Remembering, and maybe missing, Florence

Something in the news has really disturbed me — more so than the onslaught of primary election campaign coverage.

In Massachusetts, 17 teenage girls deliberately got pregnant. Some girls were reportedly upset to find out they weren't pregnant. It seems they'd made a pact, and apparently they wanted — well, who knows what they wanted.

I know times are changing and things aren't like they used to be. Sometimes that's good. Not this time.

In a way, it's good that the stigma of unwed motherhood has lessened. When I was a teenager, it would have been the end of the world to be knocked up.

Back in that day, you could say the name Florence Crittenden and people would know what you were talking about. No one wanted to know Florence Crittenden all that well. A passing knowledge was enough; it was more of a threat.

For the uninitiated Florence Crittenden was the name of a home for unwed mothers. There were such things back then. Girls went there to have their babies and give them up for adoption, then come back home and pretend they'd been on an extended visit to a relative out of state.

A girl in a class behind mine got pregnant her senior year. She was told she couldn't wear maternity clothes to school. It might influence the other girls.

Influence them to do what? Be comfortable?

Another girl my sophomore year led her phys ed class in the number of situps and pushups she did during a test. The next day she delivered a son. No one, not even her parents, knew she was pregnant. People talked about that for years afterward.

Some girls hid their pregnancies then let it all hang out under their graduation gowns when it no longer mattered.

Yet, these girls were the exception. Most girls hung onto their virginity for dear life. Not being one was a scandal. Birth control was a lot iffier then, but not for long when the pill became popular. Getting pregnant was even worse than being found out you weren't a virgin.

And now we've come to the point where a group of girls deliberately got pregnant, one or more of them by a homeless man in his 20s. Makes one wonder what kind of thought went into who would be a good partner, father, provider. Sperm donor - is that all the father is regarded as? There's talk of bringing charges against some of the males involved since the girls are under age.

Have they thought beyond their bulging abdomens? What about the babies? What about their own future? What will marriage and sexual relationships be like for them when they're older? Will they be capable of having a mature, satisfying sexual relationship with a husband or boyfriend? What about their own sense of self worth? Don't they realize it doesn't come from a man or a baby but from within?

Maybe times are changing and it's no longer scandalous to be an unwed teenage mother. But it's still not a good idea. I don't know if the answer is abstinence or knowledge. We seem to be failing in our attempts to teach young women to value themselves. I hope their pact continues beyond their delivery date and they continue to support each other when they're overwhelmed by motherhood.

They're going to need all the help they can get.

Karma and cats

Every once in a while life has a way of knocking you upside the head as if to say, "Don't get too uppity."

Kind of like what my grandma used to warn about wishing bad things on someone: whatever you wish for that person will instead happen to you.

Call it karma. Call it whatever you want to call it. I've been upbraided.

A while ago I was regaling anyone who'd listen with stories of my tomcat, Arthur, who lives with me and his sister Cleopatra. Cleo is clearly the smarter of the two, but then again, she's female. Of course she's smarter.

Both cats like it sit by the screen door in the living room that leads to a balcony and watch the birds that visit the feeder I put there. Some may say it's sadistic to put a bird feeder so close to where cats live, but a screen door separates them. The cats can't hurt the birds, and the birds get to chow down on seed, suet and peanut butter. Arthur and Cleopatra enjoy the entertainment. The birds ignore the cats. What you'd call a win/win situation.

Occasionally, though, some of the birds that like to pick up the seed that falls on the floor of the balcony get a little too close to the door, and Arthur lunges thinking he's going to get a little in-between meal with feathers. He always hits the screen door head-on.

It was funny the first time it happened. He lunged. Hit the door. Swore in feline, and backed up and resumed the crouching position. It became funnier when he did it again. You'd think he'd learn. Cause and effect. Lunge for the bird you're gonna hit the screen door. Nope. Arthur, ever hopeful, keeps hitting the door. You gotta admire his perserverence, but then again you'd think he'd figure it out and give up. After all, Cleo doesn't do that. She's smarter.

Females of all species are smarter.

So here's where I get upbraided. A few months ago I ordered some nail polish from the Avon representative. One of the shades I ordered was too dark. It didn't look dark on the catalog page, but when I got it home and applied it, I didn't like it.

So some time later I saw some nail polish on special, saw a shade that looked pretty and ordered it.

You guessed it. Same shade.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I did that three times!

And you know, I really don't think Arthur would laugh at me the way I laughed at his hitting the screen door continuously.

His karma no doubt is better than mine will ever be.