somewhere in China a girl is trapped in a system reminiscent of the early 20th century coal mine company town. Somewhere down the street from me is a third generation hardware store about to go out of business.
Now, all things in moderation. I believe we all tote some serious Karma baggage, but this is when and where I take responsibility for my actions and the results. I know that not buying shampoo and toilet paper from Wal-mart will not save the seamstress, the factory worker or the hardware store owner from the Karma that is their own. However, it is my choice not to support company practices that I would not practice myself.
I have never liked Wal-mart anyway. Have you ever shopped in a Wal-mart? It's pure suffering. I actually got more satisfaction from surprising someone with kindness than anything the store had to offer. But, I digress.
I'm not really into resolutions, but I am resolved. No more Wally World for me.
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