nakedjen

Drops The Mic

I told you, "Blogging is dead!"

The End.

I am a farmer.

It's a sad day for America.

I mean this sincerely.

Today Monsanto made a very transparent grab for total and complete control of our agriculture lives, of our food supply and the patenting of life in the United States and they won. The Supreme Court of the United States handed them a 9-0 ruling, in their favor, that will basically allow them to destroy any non Monsanto farmer simply by finding a single Monsanto plant on their farm, even if it was by accident. 

Monsanto won the game today. It's a very dangerous and Orwellian game. It is only a few ticks of the clock before Monsanto holds enough of the most important cards to decide who is truly allowed to eat and...who lives and who dies.

One reason that the very intelligent and smart men who actually wrote our Constitution did not bother to  include food justice or worry with our own freedom to produce and consume the food of our choice was simply because they never ever dreamed that they would have to do such a thing. 

Obviously, they were wrong.

Our farmers are an endangered species.  As endangered as our polar bears and if you do not believe our polar bears are endangered, well, I suppose you shouldn't even be reading this particular blog.

I know I sound very much like the squeaky little Lorax who stands here and stomps her feet and screams about the seeds and the bees and the trees.  I know my song and dance is getting quite old. The thing is, we can not give up. The more of us who continue to support real, organic, non-GMO, foods that are grown in a sustainable way by real farmers the more love we give to this small blue spinning planet we all call home.

Every seed we plant with the intention to make a difference truly does make a difference. Every single one.

Food, good food, growing power, is available to every single one of us. I've never been a bigger believer in this than I am right now. If you don't want to listen to me, maybe you'll listen to Will Allen.

We do not need more patents or more fences. We just need to share.

There is always enough. Always. Stop with the greed. Let's just pick up our forks, dig deep with our hearts and share everything we've got.

 

Dottie Bella Cooper Needs Our Help, Please.

This is Dottie Bella Cooper. She lives in Atlanta and has been missing since Thursday. Her mother, Jill-ann Cooper, has a heart that beats way outside her chest, but what is more important is that she loves this cat like we all want to be loved and needs help in finding her. We never know who knows someone who knows someone and I know a lot of very loving someones who care deeply. So....please share. Dottie even has a Help Find Dottie Facebook page. Let's bring Dottie home to her loving mama.

+++++ UPDATE +++++++

7 MAY 2013 DOTTIE CAME HOME.  THANK YOU, INTERNET, FOR HOLDING HER IN YOUR HEARTS AND HELPING HER FIND HER WAY BACK TO HER LOVING MAMA.

Wow, I need this beet right now!

In an effort to assure the world that I am not dead, here is some of the living I've been actually living with my life recently.  I'm sharing here, not to say, "Oh look, I'm living my life, isn't it lovely?", but more because, well, this space feels like that old closet up in the attic at this point that's filled with old costumes that I used to wear, that I really love and would never, ever discard.  That analogy doesn't even hold water, really, given that the majority of this blog is actually quite naked. There isn't even a box of costumes here. But there's definitely lots of very old stuff that I could never, ever abandon. It's all very much part of who I am now. Even if sometimes I don't want to actually admit it.

I've got arugula and garlic growing in my backyard thanks to the loving generosity of my sweet professor. Already.  I have barely, quite honestly, survived this long winter of my discontent in Salt Lake City this year, and spent a good portion of it surviving literally on love fumes supplied by him, Lilsalty and my two big black dogs.  The sun has shined for the last four days in a row and I feel like we all need to have a parade down the streets complete with glitter and ponies for everyone.  Patios are filling up, people are coming out of their houses, there's the laughter of children.  I swear, it's like we're all literally waking up and rubbing our eyes and looking at this firey ball in the sky and learning how to actually walk again.

Arugula. In my backyard.

In the front yard, I've got brand new triple grow boxes that will soon have beets and carrots and tomatoes.  I've been drinking raw beet juice concoctions every single day since January 1.  Every single day.  All day long.  I need to share that if you drink raw beet juice concoctions every single day it really does change your body composition.  I got rid of one hell of a parasite infestation that I had no idea I was even hosting.  I'll spare you the details, but wow.  I also seem to now have less wrinkles.  I was told this could happen. I did not believe it.  But after nearly four months on this regime, I can report that it is true. I also have stronger nails and shiny hair and have lost at least 15 pounds.  I did cut out all processed sugar, as well, on January 1, so that may be a contributing factor.  My diet, these days, is primarily vegan, mostly raw, all organic and well I eat a LOT of beets and arugula.  Still, I also drink a lot of espresso.  But, I also drink a lot of kombucha.  I don't know.  All of this works for me and I keep saying that we all have to journey on this planet and find what works best for each of us.  To follow our individual hearts.  If we truly follow our hearts, to do what our hearts call us to do, in all things, I believe we'll do exactly what is best not just for us, but for the planet.

I spend my days these days spreading love where I can. In all the ways that make sense to my heart.  I know that sounds ridiculous to many, probably, because, well, love? How do you spread that? 

You smile at strangers. You give real hugs. You share what you have freely without hesitation. You help the old man at the supermarket with his grocery shopping. You volunteer at the hospital. You pick up the trash in your neighborhood as you walk the kid to school. You take your dog to the assisted living home and let him share his love. You plant a garden for a family or three who don't have one. You help a kid to face his biggest fears. You love a kid that might not be your own. You set books free. You just remember that you are a love muscle and love vibrates in every action that you do.

As dear sweet Tom Robbins says best, “Breathe properly. Stay curious. And eat your beets.” ...And love with abandon, friends. Do what feeds your own soul, do that. Follow your bliss. It's how we're all going to save this world.

She had nice eyes. They lit up when she spoke.

 

She had nice eyes. They lit up when she spoke.
You are far more beautiful than you know.
You really are.
I mean it.
See that beautiful person that you are right now and love her.
I do.
Always.

Own Your Glitter.

Tick Tock

Today is my professor's birthday. Forty years ago today, somewhere in Virgina, he came screaming into this world and I'm fairly certain, though I was not there, he immediately changed the lives of every person in his world for the better.  The much better. 

How do I know this?  Well, it's just the kind of person my professor happens to be, truthfully.  I don't say that lightly, at all.  In fact, I say it with quite a bit of trepidation.  I whisper around here, quite a lot, that this is all just some big magical prank that the Universe is playing on me.  Or a fabulous sort of crazy dream.  One where I fell down a long and winding rainbow hued worm hole that somehow landed me in this crazy mixed up place called Utah, in a very Salty City that doesn't have an ocean for as far as I can see.

My professor is part of that dream of mine.  In the list of all of the things I wrote about the person I wanted to come share my life with me and my dogs, he ticked off every single item.  My professor had no idea the list even existed, but into my life he walked, quite by accident, and then after just a mere 24 hours he announced that he was staying. 

That is how it all happened.

I could write all about how he's turning 40 today, how I'm freaking out because I've never ever been in a loving relationship with any person who has been that old and it scares me to think that I'm capable of doing so, but this is about him, not about me. Instead, I'm going to share that in my own head, he's not actually turning 40 today.  He's 39, plus 1.  From now on, in fact, he'll always just be 30-something plus some other really beautiful combination of things.  I never actually know how old I am, so why should I need to know how old he is?

The most important part is that on March 29, 1973 my professor was born with a heart that beats way far outside his chest and brain that is unquestionably the most curious of all the brains that I have ever met.  His world collided with mine and he decided that he'd make the two of our worlds stick together with some sort of magical super glue.  He makes every one of my days better than the day before. Loving him has taught me all the right ways to own my glitter. My professor really is my best gift ever.  I just hope his next 40 years spinning wildly around the sun are just as filled with love as his first 40 have been.

 

He Chose Me

Little Salty stops dead as we're jaywalking across 200 West and exclaims, "Look, Nakedjen, this would be the perfect spot for a naked photo! Especially right now. The light is perfect."

I stop short with him, because there actually is no traffic, follow his gaze down the long, extra wide road that seems to travel all the way to the blinking promise of Las Vegas and say to him, "You're right. It would be perfect. It's too bad we left the camera at home!"

"We have your cellphone. Do you want me to take a photo for Friday?," he implores.  I know, in my heart, he is really hoping that I am going to hand over my phone, start to disrobe and beg him to please take the photo.  I also know that it will absolutely freak him out if I do that.  That while his eyes get as big as saucers, he'll shake and not be able to take a photo at all and it will be a story he tells until he's as old as his father is now.

"As much as I'd love to do that, we'll be late for the film.  We need to go get dinner! I'm starving, aren't you starving?! But I love you for offering and I love you for noticing that the light was perfect and I love you for knowing that bodies are just bodies and they all need to be celebrated!"

His face lights up and he says, "I can always take it another time for you, Nakedjen. It is just a body!"

Yes, it is, Little Salty.  Yes, it is.

This is my new life. I share it with this child, an eight year old boy, who is endlessly curious and always asking questions.  He introduces me to all his friends as Nakedjen and he understands that I am naked on the Internet.  He explains to his friends that I am a real naked fairy, that I make magic happen and that they probably shouldn't look for my blog on the Internet because it will get them in trouble.

He is most definitely on the precipice of being a tween and finds breasts, all breasts, fascinating.  Mine, especially.  Perhaps, especially, because they are mine.  It is hard to know, honestly.  I mean this sincerely because I haven't ever been in a very real loving relationship with a man who is also the father of an eight year old boy before and this is all very new territory for me.

The role of mother was never supposed to appear on my life list.

I never wrote it there.

I am not at all certain, truthfully, that I might have created Nakedjen in the way that it exists here if I knew then that I would one day be the sometimes *mother* of a wildly curious eight year old boy. The truth is, though, that arriving in this place, where I find myself sharing all of my life with him, and with his father, has not made me feel that I need to edit or erase anything already that exists here.  My only real worry, if there is any worry at all, is that kids can be cruel and that his friends at school will also find this website and may tease him that his father's partner actually really is NAKED on the internet.

Which brings us back to all the conversations at our home.

I am, as we all know, Nakedjen.

Bodies are celebrated. We discuss them. A lot.

I'm not sitting around naked at the house, but it isn't a large house and I'm not worrying about if the boys *see* me naked, either.  I'm doing my best to encourage a healthy attitude around here.  The same one that I encourage here on my blog.  We all have these incredible, beautiful, lovely bodies that are gifts and need to be celebrated.  Mine has different parts than the boys, but there's no shame in loving all our bodies.  Little Salty is curious and it is far better to help him sort out his curiousity than to make him feel confused or angry or ashamed about it. 

We're walking out of the theatre after seeing a Sundance film screening of THE CRASH REEL and Little Salty takes my hand. "Nakedjen, how many times have you crashed your head?"

"Six times, but three of them were truly traumatic."

"Why didn't you wear a helmet after the first one?"

"No one really told me I needed to wear a helmet, Little Salty. And you know, I like to live my life a bit dangerously."

He squeezes my hand tightly and looks up into my face with his big blue eyes. "I'm never going to let you not wear a helmet. You have to. For me and for my dad. You have to live to be 136. You have to always be here."

Mother wasn't on my life list.

Now it is.

I do always have to be here.

Right here.

With his small hand entwined in mine and my professor's heart wrapped all the way around us both.

 

 

love with furry hearts

There's always room for more love. The more we give, the more we make. Love who you are. I do. For reals, I love you the most.

We all hope we never get to be too old to fly to Never-Never Land or go through a wardrobe into Narnia

I am the girl, as we know, who sits in dark theatres and watches all your stories unfold on the screen. My life would never be what it is without you, the beautiful, daring, creative souls who are willing to be so naked and bare and to do whatever it takes to share your tales with me. Tonight we honored what Hollywood felt were the best of 2012. What I know, only too well, is that there are hundreds of incredible, heart changing, soul-filled, moving films that go unsung, but deserve ovations and thank- you speeches, as well. This is my thank you to everyone who dares to make art and share it with me. xoxox

I wrote this last night at the conclusion of the Oscars and shared it on Facebook.  I realized that I should have shared it here.  Thoughs and words like this belong here.  Not there.  I'm not even sure, honestly, what really belongs there, but that's for another discussion.  I am sincere, truly, in my gratitude for all the artists in this world who dare to make art of any kind and to bravely share it. 

It's About Love

I write about love a lot.

I'm not sure when it began, actually, but at some point in the summer before I met the professor, I decided that I would share at least one message of love with the world every single day.  I know it sounds corny and perhaps, yes, even a little bit silly, but I decided that if I woke up and vibrated love outwards, with no other intention than just to send it on wings to ripple in whatever way it may, well, then I was starting my day with love and that could only be good for me.

In 140 character blips and bleeps, I send pieces of my heart cloaked with bits of glitter out to the universe and hope for the best. 

Love comes in all shapes and sizes.  It can't be defined easily.  We can't box it up like chocolates, stick a bow on it and deliver it on a random Thursday in February saying, "Here, have some love."  Except, that we can.  There are recipients of cards and boxes of chocolates and roses who absolutely feel loved.  There are random strangers who pay for the coffee of all those standing behind them just because one day, long ago, someone paid for theirs and they want to continue the kindness, to share the love.  There is the man who becomes a father with the adoption of an abandoned baby and who knows the moment he sees her that he could never let anything happen to his little girl. There is the woman who hugs abandoned dogs fiercely, giving them shelter and food, knowing that those dogs love her just as much as she loves them. There is the lesbian couple who has loved one another for twenty-five years and rasied a family of beautiful children. There is the woman who brings warm cookies and knit hats to the internet friend she has never met until this moment in the hospital. There is the small boy who sings songs to the elderly in the assisted living facility because it might make them smile. There is the teenage girl who makes sandwiches for the homeless every Tuesday afternoon.  There is the woman who stands on the corner, right here in Salt Lake, and hugs strangers, just because, all day long.

Love.

Last Thursday, more than a dozen gay couples applied for a marriage license here in Salt Lake City, to Stand on the Side of Love. They knew going in that they'd be denied because same-sex marriage is illegal in Utah and the Utah constitution was even ammended in 2004 to define marriage as between only a man and a woman.  After living here, in this state, for nearly 5 years, I'm going to admit that I've actually learned a lot more about politics here than I have in any other state where I have lived before and that things here are truly never what they seem. 

It was a brave action for these couples.

It shouldn't be up to us, honestly, to define how or whom anyone should love. Love can not be defined by words in a constitution, by government policies, nor by nine judges on a Supreme Court.

Love just doesn't understand or bend to written opinions.

At least the love I know never has and it never will.

 

Glitter Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue lands on our newstands today.  As is tradition, the beautiful Kate Upton is baring all on the cover, and she'll be at kid's eye level at our grocery check-out stands for all of us to see.  You don't have to look, but if you do, I have something important to share with you.

I want to remind all of you, each and every one, women and men, both, that we can celebrate our own beauty, our own bodies, and that the bodies in these magazines are not exactly real.  They really are just images of a preconceived notion, of the media's hopeful ideal. They are the result of digital manipulation and lots of plastic surgery.

My wish is that all of you will know and remember that you are far more beautiful than a manufactured picture in a magazine and that you are much more than just eye candy.  The body you have is far more capable than just being "hot" and that the very real you, exactly as you are, gives me way more than just a pretty face.

You own your glitter.  Go and share it. Freely.