*

My mother is a Traffic Control Person, also known as a flagger. You know, one of those people in the orange or yellow vest who stop you at construction sites.

Many people hate to see a flagger with a stop or slow sign in their hand step in front of their vehicle. After all, you don’t want to be 2 minutes late to get wherever you are going. Its such a pain in the butt to have to wait a few minutes, or to slow down when travelling through a construction zone. Many people tell my Mother that her job could be replaced by a bucket of sand, just stick the sign in that; who needs some person telling them how to drive?

The purpose of my Mother’s job is very clear to her, even if you may not understand it. Her job is to protect the lives of everyone working in and driving through a construction zone.

Her job is to stop you from driving into a sinkhole, or from driving into a dump truck; its to keep you from going into head-on traffic when there are lanes closed.

Did you know that when a road is closed off, many crews will dump the load of gravel or dirt from the dump truck right in the middle of the road? Or that they will park heavy equipment in the middle of the hiway? When traffic is stopped, they know it only takes a minute or two to move it, so they leave it there, to make their jobs easier. So, what happens when you blow past that stop sign and drive right into a pile of dirt, or a giant backhoe? You just might die; you just might kill somebody else.

What happens when you speed through a construction zone? You put the lives of everyone around you at risk. People have loved ones working there.

Did you know that firemen and police officers have been killed by people speeding past a parked fire truck or police cruiser with flashing lights and everything going?

In some States and Provinces, a flagger can make pretty darn good money. Not in my Province though, my Mom makes 11 dollars an hour to step in front of moving vehicles.

Flaggers work long hours, often 12 or more.

They rarely get lunch or even potty breaks, many of these people have to pee into cans they keep in the back of their work trucks.

They stand out in all kinds of weather, including below freezing conditions, or extreme summer heat.

All day long, they get to listen to people yell at them, call them awful names and threaten them just for trying to keep those people safe.

My Mom’s job is to keep you safe and alive, but many people call her terrible names for this. They flip her the bird, they throw objects, like beer bottles, at her from their cars. There has even been a few times where angry men have gotten out of their cars, intent on attacking my mother because they didn’t want to wait any longer. My Mom is 50+ years old, she is 5 feet 3 inches and weighs 120 pounds soaking wet, thank the Gods for the guys on the work crews who have saved her from attack every time!

I don’t care if they’re making 25 dollars an hour; these people risk their lives everyday to make sure you get home safely and to make sure the guys working the construction zone get home too. There is not enough money in the world to justify losing my Mom to a drunk driver or speeding asshole.

I know, I know. Obviously these people are horrid, uneducated blue collar slobs who can‘t even get a real job. They MUST be drunks or something to wind up working in construction … Somebody has to do that job, would you prefer a job lottery? Maybe you’d be cleaning my toilets next week.

A few years ago I was especially relieved that my Mom had taken a few days off.

In March 2006, at about 11:40 pm, a speeding Camero came roaring through a construction site on the hiway in Kelowna.

The driver swerved around another vehicle, clipping marker pylons before swinging back and ploughing into a parked vehicle and the flagger.

The flagger was standing beside her work truck when he hit her.

She was squished between the two vehicles before being thrown across the hiway.

The car then slammed into a dump truck and a backhoe working on the crossing of Highway 97 and Highway 33.

The flag person was pronounced dead at the scene.

The flagger was a friend and co-worker of my Moms. She was 43 years old and her name was Theresa. She was a single mother of a teenage daughter, who now has no family at all. Imagine waking up to hear the news that some drunk driver killed your Mom.

Please, I beg you. SLOW DOWN, OBEY THE SIGNS, WAIT PATIENTLY, DON’T ROAD RAGE, DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE, TURN THE CELL PHONE OFF IN THE CAR

And don’t kill my Mom too.

Please folks, be a good driver and be kind to the people whose job it is to get you there safe. Leave really early so you won’t be late, and if you are running late, then be late. Please don’t risk other people’s lives and yours as well to make it to an event (or even work) on time.

Thanks, Juniper

Related posts:

1. Inflamatory
2. I am the 99%
3. TED Talk on Apathy

For we out number them

We who grew up in a world of women soldiers and gay pride parades

We who received our sex education from Dan Savage

We who were raised by single mothers who went to work in steel toed boots

We who Occupy

We who don’t mind skirts on men and hard hats on women

We who are Anonymous

We who can network in milliseconds

We who own the Internets

We who march and demand reproductive rights

We who choose to be stay at home Dads

We who watched 911 and asked “what can we do to make them hate us less?”

We who are gender fluid

We who know there are more than two genders

We who think not in black and white

We who see the shades of grey and delight in them

We who struggle to create marriages built on equality

We who are of mixed race

We who hold tolerance and acceptance as sacred

We are the generation that made Paganism the fastest growing

We are the ones who glutted the numbers and swelled the ranks

We are coming of age

We are having babies

We are raising them with our values

We who will not sit down and shut up

Let them cling to their outdated views

Let them fight in fear

Let them have their last gasp

Turn away

Turn away

Wait

Wait

We out number them

We will out live them

We hold the future in our hands

Be strong

Be true

Be faithful

Be patient

Occupy everything

We are steadfast

We will take their place

We will build what they cannot comprehend

Gather your tools

Related posts:

1. Afraid and Ashamed, but not Surprised
2. Children
3. I Just Keep Telling Myself

You speak of freedom of religion. You say “this is their Tradition and they have a right to it.”  And this is true.

You speak in generalized platitudes about religious tolerance, of freedom. You say nothing of the pain caused to the individual. My “beef” with Z. Budapest and Dianic Wicca is not one of generalized platitudes. It is personal.

I have arrived at an open Dianic ritual and was pulled aside and asked to leave. Because I arrived in combat boots and a biker jacket (I came on a motorcycle) and my energy was too masculine.

I have been at a women’s ritual where a Dianic Wiccan informed me that I was buying into the patriarchies’ objectification of women for wearing a pretty, strappy dress with full hair and make up done. She said I offended her and the Goddess by being tarted up.

I have been told disdainfully that I cannot be a woman of substance, as I am young, thin and pretty.

I have been told that I am selfish and unnatural for being a woman in her thirties who is not a mother, and who has no strong, desperate desire to become one. I have been told that I cannot be a whole woman until I bear children from my body.

Does Z have the right to exclude transwomen? Yes.

Do Dianic Wiccans have the right to call me an unnatural, too masculine, tart who lacks substance … because that is their Tradition? Maybe so.

Look into my eyes and see the pain there. Know that it is 1/10 of the pain the transwomen at Pantheacon felt when they sat in protest, staring at a sign that read: Genetic women only.

Does Z have a right to practice intolerance because it is her Tradition? Yes.

Do the organizers of Pantheacon have the right to allow her to lead a ritual that excludes certain kinds of women? Yes.

But I also have the right speak out against this these things. I have the right to condemn her, her Tradition and Pantheacon. And I will exercise that right, with tears in my eyes and sorrow in my heart.

Things Z has written or spoken on the subject:

“Transies who attack us only care about themselves.”

“Women are born not made by men on operating tables.“

“But if you claim to be one of us, you have to have sometimes in your life a womb, and overies and MOON bleed and not die. ”

“Genetic women only”

“Many many young men at collage age are latent homosexuals, which is dangerous to women.”

“The male gender is gender conscious, ‘us boys together’ against the other gender.”

“Why are we universally hated by the male gender? ”

These are not the words of a wise Elder. They are not the words of a loving priestess. They are not the words of a worthy leader. They are the words of a hateful, narrow minded bigot.

You say we should allow Z to have her Tradition, you say we should allow Pantheacon to exclude certain people from rituals based upon gender and sexual identity. You say we must do these things in the name of religious freedom, in the name of tolerance, in the name of diversity.

I say that religious tolerance and religious freedom does not mean that we must tolerate leaders who are openly bigoted.

“Now, we must all fear evil men. But there is another kind of evil which we must fear most, and that is the indifference of good men.” ~ Boondock Saints

Related posts:

1. I Just Keep Telling Myself
2. I Can …
3. My Soap Box

This is how Nature made me

But from my early teens to my mid-twenties (and sometimes still) I was bullied, abused and attacked for being thin. Surprised? I bet you are. Skinny women are perfect and everyone loves them, we are so attractive right? Well, that what everyone thought. Which is why they were cruel to me.

I’ve had girlfriends be so angry that I fit a size two dress that they stormed out of the store and refused to speak to me ever again.

I’ve had co-workers follow me to the bathroom to see if I purged my lunch,

I’ve had snide remarks and insults thrown my way for ordering a full meal in front of another woman picking at a salad.

I’ve been told that I am not a real women, because real women have curves.

I’ve had women ask me (in front of a whole party) if I had to wear little girl’s training bras.

I’ve had other women throw food at me, because I needed to stop starving myself.

I’ve had men tell me that they wished I had bigger boobs.

In high school and my early adult hood it got so bad that I would come home and cut myself.

But I wasn’t allowed to have body image issues. As a pretty girl with thick curly hair and a skinny body, I was supposed to be perfect and happy. Therefore I had no right to express unhappiness with my body or they way people treated me for having it.

I had no right to complain that it’s hard to find shirts that aren’t too big in the chest.

I had no right to complain that it was hard to find pants that fit, because surely everything is made to fit a size 2-4?  (no, it’s not, clothes are meant to fit 6 foot tall skinny girls with boob jobs)

I had no right to complain about being cold or tired.

I had no right to complain about the aches and pains of sleeping on my bones from lack of body fat.

But it’s totally okay for you to single me out and make an example of me.

It’s okay for you to talk, in front of me, about how disgusting skinny girls are.

It’s okay for you make comments about my eating habits.

It’s okay for you to point out how weak I am from not having enough meat on my bones.

It’s okay to lift up my shirt and loudly count my ribs in front of everyone.

And it’s totally okay to pass around images like this one:

Images that say there is something wrong with me. That I am some kind of monstrous freak.

That I am “ewwwww”

This image says that I am ugly, horrible, wrong and not beautiful or sexy. It says that I do not deserve respect or basic human decency.

This image says nothing about how all women are beautiful. It says a certain kind of woman ought to be considered more beautiful than others.

You are swinging the pendulum too far.

You shouldn’t attack skinny girls to build up the non-skinny girls. You don’t need to attack me and make me feel disgusting to make yourself feel good.

Every time you tell a chubby girl that skinny girls are gross, are you thinking about the message you are passing on to the skinny girl who heard you say that?

Stop this shit. Passing around images like this is not funny and it doesn’t fix or help a thing.

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

And don’t you ever attack or insult skinny girls in front of me because I will tear you to fucking pieces.

Related posts:

1. Ramblings on Womanhood and Feminism Part Two
2. Juniper Rambles About Feminism and Womanhood (Part One)
3. Crones

I was teased and bullied by the well-to-do kids at school for having thrift store clothes and plain or subsidized lunches, because that is what they were taught by their parents.

I tried my very best at school and did well in some subjects but failed utterly in others. I was told this was because I was a bad and lazy child. It turns out that I had learning disabilities that should have been receiving treatment and help so that I could succeed. Because my mother was often working two jobs to keep a roof over our heads she could not badger the school and be an advocate for me. The schools refused to accommodate the schedule of a working single mother.

Getting subsidized day care was a humiliating nightmare for my mother; instead she would have college students as boarders for child care. She became a second mother to these bright young women.

My family struggled to pay for me to go to trade school and become a hairdresser. The government refused to give us a student loan because on paper we seemed to have enough money. What they did not know is that my father refused to help pay, as did my step father. My mother worked 14 hour night shifts at a construction site on a broken foot for my schooling.

At hairdressing school I was bullied and teased by the well-to-do students who were there because daddy was making them go to school for their own good, not because they need a job, and beauty school seemed like fun.

I worked 40+ hours a week as a hairdresser, tending to rich and spoiled women. I would be expected to skip lunch to tend to customers who would sit in my chair and complain about having their BMW detailed. I was treated like little more than scum put on this earth to serve middle class and wealthy housewives. I was not a human being in their eyes. I was to be grateful when they tipped me 50 cents.

After several anxiety attacks and discovering that I was developing health issues from the chemicals at the salon I had to walk away from my career. There was no option to go back to school to learn something new without going deeply into debt and being hopped up on Ritalin the whole time.

I have worked for years now at a variety of jobs, many of which involve selling environmentally friendly products to the middle and upper classes. They care nothing about my eco-friendly sales pitch, they only want a status symbol and being green is expensive and cool.

I have worked in animal rescue and the pet industry. Well to do women arrive at the kennel seeking a status symbol. I have refused to give dogs to people whose main concern is that the dog matches their couch, or will look good in their SUV, or will make their friends jealous. I was not treated like a human being, but merely a hick farmer who should give them a discount on their new “toy”.

I have lived on or near farms that grow the food you eat. I have been treated like the lowest filth on the earth for being a farmer.

I am slowly and painfully going back to school (while working) to get the education to match my work experience. I am trying my best to do this without going into debt.

I have been treated like a lower life form by the well educated and the wealthy all my life.

I am 31 years of age. I have been a hard working member of society since I was 19. I have NO DEBT, no criminal record, I volunteer, I am eco-friendly, and I am a part of my spiritual community. I vote and I pay my taxes. Despite my disadvantages I am a contributing member of society, doing what is expected of me.

I am a proud Canadian. I have seen the ghettos of the USA, I am grateful for my socialized health care and excellent public transit etc.

I am NOT grateful for a culture that places Arrogance over Industriousness. Compliance over Courage. Ignorance over Truth. Appearances over Honour. Individualism over Loyalty. Indulgence over Disciple. Libertarianism over Hospitality. Wealth over Self Reliance. Privilege over Perseverance.

The wealthy elite, this cooperate culture and the banks should not come before the people.

I am the 99%  and I will not sit down and shut up.

Related posts:

1. Somethings You May Not Know
2. Ramblings on Womanhood and Feminism Part Two
3. Skinny Girl

Look guys, I have some serious shit going on in my life right now.

Bren left me in the soul crushing, self esteem destroying way. He tried to be a nice guy about it, because he’s a good man. But it doesn’t change the whole broken heart thing.

I had a grandparent die recently.

The place Bren and I were living in before he left is too much $$$ for me to manage on my own. Not if I want any money for savings etc. I have been working harder and longer and trying to pick up odd jobs to cover everything.

I had no bed to sleep on. I’ve had to accept charity from friends, which is hard. I finally was able to pick up a bed second hand.

I have had to find a room mate, find a new place and now I am packing and moving. I have two whole weeks to pack and move.

I have had some of the dearest friends I have ever had move away.

I busted someone for plagiarism who is now trying to threaten me into silence to save her own ass.

I go onto the websites and such for the podcast and the Hedge etc and the stats feature tells me what people Google search to find their way to the websites. The most common search term in the last month or two has been “Juniper and Brendan Myers break up” Do you have nay idea how THAT feels? To know that you guys are digging around online looking for dirt on my broken heart?

This is the tip of the iceburg guys.

I need time and I need space. I need breathing room.

I am sad that I might be loosing some of your guy’s attention by not putting out an episode of the podcast, by not writing for No Unsacred Place as often, by not attending to the Hedge and my blog as much as I used to.

But it’s what I need to do right now.

I understand that MOST of you are understanding and totally get what I am saying. You care and are concerned. You’re happy to let me get my life sorted and to wait.

But some of you are being assholes. You write emails etc to me, giving me shit for not putting out an episode yet, guilt trip me for not writing on my blog more, get annoyed if I take a while to respond to emails. I am asking those people to please stop. You don’t own me. And I am not a celebrity. I am just a messy little Hedgewitch who right now, cries herself to sleep most nights.

Please, let me have a little breathing room. Or go find some other “Pagan Leader” you can throw tomatoes at.

Thank you,

Juniper

Related posts:

1. An Open Letter to Mainstream Pagans, Heathens and Witches
2. Political Pagans
3. An Open Letter