Bethany Bassett

Doo-Wop

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 6 Comments

I’ve been working on our Christmas newsletter and trying to squeeze each sentence into the narrow space between informative and bragging that entertains without either putting readers to sleep or making them feel bad about themselves. (I could always go the other direction and detail all our struggles of the past year, but while it might give others a luscious little burst of superiority, it’s not really what doting grandparents are hoping to read.) This politically correct newsletter-writing business is hard work, so I’m taking a break to brag about my family here. Cue the ‘60s doo-wop: “It’s my blog, and I’ll brag if I want to…”

Natalie picked up one of our Christmas books this afternoon and read a poem out of it. Considering she didn’t know a single phonics rule at the beginning of the summer and we haven’t worked on reading since school started, I’m amazed… and ridiculously proud of her. She’s already famous at school for her artistic talent, and she’s beautiful to boot. I love that girl.

Sophie’s beautiful as well and superbly talented at color-coordinating her forehead with her clothes. She is one seriously hilarious kid, whether she’s singing a ballad about pretty, pretty poops or passionately kissing her socks because she’s so happy to be wearing them. Plus, she gives the world’s best hugs, and I’m the lucky recipient of many of them. I love that girl too.

This is one of my favorite pictures of a man who is holding down a full-time job and working on his PhD and training for a marathon… who still finds the time to play hide-and-seek with the girls and to spend the last hours of each day with me. He also makes a mean cappuccino and can make me laugh even when I’m hungry (no small feat). It goes without saying, but I love him too.

Okay, gushing out of my system; back to work. ::cracks knuckles:: Thanks for letting me bypass the rules of propriety, if only just for one doo-wop-inspired blog post. “You would brag too if they happened to you…”

13Dec

Sadness Concentrate

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 13 Comments

I wanted to write something upbeat and entertaining this afternoon—maybe a holiday gift guide (though there are already plenty floating around the ‘net) or a weekend anecdote. However, I can’t seem to shake a concentrated sadness, so I’m sitting down with a steaming mug of chai to hear it out and send it gently on its way.

A couple of my grade school friends had their first babies within the last year and have formed a moms’ support group based largely on the teachings of Michael & Debi Pearl. These teachings mandate that a wife acknowledge her husband as her lord (yes, really) and submit unquestioningly to his desires and opinions; if her hobbies, relationships, or spiritual life prevent her from meeting her husband’s every need, she must give them up (and obviously, a career is out of the question). These teachings also instruct parents to dominate their children through manipulation and violence in order to produce automatic obedience and have already resulted in at least two brutal deaths. Unbelievably, many parents are willing to accept this call to cruelty because it touts itself as godly.

I recently saw a glowing article in a conservative magazine of how my old friends get together regularly to read this poisonous ideology and discuss how to implement it within their growing families, and it sends my stomach into a tailspin. If my friends are devoutly following the Pearls’ teaching, then their infants already know the sting of a stick against their tender skin. I can’t help thinking about those sweet babies this afternoon, about how innocent they are to the fact that their mothers are studying up on how best to “break their wills.”

The subject of child abuse gives me an itchy trigger finger, but a diatribe from me isn’t going to set anything right, and it would only mask my authentic reaction… which is heartbreaking empathy. I know something about what those little ones are going to endure, and I have an idea of the regret my friends will experience when (if) they let themselves realize what horror they were willing to perpetrate simply because an author claimed it was God’s will. I can only imagine what my friends will go through as well in giving up their individuality in order to stroke their husbands’ egos until death do them part. There is so much pain in store for those families, but I’m in no position to convince them of it. All I can do is sit here with my sadness sipping chai before I send it off in search of stray miracles.

9Dec

Reggae and Redemption

Posted by: Bethany in Non-Churchy Songs for the Soul 6 Comments

I haven’t been to church in a few Sundays for various reasons, feeling like death among them, but I’ve stayed spiritually attuned (ha) with the help of my earphones. A year and a half after writing my post about non-churchy songs for the soul, I still haven’t eased back into the worship music scene. I approach it like an outsider now, mystified and sometimes uncomfortable listening in on an outpouring of theological convictions I don’t necessarily share. However, my need to connect to God with my senses hasn’t shut down just because the Christian standard doesn’t work for me anymore. I still sing when no one’s around (you’re quite welcome) and unwind in the mesmerizing dance of words and music, so without further ado, here are eight more unconventional songs for the soul:

1. O Holy Night by Seven Day Jesus
In honor of the approaching holiday, here is my favorite rendition of my favorite Christmas song. Yes, it falls awfully close to hymn territory, but it speaks of yearning, of social justice, and of the love that continually draws me to God in spite of my chronic non-churchiness.

“Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother,
And in his name, all oppression shall cease…”

2. I Will Be Light by Matisyahu
Matisyahu’s “Light” is my running album, but I always find myself slowing when I get to track six. It’s like a double shot of perspective that both satisfies my daily craving for purpose and energizes my drive for compassion. I hear God’s reggae roots in it, and I’m always running again by the end of the song.

“You’ve got one tiny moment in time
For life to shine, to burn away the darkness…”

3. Let Go by Frou Frou
This song ends one of my favorite movies with an unexpected rush of joy. The beauty of breaking down, of jumping from a carefully orchestrated tragedy into a deep unknown, is one I know well, and the freedom I’ve found since is well worth playing on repeat.

“So let go, just get in,
Oh, it’s so amazing here,
It’s alright,
‘Cause there’s beauty in the breakdown…”

4. Light and Day by Polyphonic Spree
The band is undeniably nutty and almost a little too happy (here is the alternate music video which is basically a three minute LSD trip), but I love this song’s positivity. It’s easy to get caught up in moody introspection, and a cheery reminder to seek the light is always welcome. (Though really, guys… fairies?)

“Just follow the day,
Follow the day and reach for the sun!”

5. You’ve Got the Love by Florence + The Machine
I’m there far more often than I wish, wading knee-deep in the mess of my own life wondering what’s the use. It’s the human condition this side of eternity, I think. However, the amount of love spilling over onto this side is more than enough for the road.

“Sometimes I feel like saying ‘Lord I just don’t care,’
But you’ve got the love I need to see me through…”

6. Get Me Right by Dashboard Confessional
Chris Carrabba was my introduction to emo music years ago, and he has a gift for wrenching personal struggles out of the shadows into the stage lights. This song is particularly candid and makes no attempt to dilute his ache for redemption. I especially like his terminology of God as the one who makes things right; it’s a belief I grasp with all my heart.

“I don’t mind the rain if I meet my maker,
I’ll meet my maker clean…”

7. Let the Rain by Sara Bareilles
This is a recent discovery, a poignant reflection that echoes my own wishes for change—release from oppression, from stifling tradition, from fear and cowardice and incapability and status quo—a cleansing deluge of newness.

“And I always felt it before
That the world was filled with so much more
Than the drowning soul I’ve learned to be,
I just need the rain to remind me…”

8. Roll Away Your Stone by Mumford & Sons
I had a tough time choosing just one song of theirs. The entire album so perfectly captures the experience of waking up to life and identity, wholehearted awareness, grace… and this song, well, I dare you not to get swept away on its rollicking current. It’s one church service I wouldn’t mind attending in the least.

“And so I’ll be found with my stake stuck in this ground,
Marking its territory of this newly impassioned soul…”

Any that you’d like to add?

6Dec

Bobblehead Crossing

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 11 Comments

I am a bobblehead doll today, skull packed tightly with rubber, earlobes dragging me off-balance. It’s preferable to the tire treads across my forehead yesterday or the jackhammers in my eardrums the day before, but something tells me I’m sicker than I realize. Standing up really isn’t ideal right now. Neither is sitting up, but I’m determined not to sleep away a wonderfully wide-open morning; better to spend the hours staring at my computer screen through a groggy haze than losing them to oblivion, yes?

I am absolutely, positively, 100% not ready for December yet. The last half of this year has been dragging me along by my toenails, and I’m suddenly tangled in a string of colorful, glowing Christmas tasks wondering where summer went…though that could just be the bobblehead talking. I shouldn’t try to wax poetic about the changing of the seasons when I’m having trouble locating my own neck.

In lieu of more incoherent mumblings from me, I’d love to hear about you.
What do you see outside your window?
What are you listening to?
What are you looking forward to today?
What’s making you tick, making you smile, inspiring, warming, filling you right now?

I’ll start:
I’m watching hundreds if not thousands of birds perform a frenzied ballet on the winds whipping our sky into a froth. I’m listening to Ella Fitzgerald in an attempt to absorb some of her nutmeg-sweet Decemberly vibes. I’m looking forward to reading Farmer Boy with the girls before naptime and some new Christmas storybooks before bed; snuggling up and sinking into the literary world together is one of my very favorite privileges of parenthood. And for the final question, I think the mug of cinnamon apple spice tea in my hand pretty much covers it all.

Your turn!

3Dec

NaNoWriMo – Day… Uh, About That…

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 7 Comments

I somehow got into my mind that while my husband was in the States fixing up our rental house, I would be here writing like mad. 7 days without our two-hour lunch breaks or our long evenings together = 7 days of 2 x the average writing time, right?

I’ve never been great at math.

The reality was that 7 days without him here to transport the girls to and from school, pick up groceries, straighten up the house, make me laugh, orchestrate the girls’ bedtime routine, make cocktails, or help me unwind = 0 usable hours to work on my book. In the short segment of time he was away, one thing after another went wrong including bronchitis popping in for a visit, and I collapsed in bed far too late every night without ever quite finishing everything that needed to be done. I haven’t worked on the novel since Day 23 when I wondered if I would even make it to 30,000 words. I didn’t.

I’m still weary and battling a throbbing prickle in my airways, and I know this isn’t the best time to evaluate how my first NaNoWriMo attempt went, but I still feel like I should give it some closure. Maybe I should acknowledge how amazing it is that I ended November with 27,435 more words than I started with, or maybe I should admit how disappointed I am in myself that I let the entire last week slip away. I could always wax poetic about that first day of writing when words flowed effortlessly and the whole endeavor felt like being at an all-night party. Alternately, I could express my relief that I can finally prioritize everything else I’ve been missing—catching up with you all, finishing the last chapter of our Highland Fling saga, sorting through this fall’s photos, channeling Mrs. Claus, playing piano, doing crafts with the girls, etc, etc, etc.

On the other hand, I might not need to bother with closure at all. The book and I are going to take a nice break from each other this month, but I fully intend to dive back into it come January. I’m unofficially extending my National Novel Writing Month for as long as it takes me to complete a full 80,00ish-page manuscript. A book. The idea has always seemed unattainable, but now I have a month—actually, let’s just count the first three weeks, shall we?—of proof that I can unwrap a story word by word and watch the pages accumulate. Even from my sluggish outlook right now, the possibility is thrilling.

No, I didn’t “win” NaNoWriMo.
Yes, I’m a little disappointed.
No, I don’t know if I’ll attempt it again in future years.
Yes, the experience was valuable regardless.
No, my book-writing adventure is not yet over.
Yes, I am excited to see how far I can take it.
No, that probably won’t be to the bestseller list.
Yes, that “probably” feels awfully presumptuous.
No, I’m not going to delete it.
Yes, I have a lot of hard work ahead… but now I know I have what it takes to write a book.

Just not in a month.

1Dec

Placeholder

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 5 Comments

A peddler approached me in the grocery store parking lot this morning while I was lugging my purchases to the car. I briefly noticed her baggy coat, wrapped around her like a dingy comforter, before I lowered my head and stepped up the pace.

“Buon giorno, signora,” she said in a halting African accent.

I mumbled that I wasn’t interested as I shut my groceries in the trunk.

“Please, signora,” she persisted, holding out her wares.

“I’m not interested,” I reiterated, hurrying into the front seat before she had a chance to corner me.

As I was pulling the door shut, I caught one last sentence from her: “Thanks anyway, and have a good day.”

Something about her tone, the quiet defeat in it, made me look at her for the first time. She had turned away from me and was standing simply in the parking lot, a tier of mismatched wool hats the only buffer between her and the cold December drizzle. She was carrying an armful of cheap umbrellas and a package of men’s socks, and I wondered why I hadn’t even bothered to find out what she was selling before saying I wasn’t interested. It’s not that I needed a new umbrella, but it wouldn’t have hurt me to at least look at her earlier, to notice more than my own annoyance.

Now that I was noticing, her weary stance settled in my stomach like a rock. Her face was passive, but the way she stood like a forgotten monument, like a placeholder for someone else’s name, expressed more than words could have. I caught a glimpse of the woman beneath all the layers and of the dignity I had failed to acknowledge when she invaded my personal piece of parking lot. I felt like scum.

I wish-wish-wish it weren’t so instinctual for me to treat some people like I’m a superior being just because my husband’s income allows me to shop at the grocery store rather than peddle accessories outside. That has everything to do with privilege and nothing to do with betterness; my head knows this well, but the concept is taking time to soak into my reflexes. (Case in point: this post from a year and a half ago.) Of all the things I wish I could change about myself, this automatic discrimination ranks high.

I drove away without speaking to the woman again. I didn’t want to raise her hopes that I wanted to buy an umbrella after all, and I felt I had already missed my chance to do the right thing—to make eye contact, smile, treat her with respect. However, I did whisper how sorry as I was as I pulled out of the parking lot where she stood motionless in the rain. I’m letting that image of her, a woman like me holding umbrellas nobody wanted while the sky dripped unchecked on her face, rest heavily in my mind in the hopes that I’ll get a do-over some day… and that when I do, my instincts will be trumped by kindness.

26Nov

Buttered and True

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 1 Comment

Despite hailstorms, car trouble, the natural disaster zone that is the girls’ room, and my ongoing husbandlessness, I can end today with my wholehearted endorsement of the following happy-making activities:

Dancing in pajamas to this song (bonus points if joined by giggling daughters)
Sneaking a leftover pecan pie bar before breakfast
Mailing off a little care package
Re-reading this blog entry (bonus points if laughter is accompanied by snorts and/or tears)
Tucking strawberry plants in for the winter
Stumbling across this quote
Indulging in a few minutes of “Buttered Mashed Potatoes” candle
Catching up on a guilty pleasure
Hosting a soup-and-baguette picnic on the living room rug
Soaking in a good, old-fashioned bubble bath

What are some of your tried and true gloom-chasers?

Page 35 of 84« First...10 20 30 «33 343536 37 »40 50 60...Last »