I'm Just Too Soft For All Of It

Next month marks fifteen (15!) years I’ve been a blogger here in this space. I started in Blogspot, the original place for mommybloggers, what feels like a lifetime ago now. I only had two children, and one had barely turned one. I was newly “laid off” from my job as a museum curator at the biggest art museum in Idaho in a really unfair and fucked up situation. Social media was super new then, but was already causing trouble for people, myself included. As a writer and an artist and a mother with a lot to say about the good and bad and sad and wild and heart-filling and heart-breaking all of it, a friend encouraged me to put it out there because so few of us were really talking about the down and dirty of living. I called it Doin’ It All, Idaho Style and was honestly how and why when Instagram became a new place to share photos and short captions my handle there became @idahoamy.

Right away in 2009, when my sometimes a little too honest and raw blog posts started making traction locally, I started getting push back online, typically from people I knew offline and sometimes considered friends and even family. Some of that push back turned into very mean public comments and even trolling, before we had a term for what that meant and looked like. It got even worse when my work in body liberation, feminism, and fat acceptance coalesced after years of it percolating and started showing up in my art, my writing, on my Facebook wall and coming out of my mouth and started making waves regionally. It really amped up in 2015 when my most famous performance art/social activism work to date, something I call the stand for self-love, went internationally viral with hundreds of millions (!!!) views. My followers on all accounts jumped tens of thousands and I was all over the news and written about in books and on the radio and in a lot of magazines and on a lot of stages which gave so many millions all over the world not only the chance to consume my work but give their opinion on all of it. Problem was, they started commenting on all sorts of things and making all sorts of assumptions that were wrong, things that they knew nothing about. My personality, my children, my parenting, my marriage, my sex life, my education, where I was born. Luckily I was very solid in who I am and was at peace with my body even then and had some thick skin. I knew then like I know now that what those people say says so much more about them than it does about it.

It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

Last year I posted this unedited photo with a “pro tip” about how I sometimes tuck a wrapped cube of butter under my belly into the top of my panties for a quick softening during emergency baking sessions. Most of my longtime followers know me as an avid baker, a lover of sweet treats, a body image activist who enjoys her body and pokes fun at hacks. It was lighthearted, but also accurate (seriously, your pocket and under your boob also works for a quick butter hack!). An older female follower (and previous fan?!) of mine screenshotted this image and post with no context and shared it in some gigantic Facebook group called something like This Is Why I Don’t Go To Potlucks, whose purpose seems to be mainly food shaming as sport. Despite the group rules stating that no body shaming posts or bullying of any kind will be tolerated and posts with images and identifying information of other people without permission (doxxing) were not allowed, the negative and hateful and judgemental comments started immediately. I wasn’t a member of this group - like my strict policy of being heavy handed with the block and delete button for my own daily trolls, I also don’t make it a habit to join mean-spirited Facebook groups. But a handful of their hundreds of thousand members were fans of mine and screenshotted the post about me and DMd it to me to let me know. I immediately joined the group and started reading the comments. They were awful, untrue, analyzing every little detail of my body, local people making up lies about me, almost all completely unrelated to the post at hand. People finding me online, seeing folks they knew who followed me or were friends with me, and reaching out to them to scold them. I won’t share the details or exact comments or things they said or did even though I have screenshots. I’m not going to share them because I don’t want to revisit it, I don’t want to read it again, and I don’t really want you to either.

This all happened while Dr. Brown and I were driving to Pocatello for a lovers getaway in a giant scallop shell bed at the Black Swan Inn, swimming at Lava Hot Springs, finding Ligertown, picking up a vintage Hilda calendar I’d found at an antique shop. It was our sole anticipated date weekend of 2023, the only mini vacation we could afford, and we were so excited about getting out of town together. I found myself reading all these comments in the truck on the freeway. I don’t care how much of a public figure you are, how experienced at dealing with vitriol, how thick of skin you have, it’s never good for anyone to read 500 negative comments about your body (I’m not exaggerating, I think there were ultimately more than 500). I found myself feeling literally sick, tearing up. Not one person in that thread was calling these people out, telling them what they are saying about me isn’t true, even my fans who were in that group, reading that thread, sending it my way.

I decided to comment on the post, tagged the woman who posted it, reported some really dangerous and hateful comments to Facebook, reported the whole post to the Admin, reported the whole group to Facebook, and then blocked the original poster from my pages. The post was removed and I effectively got the whole group shut down for a hot minute before the Admin figured out I was the person the post was about and blocked and banned me from the page.

Over the past year since this happened I’ve still had to block and ban and delete on the regular. In fact, just this past weekend I had to block a woman who I’d already blocked for harassing me almost SEVEN years ago but suddenly reappeared in my inbox again to tell me all sorts of awful things she thinks about me and my work. Many times it happens in the “real world” offline as well. Most of the perpetrators are other women (an unpopular opinion I’ve noted and written and spoken about a lot in the past 15 years), and there are a lot of reasons for this, including historical and cultural ones, like the press, internalized misogyny, patriarchy, scarcity mindset, fatphobia, old-fashioned jealousy. The mob mentality and seeming anonymity online has just grown leaps and bounds recently. It happens to regular folks, minor public figures like me, and major celebrities, like Taylor Swift. The more major of a public figure you are the less rights you seem to have to your body, your work, your integrity, your truth, your safety. Sometimes the more visible you are makes you more likely to be defamed, as does doing culture changing things, bucking the status quo in the public realm, being an unapologetic woman. Defamation is any false information that harms the reputation of a person, business, or organization. It includes both libel and slander. Libel generally refers to defamatory statements that are published or broadcast (more permanent) while slander refers to verbal defamatory statements (more fleeting). This is incredibly hard to prove in the court of law, even when you have receipts for the lies. We all see it, but the social, legal, personal and/or professional consequences for perpetrators are few, especially the more famous you are. This little diatribe in this potluck Facebook group isn’t the first time something like this has happened to me - you’d be shocked to hear the ways it’s happened to me over the years. What isn’t hard to prove is the very real deep emotional pain, fear, and anxiety is causes. The very real consequences to people’s lives, hearts, livelihoods, health, self-esteem, relationships and reputations.

I mean, obviously there are many major differences between me and Taylor Swift. She’s had stalkers thrown in jail and people who have broken into her home, she is a billionaire with an advanced legal team at the ready, she’s got a PR team managing her social media, she’s got body guards at all times, she’s got a huge mass of Swifties who always have her back, at least in the social media comments sections. I have none of those things. Still, she’s just a human woman like me, and the deep scars and lingering problems it can cause for someone, how she struggles with depression, the ability for this to happen on repeat to people can add up, pile up, bury a spirit, crush a soul. How you can create walls and wear your armor, but your own army can’t protect you from it at the end of the day. I mean, Taylor has written a bevy of songs about how you’re the only one you can really count on. About how there will be no further explanation, just reputation. I believe this with all of my being. But….I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace. I’m tied together with a smile but I’m coming undone. And, maybe like Taylor, I’m just too soft for all of it.

How Do You Write Your Grandma's Obituary?

On Saturday April 29, 2023 I was leading a Death Cafe Boise at the library and talking about and thinking about my Grandma Shoda the entire time we discussed questions like "what constitutes a good death to you?" and "what do you think people would say about you if you died today?". For some reason I pulled out a new to me (thrifted) leopard print skirt to wear to that cafe, but now I know it was my beloved grandma's spirit guiding me, as she died during my Death Cafe. Turns out her spirit was also with my Lucy at the same time, as she was talking about Grandma Shoda's red convertible that we loved so much and got to babysit several times when she flew in and out of Boise and drive around with the top down.

Truth is, my grandma has been with me and all of my kids always, as we were so lucky to have her as such a positive presence in our lives and homes for so many years. She loved that car, she loved wild printed clothing (I wore leopard print to both her surprise 90th birthday party, her 93rd birthday party a few months ago, and again on her day of death), she loved life and she loved us.

Luckily I have artifacts of her all around my home and in my life - clothes and jewelry I inherited, furniture, photos, a keychain, playing cards, so many birthday cards, a voicemail I saved from our monthly phone conversations, video interviews my kids did about her early life growing up in New Mexico, her silver hair, her strong opinions.

I have a lot to say about my Grandma Frances "Sugar" Shoda, and luckily I was asked by her daughters (my aunts) to write her obituary, which was a little daunting but such an honor. I've listened to her tell me stories for 47 years and absorbed them all so I thought I was well prepared and poured my heart into it for hours and hours and late into the night the weekend she died. For days I listened to stories my family told about her - posts my cousins made on Facebook, things my mom told me, stories my aunts emailed back and forth.

Years ago I taught a “how to write your own obituary” workshop for the Boise Public Library. I’ve collected some of the best, meanest, funniest, most sweet obituaries ever written. They all came in handy as I poured over photos of my grandmother, some I took of her last home she remembers in Washington when I was there for her 90th birthday. Little snippets of her living. I listened to videos my daughters made interviewing her about her favorite songs and stories from childhood and high school dance. I read stories she told me decades ago and had the sense to write down. Even with all of this, though, I felt wildly unprepared for the task at hand.

I tried so hard to distill 93 years of an important life into 800 words. It was hard to do her justice. It felt hard to make everyone happy. I was worried about which stories to tell, which to leave in our hearts. It’s in the Weiser, Idaho, newspaper today and the funeral home ran it last week. I wanted to share it here so it had a permanent home not only in my heart but on my blog with more photos that help tell her story, our story.

Frances Elizabeth Edwards Shoda was born in a Texas winter in a town called Matador, on January 14, 1930 to be exact. Her parents and family called her Sugar for much of her life, and she had the cowgirl boots emblazoned with it to prove it. (Later her family would laugh at this nickname because we all knew her as Feisty Frances who was a bit more salty than sweet.) 

Her parents were Bruce and Mary Frances Edwards and she was the oldest of four kids – her younger siblings Marguerite, Bruce Jr. and Joe. They grew up in the 1930s and 40s in Texas and near Albuquerque, New Mexico, where Sugar had lots of friends and her first job as a telephone operator.  After high school she met Russell Kinsell, fell in love, got married and had four daughters – Elizabeth, Barbara, Lucetta and Terri – who also grew up in the desert country of New Mexico. When the oldest were teenagers they moved to Cambridge, Idaho, to ranch and later moved to Weiser, Idaho.  Frances did all sorts of odd jobs and, like most working mothers, took her daughters along most of the time. From running the golf course to operating the ski hill - everything was a family affair. Frances and Russell divorced shortly after the move to Weiser and she later married Lefty Shoda of Ontario, Oregon, who was our beloved Japanese-American stepfather and grandfather until his death from cancer in 1987. Soon after Lefty’s death she tried out so many other jobs, and when she finally retired she became a woman of the world – traveling all over it, often alone or with her dear friends she met in the Red Hat Society or somewhere else along the way. Frances loved sharing photos of all her worldly adventures with anyone who would listen and when flying or frequently boarding cruise ships became a bit too expensive, she taught herself to drive a one ton dully and pull a fifth wheel trailer and traveled the USA, often stopping to visit her grandkids now scattered about. Speaking of grandkids, she has 11 of them (and 33 great-grandchildren and 4 great-great-grandchildren). They will remember her most for her wild sense of style, her Foxy Lady keychain, the smell of spearmint gum and cigarette smoke in her car in the 1980s, and how she taught them all the rules of poker and when to double-down in blackjack and how well she laughed, loved life and loved them. Many of them inherited her clothes, furniture, big hats, eclectic jewelry, silver hair and adventurous spirit. Grandma Shoda loved big and a long time, as her great-grandkids can also attest to, as they got to have her around for so much of their young lives, too. 

After wielding a big rig was no longer feasible for Frances, she settled for a red convertible, roller blades and a snowbird trailer park in southern Texas near Padre Island in the winter months, heading to Idaho, California and Washington to spend summers divided at her daughters’ homes. Ever ready for a new adventure, she eventually spent her last years at a beloved senior apartment in Stanwood, Washington, near her oldest daughter Elizabeth where she loved playing cards with her friends and weekly trips to the beautiful nearby nursery and tearoom. Her final two years on Earth found her coming again full circle, making her way back to Weiser, this time to Indianhead Estates Residential Care near her youngest daughter Terri where she died at the age of 93 on Saturday April 29, 2023. In her life she was a cowgirl, a mom, a grandma, a mail carrier, an entrepreneur designing feathered hat bands and feathered high heels, a professional seamstress sewing items for Neiman Marcus, restauranteur, a great cook at home, a real estate agent reaching a million dollars in sales, cooked for an oil crew in Alaska, waitress, and even ran for Mayor once! Frances “Sugar” Shoda loved chocolate cake, the 1960 song Wheels by The String-A-Longs, playing dominoes, reading books in bed late into the night, Wheel of Fortune, and all of us, her family. And did we ever love her, too.  

She wanted her cremains scattered by her daughters at a special spot in Oregon and no funeral but since we love a good party, her family will be gathering to celebrate her and disregard that final wish. (She’d understand and approve!)  

Frances is preceded in death by both her parents, sister Marguerite, brother Joe Mack, and both husbands. She is survived by her brother Bud (Bruce), daughters Liz Chester of Washington, Barb Ross of Wyoming, Lou Norstebon and Terri Fritts of Idaho (along with sons-in-law Curt, Ted, Jim and Fritts) as well as grand-children Andy Bumgarner, Russ Bumgarner, Sara Lawson, Reed Bumgarner, Heather Pecht, Hillary Grigel, Amy Pence-Brown, Amber Pence, Garrett Pence, Andrea Williams and Lindsey Fritts, all their spouses, 33 great-grandchildren and 4 great-great-grandchildren. Her family would like to thank Renee, the employees, and residents at Indianhead Estates for their loving care and friendship. 

The last time I really got to sit and talk with my Grandma was in December when I was asked to speak to a church full of teachers in Weiser, about an hour and a half from my home in Boise, on how to add more body positivity to their lives and classrooms. It is also the town where I was born, the town where my Grandma lived much of her life and again lived out her last days. There had been a huge snowstorm and I brought a gorgeous poinsettia to her at my visit after my talk. She was lucid, rare these days as dementia had really taken over her life, and talked to me for 45 minutes straight without falling asleep. One of the very first things she said to me with tears in her eyes was this:

“I read somewhere once that mothers raise their children the best they know how, and sometimes eventually those kids forgive them. I hope my girls understand that everything I did was for them.”

— Grandma Shoda

She also told me a story of how dementia felt like she was suddenly in a dark black hole and it was scary and wild stories about her younger days as a woman and fun stories about skiing and cooking and ever the spitfire, stories about funny things her children said and how much she despised some certain men in her life. As I am myself a woman and a mother, her granddaughter - the daughter of her daughter - the mother of three children and in the hardest year of parenting I’ve ever experienced, I felt all this deep in my bones. Forever mothers, we are, circling into blackness, clawing our way back out, letting go. Flaws and fears and fierceness and fun, women til the end. Here’s to one of my favorites.

Accepting Me

For years I wrote several regular columns for the now defunct parenting publication Treasure Valley Family Magazine. For twenty years, from 1993-2013, TVFM was the premier resource for all things family in the greater Boise area. It was a printed magazine and free and you could pick it up anywhere in much of Idaho monthly. It featured a lengthy and detailed calendar of family friendly events, classes, camps and was THE place for businesses to advertise. There were stories on so many different topics, many of which I had the honor to write from about 2010 until it closed in the summer of 2013. One was called Park Playtime, where I reviewed a different park or outdoor play place in the greater Boise area. This was so fun and easy for me because I also organized a local mama and kids weekly playgroup where we got together to hang out once a week so I had a built in review committee to help. I am always the mom with all the snacks and the toys. If you follow me you know that we still love exploring new off the beaten path places and parks and swimming holes. I recently dug out a bunch of the archives and shared some fun old articles on my favorite things to do with kids in Boise and beyond I wrote in my Instagram Stories, many of which are still family favorites. (Here’s the link to see them if you follow me on Instagram, which I totally recommend watching.) I also got to write so many different types of stories, from Idaho road trips with kids to my favorite places to shop for really specific things, like birthday cakes and handmade holiday gifts and slices of pizza.

I almost always supplied my own photography for the pieces I wrote also!

The other favorite I wrote for the magazine was always the feature on the last page, a more personal essay, something my editor offered to me and I jumped at the chance and called it Somewhere Over The Laundry Pile. I was already a prominent local “mommy blogger” (this blog turns 14 next month!) and I was thrilled to have her faith in my personal way of storytelling. (Related: a fan one described me as a contemporary Erma Bombeck and it’s one of my favorite compliments to date.)

In it I wrote 500 words about things like trying to make time for a date with my husband and talking to my kids about hard things and how being a stay at home mom sometimes sucked and about getting my kids - and myself - to give up all devices for an extended period. I wrote these columns every single month and got paid to do so and had freedom and integrity and was able to use my own voice and I loved it so much. It’s been almost nine years now since the magazine closed down but I’m so grateful for that opportunity to use my own unique voice for my take on motherhood to such an important audience and the magazine such a lifesaving thing for parents with young kids in Boise for so many of us.

As I sat on my basement floor reading so many of these articles I wrote for so many years, I was brought to tears by my honesty, my openness, my vulnerability. I was shocked that I shared so many raw and unfiltered things - and that my editor trusted me and let me write them. This column quickly became a beloved column and I gained a lot of fans from those days - many older moms like me who still stop me in the grocery store to tell me how much they’ve loved my work from those days. The Somewhere Over The Laundry Pile piece that really really stuck out to me was the one I wrote in the July 2011 issue, eleven-and-a-half years ago now. It was called Accepting Me, and I wrote bravely and loudly about my discovery of the fat acceptance movement and shared my weight publicly and how I had spent a lifetime struggling with body shame and beauty standards that I didn’t want to pass on to my daughters. This was after two and a half years spent immersing myself in the literature and blogs and making changes in my own life to feel like I could whisper this subversion to the universe, except instead of whispering it to a few friends I published it in the most popular and widely read women’s magazine in most of Idaho at the time LOL. Here it is, transcribed below, because it no longer exists online and I really, really think it should. (I’ll share the text below the image.)

“TO: L. Buckingham, Editor, Treasure Valley Family
FROM: Amy Pence-Brown
DATE: May 31, 2011

SOMEWHERE OVER THE LAUNDRY PILE

ACCEPTING ME

As my girls, Lucy and Alice, are now ages seven and three respectively, I’ve been forced to accept that they are moving outside the protective nest of my home. Lucy is now headed to second grade and I’ve just enrolled Alice in preschool for the fall. Reigning in my ‘mama bear’ instincts a bit has been hard; now that my girls are ‘out in the world’ I can no longer always be the voice of reason when a mean kid on the playground says hurtful things or help them out if they are challenged beyond their physical capabilities. What I can do, though, and what I hope I will always continue to do, is to teach my daughters to accept themselves. I want them to learn from their limitations and differences and to offer the same respect to others they encounter throughout their lives.

One of my favorite authors, Naomi Wolf, wrote this powerful sentence in her book The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women, “A mother who radiates self-love and self-acceptance actually vaccinates her daughter against low self esteem.” I read this book years ago, well before I gave birth for the first time, yet I recently discovered this quote, hand-written by me in an old spiral bound notebook. It was like a note to my future self, one that I’m glad I found. As a mother, of course I know that acceptance begins with yourself and that by doing so, I am teaching the policy of acceptance to my daughters. Those with higher self esteem and self acceptance are more likely to accept the differences of others, all things I want to instill in my children. As a woman, however, it is often harder to practice what I preach.

I sometimes have moments of incredible insecurity and weakness. I worry that this shade of lipstick does not look right on me and have days when I’d rather die than be seen in a bathing suit. There are times I sense the disapproval in the widening of eyes when I tell new acquaintances how I gave up a strong career working outside of the home full-time in the nonprofit world to live on less (money) but with more (time with my family). Years of struggling with anxiety, panic attacks and a slew of medications to help control both have made me sensitive to my own mental health issues. I berate myself over the piles of laundry on the floor, late fees for lost library books, and occasionally bribing my kids with Chicken McNuggets® if they promise to behave while accompanying me to work-related meetings.

As I have now officially entered my mid-thirties and have crossed that threshold nearer to forty (gasp!), I have been surprised at the confidence I exude and the comfort I feel in my own skin, even though it may be more saggy and stretch-marked than ever before. I’m rotund and real and at 240 lbs. have recently become a hard-core supporter of the Fat Acceptance Movement and believe whole-heartedly in health at every size. The silver streaks in my hair are a source of pride for me, honoring my mother, aunts and grandmother who all grayed before me. My intellect is continually growing and being fed by reading, taking classes, staying informed and active in my community and the world.

Like everyone, I have good days and bad ones, but I really think it is important to remind myself what I can do rather than what I can’t and focus on how to go about making myself a better person. By accepting me, I can show my daughters, and the world, how to accept others.

”

— Amy Pence-Brown thinks being fat, fabulous, and frighteningly smart is a killer combination. You can read more of her rants about life on her blog, Doin’ It All, Idaho Style www.idaho-style.blogspot.com.

Feeling nostalgic for this writing gig and for my tiny babies lately. True to motherhood, as life just moves so quickly and you’re so caught up in the moment of right now, I’d forgotten so many of these things ever happened and that I’d written about them. I wish I could just post all the archives here because I’m still so incredibly moved and proud of everything I wrote in this magazine, of the way we touched and helped families’ lives, of the way I was so true to myself while figuring out the most important job I’ll ever have - being a mother. While I may no longer have a print outlet so supportive (oh, and if you’ve been here long you know how many publications I wrote for before and after Treasure Valley Family Magazine that were a shitshow), I always have this blog and social media as a place to currently share my voice with bigger audiences and I’m forever grateful. To those of you here, new and old, who find hope and strength and themselves in my words. Thank you for reading.

Upstander

My daughter, Alice, is thirteen-years-old and has been dancing with a local disabled dance troupe Open Arms Dance Project in Boise for 3 years now. It’s actually full of dancers ages 7-77 if you can believe it and not all of them have disabilities, but many of them do. There are folks in wheelchairs and with walkers and those on a bunch of machines and those unable to speak. There are probably about 20 of them at this point, and together they form the most accepting, kind and inclusive family. To watch them dance together is a concert of diversity and beauty and really truly opens your heart to what good things can be in this world what is so often a sad miserable place.

Alice with a crew of her Open Arms Dance Project dancers performing at First Thursday in February at LED Studio downtown Boise.

Alice’s disabilities are “invisible” and therefore often misunderstood. She was born with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and has been diagnosed with several other things over the years. As a toddler she tested through the free state special education programs into a pre-school for developmentally delayed kids at the age of three. She’s been on either a 504 or an IEP (formal plans that schools develop to give kids with disabilities the support they need in the classroom and beyond) the entire time she’s been in public school. We’ve also had a team of multiple doctors, psychologists, therapists, teachers, and administrators over the past decade assisting with these things, including numerous treatments, therapies and medications. As a result, Alice has become an outspoken advocate not only for herself, but for others with disabilities or anyone, really, who may need a little extra help and attention.

Alice and her friend Hava who is also an Ambassador for Open Arms Dance Project at Jefferson Elementary School last week for their final performance an presentation for the Upstander curriculum with the Wassmuth Center.

Therefore, it wasn’t surprising to me when last year she was selected to be an ambassador for Open Arms Dance Project and the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights and help teach their Upstander anti-bullying curriculum using dance at two local public elementary schools. They’ve shown the 2nd graders a dance video that they made during the pandemic and told the kids their stories of growing up with disabilities in schools. For Alice, this includes how her OCD, anxiety, and chronic migraines manifest and how she’s often made fun by peers of for being too goofy and energetic, annoying and weird. How sometimes she misses questions and social cues and needs things repeated a lot. Through dance, they’ve been teaching the kids how to be an “upstander” instead of a bystander, which is a person who speaks or acts in support of an individual or cause, particularly someone who intervenes on behalf of a person being attacked or bullied. An upstander is a person who has chosen to make a difference in the world by speaking out against injustice and creating positive change, For example, "encourage your daughter to be an upstander, not a bystander."

Alice sharing part of her personal story with bullying, her disabilities, her love of helping people and athletics with the children of Forge International Elementary School in Middleton, Idaho, via Zoom at Jefferson Elementary School last week for their final performance an presentation for the Upstander curriculum with the Wassmuth Center. She’s also being filmed for a short documentary film on Open Arms Dance Project.

Alice has been talking to and dancing with these elementary school students this academic year on this very topic and last week gave the final presentation and dance performance with these kids on their anti-bullying campaign

and also-

last week, for her own safety, she sat homeschooling alone in our kitchen crying her eyes out as a victim of a large group of 30+ kids at her junior high school have also been harassing, bullying and threatening her for the last six months. It’s included all the worst and stereotypical things you hear about teen bullying, including slander, libel, physical battery, rumors, gossip, name calling, threats that if she tells it will be worse for her, so many social media posts about how hated she is (by individuals and the entire school), kids yelling at her in the halls, flipping her off, lies to tarnish her reputation, hateful phone calls and texts, alienation. She has not been in school for the last three weeks because of the severe trauma and pain of what she has endured recently on campus and online. Honestly, this barely touches what has actually happened and continues to happen to her and words don’t even suffice or begin to touch it.

A snapshot of a bit of Alice’s bedroom wall I took last week while sitting there crying with her.

It's all the rage these days in social justice circles and businesses and schools to say you’re committed to diversity, inclusion, ethics, respect, and civility. There are workshops and certification programs and lots of guest speakers you can invite in to do trainings to do so. (I know because I’m often invited to give them – including in our local school district schools and multiple times at the very junior high my daughter attends.) It’s an entirely different thing to practice what you preach, and unfortunately no one often talks about the realities of what that looks like. Because the truth is - it’s so much easier to be a bystander. Because being an upstander is hard as hell.

And people don’t really like upstanders at all.

I know because I’ve been an upstander my entire life. Upstanders break the rules. When I was in the 2nd grade I hid in the bathroom at recess and talked a few other girls into doing the same to wrap small gifts from our desks in toilet paper to hold a birthday party for a classmate no one liked. I got in trouble and called to the office. Upstanders speak up. When I was 14 I wrote a letter to the editor of my local city newspaper decrying the fact the school district was removing the two whole pages on reproductive education from our junior high health textbooks. I was called a “slut” and my friends’ parents would no longer let them be friends with me. Upstanders buck the status quo. Thirteen years ago I began publicly speaking, writing and making art about fat positivity, debunking diet culture, promoting diversity and acceptance. And if you’ve followed me for long you know the list of how that has made me one of the most dangerous women in the country.

Thirteen years ago I also gave birth to Alice so she has been taught to be an upstander her entire life. In our house we don’t just talk the talk, we walk the walk. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. And is it ever hard right now.

Alice is an exceptional athlete on her junior high girls softball team as well as a club team and has been playing ball since age 5. She was excited this year to also make the junior high cheerleading squad.

School bullying and teen suicide are hot topics right now in the news and in research and for good reason – because both are on the rise. They can seem so abstract, though, when you read about them in the paper or see them on TV or your favorite show addresses them but are a whole different ballgame when they enter your home and your heart. It’s hard enough to be an upstander for yourself let alone others. My Arlo has already learned the “bro code” that “we don’t tattle on each other for doing anything” at school at age 7, from kids as well as some adults. He’s learned, just like his sister and I have, that sometimes people don’t like you for who you are, what you look like, the way you talk. Honestly, we teach them that it’s fine for someone not to like you, but it’s also fine for you to stand up for yourself when someone says mean things to you. And if that person who doesn’t like you convinces or joins forces with other people who also don’t like you and they all gang up to do mean things to you over and over again? That’s called bullying and it’s wrong.

And despite how we glamorize it in the media and in fiction and teach it in the classroom, standing up to bullies isn’t always well received. In fact, the results are often disastrous. I have a lot more to say on bullying in particular – how it is promoted in our larger culture and taught at home, especially to girls. How we teach our children to respond to bullying in theory but in practice it isn’t protected or upheld in our school and legal systems.  It’s not surprising to me, then, that more people are bystanders than upstanders. They see what happens to us and who wants that? It’s hard enough being an upstander for yourself let alone others. Being an upstander doesn’t often leave you feeling empowered and brave. It leaves you feeling alone and helpless. And, honestly, sometimes you are.

For us, being an upstander looks like a lot of tears and fear. It looks like police reports and screenshots. It looks like losing friends and family. It looks like being ostracized by your peers. It looks like blocking and deleting. It looks like “you deserved it.”  It looks like “being difficult” to those you look to for help. It looks like fights and death threats. It looks like protection orders and constantly watching your back. It looks like giving up sports team memberships and losing jobs. It looks like outing “good people.” It looks like gaslighting and victim blaming. It looks like discomfort and anger. It looks like sadness and depression. It looks like self-harm and suicidal tendencies. It looks like therapy. It looks like being labeled a “snitch.” It looks like bad grades and not eating. It looks like asking for help and being denied. It looks like dropping out and letting go. It looks like being failed by the system(s) even when those working within the systems have proven wrongdoing. It looks like changing schools. It looks like panic attacks and vomiting. It looks like sleepless nights and research. It looks like your heart being ripped from your chest. It looks like second guessing everything, including yourself. It looks like you’re the bad person for fighting back. It looks like the bullies win.

But also-

being an upstander can literally change your life – and sometimes your world – for the better. It’s a cliché, and it takes time to see it and it’s painful as fuck. But I know, from so many years of experience, as a mother and an activist.

It looks like freedom.

It looks like truth.

It looks like it will hopefully all be worth it.

 UPDATE May 24, 2022 AND BEYOND: This is how Alice has gotten back up after being knocked down. This is how you upstand. Click the images and articles below to see how to be more.

Multigenerational and inclusive modern dance group to perform at Morrison Center, Alice Brown on CBS2 Boise, April 25, 2022

Alice was part of this summer 2022 PBS mini documentary talking about some of her bulling with her dance troupe, Open Arms Dance Project:

Ask Amy: Advice from a Contemporary Erma Bombeck With Erotic Charm

I’ve been called so many things over the years, some nice and some not so. But my favorites have been how many times folks have compared me to a contemporary Erma Bombeck with erotic charm and also a sexier and fatter Mary Poppins. (I’ve also been told I look like a redwood tree as an insult but I've reclaimed that shit as a forest queen and it is also one of my favorite monikers ever.) For years now my inboxes and social media comments sections have been filled with folks asking me advice on body positivity. I've decided to share some frequently asked questions and some more specific concerns here as a sort of Ask Amy advice column because I know they might help others, too. I try to keep them short and sweet and often direct them to other places in my work or others’ that might help.

Dear Amy,

I'm curious what you should say when people call themselves fat as a put down to themselves? I have a friend who constantly berates herself for gaining weight and being fat. I don’t know what to say when she does this.

Dear Fat Friendly,

My favorites include "your weight does not define your worth" and "you are so much more than a number on a scale." I think it's important to dismantle the notion that fat=bad but that's a much deeper thing that has to happen on a personal level so these comments are easy and nonthreatening, I think. To help get her a bit further along on the journey, please direct her to my work!

Self-portrait at the 1907 Idaho Industrial Institute in Weiser, Idaho

Me speaking as part of the Real People, Real Stories lecture series at the Weiser Public Library featuring one of my slides, October 2021, photo by LivingInTheNews.com

Dear Amy,

Do you have some suggestions of things to say if someone comments on your weight in what they think is a positive manner like, "you look great! Have you lost weight?"

Dear Looking For A Better Response,

Yes! I often choose the lighthearted and true response, "I have no idea, I don't weigh myself. Must be my happiness glow." Or "Nope, still fat and happy!" Sometimes I just sit there silently looking at them for a few seconds and then respond by asking them a non-appearance related question, like "how's work?" or "any fun summer vacation plans?" They get the hint.

Me speaking as part of the Real People, Real Stories lecture series at the Weiser Public Library, October 2021, photo by LivingInTheNews.com

Dear Amy,

Now that my friend is engaged to be married she wants to lose weight. How can I support what she wants as her friend but not make her feel pressured to lose weight? I think it's great that people want to try to be healthier with diet and exercise but I don't want her to feel that she needs to based on what culture is telling her is "healthy." Thanks in advance.

Dear Want to Be a Good Body Positive Friend,

Share with her the books Intuitive Eating and Health At Every Size. She may reject them, because honestly people who are devoted to diet culture are often not ready to let go of it and have to come to terms on their own time, but it could be worth a shot. Also, there are lots of blogs and articles about brides ditching dieting and focusing on happiness that might be helpful to share. Lindy West wrote a great one.

In October I was asked to model for a Renaissance themed boudoir shoot for another woman named Cheyenne who is a photographer and small business owner.

Me speaking as part of the Real People, Real Stories lecture series at the Weiser Public Library, October 2021, photo by LivingInTheNews.com

Dear Amy,

Do you really mind the super sexual comments you get on your photos, though? I can see why posting a mean comment is totally irrational (if you don't like someone's body don't look at it), but the sexual comments kinda come with the territory of being nude on the internet, no?

Dear Male Fan,

I don't mind general appreciation for my work or nude body, but, yes, overtly sexual and crass comments do bother me. As do the unsolicited dick pics and the like that often accompany them. There is a long history of men especially thinking women are "asking for it" or "deserve it" for living life in their bodies, on the internet or otherwise. To me it's the same bullshit and dangerous argument that a woman shouldn't have worn a short skirt if she didn't want to be raped. Nudity is not inherently sexual. I can't control how people perceive my content. My work is not catering to the male gaze - it is in fact subverting it in what I and others call creating the female gaze. It's fine if men are attracted to me or want to have sex with me, even (I'm here for busting the myth that fat women aren't sexy, desired, and sexual creatures) but they need to be respectful enough to keep it to themselves. This is very clearly not a dating app or a hook up site. These types of unsolicited actions/comments are at the root of a very problematic part of our rape culture/bullying culture, which as a fat feminist activist I'm trying to change with my work, and social media is a powerful tool to do so.

***This male fan didn't like this response and mansplained to me that there is no such thing as rape culture or toxic masculinity but a bunch of immature female "snowflakes" and got his ass banned from my page.

I was recently asked to model some handmade bralettes and corsets by a young crochet artist here in Boise named Kierstyn of More Than Cotton. Here’s to celebrating women’s work, and also to more fat, fierce, 46-year-old models because I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: representation matters. And so do beautiful handcrafted things.

Me speaking as part of the Real People, Real Stories lecture series at the Weiser Public Library, October 2021, photo by LivingInTheNews.com

Dear Amy,

I'd love your input on some questions and comments I am getting from my daughter. I have purchased some if not all of the books you have recommended on your page but a theme regularly from her is commenting on her own body and comments she's hearing from girls at school. She's 5-years-old. I put in so much work at home and it seems to not combat the things said at school. Ah!

Dear Warrior Mom,

There is no way to completely shield your child from body image issues, unfortunately, but only teach them how to handle outside sources when they do feel shame. They can only control their own response to them. I try to give all my kids the tools so that they are equipped to think critically and react appropriately when these things come up. It often means repeating the same thing a gazillion times. In our house it is "all bodies are good bodies and there is no wrong way to have a body." Good luck!

I was recently asked to model some handmade bralettes and corsets by a young crochet artist here in Boise named Kierstyn of More Than Cotton. Here’s to celebrating women’s work, and also to more fat, fierce, 46-year-old models because I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: representation matters. And so do beautiful handcrafted things.

Me speaking as part of the Real People, Real Stories lecture series at the Weiser Public Library, slide featuring some of my past art and activism projects, October 2021, photo by LivingInTheNews.com

Dear Amy,

Today I had a bummer experience when I took my son into his well-check at his pediatrician's office. Our pediatrician told him that his BMI was "scary" and that he needed to eat fruit when he wanted a snack instead of "crackers and all of the other yummy things." He said my son should ask my permission before he ate anything, and that's what he did growing up. And then he finished it all off by saying mindless eating is why adults are fat. I decided to find a new pediatrician and I emailed the hospital to tell them about this fatphobic asshole, but I'm still so bummed out. I guess I just wanted to hear a little body positive goodness from you to lift my spirits.

Dear Mama,

Oh, yikes. This is so unfortunate and unnecessary. Good for your for writing to them and changing doctors. I’ve had some negative experience with my kids pediatrician, too, so arming yourself with language next time might be beneficial. Or even talking to the doctor alone in the hall before they enter the room with your child to let them know that you do not want them to discuss weight, BMI or diet with your child in the appointment. In my experience they may not respect this request, though. Or you can always wait and see how they do in the appointment and on the spot if they try the same BS or something similar in front of your child say, “in our house we don’t believe BMI defines our health or that any foods are bad foods. We like to move our bodies in this way (insert whatever physical activity your child enjoys) and eat a wide variety of foods. We aren’t concerned about that. We are concerned about (insert something you may be there for like headaches/constipation/hearing/etc or nothing).” Good for you, Mama, and I know how hard and heartbreaking this is. I hope you’ve also since talked with your child about these things and how sometimes doctors get it wrong.

A Class on Body Acceptance By My Oldest Daughter

I’m so lucky to be asked to speak in classrooms from preschool to college age often over the years. I talk and write a lot about body positive parenting as well to those of us who used to be kids and are now raising them. In fact, I just told the class of high school students I spoke to two weeks ago that when I was their age I desperately needed someone like me in front of them saying things about acceptance and kindness and that we are more than our bodies. I told them that motherhood made me an activist - that giving birth to this girl 18 years ago solidified the idea that I wanted her to grow up in a different world than I did and that I could be just one voice helping to make that happen. I soon realized I could use that voice to benefit all kids. (I say this every single time I speak anywhere.) And as a mom I have realized while I can’t inoculate my children from all the struggles of being human, I can walk alongside them and provide them the tools to help them thrive.

That baby is now a senior in high school and has been accepted into every single college and university in Idaho. She recently applied for the Honors College at Boise State University and part of the application process was an essay under 400 words with this prompt:

What is a class you wish would have been offered in your high school curriculum and why?

She wrote this without my assistance and just got admitted and let me read it AND share it with you and my heart is bursting.

“A Class on Body Acceptance

During the beginning of my adolescent years, it became apparent to me that my body was changing. I was significantly taller than most of my peers and had frizzy hair, not to mention the red dots that started to develop on my face. I noticed the differences between my body and other girl’s bodies, and I became envious of their features. I was confused and sad because I had never had these types of thoughts before. These odd feelings never stopped, and in fact, they became worse.

Growing up in the age of social media and body morphing technology, it’s difficult not to compare yourself to others, especially when the people on your Instagram feed have glowing skin and toned stomachs. Even your classmate who sits beside you in your biology class posts pictures of their ‘perfect’ body on the internet. It’s not uncommon for people, famous or not, to use technology to change how their body appears in photos, especially because of its easy accessibility. Apps such as Facetune can make a person’s teeth whiter, change their hair color, or even enhance particular parts of their body. Some people are going so far as to surgically alter their body in ways that they see fit. Plastic surgery is increasing in popularity not solely because of society’s technological advancements but also because of the pressure to always appear flawless.

Classes such as health and physical education are good ways to learn about how the human body functions and how to take proper care of it but these courses often reinforce societal norms around how a person’s body should look. Students are oftentimes taught that having a skinny body is equivalent to being healthy and having a larger body is equivalent to being unhealthy. Luckily, throughout my life I have had the privilege of being taught to appreciate my body but many of my peers can not say the same. Having a class that teaches body acceptance would be very beneficial, especially to growing teenagers. Teaching students that their body is normal, no matter the size or color, could help their self-esteem, especially when they are constantly consuming pictures and videos of people that society has deemed desirable. We all have our differences and being able to accept and appreciate them at a younger age will help us in the long run.”

— Lucy Brown

Pandemics: Thoughts on Weight Stigma, Fatphobia & the Quarantine 15

It started almost immediately as the COVID-19 pandemic hit America. Fatphobia swept the nation, not only because fat folks were at a “higher risk” of getting the virus and also having serious complications from it (how any scientist or medical professional knew this early on is beyond me, especially considering how little we knew about the virus and how it was spread in the beginning but that’s weight stigma for you) but also because one of the biggest concerns coming from a lot of people from being quarantined was weight gain. Not three weeks into it in early spring 2020 were we already seeing jokes and memes about “gaining the quarantine 15” or “gaining the COVID-19” in regards to pounds put on their bodies.

So much so that I wrote a poem about it as part of my pandemic art project.

Fast forward a year and we’d learned a lot of things about COVID-19 and ourselves by spring of 2021. And a lot about how much fatphobia continues to be so pervasive in our lives. I was contacted by a reporter for the Los Angeles Times newspaper about a story she was researching on such matters. We met for two hours over coffee and I told her all about my work with bodies and story after story I’d collected about medical weight stigma. About how often myself and my Rad Fatties, as I affectionately refer to members of my Boise Rad Fat Collective, go to the doctor for something like strep throat or a sprained ankle and leave with a prescription for a diet or a pamphlet for stomach amputation surgery. About how scary our current pandemic has been as a result and how grateful so many of us were and are for the vaccine.

I’m continually thankful mainstream media reporters are doing hard hitting research on the ugly underbelly of medicalized fatphobia. And finally addressing longstanding problems in the health & wellness fields, like those who continue to use and believe that BMI (body mass index) is the most important factor in one’s health. Like I recently drove home in an interview on these things for Idaho’s NPR station, BMI was never meant to measure individual health. It was created in the early 19th century by a Belgian mathematician to study the general population of White male Europeans. It’s a 200-year-old scientifically nonsensical hack. I mean, he wasn’t even an expert on the human body. You can hear me speak more truth to power in the full interview here, but I digress. A little.

Being my fat + fabulous self at a dusk photo shoot during harvest at Peaceful Belly Farm in 2020. My CSA farmer invited me to photograph in her pumpkin patch + corn field because these pumpkins reminded her of big beautiful bodies.

This summer Conde Nast Traveller reached out to me to help answer a question they got on the subject from a reader. It went something like this:

“My friends are all excited—the minute we got vaccinated, we jumped on booking a late summer trip together. We rented a lake house, just girls, a couple friends I haven’t seen in over a year are flying in, and our plan is to just hang out for four days, swimming, lounging, and catching up on lost time.
I gained a lot of weight during the pandemic though, and honestly sitting on the dock in my bathing suit doesn’t sound very fun. Actually it sounds terrible. That cute suit I bought two summers ago? Doesn’t fit. I’m feeling self-conscious at the thought of having every single meal together, like everyone will notice how much more I’m eating. I’ve never had a “perfect body” before, and I’ve always been bigger than most of my friends, but this feels different.. I’m feeling like I need to really cover up, like I want to hide almost, and I’m not feeling like myself. And I know if I said this to any of my friends, they’d just tell me I look great‚and try to reassure me. I think that would make me feel even worse. How do I get past this? I don’t want to lose this time with my friends, but I just don’t know how I can actually relax and enjoy myself. (Ugh and the pictures! I know we’ll be taking so many pictures...)
”

— A reader

My response?

Dear Reader,

The fear of seeing people we haven't seen for a very long time, especially as we've all been hibernating a bit due to coronavirus for the last year-and-a-half, and having them notice changes in our bodies is normal. Weight fluctuations, especially, are a VERY common concern and one I've heard over and over since the beginning of the pandemic. Seriously, the "quarantine 15" or "gaining the COVID-19" jokes started within three weeks of the virus spreading across America in 2020. Diet culture is so pervasive that even a deadly pandemic can't keep us from our fear of fat. As a body image activist for the last 13 years and a promoter/practitioner of Health At Every Size and Intuitive Eating, I actually write and speak on this very thing often and give lots of tips to folks, especially women, on how to begin to move past this.

First, I suggest you immediately start following fat babes on all social media channels because the more you see folks living their best lives in the bodies they have right now the more it will empower you to do the same. Second, buy a new bathing suit. One that is cute and makes you feel good and fits your today body, not your last year body. There are SO MANY cute options out there now! In fact, it sounds like you may be due for a couple of new outfits to bring with you, like maybe a swimsuit cover up you love and a flowy sundress or two and maybe even schedule a new haircut before the trip. However, while these things are fun and can help with the practical problem of not having comfortable clothing for the main event, confidence is really an inside job and can't be fixed by a shopping spree. Honestly, I think it's okay if you're not feeling your best or most confident self and it may be something you'll want to divulge to your girlfriends cuddled up with coffee one morning on the trip. It's likely they've suffered from some self-esteem issues in the time you've been apart, too, and can relate in one way or another. True friends should always be there to lend an ear, some solace and be a soft place to land when things are hard. And they should never comment on what you're eating or not eating or how much or when. And on the note of healing your relationship with food - that's also a longer process and won't be "fixed" before your trip, but I can't recommend enough following dieticians and nutritionists on Instagram and Facebook who practice Intuitive Eating and Health At Every Size (you can usually find them through the hashtags #HAES or #intuitiveeating). Every day is another day we will never get back and we only get one body to enjoy this one life we've been given. I appreciate mine every day and hope you do, too, and are able to move past your insecurities and enjoy this vacation!

-Amy

More body love at our 2018 body positive Halloween group boudoir photo shoot with the Boise Rad Fat Collective. Photo by Rachael Chappell, wearing nothing by dollar store spider webbing.

It was such a hit with the readers of Conde Nast’s Women Who Travel column that they asked myself and Stephanie Yeboah (who was also interviewed for the full piece, which you can read here because it’s so good and she also shares some gems) to be on their podcast in September. We shared a lot about our work and body image and how we suggest having more grace and compassion for our bodies when reacting to the trauma of the pandemic. Illness and stress and life can cause our weight to fluctuate both ways and that is a natural and normal response.

Honestly - I said this to the reader and on the podcast and also in my lecture at the Weiser Public Library last week - our bodies are least interesting thing about us, including how much weight we've gained, or lost, or what our body looks like. Hopefully, we've all come to realize that as we've been through something pretty traumatic and are currently STILL going through something pretty traumatic. We are losing a lot of people, and lives, and livelihoods, and jobs, literally, to this deadly pandemic, right? And you'd think that would maybe more fine tune what really matters in our lives, which is spending time with people that you love, doing things that we're all lucky to do every day, like going to a cabin, or swimming in a lake, or putting on a bathing suit and feeling the sun, or having coffee in the morning and conversation. There are a lot more important things to talk about than the number of the tag of the bathing suit we're wearing or what our bodies look like. Instead let’s turn the conversations, and our hearts, toward what really matters.

Me and one of the 13 girls that attended my Be RAD! Be YOU! A Body Image Workshop for Girls at the Weiser Public Library last week.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: our bodies were meant to change. That’s what it means to be human. Like I love to remind the teens I talk to in my workshops and camps, like the girls aged 9-14 I had for my body image workshop at the Weiser Public Library recently, when they were born they were less than two feet tall and like seven pounds. That they grew in extraordinary ways by the time they were in kindergarten and again their bodies are going through major physical changes with puberty. They have, in fact, been growing and changing in exceptional ways since birth and this will continue through high school and in so many ways for the rest of our lifes. Through growth spurts and pregnancy and giving birth and accidents and illnesses and medical surgeries and menopause all sorts of things – including aging and getting old if we’re very lucky. We only have one body and one life and every day is another day we’ll never get back.

3 Ways to Love Your Legs This Summer

As a body image activist, writer and feminist artist who often uses her body as a canvas for her art and activism, I’m used to putting my fat body on public display. I have very thick skin and am at peace with my body and have been for many years, but I still, unfortunately, I get lots of troll comments about my body. Especially my legs. I’ve had thighs as thick and textured as tree trunks all of my life and one recent internet troll tried to insult me by saying they looked like redwoods. It was an accidental compliment, though, because those trees are powerful and majestic. Whether you are a woman who has legs like wispy, white willows or gigantic oaks or somewhere in between, it’s likely that you’ve felt some shame over this body part of yours at some point in your life. This summer focus on making your legs a priority and focus of some love. Here are three of my favorite easy tips to creating a little more positivity toward your legs:

1) Try a massage and a mantra. One of my favorite ways to work toward acceptance of a particular body part is by rubbing it gently and intentionally with nourishing lotion or fragrant oil. Add in a mantra to say out loud while you’re caressing your legs, like “thank you for carrying me through the day” or “I love how you let me ride my bike.”

2) Care for that chub rub. Folks big and small have thighs that touch and add in the heat of summer sweat and bare legs due to shorts, skirts or bathing suits and sometimes you’ve got a real painful rash. Luckily there are a bunch of quality products now to prevent chafing, including lightweight undershorts and creams or my personal favorite, Gold Bond’s Friction Defense Stick, which you apply kind of like you do deodorant.

3) Accessorize them with something cute & comfortable. Pick up a pair of comfortable summer sandals for wearing out on the town or some sturdy ones for hiking in the hills. Step outside of your comfort zone and pick up a pair of shorts at the mall or a cute new sundress at the thrift shop. Be brave and bare them in a bathing suit at the beach and let them see the sun and feel the water. Small fashion risks can be relatively easy and lead to bigger, braver steps toward radical self-acceptance.

Home

When I was a child my parents had one of those 1970s green Electrolux canister vacuums with the long handle and fabric hose. I remember lugging it around the house and always loving how strong the suck was and watching cracker crumbs and dog hair and dirt disappear from the carpet, leaving straight clean lines in its place. As a teenager I used to fantasize about using this vacuum and cutting my skin open to suck the fat right out. I would daydream and plan the discreet places where incisions would be unnoticeable and hidden, like behind my knees, in the creases of my elbows, underneath the curly black hair where my thick thighs meet my pubic area. I daydreamed about how the fat could easily be sucked up into the vacuum bag and tossed in the trash and my skin would shrink along with my body making me smaller and more desirable. Or if that didn’t work, I could cut off the sagging skin and fold it up, tucking it inside my body before stitching the incisions with a magical needle and thread. I don’t remember when I stopped having these fantasies of homemade liposuction, but vacuuming is still one of my favorite chores to do at home.

Homes are always more than just buildings. They are our dreams and hopes and loves and losses embodied, sometimes in brick and wood and sometimes in flesh and blood. Homes tell the stories of our lives – in all its alterations and iterations, remodels and renovations.

A few years ago I went on a road trip alone. It’s one of my favorite things to do and one of the rarest things I do now as a mother to three. I was driving to Idaho State University to give the keynote address at their first Positive Body Image Week on campus and the three hours alone in the car were glorious. I drank a giant gas station soda and listened to loud music and thought a lot about these barren southern Idaho highways and how they used to really signify freedom to me as a high schooler who didn’t quite fit in and couldn’t wait to get out. Before the internet and easy access to cable television and cell phones, having a car and a highway was the only way I knew to escape and find myself – and others who might think like me. I felt my rural town was conservative and constricting, backward and overly religious. On a whim I pulled into town instead of buzzing by on the freeway and decided to see if I could instinctually navigate my way to my old high school without Google maps. I did it easily and slowly, soaking in all the houses I knew and the others I didn’t remember, succumbing to a place and a time that both made me feel nostalgic and nauseous. The junior high school sits diagonally from the high school and I remember moving to this town in the seventh grade – the most awkward time to be the new girl. The site of the windowless brick walls instantly reminded me of being called “Amy No Pants” (a play on Amy Pence) by a mean girl in the hallway who made up stories and laughed with the others about how I removed my pants for anyone. I pulled into my usual parking spot in front of the high school and tried to get inside but the building was locked. It looked so much smaller than I remembered, as imposing buildings from our youth often do, but I was overwhelmed with the memories that happened inside those walls. This dumpy brick building was important to me at one point in my young life, and I spent more of my time there than I did at home, with early morning cheerleading practice and late night basketball games and dances in the gym. I walked around back to the football field and stood on the track where I used to jump and scream in a teeny tiny polyester skirt with pompoms, and where I once had sex after dark in the grass.

My first job at the age of 14 was at the Dairy Queen just a few blocks away and I decided to grab a cheeseburger for the road. I was struck by how much I remembered of the building when I walked inside – little details like the color of the countertop by the cash register and the 1980s soft serve ice cream cone machine. It had been remodeled to update it to the contemporary DQ look, which made me sad. I walked outside to use the restroom and the hot rancid stench of the giant round dumpster out back brought forth so many memories fast and hard –mixing our own fry sauce by hand in giant buckets of mayonnaise and messy plastic bags of ketchup, hand-dipping ice cream cones, the soles of my sneakers sticking to the sugary floor, the parking spot where my boyfriend would wait for me after work. I had my long anticipated first French kiss shoved up against the glass of the atrium space by the cutest boy in junior high and was surprised to find myself disappointed in his hard, wet, unmoving tongue, and more disappointed to discover he felt pressured into doing it. I was taken aback by how strong the memory was of feeling ashamed of my body because of my reaction to that kiss and the knowledge that I wasn’t really his type of girl (read: thin and blonde).

I was listening to one of my favorite body positive podcasts while doing the dinner dishes (my favorite thing to do to pass the time and get inspired and educated during one of my least favorite household chores) and it was an interview with the writer Sarai Walker. Her recent book, Dietland, is an angry and fun feminist manifesto. During the interview conversation Sarai said something that struck a chord with me. She made a great analogy about how we’ve been taught to view our bodies as broken, as a project to constantly be fixed.[i] We talk about them and view them much like a home remodel rather than accepting them for what they are, with their unique structure, character and charm. It took me a long time to realize that my body is my home. It houses the most important parts of me – my soul, heart and voice. We only get one body and it is the vessel that carries us through our days to do the most important things, which as a mother can often feel like the most mind-numbing ordinary but important of things.

All photos by Meagan Elemans from an at home body positive boudoir photo shoot in 2020 from her home in Canada to mine in Idaho via FaceTime can you believe it? I’m so thankful to be so at home in my body these days and so thankful to have a home to shelter in place at during the pandemic while still being able to collaborate to create radical art. To read more about this series and see more NSFW photos from this pandemic shoot click here.

[i] Marie Southard Ospina, “’Dietland,’ Diet Culture & The ‘Thin Woman Within’, Featuring Sarai Walker” The Bod Cast: Bustle’s Body Positivity Podcast, May 24, 2016

Corpses At Burger King & Other Tales : About Bodies, Life & Death From A Mortician's Assistant

My body positivity comes from a lot of places – how I grew up, my stellar academic training, becoming a mother, my voracious appetite for reading, but, also, my personal and professional experience with death. Death positivity wasn’t a term really twenty years ago when I first started researching and reading about the American way of death. I began to wonder how we mourned our dead differently in the past and wondered what would happen if we talked about it more publicly and honestly? I began a quest that has lead me to a lot of work in the death field, and it all began in my early 20s as the only female in our small Oregon town who worked at a funeral home picking up dead bodies at night.

I’ve spent a lot of time in cemeteries researching and have given historic art and architecture walking tours of these cities of the dead since I was in graduate school. During the pandemic I’ve taken to walking a mile every single day through and around one of my favorite cemeteries in the city.

My grandparents started dying when I was just 14 years old, three of them in the span of just over a decade. All in Weiser, Idaho, at the same family funeral home that all my relatives have been viewed and celebrated, embalmed and cared for – at Thomason Funeral Home. The undertaker went to high school with my parents. The caskets were open and my grandparents’ embalmed, typical customs, in modern America and among Mormon traditions in Idaho. Such traditions include private family viewings of the bodies, a public service, and dinner at the senior center or a local restaurant and, of course, a burial in a plot at the city cemetery. The open caskets at these funerals revealed the first dead bodies I’d ever seen. They didn’t look like my grandparents any longer. That wasn’t the most upsetting thing to me, though. The most traumatic part of the service was seeing my parents weep with such sadness, for the first time in my life. And the realization that this is an important life transition.

Fast forward to my early twenties and I’d never been able to shake the thoughts I was having about the American way of death and the way people celebrate life through that transition. I watched friends grieve parents and lost a few of my own friends to suicide and saw people deal with the important death ritual differently, many coming out scarred and scared and in denial. I’d graduated from college and was living with my boyfriend in Corvallis, Oregon, where he was a PhD student and I was paying back my student loans bills in the ever fulfilling job title of RECEPTIONIST, first at the county mental health clinic and then on the Oregon State University campus working with international students on visas. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d like to change the way we grieve our dead. I wondered about things like why we embalm them, what happens to their bodies at night, alone at the funeral home, and why caskets cost so much. So, I picked up the seminal 1963 book by Jessica Mitford, The American Way of Death, became simultaneously disgruntled and mortified and decided I was going to become a mortician at the age of 25. I did some research, and found out that morticians require special degrees and medical certification, much like doctors and other medical professionals, and that there were only a handful of mortuary science degree programs around the country.

The next time I was in Idaho, I set up an appointment with the mortician at our Weiser family funeral home and he suggested that I think long and hard about this career, as it is very taxing on families and he wasn’t sure he’d recommend becoming a mortician to someone who didn’t HAVE to do it. Most mortuaries are family businesses – they are passed down from generation to generation and often children feel compelled to take over for their fathers. Yes, since about the 1950s, most morticians in America have been men. Women have only recently begun to be prominent in the field in the past ten years or so. He suggested I talk with some other morticians, and that I get a job working in the trade, at a funeral home or cemetery first, to see if it was something I’d like. Solid advice, I thought, and the same that I received from the next three interviews I did with Oregon morticians. One of two mortuaries in Corvallis, the McHenry Funeral Home, has been around since the 1920s. And they had a job to offer me: nighttime removal driver and mortician’s assistant. I got a pager and was told I’d be picking up dead bodies at night between the hours of 6pm and 6am. They handed me the keys to the unmarked, dark window-tinted minivan turned cadaver transport, and instructed to dress “kind of nice but not too nice” because I’d probably ruin my clothes. If someone dies at the hospital or nursing home, I was to go alone; if someone dies at their home or elsewhere, I’d take the male mortician apprentice with me. He lived in an apartment above the prep room (aka the room with the freezer for corpses, the room where the embalming takes place and, little did I know, the room where I’d help a medical examiner saw open a skull for a cranial autopsy and remove eyeballs to be donated). That was about it for my training talk.

I handled lots of calls, or removals, during my stint as a mortician’s assistant; the bodies were moved quietly in the night with little fanfare, and placed inside the freezer at the funeral home to await direction from the family and embalming the next morning. Some of my calls involved feats of strength – like when the apprentice and I had to remove a very large dead man from his teeny tiny upstairs bedroom floor, onto a gurney that was not wide enough, and down a steep, narrow flight of stairs. His body came tumbling off the gurney more than once, much to the chagrin of the police officers watching the scene. Other calls came with seemingly impossible requests. One time I had to drive the deceased body of a woman who died in Oregon but needed to be transported to Seattle ASAP to be reunited with her loved ones and I was instructed to drive all night speedy delivery style and never leave the body unattended in the unmarked minivan but wait WHAT ABOUT PEEING AND FOOD? So I took the Mrs. through the Burger King drive-thru, ordered an extra-large Coke to get me through the night and later relieved myself in that very same cup. I’ll never forget the time I loaded a sweet old man into his body bag with his wife and daughter present. They walked with me and him on the gurney out to the minivan. I rammed the gurney into the back of the minivan. The gurney was supposed to roll gently onto the ambulance-like track when the heavy steel legs collapsed, but nothing happened. I backed him up and rammed him again. Still nothing. I started sweating bullets when Eric (who was just my sweet boyfriend at the time and was hiding in the front seat) hissed at me what the hell is happening back there? I hissed back, OMG HELP ME and he hissed back no way. I tried again and again, ramming the dear sweet father and husband into the back of a minivan to no avail. The nurses were watching angrily from the window and they came out and hissed at me, too, and I said, you wanna try it? They tried and it still didn’t work, so we lowered the gurney to the ground and it took six of us to deadlift the dead weight of a full-grown man plus a hundred pounds of steel into the back of the minivan.

There are some stories, though, some nighttime stories of death in our little Oregon Valley, that will haunt me forever.

I got a call from the police at 7:30pm on an unusually warm night.  A 50-year-old woman had been found dead in her completely unsanitary, garbage-filled home and we were instructed to bring our protective body suits, tarps and gloves because it appeared as though she’d been deceased at least two months.  We could smell it as we entered the neighborhood.  The police lent us some gas masks and flashlights and had found a shovel near the garage and said we would need it to dig our way into the house and perhaps to move the body.  There were two dead dogs inside with her.  The floors were piled with plastic milk bottles, hair, fecal matter, bugs, maggots, books, papers, urine, and food.  Massive dust-filled cobwebs hung from the ceiling down past my shoulders. She was curled up on the floor in the fetal position, wedged between a dirty mattress, a big dog carrier and a wooden chest.  She was naked and partially buried in garbage with her big, fluffy white deceased dog wrapped over her head. It was blurry looking out through the thick plastic and disturbing hearing my own breath pushing in and out so loudly. There were maggots, bugs and flies eating what was left of her flesh.  Her head and face were entirely decomposed, leaving only the skull.  Her skin split easily under the pressure of my shovel. I slipped once on the mess and nearly fell directly on her body.  We loaded her into the minivan and I tore off my gear.  I was soaked with sweat.  It took several hours, but once home, I threw open the front door to the apartment and yelled for Eric.  I began to strip on the porch.  He came running downstairs and gagged from my stench.  He grabbed a garbage sack and put everything (panties, bra, shoes, etc.) into it and took it to the trash.  I ran to the shower with tears in my eyes.  I turned on the water as hot as I could stand.  When I got out I asked Eric to check inside my ears and in my hair for maggots.  I couldn’t sleep that night; every time I dozed off I relived it.

These stories probably sound pretty horrible, like, this job can’t possibly get worse, right? There’s nothing more heartbreaking than that, is there? While removals like that were awful and sad and nightmarish it was the pick-ups I did when there were real live bodies present, those who loved those dead bodies something fierce and were transitioning themselves through a kind of departure that were the hardest part about being a mortician’s assistant for me.

Most of the time hospital and nursing home staff would wait until the families had said their goodbyes and were long gone from the building before calling us for a removal. This is a typical American funerary service custom, as it’s deemed too traumatic for the family to see the body of their loved one zipped in a body bag and taken away.

One night I got a call from the local hospital. A young man in his early 30s from Russia had died from cancer. His grief stricken young bride met us in the lobby and wanted to know about American death customs – what was it we were about to do to her husband? We explained so carefully and kindly to her that we’d treat his body with the utmost respect and only do to him what she wanted – and that all of that could wait until morning. The hospital room was full of cousins and other family. A priest had placed an icon on his chest and left when the family remained adamant the man was not to be jostled. Don’t bump his head or let his mouth open, one sobbing cousin told us.  She was kissing him and crying about us zipping up the body bag. NO ZIP, NO ZIP she called in her broken English, while we tried to politely explain that we didn’t want his body to fall out, and we knew that the precious icon was certain to slide off his chest and we didn’t want to lose it.

At my very last pick-up for the funeral home I was called to a nursing home in Corvallis, a pick-up location we had frequented. I went to pick up the body of an old man who had died in his sleep, after his daughter was apparently gone. The staff would often try to sneak me and my huge gurney into the place, as the sight of it rolling down the hallway was sad, scary and depressing to both residents and their families. We loaded the man up, the nurses and I, and as I was wheeling him through the halls towards the front doors, his daughter came out of the bathroom, much to the horror of the nursing staff who thought she was gone. IS THAT MY DAD?! she cried out at me. Not knowing if it was or not, I looked at a nurse with searching wide eyes for help. Yes, she said softly, rushing to the woman’s side. The daughter ripped her arm free from the nurse and ran full speed at me, screaming I HATE YOU FOR TAKING HIM AWAY. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. She dissolved into uncontrollable sobs and all I wanted to do was go to her. But the nurses behind the station hissed at me to get out now and fast, so I rushed out with tears spilling down my face. I never returned.

I was often there for this final departing scene with two types of bodies – those dead and those still alive. I was the angel of death to the very body these people had known so well – kissed, laughed with, hugged, slept with and danced with. I didn’t become a mortician after all – this job was proof that that career path wasn’t the right choice for me, but my work in the funeral industry went on to shape and form my future graduate studies, my art, and my life in profound ways. Most importantly, it shaped my acute awareness that this body, this life, these moments – together – they are fleeting and fast. Use them wisely. Be vulnerable. Say I love you. Stand brave. Take that hand. Cherish your body.

++ you can hear me tell this story here which gives it more life (pun intended), including moments where I nearly cried on stage for a celebrity version of our local storytelling event called Starry Story Night in 2015

Before You Leave Our Nest: A List

If you’ve been following me here for a while you know I love a good challenge and a good checklist. Several times our New Year goal has been to make every single recipe from a new cookbook (this year it’s Five Mary’s Farms!). Two years ago I sourced all my Instagram and Facebook friends and followers to help me add to the list of my favorite teen rom-coms when I was growing up in the 1980s and 1990s and together we came up with 75 for me to watch with my teen before she graduates high school. (We’re almost done and I can’t wait to share them with you all attached below as a PDF - we just watched The Princess Bride last weekend and have been renting a bunch from our public library like Fame and Flashdance!) On that note, we’ve been so enjoying the extra at home time with our children during the coronavirus pandemic, especially as they all get older and so much busier. The cancellation of nearly everything has provided us with the leisure and luxury of a less robust life schedule, which I absolutely adore. It’s allowed us to try new things and actually not feel rushed or obligated to them, or anything, really. It’s also brought to the forefront of our minds how little time we might have left with our high school junior, Lucy, as we take SATs and start college tours.

I’ve had a bunch of fun ideas about things I definitely want to send her off to campus with, both in her physical and emotional arsenals, but the other day I decided to put out the question to the thousands of folks in my social media circles: what one thing do you wish you’d known before you left home after high school? What was something your parents taught you - or didn’t - that was so helpful? I don’t know if I just know a bunch of super helpful and thoughtful folks or if I just posted at the right bored time on a Saturday morning (or both!) but the comments went on for days and were just so lovely and amazing. Some things they suggested we already had on our list, some things Lucy already knows, some things aren’t pertinent to us. And some things I don’t even know yet so I guess at 45-years-old I’ll be learning alongside our daughter. Which is actually the truest testament to parenting, I’ve found. After 18 years in this parenting gig I’m still realizing we’re all just learning this together as we go.

So many people have told me how amazing the comments and list was and how they were going to save it to use with their children and teens as well, so I’ve compiled the comments together, deleting the duplicates, into a more palatable and usable format than weeding through several hundred Facebook comments in an old post. I was overwhelmed with the response and kindness of so many people and with the number of things we need to teach Lucy before she leaves in just over a year, so I sorted them into a document and that really helped make it feel more manageable. I divided them out loosely into these sections: general life advice, safety, college, body/health, renting an apartment/house, to buy/get, car maintenance, kitchen, money, and household. You can read all 168 of them below and also download to save and/or print them as a free PDF. After reading them let me know if there’s something we missed or forgot because I’ve found so much help online from all of you as we navigate this world as parents and learning and growing and sharing our wisdom has made me a better mother and a better person. I hope this helps you, too.

THINGS TO TEACH OUR CHILDREN OR DO FOR THEM BEFORE THEY LEAVE THE NEST

(Thanks to so many of Amy’s Facebook friends and Instagram followers for the best advice ever suggested in February of 2021!)

1.     You always have a place here and are always welcome home.

2.     How to read a map.

3.     How to make an appointment or get information over the phone.

4.     How to think & communicate about sexuality, bodies, and consent.

5.     Hold onto that people that are awesome and will show up for you.

6.     How to address and stamp an envelope.

7.     Memorize your social security number.

8.     How to leave a clear phone message.

9.     When you choose someone to carry your heart, make sure they are worthy. Teach them to watch how this person treats waiters, cashiers and fast food workers. Their behavior tells you everything you need to know.

10.  Set a schedule and write it down on a calendar or day planner – you don’t always have to abide by it but having it there for reference or if things get hard to complete will help.

11.  Travel as much as possible, experience other cultures and how others live, even if it’s within your own state or city or neighborhood – adventure doesn’t always have to cost a lot of money or be far away.

12.  To try new things, even if they are intimidating – including new restaurants from cultures different than your own.

13.  To treat others with respect even when they haven't treated you with respect.

14.  Think about a worse case scenario and be prepared for it but don’t dwell on it.

15.  Don’t be in a hurry to know and do everything - part of the process of growing yourself is the journey.

16.  By the way you never stop learning and growing.

17.  Speaking your mind won't kill you, but not speaking your mind just might.

18.  Honesty is the key to good relationships.

19.  Listen to your intuition, it's always right.

20.  Follow your dreams, because it's just as easy to fail at something you don't want to do.

21.  Always be respectful and have good manners.

22.  If they are lonely— honor the feeling, reach out, practice patience.

23.  You don’t own anyone anything, but yourself.

24.  Know that some people are in your life to teach you something, and not because you need to have them in your life forever.

25.  If you have anything 'big' to tell us (e.g. you've realized you're gay, you're pregnant, you've been arrested, you've decided to change your religion), please tell us ASAP. We promise to try and stay calm. (Although, we will have questions, especially if you've been arrested).

26.  Be on time for work and for your friends. If you feel like they won’t notice or care, or if it doesn’t matter or that you don’t matter, you might be depressed or in a negative situation. You might need a different job, new friends, new friends, a good counselor, or medication to treat an illness.

27.  Think about the affect your words and actions have on others and decide to do or say accordingly.

28.  Keep reading books.

29.  Lean into what you resist- resistance is a telegram from your future self urging you to take a look at something that always turns out to be a good idea.

30.  No matter how hard the moment, things will always be okay... you life is testimony that you have a 100% success rate.

Safety:

31.  Simple self-defense.

32.  Never leave a drunk girlfriend at a party - get her home.

33.  Have a safe word with a good friend.

34.  Tell someone you trust where you are going and with who.

35.  If you get in a car with someone, take a picture of them and the car and the license plate or send Uber info to someone.

36.  Not all adults are as trustworthy as they appear.

37.  And it is okay to say no to anyone, especially an employer.

38.  ALWAYS trust you inner voice even if it is opposite those you trust.

39.  Teach wilderness/camping safety.

40.  Put emergency numbers in your phone (police, roadside assistance, family).

41.  Memorize your own phone number and two family members.

42.  It's ok to value your own safety over the other person's feelings - politeness is good, but trust your instincts always.

43.  Don’t be afraid to take trips by yourself but always let someone know where you’re going.

44.  Have a trusted friend or tutor or someone you can call any time you don't feel safe or comfortable or you're in a situation you can't handle on your own. If all else fails, call us and we will come get you. No questions asked. Promise not to spend the journey home lecturing or yelling at you. Everyone makes mistakes, especially when you're young. We won't hold that against you.

45.  Never be afraid to get professional advice or help on anything involving money, health, the law, or household utilities. None of us can know everything.

College:

46.  How to keep life organized on their phone and on a calendar at home.

47.  If they are going off to college, time management. (And phone alarms and timers can be so helpful!)

48.  Classes, Homework, job and then down time for friends.

49.  Also create a group of friends from your classes. It’s great for help with homework and takes the sting out of making new friends.

50.  Don’t tell new friends everything about you right away, some people are not worthy of your entire life. Keep it light and build slowly.

51.  When you are getting to know new people and wonder if they will be good to you, listen to how they talk about previous friends/lovers. Listen to how they express anger. As you are learning how to listen to your needs, practice asking for the small things in relationships so you can see that people who care about you will want to find ways for everyone to get their needs met.

52.  It's okay if they change their mind on what they want.

53.  It’s okay to ask for help – teach them who the experts are.

54.  Take the strange classes that sound interesting and fun even if they don’t help your major.

55.  With every news story, every history lesson, every book ask who is centered, who has the most power in the situation and the narrative, and what other truths are there if you look harder.

56.  How to manage conflict with friends and roommates.

57.  Call your mom. And your dad.

58.  Find friends who aren’t your roommates! I mean, be friends with your roommate, but don’t let them be the only person you hang out with. Also, good friends don’t always make good roommates, and vice versa.

59.  It’s ok to change goals, majors, directions at any time.

60.  Volunteer and do unpaid internships if you have time. This will boost your resume in amazing ways.

61.  Do not miss class unless you are sick.

62.  Seek services you need from school ie: counseling, study groups, student associations, health center, tutoring, mentoring, clothing and food banks.

63.  Know where emergency phones are on campus and which building are open at night.

64.  Travel in pairs and leave no one behind, leave alone w NO one, have pepper spray and practice using it.

65.  If you realize you want to leave college or change courses, again, let us know ASAP. You're young, and people change their minds, and sometimes what you initially decide isn't what you thought it was, and that's OK. We will try and help you. Also, talk to your tutors, counsellors etc. - they will have dealt with this before.

66.  Do your homework, but learn to determine the importance of each assignment and apply the appropriate amount of energy accordingly.

67.  Choose a profession or trade and train to be the best you can be.

Body/health:

68.  Set up auto refill and auto text for your medications at your nearest pharmacy and always take them at the same time every day (set an alarm if you need help remembering).

69.  Liquor/drugs – how to manage both safely and in a fun way.

70.  Sex ed, safety, prevention, basics, birth control – how and why and when for all of it.

71.  Eat a balanced diet, which for us means a wide variety of foods, and drink lots of water.

72.  Get outside every day.

73.  Always carry hand sanitizer, bandaids, a maxi pad and a granola bar in your purse or backpack

74.  Fill one large Nalgene water bottle every morning and commit to drinking it all by the end of the day and take it with you everywhere (if you drink more than one even better!).

75.  Know how much sleep you need to feel your best and if you don’t get it a few nights in a row you’re going to need to catch up.

76.  Gratitude, this is the single most thing I wish I would have remembered each day when I was going through the most difficult times, we always have something to be grateful for, let it outweigh the challenges.

77.  How to make a medical or dental appointment.

78.  Have fun. Don't take your self too seriously.

79.  How to make a decision about whether you’re having a medical emergency or not.

80.  Feeling lost and overwhelmed? Go spend a few hours in a library...you are always welcome, don’t need to spend money, and have access to amazing inspiration and mentoring through the pages.

81.  Know about your medical insurance and coverage.

82.  What medicines should never be mixed.

83.  If you are overwhelmed call me. Have a bad day plan like this – call someone you know, do yoga, cry into your pillow, stay in bed and watch your favorite show, eat ice cream. We all have bad days and having a plan in place to help you get through them is important.

84.  Learn to breathe and do the 5-4-3-2-1 exercise and download the meditation app or Relax Melodies.

85.  Pay attention to your body and emotions. Learn to recognize and identify what feelings and activities feel good, bad, or indifferent to yourself, without putting any importance in the analysis to what anyone else might think. BUT, in most cases, before you decide whether you like or dislike something, try it at least 3-5 times. Sometimes a person can’t discern discomfort in something new from dislike. However, notice the difference between feeling something is wrong or harmful to yourself or others and honest dislike.

86.  Never focus on parts of your body as being more important than other parts of your body. This includes the idea that the brain and intelligence is somehow separate and different from your body, or that feelings don’t matter. They all need each other to work to full potential. Imbalances between our bodies, minds, and feelings cause big problems.

87.  Take many walks; drive as little as possible. Look, listen, and feel while you walk. Let you brain do what it does, but in some situations you will need to keep a bit of your brain focused on personal safety.

88.  Always dress for the circumstances and the occasion. Find a balance among comfort, safety, purpose, and fashion.

Renting an apartment/house:

89.  Make sure you set up utilities in advance before moving into a new place and know which utilities you are responsible for.

90.  Don't ever become financially dependent on someone else in regards to living arrangements. Make sure you can pay your rent on your own.

91.  Where the main water shutoff is.

92.  Buy renters insurance.

93.  Even if your lease is expiring you still have to give notice.

94.  Document the rental you're moving in to in writing and with photos - for any and all possible damage - BEFORE you move in.

95.  Have an extra set of house keys with a friend.

96.  Where the breaker box is.

97.  How to clean an oven.

98.  How to do a change of address with post office.

99.  Who to call to turn on/off utilities.

100.                  Have an emergency evacuation plan.

101.                  Buy a fire extinguisher

To buy/get:

102.                  A variety box of cards, envelopes and stamps to have on hand to send or write to friends and family.

103.                  Kitchen basics.

104.                  Sewing kit.

105.                  First Aid Kit + a basic at home med-kit in a tool box for the dorm, including fever reducer, Benadryl, anti-nausea, anti-itch cream, thermometer, band aids etc.

106.                  A tool set and teach them to use it.

107.                  Flip flops for dorm shower.

108.                  In case of emergency file with social security card, medical card, important paperwork, contracts divided into manila folders and kept somewhere safe.

109.                  A passport.

Car maintenance:

110.                  How to identify all car parts including dipsticks and check fluids.

111.                  Buy AAA student car insurance/coverage if they have a car and how to call for AAA for roadside repairs (put the number in your phone and your jockey box).

112.                  How to call for car repairs, tire change.

113.                  What to do if in a car accident.

114.                  Buy jumper cables and show them how to jump a car.

115.                  How to check air in tires and add air.

116.                  Have an extra set of car keys with a friend or hidden at home.

117.                  Driving in mountains/snow.

118.                  How to clean snow off car.

119.                  How to fill with gas and never go below a quarter tank.

120.                  Car registration.

121.                  Drivers license renewal.

122.                  Window washer fluid.

123.                  Timing belts.

124.                  Odometer, how to read it and use it.

125.                  Car kit: first aid, blanket, water, jumper cables, chains if winter and how to put them on, insurance card, quarters.

Kitchen:

126.                  How to cut and use various knives.

127.                  Print or put together favorite family recipes in book or binder to take.

128.                  Budget for groceries.

129.                  Make a pantry staples/spices box to send to new apartment or small version for dorm along with a favorite special mug, cup, bowl, spoon, etc.

130.                  Cook easy meals – and master at least one breakfast, lunch and dinner recipe.

131.                  Master one good dish or dessert to take to parties, events, birthdays, dinner parties.

132.                  How to find a recipe, read it, find and buy all the ingredients, and make the meal.

133.                  How to open a bottle of wine and champagne.

134.                  How to saute vegetables.

135.                  Meat temperatures and cooking.

Money:

136.                  How to write a check.

137.                  How to file taxes online.

138.                  Savings account.

139.                  Always make sure you have the fund to cover bills in advance.

140.                  Always keep some cash on hand or hidden.

141.                  Talk about credit cards and establishing and maintaining good credit.

142.                  Roth IRAs and 401Ks.

143.                  If you want to build credit, you usually need at least 3 lines.

144.                  Good debt vs. bad debt.

145.                  How to budget.

146.                  Never spend your last $20 ( or $100) unless it is a dire emergency.

147.                  Give us a list of credit card numbers and expiration dates in case wallet is lost.

148.                  Bills before thrills!!!

149.                  Teach them price comparison shopping (looking at a tag at grocery store how much it is per unit so you know the better deal).

150.                  Have a change jar for coins (and cash them in at the bank when it’s full!).

151.                  How to open a bank account & check the balances and fees and charges.

152.                  Overdraft protection.

153.                  Loans.

154.                  Only get a $500 credit card for emergencies only...and pay it off every month. Debt is a killer.

155.                  Understand compound interest.

156.                  Don’t lend large amounts of money to friends.

157.                  Don’t spend money on stuff that doesn’t move you toward your goals. Stuff is is just more work and responsibility anyway.

158.                  The importance of a good credit score and actions that impact your score.

Household:

159.                  How to iron.

160.                  How to sew a button on and mend a small hole by hand.

161.                  How to use a First Aid Kit and do CPR.

162.                  How to turn the water off at the wall behind the toilet tank.

163.                  Fire prevention/response.

164.                  How to use caulk, WD-40, spackle, etc.

165.                  How to fix a drain clog or toilet clog.

166.                  How to clean a toilet.

167.                  Laundry.

168.                  What cleaning supplies should never be mixed!

An update, a year and a half later:

Our Lucy just graduated from high school and we’re almost done with the full list of 75 Rom Coms from the 80s and 90s. Some aren’t quite romantic, some are just fun, one is at least from the year 2000, but I’ve been asked so many times for the list I compiled it into a PDF for you to look at and print and enjoy with your family, too.

Additionally, for her 18th birthday and in preparation for leaving our nest, I made Lucy two compact boxes full of supplies. One is a First Aid Kit of sorts for her dorm, including so many things we consistently use in our home and emergency supplies, like a Plan B contraceptive pill, condoms, a hot pad for all sorts of cramps and aches and pains, nail clippers, hydrogen peroxide and more.

I picked up this vintage green plastic file folder box at the thrift shop and packed it full of all the items on this alphabetical list taped on the front. The idea is just small containers of emergency stuff, like a medicine cabinet of sorts, but not enough to necessarily get her through a full illness or period or the like. Here’s the list of what is inside, as well as a PDF at the bottom if you want to print or make your own! It might help get you started but you can totally customize it to be your own. That’s what I did but used this amazing blog post resource as a starting point. I’m sure she’s going to be the go-to gal for all her suitemates in her dorm!

College first aid kit and other health-care supplies

(in alphabetical order)

acetaminophen  – fever/pain | alcohol prep pads | anti diarrhea meds | antifungal cream | artificial tears eye drops | band aids in various sizes | bug repellent | chapstick | chub rub stick | condoms | cotton ball pads | cough drops | dental floss | Emergen-C packets | Epi pen | face mask | gauze tape to wrap sterile gauze pads | hand sanitizer | hydrocortisone cream for rash/itch/bites | hydrogen peroxide | ibuprofen-fever/pain/inflammation  | ice bag reusable | instant ice packs | Ivory soap bar | mucus relief meds | nail clippers | nail file | pain relief balm for sore muscles | pantyliners | peppermint oil roller for tension calming | Plan B pill | Q-tips | razor for shaving | rubber gloves | scissors | small packet of tissues | sterile gauze pads | sunscreen | tampon | thermometer | toothbrush | toothpaste | triple antibiotic ointment | tums | tweezers | vaseline  | Vicks Vaporub     +hot pad

In addition, I was inspired to make a little home office kit box with similar items in her desk and in our kitchen that we use all the time. And again it’s not meant to be a full use of school supplies, but the kind of things you might occasionally need, like White Out and rubber bands and highlighters and an extra pen and Sharpies and screwdrivers and a USB plug and a ruler.

I also used a metal vintage box for this and taped an alphabetical list on the front of it. Here it is in case you want to make your own. I also picked up a three hole punch for her at the thrift shop but it’s too big to fit inside.

Home office supplies

(in alphabetical order)

Batteries – AA + AAA | Binder clips various sizes | Box cutter razor blade | Eraser – large | Erasers for pencil ends | File folder sticker labels | Glue stick | Highlighters | Hole punch | Index cards | Notepad - small | Paper clips | Pencil sharpener – electric | Pencils | Pens | Post- It notes | Power strip cord | Push pins | Rubber bands | Scissors  | Screwdrivers – Phillips + and flathead - | Sharpies – red and other colors | Staple remover | Stapler | Staples | Sticker note flags for books | Tape – scotch | Tape measure | USB port plug | White Out correction pen

I tried to buy mini versions of all the things and/or small items and was able to scavenge much of it from our home and the dollar store was also perfect for this project. Below is a PDF of both of my lists above for you to download or save or print!

10 Favorite Camp Essentials

For the past 11 years I’ve been blogging I’ve been committed to writing a new post at least once a month, but since coronavirus hit America and we’ve been pretty much locked down since early March I haven’t had time at all to post anything longer than a few sentences. Parenting, homeschooling, wiping down groceries, keeping our bodies and minds sane, etc, etc etc have taken precedent and it’s been overwhelming and exhausting. That’s not to say that I haven’t been writing or making art, because I really have, and a lot of it.

I’ve been writing a bunch of Poems In a Pandemic (and even won an award for them!) and also embarked on this challenge the Getty Museum started when their galleries had to close in March due to coronavirus and the lockdown. Find an artwork in their collection, remake it with three items you find around your house, and post it to share. I’ve done around 15 of them, like this one. Original on top titled Civilian Defence, Edward Weston, American, 1942, gelatin silver print.

Summer hit and after everything we love to do got cancelled, like summer camps, athletics, classes and our beloved city pool, we were thrilled when our state’s campgrounds re-opened. We are devoted to the outdoors in our family and find such solace in nature. It’s also a way we enjoy the plethora of wild public lands in Idaho and teach our kids a bit about exploring, being brave, sleeping under the stars and finding joy in being away from home, technology, and the city. It’s also a wonderful way to explore the earth and learn more about her creatures as well as provides an inexpensive getaway for families (I hesitate to call it a vacation because as parents everywhere know, it’s anything but relaxing traveling with kids, especially setting up a campsite). I’ve posted a lot of photos and videos in my Instagram Stories specifically of our adventures and finds and explorations and I’ve gotten a bunch of requests to share more about how we camp, what our must-haves are, and suggestions for gear to bring or buy. I’m not an expert, but I am experienced and thrifty and am always glad to help others explore the outdoors. Here are ten of my top must-haves for making camping a family success.

1) We love our pop-up tent trailer. This is the thing I get asked the most about. We purchased it used on Craigslist about four years ago for $4,000 after tent camping for years and years. It does take probably as long as a tent to set up, but after doing it so many times we’ve got it down to a science. The nice thing about it is that there are two king-sized pull-out beds on either end and a generous twin-sized bed that makes down from the table/eating area, so all five of us can sleep in it. There is also a gas powered heater if needed and you can fill a tank with water to use the sink as well as use the toilet inside. There’s also a fridge (which is so much better than a cooler) and a stove top (which we rarely use as we still cook outside on our Coleman camp stove and small BBQ). It also has a bunch of compartments for all our non-perishable camp essentials so we don’t have to haul them in and out each time. It’s super light and folds up to a box easy to tow. (Okay, so turns out there are a lot more than just one thing I love about our tent trailer!) We didn’t mind tent camping at all either, so if that’s all you’ve got you can do it! I do highly recommend two things if that’s the case: an inflatable air mattress with a battery powered pump as it makes sleeping on the ground SO MUCH BETTER and putting all your regular camp essentials (dishes, cookware, bug spray, tools, sunscreen, lighters, games, toys, flashlights, batteries, etc) in one or two big Rubbermaid bins with a lid so you can just grab them and go each time.

Warm Lake, Idaho, is one of our kids’ favorites each summer, but campsites go fast.

2) Reservations, reservations, reservations. It used to be when we grew up in Idaho and first moved back 14 years ago that we could just jump in the truck on a moments notice and head to our favorite campground in the woods for the weekend. These days Idaho’s population has boomed and the pandemic has sent a lot of people searching for weekend spots to camp, making our favorites too hard to get into. And by popular I’m talking like reservations at the most popular campgrounds in the state go live on www.recreation.gov six months in advance and if you aren’t literally sitting at your computer at that exact moment you’re screwed. Luckily, there are a bunch of great less popular campgrounds and almost all of them have designated a few spots as first come, first served only. However, this is also difficult if you plan on going on a weekend as they go very quick. Therefore, I advise ALWAYS making a reservation in advance, and I advise camping on off days if you can. Not only are there less people to deal with (I go camping to get away from people not closer to them), but it’s easier to get into hiking trails and good swimming holes and the like. We like going Sundays - Tuesdays, but Wednesdays-Fridays would also be ideal if you can swing it. There are many free camping spots in Idaho but you have to know where to find them, and you have to be bring a LOT of your own water as well as be comfortable going to the bathroom outside, likely where a bunch of other people may have gone to the bathroom previously. Which brings me to my next thing….

I’m not actually peeing here but this is the correct pose. (I’m changing out of my wet bikini on the side of the highway while my family is huckleberry picking and a truck drove by so I ducked LOL.)

3) Get comfortable peeing outside. That being said, one of the reasons we love state or national park campgrounds are the vault toilets. They are basically outhouses, but you don’t have to dig a hole and bury your poop or change a tampon under a tree. (We also love that they have water, level spots for trailers, a picnic table and sometimes have electrical hook ups.) Still, sometimes these toilets can be nasty and stinky and we’ve really been trying to avoid public restrooms in coronavirus times anyhow, so peeing outside is a skill I find invaluable as an outdoorswoman. Seriously, I still sometimes splash a lotta pee on my Chacos (just spray some water from your water bottle on it or wade in the creek you’ll be fine) but I’ve got the squat down pat. It’s made my thick thighs strong and my comfort level being anywhere in the wild even more so. I can and will squat on the side of the road even when there ARE bathrooms close by these days. Roadside trick: open up both the front seat and back seat doors and squat in between and no one driving either direction will see you if there are no trees to hide behind nearby.

4) Always bring a big water jug. We have two 5 & 10 gallon Igloo orange water coolers with the spout and bring at least one filled with our backyard hose and bungied in the back of our truck on each trip. In case you need to wash lotsa pee off your Chacos (I kid, but not really), water is essential in camping like in sustaining life. You will drink lots of it and use it for doing dishes as well. Most developed campsites have a water pump with drinkable cold water in it - even if you’re not staying there pull in to fill your big jug up. (Always fill it first at home and I suggest pulling your truck right up in front of it or bringing a wagon to pull it over or two strong people to carry it. We’ve also used my daughter’s skateboard to roll it at camp!)

5) Baby wipes for everything. While water works to clean things, so do baby wipes. As a mama, I’ve used baby wipes for way more than my infants’ butts for the last 17 years. I used them to clean up puke and wipe down dirty Target cart handles and tables at McDonald’s. They are soft and easy on skin, too, so using them to clean yourself (adults and kids alike) as well as the picnic table make them perfect for camping! Bonus: you can burn them in the fire pit at the end of the day!

My family at the summit of a trail above Edna Creek near Atlanta, Idaho. While we all were glad to make it to the top, the meltdowns quickly ensued after this photo. One child was hot, one complained about their shoes, one dumped their entire waterbottle on themself for fun, one fell down and both parents were irritated. Needless to say, it’s sometimes hard to hike trails that are steeper than you thought or longer or you take a wrong turn but making mistakes or finding your way is part of the journey. Taking lots of breaks, some photos, and going as slow as necessary while exploring can help make it more fun. You’ll get through it either way.

6) Don’t bring your best clothes. We all have “camping clothes” and my oldest daughter and I have “camp bikinis,” too, which are older bikinis that we don’t mind getting real dirty from riverbeds and mountain hikes and sitting on big rocks and the back of dusty trucks. (I suggest a dark color like black or navy to lessen staining.) In addition, we all have those old jeans with holes in them and cozy fleece jackets that fire embers have burned tiny spots in and cut off shorts and flannel shirts. Do not bring your favorite pants or tank tops, especially light colored items, as you will absolutely regret it. I also recommend hiking boots or good sneakers and always Chaco sandals or the like. I wear mens Chacos, as you might remember from this post, because they are wider and I like the neutral colors. I wear them in the water, fishing, hiking and everywhere.

Owyhee Reservoir, Oregon

7) Bring your own music. Luckily these days our iPhones are our portable stereo system, too, but just don’t forget to download the music you like onto your device, not just in you iTunes library, as there is no reception in most of the Idaho wilderness. We got a small, waterproof portable speaker for like $30 that we bring and turn on while playing cards at the picnic table or laying by the river or around the campfire at night. (This summer our camp favorite has been Taylor Swift’s surprise album folklore and if you haven’t heard it yet DO IT NOW.) It charges like our phones in our truck charger at night. Just be sure to keep the volume down so only your campsite can hear it, because there is nothing worse than going out to enjoy nature and having to hear your neighbors bumpin’ tunes, no matter how good they are.

Box Canyon, southern Idaho

8) Fill your game box. Since we now have a trailer, we have an entire small compartment/drawer dedicated to fun activities. For us it always includes a regular deck of cards for our favorites, Progressive Rummy & King’s Corner, as well as a few other card games (we love Uno, Skip-Bo, Old Maid, Crazy 8s & Rack-O). We also have some small vintage board games, Yahtzee, and a few others that the kids can play as well. Coloring books, colored pencils, a few Highlights magazines, and some bird, flower and wildlife field guides are in there along with this quirky handmade clay whistle instrument called an Ocarina I got at the Portland Farmers Market like 20 years ago. We’ve got binoculars and balls and a Frisbee and storybooks and a book of scary campfire tales, all picked up at the thrift shop. We don’t play them all every time, but we do grab a handful and put them on the picnic table for down time or when we just need a change of pace. Bonus: We have a small journal and pen in this box that we chronicle every camping trip we’ve been on.

9) Chocolate banana boats are our go-to camp dessert. While smores are always traditional, I hate marshmallows (I know, right?!) and my kids aren’t huge fans either. So we make these simple treats nearly every time and they are rich and easy and we all love them. Take a fresh banana and carefully peel back a thin strip of peel to the bottom. Break a Hershey’s chocolate bar into the small chunks and push 3-4 into the banana lengthwise. Replace the strip of skin and carefully place on the fire grate of the pit (or build a little stand with some rocks before you start a fire if there is no grate). It takes at least 10-15 minutes for the chocolate to melt and the banana to be warmed up and the skin will blacken. Be careful picking it up (we use the kitchen tongs in our dish kit) and put in a bowl to eat. Peel back the loose strip of skin and use a spoon to scoop out bites of your delicious dessert! Here are some real fancy recipes if you want to make a big mess but we always opt for the simple easy recipes while camping. Bonus: you can also toss the whole peel directly into the fire afterward.

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One of my favorite things to do when we go camping is watching the wonderful hummingbirds. #hummingbird #hummingbirds #hummingbirdsofinstagram

A post shared by Eric Brown (@idaho_alchemist) on Jul 28, 2020 at 10:11pm PDT

10) Don’t forget the hummingbird feeder. We picked up a little plastic hummingbird feeder at our neighbor’s garage sale for 25 cents many years ago and keep it in the trailer at all times. We always put “bird juice” on our food list, which we make on our stove top at home before we go (it’s 1/4 cup of sugar and 1 cup of water brought to a boil in a pot and then cooled to room temperature). I pour it into a glass jar and we fill the feeder once at camp and find a nearby tree to hang it in. In Idaho it always brings in several birds to watch and the fights and frolicking that ensue are such fun. Check out this video above of Dr. Brown, the hummingbird whisperer!

There are so many more things I could tell you about camping and recommend (a portable hammock! a headlamp!) but this is already pretty long as far as things people will spend their time reading on social media, so I’ll call it quits here. Follow me on Instagram and Facebook if you don’t already, as I’d love to ask my fans and friends there what their favorite must-have camp items are in the comments. The most important take away here is this - you don’t have to invest in fancy or expensive gear to enjoy nature. In fact, you don’t have to stay overnight camping at all (although I highly recommend at least two nights if you do because I’m not gonna lie, it’s a lot of work setting up camp with kids and feeding a whole family). Even if it’s a walk around your neighborhood exploring your neighbors’ gardens or a day adventure to a state park you’ve never been to, getting outside and slowing down in nature is one of the most beneficial things for my whole health - physical, mental, emotional and spiritual - I’ve ever done.

The Good Stuff

I’ve spent a lot of time at hospitals and doctor offices lately and worrying myself sick about things I cannot control (read: health of myself or others). Even though I know better I still spend long hours research all the symptoms of all the things that could possibly be wrong and just as many hours on the phone with insurance companies and specialists (everyone is fine). Loving people with your whole heart is stressful. So is watching the news. Motherhood is terrifying. So is the world.

It’s often the shitty feelings and negativity and hatred that get my creative juices flowing, though, and always has been. My art is often a response and an outlet. This is an embroidery on vintage embroidery, a series inspired by female pop song lyrics (here Taylor Swift) from 2015.

I’m still spending a lot of time dealing with people who hate my brand of body positivity and feminism - both online and in real life - and it’s making me super angry. I feel so often like ideas and conclusions I’ve come to are so rational and so helpful that I find it sometimes irritating that I’m deemed so radical and ostracized for it.

I do lots of things to cope when the going gets rough(er than usual). Mostly trying to focus on the positive and being thankful for the good stuff (and the bad, too, because it inevitably teaches me something about love and life and myself). I also write. And bake. And drown myself in Netflix series (lately it’s real life cult & crime docs and I’m especially obsessed with the Oregon Rajneeshees in the 1980s and Mormons who let their neighbor kidnap their daughter twice in Pocatello and unfortunately UGH THIS ONE IS AWFUL Internet stalkers who helped catch this Canadian who murdered a man and put him in a suitcase a few years ago).

I also find solace a bit in wandering thrift shops and trying on things for fun. I don’t always buy them, but lately when I do it’s leopard print anything and bikinis because ‘tis the season and also 2020 is the year of both.

I also remember that the love and support I receive and the thank yous and powerful stories and words far outweigh the hate. They mean so much more to me, my heart and the greater work I’m doing. This week I got a note from a mom in Oregon who told me a story about taking her teen daughter to the doctor’s office for a mental health appointment for anxiety. On the way back the nurse said like they always do that her 14-year-old needed to be weighed and because her mom has been learning and listening and knew this might cause some unnecessary pain and was likely an unnecessary step on this day told her daughter, “you can always say no thank you,” and her daughter bravely did just that. She wrote to tell me the story and how I’m now an active verb because that’s what they call “Amy Pence-Brown-ing the situation” (mind blown).

I posted a photo of the new to me vintage plus-sized pin up Hilda calendars I just bought and got in the mail and one of my followers told me she almost didn’t recognize me with my clothes on (I was holding a calendar and wearing my favorite jeans and a tee shirt). This made me LOL with gratitude and joy. Another women emailed me out of the blue to tell me that her nurse at one of Idaho’s largest hospitals recommended me and my work to her and how glad she was for that, as she’s been following me and reading me and looking at my photos and internalizing my words and it’s already changing her life for the better.

I fucking love this series that Rio Chantel took of me modeling for grey jays jewelry last spring and have been sharing a bunch on my Instagram with some quotes from Susan Sontag’s 1977 book On Photography about subverting the power of the gaze and images and how I love to do both in my selfies and with my body.

I don’t like to dwell on the negative (and believe me there are so many stories you’d be shocked to hear and saboteurs you’d be surprised by if I outed them) but it wouldn’t be right for me to pretend it was all easy and lovely over here doing this work. Leading the charge and putting myself and my ideas out there is daunting, exhausting, sometimes harmful and hard, but it’s also so worth it, so important and something I believe so strongly in. Someone just left this comment on one of my Facebook posts about love and sex positivity and it has stuck with me for weeks now: “You’ve always been ahead of your time, I suspect. To the great benefit of us all.”

The Death File

I became part of the death positivity movement in my early 20s, after attending many funerals and wondering about the history of rituals and seemingly irrelevant requirements and, conversely, deeply emotional and unique elements. Our family funeral home in Weiser, Idaho, became a more familiar locale as my grandparents began dying in my teens and it made me think a lot about the American way of death. As always, I turned to books to read and after devouring many of them they solidified this idea that perhaps I wanted to become a mortician. So I interviewed a bunch, including my own family’s favorite, and they all recommended I get a job to try out the industry before committing to yet another required bachelors degree (I already had two at this point).

Me giving a historic walking tour of Morris Hill Cemetery in Boise in 2013 for Preservation Idaho.

I did, and spent some time picking up dead bodies at night for a small Oregon funeral home. I assisted with the dead at their homes, hospitals, accident scenes, nursing homes and back at the funeral home with autopsies and organ donations and embalming. It was hard and heartbreaking work. I didn’t end up becoming a mortician after all and still sometimes wonder if that was, in fact, my life’s calling. It’s become a very important part of my work in body positivity and was, in many ways, my introduction to the concepts of the movement. I also ended up becoming a death historian and studying it even more in grad school, writing my masters thesis on the architecture of the American funeral home. Since then, I’ve given a lot of historic art and architectural walking tours of cemeteries and taught workshops on how to write your own obituary and am a facilitator for my local Death Cafe.

I call this Historian in Repose, selfie taken alone in the Gibson Funeral Home after spending months alone researching and cleaning and organizing and preparing this defunct historic space for 700 guests just prior to its demolition.

In my early 20s when I wanted to revamp the way we grieved, bust open the conversation about dead bodies and talk a lot more about death, I learned that an important part of that was talking about what we might want done with our own bodies in the case of death with those closest to us. It’s often called “end of life planning” or “advanced care planning” and there are many parts of it, including signing a medical power of attorney and filling out an advance directive. Like all healthy young people, I didn’t think much about dying or death, and didn’t feel like I had a need to work on a will or anything related to my own death, really. It was getting pregnant with my first daughter, Lucy, at the age of 28 that really set into motion the importance of this ideas as I was now beholden to another human. So Dr. Brown and I filled out a template for a will online, mostly to make sure we had selected someone to raise her in case we both died at the same time. We didn’t have any assets and didn’t own a home and made sure our one car was in both of our names but our student loans weren’t so they could both be properly disposed of in case one of us died.

As part of the mitigation process by the developers before the historic Gibson Funeral Home (b. 1940) was demolished in 2016 I was able to give a lecture in the old sanctuary on the history of funeral home architecture in Boise and a tour. There was a line down the block to get into this beloved landmark and 700 folks came through that day.

Fast forward two kids and two decades later and life and living got so busy that we never did update that will to include Alice or Arlo. I witnessed friends get cancer and die and put their elderly parents in hospice and controversies over physician assisted deaths or ending one’s own life. I made this little list of 40 things to do before I turned 40 and most of them were really fun (and one was a small thing that indeed accidentally became a really big and life-changing thing) but creating The Death File, as we call it, was also on that list. Well, mostly due to having a baby and becoming internationally famous, The Death File didn’t happen for me at 40. And, to be honest, it wasn’t really fun or something I necessarily wanted to do, but knew it was so so important. But still, I put it off. For years.

Me at one of the garden mausoleums at Cloverdale Cemetery, Boise.

Until this last summer, just before I turned 44, when too many young parents I knew were dying, leaving a spouse and little kids with no direction, no details, no important documents organized, that I knew it was time. Thus, The Death File was born.

It’s a cheap plastic envelope that I’m sure came home from Eric’s office at one point filled with yellow file folders. It now has lists of digital account passwords, everyone’s social security cards and birth certificates, statements from every bank account, mortgage and student loan we have. It contains titles of all our vehicles and our home and copies of our drivers licenses and our marriage certificate. Eric and I signed medical power of attorney forms to name each other as well as advance directives in case of pain management, long illnesses, life extending procedures and organ donations. I made a daily list of my children’s activities and medications and appointments and doctors, teachers, therapists, friends and coaches. And it contains an updated will which includes all three of our kids.

The Death File also contains details on what kind of funeral we’d like, what we’d like done with our bodies, and important things we own and what we’d like done with them. Eric would like to be cremated in the suit he wore to our wedding and for his interview to become a professor at Boise State University; I want to be cremated naked. My directives also include the fact that I want donuts served at my funeral and Kacey Musgraves playing (and probably Taylor Swift, the Dixie Chicks and Dolly Parton because let’s be real country pop powerhouses are my love language). And to make sure that my kids print and have my book manuscript from the computer, as it may never be published but it is still a story worth having - it’s their story as much as it is mine. That if no one wants my entire Paint-by-Number collection please find a museum or an owner who will cherish it and keep in intact. That all my historic preservation and architecture books and files and research should get to my friend Dan of Preservation Idaho.

It was an emotional six weeks we spent working on The Death File, for both Eric and I. It ignited hard conversations about what we wanted to other to make sure the kids knew about us if we died tomorrow, our dreams for how they would continue to be raised, our concerns about how devastating it would be for them to lose a parent at a young age. We talked about hypothetical future lovers and our extended families and each of our children’s unique needs and personalities. I wrote love notes to my kids and, to be honest, it got a little overwhelming and seemed like a project that could go on forever.

I’m often asked to come to the Boise Public Library to teach classes and workshops, this one for death month in 2016, for their kids Dinner And A Book program. I read my favorite kids books on death from their collection and we ate pizza and salad and cried together with other families.

It’s a topic I talk to strangers about a lot at our Death Cafes. It’s a topic that is getting more and more recognition in mainstream media and that folks are writing books and blogs and creating workshops and events on, which is so important. It is something that is especially hard when you’re a young parent, though, with little kids. Deciding so much about their future and thinking about the possibility of leaving their upbringing to fate and someone else is depressing and difficult. I cried so much during the six weeks I worked on The Death File - from fear and sadness, yes, but also from beauty and love. What I realized most is that I wanted to leave a lot of the actually celebrating of my life and my funeral after I’m gone to them. I want them to be able to spend as much time with my dead body as they need if possible. I want them to assist with my cremation and decide what they want to do with my remains, even if it’s weird and impractical - my directive to Eric was to do whatever it takes to make it happen. And the same for him. That’s the beauty of the death positive movement becoming more mainstream and the death industry morphing into a creative beautiful thing that I hoped it could be when I was a 24-year-old girl. There are so many options now and the societal rules have loosened. The reality is, funerals are more about the living than the dead. Sure, my desires will be helpful to guiding them towards an ease of decision making and towards greater peace, but I trust them to know what they need to move forward while honoring me.

I special ordered this piece of mourning jewelry in the form of a worry locket to help process and commemorate what would have been the birth month of my first baby lost in a miscarriage in 2014. I write and speak often about my miscarriages as important parts of my death positivity, body positivity, motherhood and the culture of grief.

I’ve talked to them a lot about death and, like all kids, they have lots of questions about what happens after you die. I’ve always told them in life that our hearts are connected, with an invisible string, no matter where we are in the world. To look up at the moon at night because no matter how far apart we are, we are both looking up at the very same moon. And when I die, I will just move right into their heart and live there instead, that it will grow a little bigger to fit all of me inside. Because in death, as in my life, the people in my little family are the most important things.

Me with Joel and Lacy of the NPR podcast You Know The Place at our summer Death Cafe in Boise’s Dry Creek Cemetery, 2019.

Death is such an abstract and personal thing and it’s so personal and different and until you’re in it it’s so difficult to understand or know how or what you might need. But like all things in life, a little education and planning ahead may make the life transition a little easier.

Some of my favorite easy resources on death and starting your own death file:

• Honoring Choices Idaho

• Join us at Death Cafe Boise to talk in a fun and casual environment about all these things! Our next one is in December (you can also listen to this NPR podcast I was featured in talking about both the Cafe and my death file)

• Mortician Caitlin Doughty’s books, YouTube series and Order of the Good Death

• The checklists on Get Your Shit Together are extraordinarily helpful, as is her new book

• This recent article in Time magazine has a checklist and a link to a new book and says that by “gathering a whole death file together will make you a highly advanced American and a family hero.”

• Writer Elizabeth Gilbert’s story on helping her wife die is beautiful and brilliant

• This great list of books on grief

• Here’s a list of a few of my favorite kids’ books on death at the Boise Public Library if you’re local:

Reject

It’s 12:42am and sometimes that’s when the kids are all asleep and the dishes are all done and I finally get a chance to shower and throw on the pajamas I found on the bathroom floor and get the words that came to me as the water hit my exhausted head down on paper or flowing out of my fingertips. Sometimes it’s while I’m on the toilet and the Notes function in my iPhone works to capture things and sometimes it’s in my car before or after Alice’s therapy appointment and I say “ssshhh for just a minute” while I search my purse for a scrap of paper, usually a receipt from the dollar store, and a pen to jot down a thought that becomes a sentence that becomes one of the most personal and poignant paragraphs I’ve ever written. (I prefer to write with pencil but finding those in my car or my purse where the lead hasn’t been broken off is like finding a unicorn.) I have written stories in the bathtub and on the shores of the public pool. I’ve drawn inspiration from Taylor Swift songs and Stranger Things and pushing strollers down sidewalks. I take notes at bars and around campfires and changing diapers. Some of my best words come when I am ovulating or angry or sleeping.

Self-portrait in my hotel room downtown Minneapolis

I’ve done this for years - most of my life, actually - this jotting of ideas and words and short stories on paper. Recently I collected them in a tin that used to hold Japanese Moon Pies and I got the wild idea to turn them into a book. I thought that I might be able to be a “real” writer and find more time than those stolen moments so I applied for some “real writers residencies” and didn’t get any of them. I asked for feedback on my rejections and received comments like “not a real writer, just a blogger” and “sounds like a mom who just wants a break from her kids.”

Self-portrait in my hotel room downtown Minneapolis

Toni Morrison recently died and her death and her words broke and built a million hearts, mine included. One story that I’d never heard from her until my friend and fellow “mommyblogger” and writer Janelle Hanchett shared really spoke to me. It was from a NPR interview with Morrison called “I Regret Everything”:

“And I remember very clearly I was writing with a pencil. I was sitting on a couch, writing with a pencil, trying to think up something and remembering what I just described. And I was - the tablet was that legal pad, you know, yellow with the lines, and I had a baby. My older son was barely walking, and he spit up on the tablet. And I was doing something really interesting, I think, with a sentence because I wrote around the puke because I figured I could always wipe that away, but I might not get that sentence again.”

-Toni Morrison

Two years ago I ended up making my own “residency” out of stolen Saturdays and Sundays for eight months holed up in the free study rooms at the university library that I could reserve on my now defunct faculty ID card. I took my tin of sacred scraps and my pencils and my laptop and my water bottle and my lunch every weekend and wrote some hard and heartfelt personal essays about motherhood, body image & feminism. I researched and interviewed other author friends and Googled “how to write a book” and got three beta readers to help and sent it off to some agents and a big one in New York City signed me on right away. I was shocked and ecstatic and knew I was supposed to have thick skin because rejection was hard. She immediately sent my book proposal and manuscript to the top five publishing houses in the country and we got positively politely worded rejections. I thought a smaller feminist publishing house might be a better fit but she wasn’t really interested so I sent them out on my own and got more rejections.

Self-portrait in the portrait gallery at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts

Recently I’ve tried submitting the essays individually to journals and magazines but those are all being rejected, too. I’m feeling so defeated and disappointed and really don’t want to count up the number of rejections because honestly they keep coming in months later after submissions I’ve long written off and each time a bit of my soul dies.

Self-portrait in my bathtub

If there is a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, you must be the one to write it.

-Toni Morrison

I’ve got stories upon stories to tell and write and share and despite all this rejection, I feel like they’re important and hope there’s a place for them out there, somewhere. Perhaps I just haven’t found it yet. Even if it’s just in a file on my laptop that my kids might find and print someday after I die. It tells a pretty good story about them - and their mom - and lots of women everywhere. It’s a story about standing up and being scared and being brave and speaking the truth even though you might have to wipe the puke off the notepad to do it.

It takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.

-Erma Bombeck

Photo for grey jays jewelry by Rio Chantel Photography; bralette by Proclaim, bottoms by Gemini Mountain Swimwear

Twice over the last decade in different situations and by two different people I’ve been told I’m like a modern day Erma Bombeck which feels like such a compliment and something to really aspire to. Because if parenting has taught me anything it’s taught me resilience and ingenuity and how to be patient and multi-task like a motherfucker. If I can raise these three babies and build a half-acre school garden and publicly bare my body and soul and write my honest hardest truths I can certainly someday find a permanent printed home for these words, right?

City Pool

Public pools are one of the very best places to learn about body diversity. Old bodies and young bodies, hairy bodies and smooth bodies, dad bodies and mom bodies, disabled bodies and baby bodies, tattooed bodies and scarred bodies. There are so many kinds of bodies and all of them are worthy of having fun with their family and friends in the summertime water. Sometimes all the kid bodies cannonballing into the pool make tiny chlorine waves that crash onto the sides of the pool and spill into the grate making sounds like the ocean smacking into the beach floor. At least that’s what my imagination thinks it might sound like on a warm ocean vacation; I’m good at creating adventures in my own backyard. Sometimes when I’m not making up stories in my head in the water I’m devouring a good one on the sidelines. I’ve read so many books during my ten years on the grasses at the Boise public pools - feminist history to fat activism, smutty romance to young adult lit.

A decade ago it cost less than $100 for a family pass to our public pool system. And I say system because there are like six of them run by our parks & rec department and they are all pretty great in their own way. One has an inflatable “wipe out” course a few days of the week, a couple have two diving boards. One has a splash pad and one has a hydrotube. Our favorite, of course, is the one closest to our house with a very shallow baby pool with fountains and a very deep big pool with water slides for my kids who are a decade apart. It’s necessary and difficult to find places that can be fun and entertain the whole family on such a budget when you’ve got a teenager and a toddler and one in between.

Nowadays the pool sells season passes per person, and they’re only around $20 for kids and $30 for adults and it gets you into all the pools all summer long. The pools usually open up on the last day of school - the “first” day of summer - regardless if it’s cool and rainy. I used to pick the girls up from their last day (which was always a half day) and have a bag of bathing suits and treats and we’d celebrate with sno-cones at our neighborhood pool with friends. Now that the girls are bigger I make them use their own money for the snack shack because our daily trips make it just too expensive to treat them every day; I always bring Tupperwares of pretzels and goldfish crackers and apples and string cheese. Sometimes I bring my own lemonade spiked with vodka.

This year is the first one in the last decade where I haven’t held a baby or small child in my arms in the water - they are for the first time all three independent swimmers. I’ve spent so many hours holding them in my arms in the pool, the waves gently rocking them to sleep, turning my back to the sun to shade their fragile skin. Sometimes, when I got too hot and their toes begin to wrinkle, I would try to slowly lift myself and their dead weight from the water and walk carefully barefoot on the wet concrete back to our grassy spot and lay them on a towel in the shade.

We often have to sit out on the grass for like an hour when he lifeguards find a floater (poop) or someone puked and they have to amp up the chlorine and let it self-clean. My kids still get worried that someone is hurt no matter how many times the guards do the “pretend someone is drowning” procedure to keep on top of their skills. Last year a lifeguard at our favorite pool grabbed me on the last day of the season and told me they “voted” on their favorite bikini of mine that season and while they loved them all, the agreed on a favorite - the yellow one.

I no longer have to watch my kids like a hawk, trying to pick out their bathing suits from the sea of wet kids or keep them within arm’s length lest I be reprimanded by a lifeguard’s whistle. I do still have to sit on the side of the pool with my feet dangling in to make sure that Arlo doesn’t veer off with trumped up bravery to the deepest ends but stays where he can touch. But I’m able to zone out for a moment and let my eyes briefly glaze over and pretend that I might be at some expensive Mexican resort and my next frozen cocktail will be handed to me by a darling waiter.

And then I snap out of it and remember I’m in Boise, Idaho, and it’s 99 degrees but I’ll stay until they close to keep my kids entertained and from fighting with each other over who gets to pick the Netflix show. I used to have other parent friends and playgroups that would come to the pool with me and we’d follow each other around the baby pool, trying to talk about adult things while snatching waddling babies from toppling underwater. These days I’m usually there as the sole adult, often with several other neighborhood kids in tow, none of whom I’ll see for hours. Sometimes my littlest still falls asleep on the grass and I cover his exposed skin with my swim wrap to protect it. I have done phone interviews with major magazines and recorded podcasts and received amazing phone calls from the shores of the public pool. I’ve been contacted by celebrities and rejected by book publishers and fought trolls while eating $1 ice cream sandwiches and applying more sunscreen. I’ve inspired, challenged, received love notes and tears from other patrons, my fellow swimmers. Mostly I lay silently and look up at the bluest sky through the pine trees while the warm sun kisses my skin and enjoy the slowing down that my favorite season brings.

Someone just told my oldest girl she looked like exactly like Eleven with her new haircut, I spied some of my 1981 Pyrex on Joyce’s kitchen shelves in episode two, and my cans of Coke and totally eighties neon bikini at our regular afternoons at the public pool got me feeling all sorts of Mrs. Wheeler vibes.
People are wild for Stranger Things and I’m here for it - and all the ice cream, too. (And then the fun house that Hopper kills Russians in showed up at our state fair this week and my summer was COMPLETE.)

Perimenopause: An Update

I use a little paper calendar, the kind you buy at the dollar store with the plastic cover featuring some gorgeous body of water and ducks at sunset on the cover, to track my hormonal changes and symptoms. They are sometimes seemingly disparate and unpredictable and in order to try to understand my body’s changes, it helps for me to process things by writing them down. I know there are a bunch of menstruation apps that people like my teenage daughter love, but I’m also the person who has an old-fashioned calendar on her fridge in which I make all the people in my family grab a pen and write all their activities and appointments on. I could use the family synching Google app or the like but none of us are that organized or savvy and why change something that works so well for us, right? Even if I have to carry it around in my purse to the dentist office.

About four-and-a-half years ago at the age of 39 I wrote what was my most vulnerable blog post up until that point about how I thought I was dying when Arlo was about a year old only to find out I had perimenopause. I went to the doctor with all sorts of wild symptoms I’d never ever had in my life. Here’s a link to the full fun post, but I’m going to re-share that list here because it’s interesting to look back and see what has changed and what is new. In the spring of 2015 this was some of what sent me to the doctor to find out what the hell was happening:

• Mittelschmerz like you can't believe, but the cramping and back pain doesn't just last a week, it's constant!

• Menstruation for three weeks straight! Heavy and filling the toilet with lots of internal tissue and clots.

• Headaches!

• Moodiness and tearfulness! And not just during PMS or menstruation, but all the time.

• Moments of sudden rage! Like maybe you are making scrambled eggs and talking with your husband and it turns into an argument and you slam the plastic spatula on the stovetop to make a point and it breaks and he's like WTF ARE YOU CRAZY?! and in turn you pick up the entire pan of eggs and throw it on the floor BECAUSE YES.

• Bloating! Again, not just during PMS or menstruation, but a permanently puffed out belly.

• Gingivitis! Swollen, bleeding gums that make it so painful to eat.

• Lack of appetite! Everything tastes off and weird like it did when you were pregnant (hello again, crazy hormones!) which is probably fine anyhow because GINGIVITIS.

• Hair loss! My hair is falling out in huge clumps, just like it does a few months after I give birth. At least it's growing back; I've got a head full of baby gray hairs to prove it.

• Acne! I keep breaking out. ON MY BACK. Which hasn't happened since I was in high school (the irony of #stillseventeen is not lost on me here).

• Weird muscle and joint aches! I threw my back out for the first time in my entire life last week. Ain't got no time for ice when you're crawling after a toddler on the floor. Also, picking up a 25 lb. baby in this condition SUCKS.

• Sudden dark spots appear on your face! The technical term is melasma, or hyperpigmentation of the skin due to extreme changes in hormones. Sometimes it happens during pregnancy, or sometimes you just wake up one day when you're 39 AND LEAST EXPECTING IT and your upper lip is strangely dark brown.

• Itchy dry skin! I feel like bugs are crawling on me and my EARS ARE PEELING. Thank goodness for bulk jars of coconut oil from Costco.

• Breast swelling and tingling! This actually ain't that bad. Except it feels like I'm pregnant but my body is actually doing the exact opposite of making a baby (sob).

• Heart palpitations! This happened when I was pregnant as well, it's something due to hormones and thinning of blood, but it is also a version of hot flashes, I guess. Anyhow, my heart will flutter and race for a few seconds several times a day and it's real off-putting.

Early morning sunrise with daisies at one of our body positive group camping events; photo by Rachael Chappell

I still have the same exact melasma on my upper lip (it looks like sun spots but it literally appeared one morning in February and totally freaked me out). They haven’t changed at all, but do get darker in the summer sun and a bit lighter in the winter months. I don’t have as itchy or dry skin, breast tingling or as much hair loss, but still must be losing some as there are constant baby hairs growing in around my forehead, my stylist tells me. I do often have the heart palpitations, bacne (back acne) and foods I used to like that taste totally yucky to me now. And here are a few new things to add to the list:

• Morning sickness! At least ten days a month I wake up feeling nauseated and if I can eat it helps. Just like when I was pregnant, sucking on a mint or lemon drop helps ward off puking. Also just like when I was pregnant, if often subsides around noon. (Thanks, hormones!)

• Forgetfulness! I can no longer remember what I went into a room to grab or sometimes simple words, like the name for the thing that bakes the food (oven). It usually comes to me but much slower than usual.

• Heartburn! Like daily. So much so that I have been on a prescription of Omeprazole off and on for the past three years.

• Sciatica! This is likely related to ovulation and this….

• Ovarian cysts! I seem to get them often now (I’ve never had them before in my life until two years ago) and they sometimes burst and the pain is super intense like contractions for about 20 minutes leaving me sore and exhausted.

• A distending uterus! I flew to Boston last year and my uterus tried to fall out of my body and I freaked the fuck out, as expected. Turns out it moved back up (!!!) and isn’t as wandering now as I feared but I see my OBGYN yearly now just to help me feel saner about the whole thing.

• Horny as hell! I’ve always had a really high libido but these last three years have been off the charts (ask Dr. Brown).

• Spotty periods (if any)! I haven’t had my period for 69 days. And, yes, I laughed out loud when I counted the little paper boxes on my dollar store calendar because 69 jokes are still funny and suuuuuuuuuuper pertinent when you’re 43 and your hormones and sex drive are both wild (see above).

• Wrinkling and sagging! In addition to the occasional acne I get, my skin has of course gotten a bit softer, wrinklier, and saggier on all parts of my body. Some is likely due to hormones, some is likely due to the natural changes aging brings.

Early morning sunrise, no make-up, teeth not brushed, hair not looked at, coffee just poured, and you strip naked, wrap a vintage crocheted tablecloth around you like a regal cloak and watch the land below you awaken like A DAMN QUEEN. (photo by Rachael Chappell in the Idaho wilderness at our Boise Rad Fat Collective boudoir campout)

The biggest and most important change in my menopause journey over the past four years, though, is probably the one that has happened in my head and my heart. I’ve become so much more comfortable in my body and with aging as a natural, beautiful and lucky thing to have and do. In fact, age positivity and talking about the changes perimenopause has brought and will bring have become important parts of my platform in body image activism. (I talk and write about it often but my favorites can be found here, here and here.) More than anything, this journey with my changing body over the past four years has reminded me that we are more than a number on the scale or our age or our BMI or our pants size – that we are, in fact, more than our bodies at all. But also, everything we are IS our bodies. They are the vessel that houses the most important parts of us – our brains, our hearts, our souls, and our words. They get us through each day to do the things we love and need to do.

photo by Kylee Williams; cheeky lingerie courtesy Curvy Girl Lingerie

For me, my body lets me build school gardens, hug my husband, pick apples from my tree, write stories, cook dinner. It lets me walk on the beach and swim in the lake and grow babies and carry them and nourish them. And despite how horribly I sometimes treat my body or the awful things I may think about it, it keeps showing up for me, waking up every morning, getting the vitamins it needs to move and survive and heal itself over and over until it won’t anymore. And none of us know when that time will come, so I am very grateful for THIS gift every day. I hope you are, too.

Courage is contagious, body love is liberating; photo by Rachael Chappell

Get Lucky

I learned as a teen that my body was a political vessel and I often use it as a canvas for my art and activism. Over the years I’ve done several performance art pieces and guerrilla art installations geared around bodies in Boise and they’ve received mixed reviews – from hateful to positive. As a fat feminist body image activist I also use social media as a revolutionary tool in sharing my art and my message of body positivity, which includes talking about a lot of things important to me as a woman, like aging, motherhood, my sexuality and bodies. I believe strongly that you cannot make positive change as a social activist unless you clearly understand where and who has worked before you and your place in history. When not using my writing and body as artistic tools, I will sometimes use printmaking combined with found objects and stitching. My two-dimensional artwork often blurs the boundaries between fine art and craft. For me, the repurposing of found materials adds both tactile and historical elements integral to the contemporary story each piece tells. My foundations with fabric and needlepoint, combined with my academic background, have allowed me to explore traditional women’s handiwork in a non-traditional way as part of a movement called craftivism. As a writer I think a lot about words and they often play a big part in my art. Their history, meanings, double entendres, spellings. How we fling them, mean them, change them, reclaim them.

Slut is one of the words that have been used against women, myself included, for decades. It’s typically meant in a derogatory way, making a judgement on how a woman dresses, how many sexual partners she has had, if she dares to talk about her sexuality in a positive way. As far back as 1380 we see the word used to describe a slovenly or dirty man and by 1450 it was often used to describe women similarly, especially kitchen maids. There is also an old reference to a slut also being a homemade candle of sorts (which is, interestingly, how we see it used in an Idaho Statesman newspaper article about Atlanta, Idaho, in 1873). By the 1800s it is usually a word to refer to a woman of “loose morals,” and our own Idaho Statesman corroborates this and follows the national usage of the term. In the 1950s the word appears a few times in the Statesman, in reference to a female prostitute character in a Broadway play and a Biblical reference to Salome. In the 1960s and 70s the term appears more in our newspaper, often in Dear Ann Landers’ columns about young women who have gotten pregnant out of wedlock and wives cheating on their husbands. There are also numerous concerns about The Man of La Mancha coming to the Morrison Center for Performing Arts and the important character arc of a woman’s “transformation from a slut to an ideal woman.” By the turn of the century slut has absolutely entered our vernacular and it’s used over and over in the newspaper, in regards to things like Monica Lewinsky, the play Avenue Q (again at the Morrison Center), sexting and teens, sexual abuse and harassment. For the past ten years, at least, the reference to slut in the newspaper has been in regards to the damage slut-shaming can to do women – emotionally, professionally and legally.

Mention of a French slut in the fiction piece Moonhollow printed in the Idaho Statesman, August 29, 1942

A mom’s shocking letter to Ann Landers filled with slut shaming and fat shaming of her pregnant daughter, printed in the Idaho Statesman, March 17, 1970

I recently created this piece for Wingtip Press’ annual printmaking exchange and exhibition called Leftovers, as it was created to use the leftover small pieces of paper and odd supplies found in artist studios. I’ve participated for years and my work always come from other “leftovers” in house, particularly otherwise mundane items from history and my life as a woman and mother, like birth control pill packets and paper dolls. This year’s pays homage to the history of this controversial word as well as paying homage to the historical home of institutionalized “sluttery” in Boise. It was called Levy’s Alley, Boise’s largest red light district prior to its demolition in 1909 on the site of today’s City Hall, mixed into the site of Boise’s original Chinatown on the same square block. Both groups, whose bodies, differences and choices, made them marginalized and “othered” (as also noted in many an Idaho Statesman article from the time), were pushed out to neighborhoods a few blocks away. Both the Chinese population in Boise, which, at one time, rivaled the size of Seattle’s and San Francisco’s Chinatowns, and our prostitutes were beloved, necessary, important members of our Western town and at the same time treated poorly and reviled. The vintage keno lottery tickets were something that could be found in most Chinese shops in the early 20th century, and these were saved just before the demolition of the Hop Sing Building downtown Boise in the old Chinatown at 706 ½ Front Street, built in 1924 and demolished in 1972.

The Hop Sing building (b. 1924) downtown Boise was in Chinatown until it was demolished in 1974. It was on 7th Street (renamed Capitol Boulevard) near where the new parking garage is today north of the Grove Hotel. (photo courtesy Idaho State Archives)

Leftovers (Get Lucky), 2019

Medium: image transfer print on plastic stitched to vintage Boise Chinatown keno ticket c. 1960

*The show opens this Friday night May 5, 2019 at Push & Pour in Garden City, Idaho, with a silent auction of prints (including mine!) if you’re interested in purchasing it. I have to tell you, this exhibition is stellar and this year’s prints might be my favorite of all time. You can see more of them here along with show event details.

10 Years of Feeling Big

March is filled with a lot of emotional change for me. It’s the spring equinox and in our part of the world when the snow melts and weeds are cleared away and green growth that has been buried in the dark reaches for the sun. It’s a month where six years ago I found out about a surprise pregnancy and lost it in a traumatic first miscarriage at home. It’s a month where five years ago my rainbow baby boy came bursting into this world just after the season changed and made our family complete. (In fact, all my babies were born within three weeks time from the end of March through early April, like so many mama animals in this world spring is for birthing time for me.) It’s a month where ten years ago I got laid off from a shitty job and it changed everything. I left what I thought I knew and wanted behind in a radical move. It’s been a decade since I talked my family into doing The Compact for a New Year’s Resolution - committing to not buying anything new (except toiletries and food) for an entire year. It was the year I started this blog, originally called Doin’ It All, Idaho Style, where one of my first blog posts as a mommyblogger was about being featured as a “Laid Off Loser” in a local column of others hit hard by the recession. It was the year I Googled “why am I fat and happy?” turning me onto fat acceptance launching me into body image activism.

I’d never been offered or sought out professional birth photography before but in hindsight wish I would’ve. St. Als Hospital where Arlo was born in 2014 sent a young woman around to see if we wanted some candid professional portraits in our room before leaving and I’d just gotten out of the shower and had wet hair and a maternity tee shirt and he was naked in his baby blanket and I’m so glad I said yes please. I sobbed when I saw these.

I stumbled across this Sharon Olds poem again this month in one of my favorites, her collection called The Dead & the Living from 1983 and this just pierced my heart.

I got to drive to Northern Idaho to be the keynote speaker at Lewis-Clark State College’s Women’s Leadership Conference on International Women’s Day a few weeks ago. The sun was shining on the glittering snow and I relished in the silence and the alone time in my truck to listen to whatever I wanted. I devoured Glennon Doyle’s audio version of her memoir Love Warrior about her own unbecoming, her own story of motherhood and activism and marriage and finding her purpose and her voice. Listening to her story I was struck with the reminder that it was pregnancy that gave me the permission I had been looking for all along to be big. Like always happens for me when I’m pregnant, possibly due to nausea and a loss of appetite, I lost weight when I was pregnant and for the first time in my life wanted to gain more. I was free to eat almost anything and everything and as much of it to help sustain and build the little life inside me. I couldn’t wait to buy larger clothing to accommodate my ample belly and breasts. It was after the birth of my first daughter and again with my second that I realized my big body had no purpose or “excuse” any longer and that made me sad, and then angry, and then defiant. What if I didn’t need my baby girls to give me a reason to be so big? Or what if they were, in fact, the reason I should be claiming that space?

This photo was taken the week I got a surprise, nasty and traumatic layoff from my job as the Associate Curator at the Boise Art Museum, days before Alice’s 1st birthday and she took her first steps. Lucy was 4-years-old. It felt like the worst thing that could happen to me but turned out to be the best thing.

And, wow, have I ever claimed some space in the past decade. I’ve found my voice and it’s getting louder. I’m getting bigger and braver than I ever thought possible. I’ve now got three kids who I see doing the same and it’s magnificent to watch. I’ve become a more prolific writer, artist, gardener, activist and public speaker. And now I’ve got thousands of others following along here doing impossible things and being big and beautiful and radical alongside me.

This photo was snapped just after I ended my keynote speech on taking up space and fat feminism at the Lewis-Clark State College Women’s Leadership Conference a few weeks ago on International Women’s Day. This standing ovation really shook me up.

It’s also the 4th anniversary of being diagnosed with perimenopause, and these perimenopausal symptoms have reached a fever pitch lately, just in time for my middle daughter to start her own hormonal shift into puberty and with a teenager and a toddler we’re just a wild mess of emotions. I can cry at the drop of a hat and I’m feeling a lot of things really intensely. I’ve always had a strong sense of nostalgia and I try to remember that each March as it rears up but this year it seems to be even more so with this big anniversary/birthday looming. I’ve also had to deal with some really shitty things and recourse for this work and how it’s affected my family. So while its definitely worth it I can’t say it hasn’t come without its complications, some of them very serious, especially lately. I’ve lost a lot but gained so much more. It’s been a hard ten years but what a fanfuckingtastic ride it’s been.

If I could only tell my 33-year-old self that I’d be so fierce and fat and fabulous and changing the world and being banned from Facebook every other fucking month in ten years and being so big.

A DECADE.

Happy birthday to this little blog that grew up. And happy anniversary to this girl who grew up, too, and so many other important moments that have made me who I am. Here’s to rebirth and living and unbecoming and feeling and being bigger.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d have a full page nude photo in an international magazine at the age of 43. Here’s to taking up ALL THE SPACE in media everywhere with our fat, fearless unphotoshopped bodies and unabashed joy to be living in them. The Fabuplus spring issue is out now.