Monthly Archives: January 2017

January 31

31 Tuesday Jan 2017

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To sleep or not to sleep, that is the question.* Sometimes you just have to rise in the dark, stuff your feet into socks and boots and take a long walk on the beach. Sleep’s out of the question now.  Nobody can see your messy hair, it’s under a hat for heaven’s sake.

I walked west towards the bridge, but the traffic noise makes me wrinkle my nose.  I turned and walked east and saw that look. You know the one. The sky is opening one eyelid, so very slowly. Her lids are indigo, navy, cobalt. She does not appreciate the orange streetlight’s glare. One side of her face is soft pink, then hot glowing magenta, but the colors cool quickly and pale yellow dawns. I’m not looking for a sunrise just now. I turn and walk into the sandbar to watch the shallow waters crisscross converge. The sand “melts” under my heels and if I were a kid I would holler to my friends, “Help! Quicksand!” And we would run away laughing because we got away just in time.

What am I looking for in this low tide place?  Mermaids. A shark fin. A bird no one sees in daylight.  Behind me a flock of plovers roll by like cotton balls in a breeze.  I am tempted to sit down in the cold water but then I hear the yip yap of two mop dogs. The spell is broken.

 

*apologies to Wild Bill Shakespeare

Tempering the Angry Woman

30 Monday Jan 2017

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Taking some time this morning to examine what it means to be a woman who has an opinion and marched for many things, a/k/a hysterical snowflake.   Meanwhile my son is growing stronger by the day, I am so proud of him and the bonds he shares with his grandparents.  His grandma is in surgery today to get rid of some things that are keeping her from being a healthy, thriving woman, and my candle will burn for her all day.  This morning I changed my Facebook background to a sunset that looks like something Hollywood produced, but no, there it was, just a simple snap on my phone as I meandered on a sandbar.  How could I (we) have been given that holy moment? Who else saw it, and what did they feel?

This morning I am examining how much time I need to give to support the opposition, because I know this will not be a sprint but a marathon.  Social media really beat me down. I hit a wall, and I am only just recently getting my feet under me again.  Proof that balance is necessary in EVERYTHING.  Phone calls, post cards, and marching is easy, when you think about why an immigrant will risk it all to find hope in any other country but their own.  I think about people who refuse to vote or get involved in politics because it’s against their religious beliefs or plays no part in their moral compass.  I’m trying to work around the sadness and frustration that our taxes support their way of life without their kicking in a little something.

This morning I think about the dress I wore for my first holy communion. I looked like a little bride smiling next to Father Jim.  I went to the school my parents chose for me and did what I was told.  It was just what I was supposed to be doing, right?   I remember what I learned in science class, what the earth tells us about the ground we live on and the atmosphere that protects us. It wasn’t until I was older that I began to question the politics of religion, that faith and science struggle to co-exist.  Looking back, if my parents gave me a chance to choose being Catholic over being a woman, I doubt I would have chosen what they wanted.  No wonder we become brides and grooms of the church when we are young, before we can make an informed decision.

This morning I think about the deluge of news from media that gets caught between reporting facts and keeping their subscribers/viewers.  Headlines attract viewers which could attract interest in their advertisers. I invest a lot of energy while reading the news in keeping a centered view of things, and reading articles from left, right, and all the above.  It takes a lot of time, and I am beginning to feel like I need to clamp down on the amount of time I will give the news.

This morning I thought about the angry woman of me. I make room for the anger because it’s how I feel, but I try not to let it dictate how I will treat others and what the rest of my day will be.  The angry woman of me is sad because of the nightmares I had, waking me up crying out “NO!”  She sees women reposting Facebook memes, knowing how easy it is to cut and paste, but where are their own, original thoughts?  The angry woman of me watches Facebook friends complain about how awful their FB page has become, how wonderfully responsible they make themselves seem to be while they overlook the mess they made in their own lives.

This morning, the angry woman needs to take a hot shower and step back from social media for a while.  My phone calls are done for the day. Something good is out there, and I really, really need to get some of that inside of me. And then a friend posts a still from the original “Planet of the Apes,” and I think my day’s agenda has changed.  *sigh*

I Marched Because (I’m gonna need a bigger boat)

24 Tuesday Jan 2017

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I do not believe that life begins at conception

I believe that abortion should be safe, legal, and accessible

I believe that sex education at home and at school can prevent unwanted pregnancy. Teach your daughter, teach your son, with facts, not myths, and threatening to throw them out of the house if they wind up pregnant does no one any good

I believe that a menopausal woman, married those long years to an abusive man, shouldn’t have to bear him another child if she does not want to

I marched to support Planned Parenthood who provides healthcare for women in need of exams, education, and assisting with birth control

I believe that a woman’s right to choose may be eradicated by the current administration

I believe you do not have to use birth control or have an abortion if you do not want, but do not take that right away from those who do

I believe there are children who need to be adopted, and our adoption laws and services need to be updated to protect the adoptive parents

You believe a zygote is more sacred and more important than eradicating poverty, but once that child is born, the mother better not get on welfare

I marched because

You believe that women and blacks can work and vote, therefore our country is equal and undivided

I marched for the LGBTQ community who have yet to be treated decently and equally

I marched for Gamergate (women who spoke against violence against women in video games who were in turn threatened with rape and death)

I marched because Brock Turner raped a woman behind a dumpster and served three months instead of 6 to 14 years. Had he been non-Caucasian his sentence would have been longer

I marched because “rape culture” are words commonly used in sentences

I marched for the populations who do not have clean water, access to health care, and genital mutilation is still practiced

I marched for Trayvon Martin and Philandro Castile

I marched for Black Lives Matter, and I hope you’ll not suggest that I don’t care about or appreciate Blue Lives, or any of our men and women in uniform

I marched against normalizing “locker room talk” so our children know that assault is not, and never will be, the status quo

I marched for Malala, Megyn Kelly, and against mansplaining

I marched against painting immigrants as rapists, terrorists, and bad hombres

I marched against a man who mocked a disabled person then lied about it

I marched because Citizens United takes the voice away from The People in governmental affairs and no one seems interested in overturning it

I marched because I know a wall won’t stop people from seeking a safe haven from their countries’ oppressive regimes

Because I know that as long as people want drugs, or want children for sex or to clean their homes, no wall will stem the flow

Because citizens choose between their meds or groceries every month

Because our veterans are forgotten while they are still living

I marched because we turned a blind eye to lead in the water, plastic bottles and bags have become a need, and we are destroying earth’s balance of water and air

Because school-to-prison has become the norm

I marched because there are people who believe the Sandy Hook massacre was a “false flag event” and if you do not know what that means, please find out and search your heart

I marched because there are too many guns on the street killing our young people

I marched because we are not one nation under God—we are not all believers–but we are good people who pay our taxes just the same

I marched because individuals, corporations, and religious groups do not pay their fair share in taxes, so  the middle class shoulders the burden without the benefit of an account in the Caymans

I marched because going to college should not create lifelong debt

I marched because I believe in a well-rounded education, not just the ability to pass a test

I marched because men think it’s okay to catcall and follow women walking on the street like it’s an acceptable means to have a conversation

I marched because women who are wise and stand up for what is right are labeled as witches or worse. We are ridiculed because we’ve “already got everything,” what more do we want?

I didn’t march because I want to rip a fetus from a womb because I hate babies and want to eat them in a stew, or emasculate men by forcing them to be more like women. I didn’t march to ask we get rid of all guns.  I didn’t march because I hate white people or God or my country.  I marched because I am asking you to make room for other people’s beliefs and needs.  I am asking you to get your head out of the television and Twitter and wrap your head around the fact that the United States is part of one small world, and we have to share it. I marched to ask that you understand your bible doesn’t apply to us all, but as long as we keep loving and talking to each other, we are going to be okay.   Look deeply into and drink the words love, respect, and tolerance. Let go of fear.

We have come to a place where people don’t want things to change because that’s the way it’s always been, that anything else will offend God, or it will lead to the extinction of their class and race.  That somehow all good traditions and values will cease to exist once they die.  I am asking people to examine if it’s fair to force all of us to live by your views. The world is going to go on after I am gone, and I want to leave it a more just and fair place than where I found it.  I feel grateful to have learned that life is not and never will be “my way or the highway.”  Can you learn that, too?

Women’s March on Washington (summary)

24 Tuesday Jan 2017

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The Woman’s March on Washington was touch and go for me for a long time. I wanted to participate but didn’t want to go alone, as I am not a big fan of the subway.  Sounds kind of wimpy, but truth is truth.  I rolled the Facebook dice and asked for a ride. A kind lady replied.  We talked on the phone for a bit and made sketchy plans. My instincts told me by her views, past work history, and being a grandma hitching a ride and crashing in her hotel room would be just fine.  And it was.  I even asked my Omaha companion to vouch for me as a safe travel mate, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t tell her we talked about robbing liquor stores.

She and her cute little mop dog picked me up at 4:30 AM.  We stopped in Alexandria, Virginia to pick up breakfast at an amazing bakery, dropped off her dog, and a friend took us to the Metro station. From that moment on, it was nothing but pink pussycat hats, t-shirts, and posters everywhere.  Amazing.  The Metro was packed from boob to clear backpack. I eavesdropped on them all, where they came from, why they were marching, interested in their age groups and what they did for a living.  The station where we planned to disembark was apparently overloaded, so they dropped us off at the next one.  It was early, so more walking wasn’t a big deal.  We freed ourselves from the squeeze of the subway car and shuffled towards the escalator that led up to the street. I saw many posters with Carrie Fisher or Princess Leia above the word “RESIST.”  As the escalator brought us up to the street the one on the opposite side carried National Guardsmen down into the Metro.  A loud burst of shouting “YAY” and clapping broke out for them. I felt proud.

Once on the sidewalk, it was easy to figure out which way to go.  Just follow all those people walking down the middle of the street.  Hundreds of us, all going thattaway, police directing the sparse bit of cars that wanted to get through intersections.  I heard so many people thank the police and National Guardsmen and felt glad.

The day before was the inauguration, so many Portajohns were put in place for the crowds to relieve themselves.  Most of them were padlocked the following day, the day of our march. Finding a place to pee meant watching the marchers go by while we stood in line, but sometimes you just have to put your sign down and answer the call of nature no matter how long it takes.

Arriving on the Mall and seeing the Lincoln memorial down one way and Washington monument the other, its point obscured in the fog, was very exciting.  We made it!  We ambled the same way everyone else ambled, reading signs, listening to the chanting that broke out every now and then.  The plan was to meet up near the rally point.  We left the Mall and tried to make our way towards the rally, or at least near the jumbotron but it was a dead end.  We were behind the Native American Museum with nowhere to go, but more and more people kept coming up behind us, and I could see it wasn’t going to stop. Roars broke out from stem and it waved and roared and roared all the way to stern, and I’d never seen or heard anything like that before. I’ve been in some pretty big concert crowds wearing other people’s sweat, my arms pinned and being moved, feet off the ground, by the movement of excited people. There is nothing like being part of a group who is there for the same reason, the same happiness and excitement.   It can be fun, exhilarating, but also dangerous.  I told my march buddy I felt uncomfortable and I wanted to get back to the Mall before we got so jammed up we wouldn’t be able to breathe. We turned and went upstream of the unending salmon and eventually made it back to the Mall. There we were able to read amazing signs and take note of everyone’s creativity.  A marching band came down dressed head to toe in white with black lines made to look like a wall, and they were awesome.  Some folks banged drums in time with their slogans.  Many times I felt close to tears because of the solidarity and creativity of everyone who came.

I saw a small group of pro-life people but they were being drowned out, surrounded by everyone else who did not share their view. I wanted to throw them the middle finger, it would have been so easy, I am such an angry woman, but I realized that would bring me down to their level. We walked by observing silence.

Me and my marching partner found a small restaurant where we ate and watched the news. The march wasn’t exactly cancelled, but it was definitely log jammed and rerouted because there were too many people to convey onto the original route.  Wow!   Upon seeing the crowd from above we both agreed we wanted to get out of Dodge before everybody decided to get on the Metro.  We finished eating and hopped the next train.

I didn’t get to hear any of the speakers (oh but we heard the roar while we were there), but I believe, based on what was reported, many of those people did not represent me. I have my own reasons for being a body on the Mall, filled with pink hats and good behavior.  I will never forget that day, my 49th birthday, and will always be grateful for a lady who took a chance on letting me hitch a ride. My reasons for marching will be on the next post.

Let’s Keep Talking

23 Monday Jan 2017

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On the way out to my car I met a man who works in my building.  Typically we smile or nod or wave a little hello but have never exchanged as much as a word.  This afternoon as I’m locking my door, I nod and said, “How’s it going?”

“What the hell’s going on?” he said which startled me a little. I started to ask if he was okay, but then he filled in the rest. “This crazy guy is a president now, and I just don’t know what’s going to happen!”  He was very sincere in his concern, and I felt him, oh boy did I feel him.  He had a lot to say about the inauguration, and I listened to him even though I could feel the grocery list burning a little hole in my pocket.  His need to communicate was more important, though, so I prepared to listen for as long as it took.  At the end of his sharing, I told him, “Look.  As long as you keep talking to me, I keep talking to you, we are all going to be okay.”  He seemed to understand what I was getting at, but it didn’t change the pained expression on his face, his head shaking.   We talked back and forth a little bit longer, then waved off and went our separate ways.

I’ve been thinking about that moment ever since.  I hope that all of us will keep talking to each other, we keep hearing each other, and uphold what is decent, right, and good for the good of us all.

More to follow.

Meet Me at Ozymandias

16 Monday Jan 2017

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Nothing can stand still. The universe will not allow it.
I’m not sure when creatures began chafing at the idea of change, developed that sinking feeling of concern and fear of the “other” trying to change things up. I can’t say if the creatures at the end of the Mesozoic lived harmoniously with their mammalian neighbors or if they feared and tried to crush them (eat them) sunup to sundown. I doubt the mammals celebrated when their reptilian neighbors faced their final sunset. They just went about their business of being mammals, no protest signs for miles.
I often (so very often) think about our earliest kin. What did it look like when an established status quo is challenged? How long did the shift take? “No no no, we’re not going to change things. We’ve always done it this way, always will. Seen what happens when we do not do things as we’ve always done: calamity! I am in charge of this tribe, this society, and I will not let my tribe fear, or suffer, or perish. Fall in line, get out…or die!” I can only imagine what would create such a situation, oh great fodder for novel and cinema.
Collisions, retractions. The universe. Dark matter. Stars. Solid matter, planets, atmospheres, life. Quartz. A meteor. Sand. Slavery. A White House made of sandstone. World War II. A man on the moon. Born in ’68. Reagan shot, the Wall came down, I kissed some boys. The internet showed me a world where tyrants and freedoms both come and go, in real time, not just words on the sour-smelling pages of my textbooks filled with black and white photos of things I never saw firsthand. Yawn. It was the simple, narrow view of a young person living from September to September.
Change means we either adapt or fight it because we are afraid to let go of what we’ve known for generations. I feel like we are at the end of a status quo, when those in power are afraid to lose their hold on the world. Slowly, slowly things have begun to change, and the pushback is growing loud and louder, shaping our fears–and our laws, all laws, across the world. Terrible things have been done in the name of holding on to the way it’s always been, protected by proverbs, maxims, idioms, laws scrawled on a page, well-meaning words at the time, trying to protect all souls from the scourge of the hell they all feared.
This morning I contemplate remarks made by a president-elect, suggesting that the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation is obsolete. I contemplate his vision for this country, and I’m not sure he understands that what he says reverberates, makes ripples, causes heads to rise and words to swell like tsunami. I see a childlike person who believes the world should operate on simple terms, fair vs. unfair, prepared to negotiate a better deal or else. I contemplate the domino effect his words and views will have, and I wonder could it lead to something worse, or something better? The world has been operating under a very specific status quo, and I can tell you for sure it’s not been written by the people who are fleeing their borders because their children were murdered in their beds. Everything changes, and perhaps status quo is tipping now, changes will be made, and who can say if the world will get better or worse because of it? Perhaps things have to get worse before they can get better? Is it fair for us to make America a “no change” zone, where everything stays the same, hiding behind a well-meaning Constitution? That the White House is eternal and will never be replaced by a better terrain? That only white, Christian males get to hone our country based on their views, because if we let an unsmiling black woman on the ten dollar bill it’s the end of the world?
Change is painful. It is bloody ugly. But the salt I sprinkle on my meat for health and delight wasn’t just born on a shelf. We create, and our fruits come from reflection and pain. Perhaps it’s not my right to hold back change if it will lead to destruction–and rebirth. A better world awaits, after the hurts we will live through, question mark… or fullstop
We don’t find change hiding in the grass like sneaky little easter eggs on some sweet April morning. It’s not dropped into our arms like a babe from the stork. Change is viper strike on a hot summer day.  It means hurting first. We have to be brave enough to peel our fingers from the pillars of what our ancestors have always known, strong enough to live evolve and work together as we change.   I only hope enough people are willing to meet me at Ozymandias and know better things will come. But it will only come if we recognize that tyrants will never last, not even the sand will last. We will not last. But we must make a better future for the grains of sand that haven’t yet come.

Roy Walked In My Dreams

14 Saturday Jan 2017

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Oh Roy…you were in my dream last night.  Why?  How? How long has it been since I heard your soothing baritone?  Seen the trenches of your forehead, your dark, bushy brows, rolled my eyes at your deadpan humor?  Too long, and too long.

I heard you in my dream, Roy, saw you just as I left you, a quiet smile and gentle heart.  How is it we trained in the martial arts?

Roy, you were wearing a light blue t-shirt and what looked like silky Adidas track pants.  We greeted each other in a parking lot surrounded by buildings, maybe dorms or dwellings of some sort.  You were smiling.  You were speaking, making those subtle hand gestures, telling your tale. I never spoke, and though I cannot make out what each word was, it had the same rhythm and cadence of a man who was telling a good story, one that had a funny (or wry) punchline at the end. Other people came to meet up with us, but I don’t recognize them.

All I know is that when I woke this morning I was in awe of how real it felt, then feeling so blessed and happy to hear your voice again. How can this happen?  Why did you come to me? Was this just some random electrical confabulation my neurons assembled while my body was down for recharging?  How could those neurons make me remember every detail of you, as if we were both really there, and more importantly, why?  What do I do with the memory of you, who left us long ago?

I recall me and Butch discussing dreams, and for a man with all his faculties he made me wonder (happily) when he suggested that maybe dreams were real. Alternate realities. It was something I needed to hear in that time of my life. Here was a man I loved and respected, his feet firmly on the ground, but he suggested to us that dreams could be real?  Whatever the means of your revelation to me I feel blessed to see you, Roy, and hear you, truly hear you, like you were standing by my shoulder like we used to.  I’m not sure what to do with you, but I suppose it will come in time.  For now I will feel sad that we can’t conjure who we want, when we want, in our dreams. For now I will be grateful for another moment with you and keep all my dream channels open for any who will come.

Before The Snow Falls

06 Friday Jan 2017

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Reflecting on the past few days of this early year, beginning with writing. The was-writ, crusty has-beens of journals kept in a drawer, or yellowed pages I’ve thrown into fire, pushed its charred skins around in the coals, then retrieved from the fire, burning my fingers on blue-hot pages.  This is not what he meant when he said, “Kill your darlings.”   This poem sounded good when I was 13.  This one sounded good when I was drunk.  I thought this other one sounded good after I polished and honed it to a nub, lookin’ literary, baby…. but I don’t recognize it anymore, and I forgot to save its origins, the authentic voice of me.  I’m left with a leaf but wanting a tree, all that time and material I cannot recover. I’ve learned to save documents as they come into being, not just a “finished” adult ready to get kicked out into the world, good luck honey.  I wish I’d learned that process sooner.

Three parts of my day are concerned with writing: Early in the day I write the new.  Midday I take out old pieces and try to work them into something more than a sandcastle.  Late afternoon I read other people’s writing.  Hmph. My best work seems to happen when I’m in the shower, and by the time I get out of journalling barometric pressure, the ember is too soggy to work with.  Back to square one.  Every day is square one, but I must say, sifting through leaning sandcastles looking for the right foundation is exhausting.  Well. I’ve got a nice pile of envelopes and postage. All I need is the right fire to send to the right hearth, and it will happen.

Why does your opinion of my short hair still matter to me?  What does a woman look like when she’s all growed up…and does that mean her growing is all done and it’s time to plant her, long hair and all?  Why does a woman have to look like a certain thing to be legit?

Young lady, I met you on the beach for the first time. I could see the gulls were frustrating you. I slowly walked over, trying to discreetly watch the tableau, and by the time I reached you, everything seemed to have calmed.  Young lady in hot pink head to toe, you are one smart cookie, but you don’t know it all, and I’m not going to argue with you.  I have a son who taught me not to even try to win that game, but I came here to listen more than anything. I’m not worried you’re out here alone. You know there’s a dropoff just before the breakwater which tells me you’re local.  I am sorry that when you said “Maryland” all I heard was “Merlin,” my foolish concert ears are ringing, and it’s hard for me to hear you.  And why, in all the gin mills in all the towns of the world did she have to say that name? Anyway, I look forward to meeting you again, young lady, and I wonder what you will teach me next time.

I sat with my neighbor who needed a friend last night. She is looking for focus.  Our lives intersected when I stepped outside to see if Ms. Doorslammer was coming or going (she was going), and here comes my neighbor from her day at work.  We sat in her apartment, and I loved on her sweet little hound (oh Nikki, thank you for coming into my life). We ate pizza and drank and talked about finding ways to heal our pasts. I drew a card for her, and it was “Experience.”  It’s not the one she wanted, but this is life.

I drew a happy face and a heart in the condensation that appeared on my bedroom window this morning and felt glad.  I spoke to my plants who are growing but one seems dormant. I know a snowstorm is coming and it feels like cheating because we have weather reports so we can prepare.  When I walk the beach and take note of the wind direction, the sky color, I wonder, did the indigenous before us know when a great snow was coming, long before NOAA?  I drew the death card this morning, and that’s nothing to be ignored.  I will make soup and biscuits for me and maybe a neighbor if she’s so inclined.  “Crime Don’t Pay” plays in my head. Thank you, Mike Ness, for being the band-leader in my head before the snow falls.