Is it O.K. to like pink?

Good Housekeeping. My aunt sent it to me for free because she works for a place and can do that sometimes with magazines for promos. Alas, the only one on the list that was remotely interesting was Good Housekeeping. Even if everyone surrounding me in this forsaken "monopinion" bubble I sometimes find myself in decides that I'm subscribing to something archaic and goads me regularly for my small-town-small-brain capacity, at least it's got recipes right? Then i realize that I've actually been buying into their crap, as impervious as I thought I was to it; because I'd already decided Amanda wouldn't like it, and then I read it and realized that of course Amanda would.

It's the best toilet reader I've ever had, and it's bright and cheery, which is something a lot of people ignore thinking it superficial and ignorant of the suffering of man kind; why, when there are horrors in this world how dare you enjoy frivolity and the happy indulgences in life when you could be protesting and bleeding your heart out for those that suffer around you. IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT NOW! It's amazing how far little things like brightly colored TV shows and happy commercials vs. the dirty truth ones go to lifting the ceiling of depression and opening the door to a day spent smiling.

Some of the articles focus on things I can't really apply to my life just now. But I hopefully will someday; because the more I read this stuff, the more I get pumped about being a mom and keeping a home. There are things I want to do with my life other than that, yes, but I'm not going to warp them into a job that barely touches on said things and spend my time on them unless I either a: have to or b: can do it EXACTLY how I want to. If I didn't have this need to fly (which I uncover more and more each week I don't) or the love of creating stories and trying to use the PERFECT words to make something sound poetic even if it's not (which I'm not very good at, but isn't it fascinating?), I would be perfectly content to keep the perfect home. And not back in the day when that's what "women did". But now. When scrutiny can and will come from every snoody pseudo-insightful poser around, and from so many misguided feminists. My philosophy on life is quick becoming: Be remembered if you can, but only if it's for doing the things you love anyway. Which easily translates into: Surround yourself with the things/ones you love. If I can surround myself with planes, books, maybe music and definitely my loved ones then there are some things that come along with that.

-Planes that are nice. Well built (built with spirit if possible, especially my family's) good looking, well maintained and really fun to fly. Whether it be fast and aerobatic, full of my family on a trip to no-where-in-particular, or en route to an adventure from another era with the plane from it's hay-day, I mean really fun.

-Books that are good. Even if they're only good in the fact that they're enjoyable. But that also spans book that are about the most fascinating side of learning, or the most hidden-beneath-the-surface-true-call-to-lost-chivalry (too many dashes? Yeah).

-Music that tells stories, or more importantly pulls at my heartstrings. Much like the books, standing for something hidden deep inside only the best of the best of the people I know. Watching it form from the hands of people I grew up with or picking it apart with those whose infinite musical wisdom strangely matches my own. *fans self*

And Finely

-Family. Family that knows you better than ANYONE. Family that wants to share every part of your life, the stupid, the bad, the hilarious and the best. Share it because every part of life is important because of just being together. And especially being together in a happy, healthy life. Having a home to go to when you need to get away from everyone who isn't happy just being with you. Having a place that's home base for everything because it starts there and ends there and thrives there. A place that is YOURS (and mine and ours) because the government can't tell you what music to play, that you have to take off from someone else's controlled airport; society can't tell you that fun equals work (or was it work equals play) and quality doesn't have to be gritty. A place that says it IS alright to like pink (in moderation).

That place is more important than any 80 hour job, any promotion, any degree; and DOES require as much attention as any of the above. So as long as you have the means to live fully but simply with someone at home more of the time, why does more money take precedence over, cleaner happier and cozier? Hey, no ones says that only women have to do it, but someone needs to (and we're just better at it than anyone else)

Unanswerable Questions, aka: Philosophy.

I honestly think I could become a hermit. I don't know that it would be a healthy transition. But it would be so easy to fall into the trap of giving up. Giving up on dealing with the masses and unsavory experiences that are completely inevitable. I guess if you spend enough time in society to gather the things you care about then what's the point of being "worldly"? I'm all about life experiences and stuff, but it's kind of like listening to the radio when you find the sanctity of underground musical genius. Maybe just dip your toe in every once in a while, and come back to the cave all the more anxious for solitude.

I guess the bigger obstacle is getting the things and people you love to come to the cave with you. You have to find your cave, find a way to get your cave (cus in this society you're gonna have to pay for it) and convince your loved ones that it really is preferable to the world that they are accustomed to, and possibly enjoy. Is it worth retreating alone if you can't get them to come? And will they visit if you make the ghastly choice of isolation over them? Is the act of not experiencing as much of the world as you possibly can the same as not living? Is safe a sure way to deaden your life?

Basically: Does the world matter more than the things living in it? Or would the nothingness of outer space be just fine if only a few people were there? The right people?

And how do you know if those people would feel the same about you, if they were all that mattered to you? Would the forbidden talents of mind reading fall into the same category of eternal life? Maybe life and love are sweeter being experienced solely on faith instead of having some sort of proof or assurance to ruin the thrill of it all. But when does faith turn into fear of mistaken assumptions, or a waste of time on unquestioned false-truths?