“Mandatory” Facial Coverings: UNENFORCEABLE

First off: I’ve got nothing against masks. I’m still making masks for friends/family/neighbors/etc. I don’t mind wearing a mask when I go to the doctor’s office, or if I have to be around other people in close quarters (which is SO rare for me) – even though I believe, at this point, that it is more of a courtesy to accommodate their misguided fear than a legitimate protective measure.

But now they’ve rolled out the “mandatory facial coverings” order (I question its legitimacy as an actual “law”) for my entire state beginning tomorrow.

No, I won’t be wearing a mask every time I leave my home. To do so would be patently absurd.

Written into the order is a provision for exemption, for anyone with a condition which contraindicates regular or prolonged mask usage.

There is, as far as I’ve read so far, no provision requiring any individual to disclose the details of their condition to ANYONE for the exemption to apply.

This is as it SHOULD be. Why?

Well, I personally have a small handful of conditions that would certainly qualify.

In terms of easily quantifiable physical effects: I have a genetic condition which causes MANY problems for me, including trouble with body temperature regulation. I’ve spent the last three decades of my life learning how to dress to mitigate this problem while also maintaining my personal and religious standards of modesty. It’s easy when the problem is that I’m too COLD – just put more clothes on, and/or start moving until my body warms up.

It’s not so easy when I’m too HOT. Wearing a mask over my mouth and nose, even while just sitting in a chair in the waiting room at my doctor’s office, causes me to overheat quickly and sweat profusely. No joke – after my last two visits, I left a small puddle of sweat on the exam table and was feeling lightheaded by the time I left. And all I did was sit there. I dressed as lightly as I reasonably could.

Is that the sort of thing I should have to disclose to every random person who demands that I justify my exemption to them?

What about the conditions that are less easy to quantify or prove? What about conditions that require digging into an individual’s intimate history, and digging up past traumas, in order to “prove”?

What about the woman who has a combination of claustrophobia and PTSD from (or exacerbated by??) being held in a closet and then physically assaulted as a child by her mother’s abusive ex-boyfriend?

What about the woman whose narcissistic and abusive ex-husband more or less bartered her body in sexual trade to other men – one of whom pinned her down and held a pillow over her face during the act?

I am both of those women – and you’d better believe that when I start getting too hot, and when I start having a hard time breathing, those events (and more!) are replayed through my neural networks whether I want them to be or not. There’s enough written elsewhere about all of the very real physiological changes that go along with those sorts of flashbacks, I don’t really feel like getting too much into it myself.

And yeah, I’ll talk about all of these things here in my little corner of the internet where I am at least semi-anonymous, where I can talk about it on my own terms, and where my sharing these things might help others gain a better understanding of the nuances of these sorts of “laws” and exemptions.

But should I have to dredge all of that up – to reveal intimate or embarrassing details about my physical condition, or to reveal and re-live past intimate trauma, over and over – in order to justify my exemption to every store clerk and every Karen who is on some kind of personal power trip and thinks they have the ability to personally determine, at a glance, whose exemptions are “legitimate?”


And neither should anyone.

FAMILY Matters.

I’ve been accused of being…

– “Racist” because I am white.

– “Homophobic” because I am straight.

– “Sexist” because I’ve made home and family my career.

– “Misogynistic” because I am anti-abortion.

I’ve been dropped like a hot potato by “friends” (people I legitimately hold dear and have more or less given “the shirt off my back,” so to speak, at some point or another) for nothing more than the heinous crime of wearing a “TRUMP 2016” T-shirt in exactly one photograph – because wearing that T-shirt MUST OBVIOUSLY mean that I am in fact ALL of the above points rolled into one awful human being in spite of never demonstrating any of them in any of my behavior or speech over the course of months and years.

Guys, I didn’t even VOTE FOR TRUMP. As a married woman, I always give my ballot to my husband – but as an unmarried woman (at the time), I just didn’t send it in. (“Screw you, America; you can have my vote when you give me a husband capable of voting in my place,” basically.) Put some of that in your crackpipe, modernist plebs.

So I just wanted to put this here for the record and for posterity – and you know, maybe just in case this whole stupid world makes me lose my mind and I end up needing a reminder:

I’m not about isms, and I’m not about phobias, and I’m not about hatred of any kind (excepting insofar as I hate everyone – equally and at all times).

What I’m about is FAMILY.

And I don’t care how wonderful or grand ANYBODY’S IDEA might sound; if it’s built or disseminated on a platform that is ANTI-FAMILY, then I will never support it. Not ever.

This has nothing to do with anybody’s race, orientation, gender, etc.

The question is this: do you care about FAMILY?

And no, you don’t need to have or even to want children yourself in order to care about FAMILY.

I have a gay brother who has never wanted children, and if I had to make up my own religion he would be a SAINT. That man loves his family, and he frankly puts a lot of my Christian friends to shame in the way he honors and takes care of our parents.

I’ve known folks of all “minorities” who would be among my first picks as shipmates, figuratively speaking.

I would love nothing more than to put an end to all forms of discrimination that hurt people. The problem with all of these “social justice” movements that my liberal friends have bought into is that they don’t offer that. Not really.

What White Liberal Social Justice Movements offer to oppressed and persecuted minorities is this: the opportunity to have their struggles co-opted and capitalized on, in order to line the pockets of one particular group of old white men who gained their wealth and power and built their dynasties on a foundation of human exploitation (yes – including racism and slavery, you bet your sweet bippy)… instead of some other group of old white men who did the same exact thing under a different flag/party/astrological sign/whatever and are therefor evil.

What these peoples are offered, universally, is the “elevation” to the sort of “privilege” they “deserve” – which, hysterically, functions PRECISELY to prevent them from doing the same thing all those old white men have done: it prevents them, absolutely, from forming and maintaining FAMILIES that last and become dynasties capable of wielding the power and influence to challenge their own.

They are offered the “privilege” of living the ANTI-FAMILY lifestyle. They are offered the “privilege” of being atomized units of expendable human labor. The “privilege” of being fodder for the machine that actually oppresses them. The “privilege” of a sterile, dead-end existence.

This is better than that, they say. The hybrid fruit, not the heirloom. “We already have too many people,” they say. (“Just die. We’ll replace you.”)

But which do they choose for themselves and for theirs?

Why is it for THEM, but not for YOU?

That is what I would ask those friends, if they would listen.

And I think that’s why “The Left” so aggressively promotes and fosters the “with us or against us” mentality. They never want to let the conversation reach that point.

I don’t usually get into politics. I don’t LIKE politics. I think politics is for men. But it’s like I’m not ALLOWED to just keep my mouth shut and live my life. That’s not good enough. Silence is now tacit approval of everything that is bad.

I HAD to say something. And if you skimmed down and didn’t read the whole thing, the tl;dr version is pretty much:

“NO U”

Running My Mouth

I recently became aware of the “#TradWife” movement. I can’t say I like it. It makes me roll my eyes. Activism has that effect on me. There’s a saying I heard one time that goes something like “if you’re talking, you’re not working.” Now, that’s not ALWAYS true, but it often is – especially for us, ladies.

There’s also the allure of attention and validation, which is innate to the sorts of activism that thrust people into the public eye, and which ends up corrupting many young women who start out with otherwise good intentions.

A couple posters over on RVF articulated my own thoughts more succinctly than I could:

“Well if said influencers are serious they will be anonymous and they will not show their faces.

Otherwise the temptation to attention whore will be a problem. And they end up a ethot grifter instead.”

That resonates with me – although personally, I have something of an aversion to being in the spotlight. But I’d say the understanding of the principle rings all the truer for me on account of the fact that I’ve been painstakingly aware of the attention I’ve received my entire life, more or less just for being female – because I don’t like it. It makes my skin crawl.

I’ve become reticent over the years in writing and sharing my thoughts – and especially afraid of having those words associated with my actual face – because it’s so profoundly uncomfortable for me to have people paying attention to me. If I already get so much attention without even really ASKING for it – what would happen if I were actually TRYING? And heaven forbid, what if I actually LIKED it? I’ve thanked God many times for making me shy and socially anxious. 🙂

The next quote really drives it home for me, though:

I agree with everyone who pointed out that a real “trad wife” would not be broadcasting her life choices (or her children’s lives) on social media.”

Broadcasting your young children’s lives (showing their faces and saying their names) on social media before they are old enough to know what’s going on is not “tasteful.”

As far as women broadcasting their own lives in order to “teach other women,” there is a reason why pretty much all major religions forbid women from becoming priests or spiritual teachers/leaders.

Even if the woman’s heart is in the right place (unlikely), all the women she influences are likely to only follow her out of narcissism and the desire to get attention. She would be encouraging narcissism and attention-seeking behavior in other women rather than encouraging virtue.

In any case, if these women are so family-oriented, then why are they prioritizing “teaching other women” over caring for their own family in the best way possible (which means not broadcasting their lives on social media)?

Lastly, although I have no evidence of this, I’d be willing to bet that these “trad wives” on social media are more than willing to show cleavage, wear makeup (which in past traditional times was considered to be for prostitutes) and show off their bodies in general.

Even it they are only showing off their faces and not their bodies, I’d bet that they get a sense of satisfaction, rather than disgust, when they receive messages from their male followers telling them how beautiful they are and “I wish I could find a trad wife like you,” etc.

BOOM. Yes. All of this.


So why am I even sitting here writing this blog entry instead of scrubbing toilets or teaching my children how to properly conjugate verbs, or work out long division on paper?

Well, because what the “Trad Wife Movement” doesn’t understand is that this is WAR.

I’ll admit that when I was a little girl, I essentially dreamed of being a “Trad Wife.” I held my traditional religious views (cultivated in spite of an exceedingly liberal upbringing) near and dear to my heart, and I wanted to be a shining example of how even today, women can still choose homemaking and childrearing; that women CAN find joy and fulfillment in traditional, feminine, domestic roles.

I was a cultural reactionary at the tender age of just five years old: stomping my foot and crossing my arms and telling my father that I would NEVER go to college; that I did not NEED to go to college in order to get married and have babies. It felt like the entire world was against me. “You MUST go to college,” they said. “You MUST have a career.” “You won’t find a man who will support you and give you the life that you want.”

I was going to PROVE THEM WRONG.

I see the same naive idealism in the “TradWife” scene. Even the ones who are not straight-up e-thots – there is so much idealizing and romanticizing. These women are broadcasting the idea that the lifestyle they are living is not only readily available to OTHER women – but that it is leisurely enough that they are able to invest considerable amounts of time and energy into broadcasting their lives to the rest of the world. And so can you!

In other words, the “TradWife” movement is not representative of any sort of traditional REALITY. It’s a sugar-coated portrait of something people desperately want to see. It’s not REAL. Add in the monetization factor (or the “thotting around to snag a husband” factor), and most of it amounts to pure self-interested pandering to and in support of consumer desires and behaviors.

It’s another a shiny consumer trap.

I’ve learned the hard way that, while certainly not impossible, achieving a traditional marriage and family structure in this day and age (especially in the Western world) is exceedingly difficult. The entire cultural and economic deck of cards that is modern civilization is stacked against you. In short: you’re not ALLOWED to even DO that – let alone enjoy it. You have to be willing to endure a lot of blows and undertake a lot of hardships.

The “TradWife” movement portrays itself as a matter of CHOICE. It asks: why don’t more women simply make the decision to live this way?

Well, no offense here, sweetheart – but would YOU be able to live that way if you weren’t a monetized/affiliate-marketing/self-promoting/gold-digging ho?

No, you wouldn’t.

And yes, that IS overly-harsh of me.

But it’s also kinda true.

Upholding the cultural traditions that are conducive to the formation of strong marriages, families, and societies is not about posing in pretty dresses in meadows. It’s not about taking selfies around the house. It’s not about fetishizing wifely submission or male leadership.

Unless you are VERY privileged, it’s a tooth-and-nail fight that frankly ought not to leave you with the sort of time on your hands to be flaunting your exploits all over the internet.

I’m here running my mouth because I want more people – and especially more women – to understand this.


You can either fight, OR you can whore yourself out on the platforms of your enemies for validation and resources and material success while they salt the earth of your homelands and deliver your sisters and your daughters into bondage and death.

THAT is the simple choice you have to make.

Listen Up, Ladies:

Imagine that the world has gone all to hell (because it has – even if you haven’t noticed yet).

The institutions you have previously relied on to support your existence have crumbled.

It’s every woman for herself out there – and every man for himself.

Conflict is everywhere. Cooperation and community are virtually nowhere to be found.

Our FAMILIES – the most foundational and fundamental building blocks of society – are crumbling, being torn asunder, prevented from forming.

Do you relish this? Do you thrive on this chaos – on this decay of traditional society? Are you a strong, independent woman who rises up and whispers into the void that once was civilization – that it better get ready for the storm she’s about to unleash into it?

If yes, please kindly GTFO. There are plenty of places in the world which cater to that perspective, and this isn’t one of them.

But if you’re like me – if you’re standing here wondering what in the everloving hell just happened and why everything sucks and why everyone is stupid and wrong and delusional; why nothing is sacred, why traditions that might have sustained you are mocked, and why the children you dreamed of having in your youth are either nowhere found or formed in this world – or realizing that they are in grave peril for having found themselves in it…

YOU are my sister.

Whether you believe in any God or not. Whether you would stand with me in the bright-eyed optimism of purity and innocence – or in the anger and the sorrow of the deepest depths of degradation. Whether you have learned in the relative safety of faith and discipline – or in the costly school of experience and “hard knocks.”

If you have recognized the untruths that preside over the modern world – and if you give a damn about the ACTUAL TRUTH, and if you are willing to stand AGAINST the lies of modernity – to not give in to the temptations of their convenience and indulgence – then I would have you stand with me. And I would stand with you.

That’s GARBAGE, Sister.

I was walking lunch over to my husband at the shop today, when I suddenly heard an all-too-familiar squelching noise.

I love living in the Pacific Northwest, and I love how much it rains – but every year I’m faced with this same problem, over and over and over again.

The pair of boots I ordered not even a year ago has given up the ghost. Less than six months of total wear when you consider I had them in storage from late Spring through early Fall.

In just a few short months, I’ve chewed right through the 3/8″ rubber sole and a little flap has opened up under the ball of my left foot. Rainwater from the saturated ground is seeping in and wicking its way up my sock toward my ankle.

But hold on, back up a minute. That’s a LOT of rubber to burn through in a few short months.

Only – it’s NOT. Because this is not actually a rubber boot sole.

What this REALLY is, is a piece of TRASH that has been fashioned into something that, on the outside, LOOKS an awful lot like a rubber boot sole.

This is like one of those BIG Chocolate Easter Bunnies – you know the ones: you grasp the ears firmly to snap them off and cram them between your greedy chompers, and instead they fall apart and the little pieces start to melt all over your hand because the goddamned thing is HOLLOW.

For the last few months, I’ve been walking around on what amounts to an especially thick and rigid BALLOON.

And I’m not even surprised. This is just what I’ve come to expect. Nevermind that I paid a premium for a product whose manufacturer purports to take no small amount of pride in its durability and suitability for walking. In the end, I only had to wear through maybe 2-3 MILLIMETERS of rubber to render them un-wearable.

This is the point where people usually tell me that I should “just buy a good pair of hiking boots, they’ll last forever.”

As soon as someone puts a decent hiking sole on a boot that doesn’t look and feel about as bulky and cumbersome as the average life jacket, I’ll be the first in line to give it a go… provided I don’t have to amputate any toes to wear them. I have a hard-to-fit foot. This lends to the already-injurious nature of “ready to wear” footwear. I’ve never found a truly durable shoe that I could actually wear. The ratios of my foot anatomy are too far outside of the average; the only shoes that come close to fitting me are the ones with a lot of flex and stretch.

This pair I’ve just finished destroying are the best-fitting boots I’ve had in years. Even though my toes jam into the ends of them when I walk. Even though my heels slide around and hover uncertainly in their relatively cavernous accommodations (I apparently have a very large/wide forefoot, and a heel/ankle assembly that is heinously undersized). If ever there was a pair of boots that were THE BOOTS, it was these.

The uppers are leather. A little stretched across the ball of the foot, but otherwise in perfectly good repair. If these uppers were assembled to a real boot sole – something that could be skived down and re-soled – I would probably get another ten years out of these boots, easy. And yes – that’s accounting for the fact that they are THIN leather over a synthetic inner material. They’d still have a lot of life in them if they weren’t soleless (soulless) garbage.

Nothing about the way these boots were put together is conducive to repairing them. All that perfectly good leather and hardware is supposed to go in the trash along with everything else, and I’m supposed to shell out another $125 for a new pair… and that’s assuming they still MAKE them and I don’t have to try on another hundred pairs to find another style that fits well.

And the best thing???

This is an analogy for pretty much