Institutional Sexism

Seems to be something of a theme lately.

I've been archiving cemeteries lately, with a lot of work in Congressional Cemetery in DC.  One of the things I've been poring over for information?  Wills.  It's not the first time I've run across this, but I've finally seen it so many times I wound up shouting about it last night.

What could piss me off in a 100-200-year-old will?

"And to my beloved wife, I leave all property (home, land) for the term of her natural life, provided she does not remarry.  At the time of her death (or in the case of her marriage), all property shall be distributed as follows . . . "

In other words, you own NOTHING, woman.  You may, because I am so kind, USE what is MINE, so long as you don't move forward with your life.

Sickening.  And yet it ties in so well with that whole "women belong to their fathers until they marry, and then they belong to their husbands" thing that has so long held us down.

It goes beyond that.  Oft-times, fathers would will to the husbands of their daughters rather than to the daughters themselves!  Think about that:  your father dies, leaving your HUSBAND your family's farm. Your husband dies when you're 23, and he wills the whole mess to his cousin or brother, with you being allowed to LIVE there, so long as you, at 23 years, never marry again.

Yeah.  Let that one sink in.  Your husband's cousin gets your father's farm because you're just a woman.

To quote Louis C.K.:

"Women didn't get the vote until 1920,  That means American democracy is 94 years old. There are three people in my building older than American democracy"

When I was born, women had only been voting for 45 years.  My grandmother was born into a culture that didn't allow women representation (though it merrily taxed them).

We're complacent.  We watch the wingnuts chip away at us, and we assume that things can never go back.  I'll bet that's exactly what the women of Iran and Afghanistan thought, too.  You do know they used to wear their jeans, their short skirts, their t-shirts to university classes, driving their own cars and working pursuing their own careers, with their own apartments, bank accounts, and autonomy, right?  You did know that?

Here:

Afghanistan, 1970s and today

Don't think they won't do this to us.  Complacency is the enemy of freedom, and our freedom is still so young that it could easily be quenched.  Roe v Wade was only 40 and a smidge years ago. And states like Texas are effectively overturning it by making access impossible.  And our silence is emboldening them.  And it's not just women--take a good look at what the right is doing to poor neighborhoods, to traditionally African-American neighborhoods--disenfranchisement via "redistricting" and doing away with early voting and absentee voting.  They've got women, the poor, and "minorities" in their sights, and they WILL silence us if we let them.

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On a (closely) related note, this came across my wall today:

I used to have a friend named Aziz.  Abdulaziz, in fact. He was the (married) live-in boyfriend of a friend of mine.  His wife and kids were back in Saudi while he studied engineering (and American women) in the States.  One week, his brother and sister-in-law came for a visit.  Speaking to the sister-in-law was . . . enlightening.  She strenuously defended the horrid circumstance of women in Saudi.  Used words like "honor" and "revere" and "protect."  Told me how women have a divine duty to keep men from being beasts by covering themselves from head to toe and not ever being anywhere a man might be even slightly tempted.  That MEN should be responsible for their OWN behavior was a concept so foreign she couldn't begin to grasp it.

I was reminded of nothing so much as an old Mormon neighbor of mine who strenuously defended the LDS Church's treatment of women.  She used to tell me about women's "special" purpose, how women and men are inherently different and each made with a certain set of abilities and ways of being that rendered them perfectly suited to the tasks the church deemed proper.  Women holding the priesthood?  Oh, goodness, why on earth?  That's for MEN.  Women have Relief Society!  Female Bishops?  Pshaw!  A woman is a "helpmeet" made by das deity to support and lift up her husband, to the glory of them both.

Oh, my backside.

Nothing, NOTHING better perpetuates oppression than the permission of the oppressed.   Church leadership is made up entirely of Mormon men.  Like the Union and the Knickerbocker, minus the cigars and plus the unmistakable air of divine self-satisfaction.

And before you think I'm picking on Mormons, know that many other faiths are just as bad.  I mention Mormons in particular because my neighbor was Mormon.  Had she been Catholic, we'd be talking about the College of Cardinals right now.

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Worried a lot about money these days.  Hubby is hoping for a better job, but there/s the very real danger that our credit will prevent him from advancing.  The catch there is obvious--if he could get this job, we'd have EVERYTHING (that's car and student aid included) paid off in 18 months. But we can't get it paid down without the job.  And the job probably won't come through because of the debt.  

He had me in tears last night, totally by accident.  He was out in the kitchen, I was here at the computer, and we were talking about the above-mentioned wills and husbands leaving homes for their wives' USE, but not actually leaving them the property to OWN.  Hubby said, "Maybe that's what I'll do--I'll leave the car to our boy, but with the stipulation that you may USE it for as long as you live and remain single."  I laughed and asked, "Why the CAR?"  And he said, "It's not like we're ever going to have a house or anything really worth having."

And I burst into tears.  I will, in just over 11 years, be SIXTY years old.  Sixty, and I'm not ever going to have a home.  It's been a dream my whole life.  A house, a little land, just enough for a few horses and my dogs to run.  Grow some food, not have to listen to loud neighbors banging and thumping, their dogs three feet from my window, baying.  

Sixty.  

It really does just race by you, and there are no do-overs.  

Yeah.  That's enough sad for the day.  I need to try to look at it this way: at least we haven't attended any Red Weddings.

There is that.

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Speaking of which, don't forget Game of Thrones is on tonight!  Episode One of Season Four!  

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An update here:  the landlord is booting us, has given us 60 days notice to vacate.  This isn't an eviction--he says we're the best tenants he's ever had, has offered a glowing reference.  But he's selling, and he needs us out so he can do that.  Which leaves us utterly screwed and possibly facing homelessness.  Truly.  So please.

Giving Thanks

I don't usually engage in the whole "I am thankful for" gig.  Mostly because people assume that one must be thankful TO some grand being somewhere.  I, of course, am not thankful to any ghosties or beasties.  Because I don't want to hassle with the idea that I somehow SHOULD be, I tend to avoid the language altogether.  When I offer up thanks, it's a general, universe/life/existence/happenstance thing.  No deities need apply.

Which is not, of course, to say that you can't have your deities--if you lean that way, I am happy for you.  I hope it brings you great joy.

Anyway, back on point--I just spent two hours doing the "obligatory family phone calls" shuffle.  Gonna take me a minute to get back to where I was in my head.

Thankfulness.  Right.

I started to write this with the little Pakistani girls in mind.  You know, the ones braving Taliban bullets to obtain an education?  And my mind wandered to my own education, something I was so disdainful of when I was a child.  See, I didn't have to worry about being shot or having my family's home firebombed.  No, I had it just slightly easier.  Easier enough that I could look at that risk-free education as no big deal.  I read about these brave girls and their courageous families and I realize just how very lucky I am.

For that, I'm thankful.

Last night, I was cold.  My hands and feet, which tend toward the Raynaud's, were icy cold.  This used to be devastating for me, keeping me awake for hours.  I've found the cure for cold hands and feet when trying to sleep--a warm Cairn Terrier.  Charlie sleeps on my legs, and my whole body warms up.  So this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my first little rat dog.  He's a keeper, a sweetheart, a comedian, and a heating pad all wrapped up into one carrot-eating, rolling-over-and-playing-dead, squirrel-loving bundle.

Speaking of thankfulness, we just gave Charlie his first ever Thanksgiving organ meat feast.  Ew, but he sure was impressed.  Impressed enough that he kept kicking around his dish and trying to make more magically appear.  Happy Thanksgiving, Charlie!

The car is back home--picked it up last night.  Haven't seen it in the daylight, so don't know how well they matched the paint.  Regardless, I'm thankful my husband wasn't compacted by the 18 wheeler that did three grand worth of damage to our new car.  Hopefully, come March when our premium period is over, I can be thankful for our insurance company NOT screwing us on devastatingly high new rates.  Cross your fingers.

Our boy is really opening up at Hapkido.  Getting to know the other people, learning to relate on a more grown-up, easy level.  He's having fun, he's learning, and he's coming to more openly relate to other people in social situations.  For that, I am very thankful--it's been a concern.

Speaking of being thankful where our boy is concerned, let me just say that, as we watch hubby's nephew do his level best to be a cautionary tale (you know, if you can't be a good example, be an excellent cautionary tale?), I am SO thankful that our boy isn't striving to be an utter waste like his cousin.  His cousin, which is super-sad because the kid really does have a sweet heart inside that homophobic, blustering, "look how cool I am" exterior.   Sounds harsh, I know, but the kid just turned 18 and is about to be a "daddy" for the THIRD time.  Smokes, dropped out of school, can't support the kids he already has (his mom has custody of one, the STATE has custody of the second), and, whoops!  Here comes a third!  An epic git by any estimation, and, by comparison, my boy is Einstein, Lincoln, Socrates, Isaac Newton, and Carl Sagan all rolled into one.  My boy's a good kid, but it sure does help to have the nephew around.  Keeps everything in perspective.

On a slightly snarky-seeming, yet absolutely sincere note?  I am indescribably happy that I will NEVER, EVER have to utter the words "President Romney."  Joy!

And finally?  I am thankful to have that family that, so often, drives me batty.  Doing the "phone call shuffle" may be a pain, but not being able to do it would be a whole lot worse.  Holidays were never very good with my family--too many fights, too many pitched emotions, too much stress in the air.  Some day, I'll tell a tale or two of Thanksgiving with my mom, of sneaking into the kitchen every few minutes to turn the oven down from the blistering 475 at which she thought a turkey must broil away to dust, only to have her stomp back out and crank that bugger back up.  Surreptitiously creeping to the oven to dump can after can of chicken broth into the pan in a desperate attempt to be spared another year of utterly flavorless, lumpy gravy.  Maybe not good times, and maybe long-distance makes it all easier, but my times, and funny in hindsight.

A couple of funny things--the first maybe not as funny as the second:

1) Went to the store last night to pick up some last-minute things for tonight's dinner.  Hubby whipped out the debit card to pay . . . and it was rejected.  DE-nied!  We knew we had sufficient funds, so we wound up going to the bank.  It was late, after hours, but hubby hoped it was a problem with the store's machines rather than our account.  No such luck.  Hitting the bank's site on his phone, hubby was informed that, by paying for the car repair with the debit card, we had "exceeded our daily transaction limit."  Good thing I had fifty bucks cash hanging out with the emergency kit, huh?  No, the irony of having a limit to how much of my own money I can spend hasn't escaped me.

2) For months, we've been giving Charlie, our Cairn Terrier, chunks of carrots.  Just a round of raw carrot while we're preparing julienne for pasta or whatever.  He runs around with them eagerly, parading about, really, then drops them at our feet.  All this time, we've assumed he just wanted to play fetch, and so we've picked up the carrot and thrown it.  He chases it down, brings it back, and drops it again.  A fun game, right?

Turns out he didn't want to play fetch.  No, he wanted us to break it up into smaller pieces for him so he could more easily chew it.  Yeah, don't we feel stupid?  Imagine how frustrating that must have been for him, bringing the carrots for help in eating and, instead, having us throw the things across the house each time.  Poor Charlie!

On a wildly unrelated note, if you've any familiarity with the cemetery at Old Frisco, Utah, please drop me a note.  I'm on something of a quest. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  Be safe, love, be loved, and enjoy!