Here is a partial list of places I have been thrown out of in my life:
1) When I was three, my father had a fight with my grandmother over her spanking me for 'wasting toilet paper' - something I had no concept of - ironically, my father also spanked me before we got very far down the road, for yelling at my sister. I was yelling at her to please don't stab me with the knife she assured me she had and which she swore she would stab me with as we went under the next overpass. "Why?", I asked. "Because I was 'bad' and that is why we had to leave our mumsy's house" she said. I begged, I whimpered. I was terrified. As the overpass neared, she pretended to raise the knife. Heck, you would yell too, wouldn't you? At any rate, eventually, my father rented a room in a boarding house in a town in New Mexico and placed my sister and me in a home in the country with two nice-ish people who made their own fly swatters. I wasted no toilet paper there, since there was no toilet paper. We used pages torn from the Sears catalog and tossed them into the outhouse. Apparently, there was also no bathtub because one day my father came and got us and sneaked us into the boarding house where we took a bath together in the huge clawfoot tub. Daddy said to be very quiet so we would not bother the landlady. We tried. But as we came down the stairs to leave, there she was, and was she mad! She yelled at Daddy for bringing us filthy little creatures into her nice clean home and for breaking her rules of no children allowed, all the while, glowering at us with disgust. She assured my father it would be no small task to clean that tub after we had bathed in it. She ordered him to get us out of there right now.
2) When I was 16, I was staying at my sister's house in San Francisco. She was 17 and just starting college. She came home one day with a new boyfriend and a friend of his. Her boyfriend had a huge attitude. He was bossing her around and belittling her horribly, then it began to get physical. Finally, I could not take any more and I stood up for her. He got really mad and mean toward me and told her "bitch, I don't have to put up with this shit" and left. After he left, she said I was just jealous that she had a boyfriend (what? Did I mention my boyfriend was there with us?) and trying to ruin her life. I said no, that I loved her more than anything and that I could not bear to see her treated that way. She disowned me and ordered me to leave. I said "Look, Elizabeth, I am leaving anyway." (We were actually heading to Maine that day). "Please - I am moving across the country and who knows when we will see each other again. I cannot bear to part like this." Nope, get out, sed she, and so I did.
3) When I was still 16, my other sister Myrna told me my mother really wanted to see me (she had left twice... once when I was two, returning when I was oh, maybe 6 or 7 and leaving again when I was 8. Once she had called my aunt's ('mom's') house where I was living. I answered the phone, recognized her voice but she did not want to talk to me. You can see it is fair to say that I had some resentment, but I went to see her - with the same boyfriend I had in episode #2 above). Ok, so we visited. She took us (we went in my boyfriend's car) to see my great grandmother and great uncle. My mother and boyfriend and great uncle all got shitfaced drunk and I became increasingly the uncool asshole to be scorned and ridiculed. When my mother put her arm around Steve's shoulder and said "Me and Steve can go in that back room and fuck each others brains out if we want to and there's nothing you can do about it., right, Steve?" And when he answered "Yeah!" and crossed his arms and glared at me, I said "That's fine. Just go for it. You deserve each other - and I left. I hitch-hiked about 230 miles back to my mother's house to get my things. Steve, unbeknownst to me, followed right on my heels and got there almost the exact same time I did (I had gotten a ride immediately). Boy, was he sorry. He said he was just drunk and being an ass. Ok, sez I. We could not get into the house. The door was locked and Jim, my mother's husband, would not answer the door. We tried to get in through the back door and could not so we sat in the car and waited for Jim to get up in the morning. Well, when morning came along, so did my mother. She went in her house and took all our things and piled them into the front yard and told us to get the fuck off her property - how dare me come there and try to tell her husband lies about her (I had already decided not to say anything to Jim).
4) When I was 17, I went to a Grateful Dead concert at the LA Coliseum with, you guessed it, the same boyfriend mentioned in episodes 2 and 3 above. It was the first time I tried tequila. Uh... and Jack Daniels. Some people were jumping on the stage, which seemed like a hell of a good idea to me for some reason :P So we did. They threw us off - so we jumped on again. They hauled us out to the lawn and tossed us. Steve was trying to talk sense into me (I vaguely recall through the roar of courage in which I was ensconced), but I was having none of it. Back we went, for the third time. That time a bouncer picked each of us up, one under each arm, and hauled us out of the Coliseum again and hurled us roughly onto the lawn (which, of course did not hurt). But I was too drunk at that point to get up and go back in so we laid there till the concert was over and our friends found us and hauled us home, stopping here and there for me to throw up. At least once, I actually managed to vomit outside of the car.
5) When Steve and I returned to Maine (where he was from, and where we had met), we briefly stayed at his parents' house. Steve had a pair of jeans that were patched everywhere and one day he asked me to sew a new patch on. They already had every sort of patch and embroidery on them and he loved to wear them with his red white and blue satin star tee shirt. So I got out my fabric scraps, looking for a new patch design and decided on a white fabric with kind of large red dots. When Steve's dad saw that fabric, he saw red. I guess the other 25 prints and velvets and stripes and such were fine, but red dots on white was just NOT ok. He ordered me not to sew that patch on. I asked him what difference it made. He was livid. He said it smacked of communism. I probably, knowing me, pointed out that 1) it was just a piece of fabric and 2) Communism ain't so bad anyway. Now he was yelling at me and calling me names and this escalated into "Get out of my house, you communist whore!" Steve, (yeah, the same boyfriend as in 2, 3 and 4 above) went with. I did sew the patch on. Looking back, I regret that decision.
6) When I was 23, I met Lou. We started living together and before too long, due to a defect in my (soon to be recalled) diaphragm, I got pregnant. We were homeless at that point, and Lou's mom insisted we stay with them. They lived in a rented place on the river in northern california. Lou's dad, Ken had not been overly fond of me in the first place, and 'trapping Lou' by becoming pregnant really increased the animosity level. Various things had added to my persona non grata status, including the day that I had bought comic books for my son Chris and for Lou's brother Jason at a yard sale. Ken was certain I had bought those comics in a deliberate effort to corrupt Jason. When Jason got to an ad on the back page for real live sea horses, Ken had gone off on me, ranting and trembling and wagging his hand in my face. Later, Ken needed a ride to town, and being the mad genius he was, neither of his vehicles could be driven - they were busy being retrofitted into classic works of art hippie mobiles - truly. So Nancy informed Ken that I would be happy to drive him to town. Uh, not really, since 1) He hated me and 2) I had fairly little driving experience, was quite insecure about it and the roads were windy as hell. I was sure he would take issue with my maneuvering. Sure enough, on the way to town, Ken told me I was too far over to the middle and that I needed to drive closer to the right edge (and the sheer cliff). I told him I was driving as far over as I dared but that I was afraid of sliding off the edge. (I admit I was not completely trusting of Ken's guidance, since he only had one eye. I wondered if that affected the accuracy of his calculations. I am not sure but I may have actually blurted that out). He said some mean and angry stuff about my attitude, of course. On the way back, determined to try and make peace and show my respect, I endeavored to edge the car closer to the edge of the road. I asked Ken "Is this better? Am I close enough to the edge now?" He started yelling at me that I was a total wise ass - had no respect, and no sense. That I just had to be a trouble maker, didn't I. He said that no one in his family was to ever ride with me again. Pretty soon that was not harsh enough and now I was not ever welcome at his house again, and I could just get out as soon as we got back. And so I did (with my son). Lou went with us, of course, and his dad assured him that as soon as he got rid of me, they would do anything in the world for him. A few days later, I was sitting in front of a little shopping mall in the sun, playing my guitar and Nancy, Lou's mom came up and danced to my music and sang with me. Then she asked me for a ride home. I said I was forbidden to give anyone in her family a ride. "Nonsense!" she cried. "You are my family! You have my blood in your belly." I drove her home. Then we stayed for dinner...
7) When I was oh, about 30, my sister invited us to her house for Christmas. She also invited my father and his wife. The moment we arrived, my sister was riding me about everything. We were told to go stay at a nearby motel so we did. When we came back in the morning, my brother in law, father , and step mother were already drinking. (my father and his wife always drank first thing so that was no surprise). Everyone but me was eating a big pile of donuts on the table. Elizabeth was not drinking because she was pregnant. It was the "We are all cool but Rita is an asshole" show - a common theme with Elizabeth if anyone to impress was around. Oh, heck, who am I kidding.. just a common theme, period. I said to Elizabeth that maybe we should cook breakfast cause donuts and booze and coffee was not gonna make for a warm and fuzzy gathering. She ordered me to help her and no matter what I did it was the wrong thing and I was just stupid, lazy and worthless... somehow, despite my total ineptitude, she managed to serve a meal, so we all sat down. At the table, I asked my sister if she was going to have natural childbirth and she went off, ranting about what a stupid hippie I was and that she was going to be knocked out and that she would not be subjecting her baby to the dangers that idiots like me condoned. My stepmother was sipping her drink and spitting her snuff juice into her handy dandy folgers instant coffee jar that she kept in her purse, nodding and muttering encouragement whenever Elizabeth made a point about how stupid natural childbirth was. I said that actually, in the US, we had the highest C section rate in the world as well as the highest infant mortality rate and that studies showed that knocking mothers out at birth was, in fact, more dangerous... well, that was about how far I got before my brother in law leaped up, roaring at me to come with him. I said that I would go talk to him, not because he was ordering me to, but because I was willing to have a little chat. We went into his room and he said that this was his house, by God and I was going to respect him and not talk my crazy hippy bullshit in there. I forget what all he said. I was very calm, I remember, and he was roaring drunk and furious. I said that I would be happy to leave - that is fine - that I was not sure who he thought he was or who I was but that no, he could not talk to me like that. I went to get my family and leave but my father followed me out and cried and begged me not to go. He said who knew when we would all be together again (turns out, never, unless his funeral counts) and could I please try to salvage the situation. It was a moment when time stood still. I said I would take my family and go to the beach for an hour or so and cool down and we would come back and we could all start over. So we did. It was a beautiful day. We all had a lovely walk, some fresh air, and headed back with renewed hope for family love and stuff like that. We got about halfway through the house when my brother in law grabbed me and literally gave me the bums rush out the door, and hurled me violently onto the lawn. He went back and got my husband, Lou and gave him the same treatment. That moment is pretty high in my list of things I wish my children had never seen. My father came out crying and begging them to reconsider. I said goodbye to him and told him it was simply no use, that we had honestly tried. Of course, we left.
8) When I was also about 30, we had some friends, Kevin and Gretchen,who had recently rented a farmhouse on a big ranch out a dirt road. We lived out a different dirt road and were in the process of building a house - one board at a time. Altho we had bought a couple of different hot water heating systems (actually, three), and Lou had endeavored to hook them up, so far, nothing had come together. The kids and I bathed in a wash tub and Lou showered at his brother's house in town. One night, Kevin and Gretchen invited us to go and spend the night at their house and play word games (boggle and scrabble). Kevin was extremely annoying but reluctantly, I agreed. Lou had gone earlier and I drove out that evening with the kids. There was a huge pothole in the road, really much bigger than a pothole. It was necessary to skirt the edge or the car could get stuck in the mud there. Kevin called the spot 'John's pond' after the guy he blamed for getting stuck there originally and messing up the road. Nothing had ever been done to repair it and we were in the middle of a very wet winter - over 80 inches of rain. I had successfully maneuvered through this bog before but at dusk, with getting stuck my greatest fear, and when I arrived at that spot in the road and realized the 'pond' had tripled in size, I panicked a bit and failed to perfectly skirt the edge and yes, got stuck. I was terrified of the mountain lion said to be living in that area and so I left the kids in the car where I thought they would be safer, and walked in the near darkness about a mile to the house. At one point, the road passed by a towering rock and I was sure that mountain lion was lying atop, just waiting to drop down on me, so I gave the outcropping a wide berth and stayed as far to the other edge of the road as possible - until I thought "Oh, my God! What if the lion expects me to do this and so is actually waiting in the bushes over here?" I nearly had a heart attack. But finally I made it to the house where I was belittled by Kevin for being an idiot and where, after the kids had been safely fetched, and our car was towed out with the resident tractor, I received the dubious honor of having the road mess renamed "Lake Rita" - a title it maintained for a while, I understand. Gretchen, a kinder soul, suggested I take advantage of their nice facilities and enjoy a bath. She insisted so I went into the bathroom, only to discover 1) the tub had a thick brown residue of rust and grime in it and 2) the only towels were damp and hanging there. Still - a bath! In a real tub! I was a bit mud caked from getting through Lake Rita, and sweat stained from my imaginary ordeal with the mountain lion, and so, despite my dread, I decided to go for it. First, I scrubbed that tub endlessly. I used as much of their comet cleanser as I dared and just about wore out my arm trying to remove countless years of caked on buildup. When I got the tub as clean as I possibly could, I took a bath and then rinsed the tub out with a soapy rag and - ugh - dried off with a damp towel with an unknown history. I emerged, somewhat happier to rejoin the group and to face yet more ridicule for my driving disaster. Things were overall pleasantish. Yeah. That is, until Kevin went to the bathroom. He came out livid. He started yelling at me for leaving the tub dirty. I tried to assure him I had not done that - that in fact, I had scrubbed it before and after my bath. I guess the scrubbing had left patchy discoloration, whereas, non scrubbing afforded a nice even, brownish patina and Kevin apparently did not have the discerning eye with which to tell the difference. Or perhaps he was just a drunken ass. At any rate, despite Gretchen's feeble attempts to intervene, pretty soon Kevin bellowed "Get out of my house right now, you fucking pig!" We left. A week later I was in town and Kevin approached me with a friendly look on his face. In a soft tone, he began to apologize for throwing me out of his house. It went like this: "Rita, I am sorry I threw you out of my house. I know that was painful. But sometimes people just need to be taught a lesson..." I am not sure about the rest because at that point I walked away.
9) Yesterday, my husband, Kevin (no, not the Kevin in episode 8) had a rough day and used crutches or sat in his chair all day, suffering through twinges and generally handling it like the master he is. Today he felt better and, it being Valentines Day and all, agreed to go on a little bike ride to town with me. We stopped at the local Teen Challenge thrift store which is a Christian place that makes a lot of money rehabilitating drug addicts and such and of course, bringing them to religion. They play super loud Christian music all the time, which is just annoying as hell, I don't care what your beliefs are!. - a little background - about 5 months ago, we went in and they had rearranged. I asked about something behind the newly relocated counter and they invited me to go back and see it so I did. I got distracted by a jewelry display as I walked out and did not remember there was a strange little step as you left the counter area - a step, which as it happens, did not go all the way across the opening. There was no sign to warn you. As I turned to finish exiting the back counter area, my very next step was off the edge of that step - and just where it ended, so that I rolled kind of diagonally on my foot, sliding around a display case, twisting my knee badly, and falling to the floor. The manager stood right next to me as I walked off that step. I could not get up at first because of the knee injury and that knee was really bad for a couple of months after that, along with some back and hip issues. But I did not chastise them for not warning me or having a sign. The clerk cracked a little joke about why did the manager push me and I joked back, which the manager took completely wrong, and I did not bother to try to straighten that out with him. - ok, we are back to today now - Today we were there and my husband suddenly had to go to the bathroom. He has a condition that makes finding a bathroom forthwith imperative. What condition is that, you might ask? I will be happy to tell you: His sphincter muscle is paralyzed and so he can not hold back from pooping. Today, they would not let him use the bathroom, something he can usually finesse his way past without admitting he is handicapped. But no, not today. So I went to the manager, the one who had stood by while I fell, and said "Look, I know you have a no public bathroom policy but my husband has a physical disability and it is important for him to be allowed to use it. You guys have usually let him use it (for 8 years they have, thanks to the real manager who was not there today) and now he really needs to." He started giving me a big blah blah rap about rules and laws...blah blah. I said "Yeah, well some things just are not about rules and laws. Sometimes it is about human beings and doing the kind thing." He said "Look, I understand how it is with your husband" I said "No, actually, you do not understand" By now, for all I know, my husband had already pooped in his pants, but if so, he was handling it well - years of practice of maintaining his dignity - or maybe the urge was in a holding pattern, I really did not ask him. It just is what it is - we all have our issues, I guess. How much easier his would be if people treated each other with kindness. So then the guy said "It's not about people or kindness, it's just about the rules and the law." I said "Then I guess I should have sued you when I fell over there." (since it is just rules and law and such) and we walked away from the counter to put our things down so my husband could go find a bathroom. The manager said "And I guess I could ask you to leave." To which I said "I don't think you would do that". He said "What did you say to me?" I said "I said I don't think you would ask us to leave. I really don't think it needs to come to that". He said "You can just put your things down and leave" which my husband thought was him saying they would watch our stuff while we looked for a bathroom or went home to the bathroom and came back. The manager said "Do I have to ask someone to come and escort you out and call the authorities?" My husband, shocked, said. "What? You are asking her to leave? She was just kidding!" (I was not kidding. I was trying to make a point - that we don't always have to go by all the rules and laws). The guy sneered and said "I know her" (He does? Wow. Really, not so much) My husband bellowed at him "FUCK YOU" and as we walked out the door, turned and said "Praise the Lord!"
I have known Kevin about 30 years. That was the first time that I have ever seen him go off on anyone in public.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
Shared breath
My son does not want me to talk about him. And so, mostly, I don't. But here is the thing: My son has a long and ever changing list of things he does not want me to do, many of which, I do regularly, with aplomb. This list includes:
Never use the word 'love' to me.
I told you not to send me anything.
You can't be calling me all the time.
Don't call me 'Chris'. That is not my name.
Don't send me any books.
Don't send me any money.
Don't tell anyone my sister helped me.
Don't talk about me to people.
Don't come here.
Don't ask me to travel.
Don't expect me to live in your reality.
Ok, maybe it is not that long, now that I think of it. It is just kind of tidal. He will specifically ask me to send an item, I will search for it, send, then he will receive it and say "I told you not to send me things".
Today, I am 'talking' about him. Yeah, I admit that occasionally I have talked about him a bit, either in private conversations to a trusted few, or cryptically without revealing openly that I was referring to Chris. But something has changed. That something is my view of the situation. In light of that new viewpoint, I feel I can go ahead and talk about him.
Once again, I can not reach Chris - for over a month. Also, for a few months, I have considered him to be 'slipping' as in slipping out of what we call sanity and into that dreaded place, tangled in the veil.... from which one never returns.... or... is dragged out by love ... or drugs.
Since Chris lives so very far away from me, I can not just swing by and say hello. I have spent the last many years beating myself up for not going to see him and for not insisting he come live closer to me (oh, I have suggested that - it is on the 'don't even go there' list above).
Sometimes when I am in a panic, I search for someone to go check on Chris - a neighbor, a friend.... the problem is - no one wants to go confront 'a crazy guy'.
Now Chris has an advocate who checks on him once a month. She is not allowed to tell me anything about him except in an emergency. It gives me some comfort to know that this, apparently, is not that - an emergency, since she is not telling me so.
Ok, so this is what has changed. I have been talking about Chris (and about me) to a loved one. A new light has been shown on the situation and now I realize that - yeah - I have been expecting Chris to live in my reality. This one - the one we all agree on as reality. You know, I think there is no clear line between sanity and insanity. It is not like "ok, you are sane, you are sane, this one.... ah... according to the latest standard, this one measures a 3.7 on the brainalyzer... he is insane." No, it is more like there are people who are stark raving mad and as such, must be contained for their own or or our own good, and there are people who dwell rather solidly in this thing we revere: the norm. And then there are those who are wandering in - or in and out of - the veil. The veil is just that... not a barbed wire fenced off boundary, but an ethereal and yes, imaginary vapor of degree of non actual separation.
As Chris' mom, I worry. Yeah. And I nag. I am always concerned that he stay out of that dreaded veil. Or that is, I have been. Now I think maybe that is his 'norm'. After all, Chris is 40 years old and has spent at least half of that time somewhere other than clearly hiking through normalsville. When and where will his journey lead him? When and where will it end? I don't know. But I now realize that this is, in fact, his journey and I am no longer going to endeavor to save him from himself. That is to say, I will still help him in various ways. I will just start, for now, honoring that last thing on the above list: "Don't expect me to live in your reality".
Yeah, I worry. That is what moms do, apparently. But I worry about all my children. No matter what Chris did or who he was, I would worry. Heck, I have spent the last 20 years worrying - and it has taken a dreadful toll... on my health, on my marriage, on my other children (on my parenting abilities and focus) on my careers, on my life - on me! I think it has also taken a toll on Chris.
I now realize that more than anything else, I can give Chris respect. Oh, I have respected him. I am actually far more proud of my son than one might realize. After all, he has survived this condition and lived a decent life, sometimes caring for others and mainly, never hurting anyone. That alone is a great accomplishment. He has been a good friend at times, to me, and we have enjoyed some long heart to heart conversations. He has been supportive in some dark hours... in many ways, Chris is my son, just like any mother's son. What I realize now is that I can just take 'in many ways' out of the equation. Chris is Chris. He is who he is. (I am endeavoring not to make sure here that it is clear that I worry and care and all that good motherly stuff I 'should') I miss him. I hope he calls me one day or answers the phone when I call.
One thing I realize is that asking Chris to 'be sane' so that, say, the cops will not beat him to death or shoot him is like asking a child to 'be white' for the same reason. Uh... no. Instead, perhaps I should be lobbying for humanity toward all.
Chris' struggles, then, are part of his path. Just as my struggles are part of mine. I feel like I have spent a long time struggling against something that simply is. I guess what I can give him now is acceptance.
As for why I now believe I can talk about it... that is because, like Chris, I need to be accepted for who I am. Talking about stuff is what I do. More than that.. but, yeah.
Ok, so I am new at this new way of looking at the situation. Describing it is apparently beyond me for now... hey, baby steps.
Never use the word 'love' to me.
I told you not to send me anything.
You can't be calling me all the time.
Don't call me 'Chris'. That is not my name.
Don't send me any books.
Don't send me any money.
Don't tell anyone my sister helped me.
Don't talk about me to people.
Don't come here.
Don't ask me to travel.
Don't expect me to live in your reality.
Ok, maybe it is not that long, now that I think of it. It is just kind of tidal. He will specifically ask me to send an item, I will search for it, send, then he will receive it and say "I told you not to send me things".
Today, I am 'talking' about him. Yeah, I admit that occasionally I have talked about him a bit, either in private conversations to a trusted few, or cryptically without revealing openly that I was referring to Chris. But something has changed. That something is my view of the situation. In light of that new viewpoint, I feel I can go ahead and talk about him.
Once again, I can not reach Chris - for over a month. Also, for a few months, I have considered him to be 'slipping' as in slipping out of what we call sanity and into that dreaded place, tangled in the veil.... from which one never returns.... or... is dragged out by love ... or drugs.
Since Chris lives so very far away from me, I can not just swing by and say hello. I have spent the last many years beating myself up for not going to see him and for not insisting he come live closer to me (oh, I have suggested that - it is on the 'don't even go there' list above).
Sometimes when I am in a panic, I search for someone to go check on Chris - a neighbor, a friend.... the problem is - no one wants to go confront 'a crazy guy'.
Now Chris has an advocate who checks on him once a month. She is not allowed to tell me anything about him except in an emergency. It gives me some comfort to know that this, apparently, is not that - an emergency, since she is not telling me so.
Ok, so this is what has changed. I have been talking about Chris (and about me) to a loved one. A new light has been shown on the situation and now I realize that - yeah - I have been expecting Chris to live in my reality. This one - the one we all agree on as reality. You know, I think there is no clear line between sanity and insanity. It is not like "ok, you are sane, you are sane, this one.... ah... according to the latest standard, this one measures a 3.7 on the brainalyzer... he is insane." No, it is more like there are people who are stark raving mad and as such, must be contained for their own or or our own good, and there are people who dwell rather solidly in this thing we revere: the norm. And then there are those who are wandering in - or in and out of - the veil. The veil is just that... not a barbed wire fenced off boundary, but an ethereal and yes, imaginary vapor of degree of non actual separation.
As Chris' mom, I worry. Yeah. And I nag. I am always concerned that he stay out of that dreaded veil. Or that is, I have been. Now I think maybe that is his 'norm'. After all, Chris is 40 years old and has spent at least half of that time somewhere other than clearly hiking through normalsville. When and where will his journey lead him? When and where will it end? I don't know. But I now realize that this is, in fact, his journey and I am no longer going to endeavor to save him from himself. That is to say, I will still help him in various ways. I will just start, for now, honoring that last thing on the above list: "Don't expect me to live in your reality".
Yeah, I worry. That is what moms do, apparently. But I worry about all my children. No matter what Chris did or who he was, I would worry. Heck, I have spent the last 20 years worrying - and it has taken a dreadful toll... on my health, on my marriage, on my other children (on my parenting abilities and focus) on my careers, on my life - on me! I think it has also taken a toll on Chris.
I now realize that more than anything else, I can give Chris respect. Oh, I have respected him. I am actually far more proud of my son than one might realize. After all, he has survived this condition and lived a decent life, sometimes caring for others and mainly, never hurting anyone. That alone is a great accomplishment. He has been a good friend at times, to me, and we have enjoyed some long heart to heart conversations. He has been supportive in some dark hours... in many ways, Chris is my son, just like any mother's son. What I realize now is that I can just take 'in many ways' out of the equation. Chris is Chris. He is who he is. (I am endeavoring not to make sure here that it is clear that I worry and care and all that good motherly stuff I 'should') I miss him. I hope he calls me one day or answers the phone when I call.
One thing I realize is that asking Chris to 'be sane' so that, say, the cops will not beat him to death or shoot him is like asking a child to 'be white' for the same reason. Uh... no. Instead, perhaps I should be lobbying for humanity toward all.
Chris' struggles, then, are part of his path. Just as my struggles are part of mine. I feel like I have spent a long time struggling against something that simply is. I guess what I can give him now is acceptance.
As for why I now believe I can talk about it... that is because, like Chris, I need to be accepted for who I am. Talking about stuff is what I do. More than that.. but, yeah.
Ok, so I am new at this new way of looking at the situation. Describing it is apparently beyond me for now... hey, baby steps.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
What My Mother Taught Me: Part One
My mother was not around much in my life, and yet she made a powerful impact. At 59 years old, I am still just realizing how much she taught me.
My mother, Muriel, was an intelligent, striking, sassy, outrageous, sometimes drunken, often angry, outspoken born-again atheist, anti fascism redhead. She was passionately loving, hauntingly cool, fiercely vengeful... wow. Just, wow.
My first memory is of arriving at my grandmother's house with my sister and my father when I was two - almost three. I have no early memory of my mother, but I do remember my father telling me how beautiful she was - and how evil. Later, he added the term crazy to that assessment. Ah.... well, then.
Since this post is about my mother, let's skip forward: One day, when I was about 7, my sister and I were living with "Aunt Lou" and Pete, who were actually, my grandmother's tenant's sister and her husband. Aunt Lou got a phone call then came into the living room quite upset and told us to comb our hair, that our father was coming. She was muttering about people who just show up without warning.
A few minutes later, Daddy arrived. He had with him, totally unannounced, a woman. They came in and sat on the sofa. I kept looking at that woman, thinking I knew her, that surely, she was my mother. I had never seen a picture of her but there was just something about her. She kept looking back at me like "yeah, that's right". And what a look in her eye! She had the most amazing eyes - piercing and intense and sparkling with fire and brilliance.
Lesson 1) It is never too late to show up.
We left with Mother and Daddy to go live in Williams Arizona (where we had lived with Daddy before). Daddy had a gas station and motel there called the Red Bluff. Mother took over doing all the maid service at the motel. She also pumped gas and did whatever was needed.
One night we were there late and some people came in looking for a room. Daddy told them all the rooms were full. They said they were bone weary and had tried everywhere. My mother called some of the other motels and discovered there was indeed no room to be had. The weather was severe and everyone had taken shelter. My father told the people there was nothing he could do but my mother said yes there was. She went and got our rollaway cots that we used when there were too many people for a room. She got my father and the bookkeeper to clear away the furniture in the office and put those cots in and added some blankets on the floor and put those people up for the night.
And that was lesson 2) We take care of each other.
As a semi-orphan and the youngest, my life had included a lot of second class treatments. For instance, every year, my sister, Elizabeth got a new swim suit and I got her old one. So this year, Daddy took us to the fancy schmancy store and let Elizabeth pick out a new suit. I begged Daddy to look at the suit I loved and consider it but he brushed me aside, made his purchase and home we went. Elizabeth was so proud - and, of course, she did not miss her chance to lord it over me. Mother admired her suit and then asked "Where is Rita's new suit?" Upon being told that "Rita did not need one", as Elizabeth's old suit would do just fine, Mother said "Come on, Rita, let's go." We got into her new blue Chevy Corvair and drove to the fancy schmancy store and Mother bought me the AWESOME swim suit I had longed for- a two piece, black, white and red, with a little pleated white skirt.
Lesson 3) I am worthy.
So there we were, with our fine new suits. One day, at the Red Bluff Mother sent us next door with a friend to the motel that had a pool. We played around in the shallow end and eventually, Mother came by to join us. She was astonished to find that we were just bobbing around in the kiddie section because, inconceivably, we could not swim. Remarking that a fancy swim suit in the shallow end was just not gonna cut it, Mother jumped into the pool, summoned us and matter of factly taught us to swim.
Lesson 4) Just do it.
One night we went to our school's big gala. When my parents got dressed to go, my mother put on her skin tight cowgirl jeans, a sexy sweater that showed off her Jayne Mansfield type endowment, some sparkly earrings that accentuated her sparkly rhinestone trimmed glasses, makeup and a black hat that was almost like a wig. My father threw a fit because my mother was dressing too sexy for the people in the town and what would they say. My mother told him that this was who she was and that she could not dress like someone else, for God's sake, just deal with it. So he did. We went and I was so proud of her, the most ravishing, beautiful woman there.
Lesson 5) Just be yourself, for God's sake.
My sister got into trouble at school one day. Her teacher slapped her. Hitting children in Arizona schools was simply par for the course. But when my mother learned of my sister's incident, she beelined it to the classroom and confronted that teacher. We waited in the hall. We heard a ruckus and my mother emerged, steaming mad, took us by the hand and we left. This is what we heard: "I slapped her because I did not like her attitude. It's as simple as that" SMACK "I don't like your attitude. It is as simple as that". Shortly after we arrived home, the police came and arrested Mother for assault on a public - I forget - servant? My father said "We will just see about that" and off he went to chat with his friend, the mayor. My mother was released within 20 minutes of being booked.
Lesson 6) Stand up for human rights. It's ok, we got your back.
One day, on the way to the Red Bluff after school, I stopped at the dime store. That store was chock full of stuff. Today, there was something AWESOME. An auburn haired baby doll in a blue taffeta dress. Her eyes closed when you leaned her back. I simply had to have that baby doll. I looked at the price: $5.00, which, in about 1961, was, in Full Monty terms, "a lot - a very lot". I went to the gas station and found my father and said "Daddy?" "What" he gruffly muttered, as he worked on taking apart a split rim tire to patch it. "Can I have five dollars?" "What?" He put down the tire iron. "Why on earth do you need five dollars?" "I want to buy a baby doll." That set off a chain of cussing and spitting and ranting about what had this world come to - five dollars for a baby doll! - which was interrupted by my mother's arrival. "What is going on?" she asked. Daddy said that "Rita wants five dollars for a baby doll". "Come on", my mother said, taking my hand, let's go see this five dollar doll.
We went and she lifted the doll down for me to hold. When she saw me melt with love for this "baby girl" she said "Well. I reckon you have to have that doll, and we went up to the counter where she bought her for me.
Lesson 7) A girl needs what a girl needs. Men don't always get that.
Yeah, so this is kind of a highlight reel. My mother taught me some sad stuff too. And so much more. But one thing she taught me was - all things in their own time - and today is my 25th wedding anniversary so now I am off to play with my pal. Tune in again, for some political savvy and other stuff my mother taught me.
My mother, Muriel, was an intelligent, striking, sassy, outrageous, sometimes drunken, often angry, outspoken born-again atheist, anti fascism redhead. She was passionately loving, hauntingly cool, fiercely vengeful... wow. Just, wow.
My first memory is of arriving at my grandmother's house with my sister and my father when I was two - almost three. I have no early memory of my mother, but I do remember my father telling me how beautiful she was - and how evil. Later, he added the term crazy to that assessment. Ah.... well, then.
Since this post is about my mother, let's skip forward: One day, when I was about 7, my sister and I were living with "Aunt Lou" and Pete, who were actually, my grandmother's tenant's sister and her husband. Aunt Lou got a phone call then came into the living room quite upset and told us to comb our hair, that our father was coming. She was muttering about people who just show up without warning.
A few minutes later, Daddy arrived. He had with him, totally unannounced, a woman. They came in and sat on the sofa. I kept looking at that woman, thinking I knew her, that surely, she was my mother. I had never seen a picture of her but there was just something about her. She kept looking back at me like "yeah, that's right". And what a look in her eye! She had the most amazing eyes - piercing and intense and sparkling with fire and brilliance.
Lesson 1) It is never too late to show up.
We left with Mother and Daddy to go live in Williams Arizona (where we had lived with Daddy before). Daddy had a gas station and motel there called the Red Bluff. Mother took over doing all the maid service at the motel. She also pumped gas and did whatever was needed.
One night we were there late and some people came in looking for a room. Daddy told them all the rooms were full. They said they were bone weary and had tried everywhere. My mother called some of the other motels and discovered there was indeed no room to be had. The weather was severe and everyone had taken shelter. My father told the people there was nothing he could do but my mother said yes there was. She went and got our rollaway cots that we used when there were too many people for a room. She got my father and the bookkeeper to clear away the furniture in the office and put those cots in and added some blankets on the floor and put those people up for the night.
And that was lesson 2) We take care of each other.
As a semi-orphan and the youngest, my life had included a lot of second class treatments. For instance, every year, my sister, Elizabeth got a new swim suit and I got her old one. So this year, Daddy took us to the fancy schmancy store and let Elizabeth pick out a new suit. I begged Daddy to look at the suit I loved and consider it but he brushed me aside, made his purchase and home we went. Elizabeth was so proud - and, of course, she did not miss her chance to lord it over me. Mother admired her suit and then asked "Where is Rita's new suit?" Upon being told that "Rita did not need one", as Elizabeth's old suit would do just fine, Mother said "Come on, Rita, let's go." We got into her new blue Chevy Corvair and drove to the fancy schmancy store and Mother bought me the AWESOME swim suit I had longed for- a two piece, black, white and red, with a little pleated white skirt.
Lesson 3) I am worthy.
So there we were, with our fine new suits. One day, at the Red Bluff Mother sent us next door with a friend to the motel that had a pool. We played around in the shallow end and eventually, Mother came by to join us. She was astonished to find that we were just bobbing around in the kiddie section because, inconceivably, we could not swim. Remarking that a fancy swim suit in the shallow end was just not gonna cut it, Mother jumped into the pool, summoned us and matter of factly taught us to swim.
Lesson 4) Just do it.
One night we went to our school's big gala. When my parents got dressed to go, my mother put on her skin tight cowgirl jeans, a sexy sweater that showed off her Jayne Mansfield type endowment, some sparkly earrings that accentuated her sparkly rhinestone trimmed glasses, makeup and a black hat that was almost like a wig. My father threw a fit because my mother was dressing too sexy for the people in the town and what would they say. My mother told him that this was who she was and that she could not dress like someone else, for God's sake, just deal with it. So he did. We went and I was so proud of her, the most ravishing, beautiful woman there.
Lesson 5) Just be yourself, for God's sake.
My sister got into trouble at school one day. Her teacher slapped her. Hitting children in Arizona schools was simply par for the course. But when my mother learned of my sister's incident, she beelined it to the classroom and confronted that teacher. We waited in the hall. We heard a ruckus and my mother emerged, steaming mad, took us by the hand and we left. This is what we heard: "I slapped her because I did not like her attitude. It's as simple as that" SMACK "I don't like your attitude. It is as simple as that". Shortly after we arrived home, the police came and arrested Mother for assault on a public - I forget - servant? My father said "We will just see about that" and off he went to chat with his friend, the mayor. My mother was released within 20 minutes of being booked.
Lesson 6) Stand up for human rights. It's ok, we got your back.
One day, on the way to the Red Bluff after school, I stopped at the dime store. That store was chock full of stuff. Today, there was something AWESOME. An auburn haired baby doll in a blue taffeta dress. Her eyes closed when you leaned her back. I simply had to have that baby doll. I looked at the price: $5.00, which, in about 1961, was, in Full Monty terms, "a lot - a very lot". I went to the gas station and found my father and said "Daddy?" "What" he gruffly muttered, as he worked on taking apart a split rim tire to patch it. "Can I have five dollars?" "What?" He put down the tire iron. "Why on earth do you need five dollars?" "I want to buy a baby doll." That set off a chain of cussing and spitting and ranting about what had this world come to - five dollars for a baby doll! - which was interrupted by my mother's arrival. "What is going on?" she asked. Daddy said that "Rita wants five dollars for a baby doll". "Come on", my mother said, taking my hand, let's go see this five dollar doll.
We went and she lifted the doll down for me to hold. When she saw me melt with love for this "baby girl" she said "Well. I reckon you have to have that doll, and we went up to the counter where she bought her for me.
Lesson 7) A girl needs what a girl needs. Men don't always get that.
Yeah, so this is kind of a highlight reel. My mother taught me some sad stuff too. And so much more. But one thing she taught me was - all things in their own time - and today is my 25th wedding anniversary so now I am off to play with my pal. Tune in again, for some political savvy and other stuff my mother taught me.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
COME ON, PEOPLE NOW, SMILE ON YOUR BROTHER... AND SISTER
I got blocked by a fb "friend" the other day. I was out and about with my husband and a friend. I am inexperienced with texting and I was responding on my phone to a fb post. Because of 1) being distracted with going and doing and socializing, and 2) being, as I said, inexperienced with texting, my comment was blunt. I knew, even as I submitted it, that it was a poor idea.
The guy had been irking me for a while. Generally, we agree (that the world needs more love, that the current political climate is less than ideal, etc) and overall, I appreciate him and his efforts to make a difference - but sometimes he is very negative and that bothers me. That particular day, he was being negative toward women. I don't know what had led to his post but he was clearly miffed.
His post was something to the effect that when he says that women are stupid for being satisfied with only having 20% representation in congress, how dare women tell him to shut up. He further said that women say "it is a good step" and that such an attitude will get us nothing. It was a bit more scathing, as I recall.
I realized he was reacting to some interchange I was not privy to. But when I saw a string of followers egging him on, I felt I must speak up and say the "emperor has no clothes". Hence, my blunt, and yes, rude comment: "I find your attitude regarding this arrogant, condescending and defeatist" or something like that.
At that point I was the only naysayer. He, Joseph, was offended and quickly lashed back calling me aggressive and rude and oh, I don't remember what all, and demanding I explain myself. So I did. I fell short of apologizing for being, yes, rude, altho, I really feel that calling someone rude is quite rude in itself. I also failed to acknowledge his pain by saying I was sorry someone had told him to shutup, that surely we could all do better than that.
Ok, so I explained that having 20% representation is indeed a good step in the right direction, how difficult it is for women, who, in the big picture, only recently have been allowed to vote, much less represent, how chastising us for feeling good about our progress is not making anything better.
Meanwhile, other women chimed in, and Joseph with his mighty keyboard, shred us all to bits, never acknowledging one thing anyone said, always scorning and berating.
I stuck up for one woman. I said that everything she had said was in direct response to his own statement and that I found her argument sound.
And.. meanwhile he had gone on to further denounce and insult - me in particular and all "women like me" in general.
I said something to the effect of: 1) Listen to women 2) Support women. If you want more of us to stand up and go for public office, rather than chastise us for not meeting your quota, get out there and clear the way. Trust me, you have no idea what it is to be a woman or what we are up against.
All this time I was fretting over the fact I was simply arguing with him and not working on keeping the peace. Shortly after the last post, I arrived home and went straight to my computer so I could send Joseph a message saying that I did not know what had inspired his first post but that I wanted to apologize for calling him arrogant and that we all truly want the same thing so let's work together in harmony.
Too late. I was blocked. I went to his twitter page to see if I could find a way to send him a personal message, just to apologize and say what I had intended to and should have said in the beginning. Not to get unblocked, necessarily, but just to do the right thing. I could not find a way to contact him privately.
This morning, this unfinished business was still bothering me, so I went once again to Joseph's twitter feed, thinking "you know, we must all get along as best we can and if those of us who share common beliefs can not be civil to one another, then what hope do we have?" So I went there intending to just post something on his feed like "Let us all honor each other" or... heck, I dunno, I figured something profound would manifest..
When I opened his twitter page, this is the post he had most recently done:
"I'm so tired of people who do nothing but complain!"
Which really set me back on my heels. This has long been my greatest complaint (silent but seething) about Joseph!
Ay, madre mia! So I recoiled. And here it is, all vomited out for your perusal.
Now what? Perhaps something profoundly peaceful and simple and apropos will come to me and I can go make my little gesture.
Ah, life, you little fox, you trickster.... you make me smile.
The guy had been irking me for a while. Generally, we agree (that the world needs more love, that the current political climate is less than ideal, etc) and overall, I appreciate him and his efforts to make a difference - but sometimes he is very negative and that bothers me. That particular day, he was being negative toward women. I don't know what had led to his post but he was clearly miffed.
His post was something to the effect that when he says that women are stupid for being satisfied with only having 20% representation in congress, how dare women tell him to shut up. He further said that women say "it is a good step" and that such an attitude will get us nothing. It was a bit more scathing, as I recall.
I realized he was reacting to some interchange I was not privy to. But when I saw a string of followers egging him on, I felt I must speak up and say the "emperor has no clothes". Hence, my blunt, and yes, rude comment: "I find your attitude regarding this arrogant, condescending and defeatist" or something like that.
At that point I was the only naysayer. He, Joseph, was offended and quickly lashed back calling me aggressive and rude and oh, I don't remember what all, and demanding I explain myself. So I did. I fell short of apologizing for being, yes, rude, altho, I really feel that calling someone rude is quite rude in itself. I also failed to acknowledge his pain by saying I was sorry someone had told him to shutup, that surely we could all do better than that.
Ok, so I explained that having 20% representation is indeed a good step in the right direction, how difficult it is for women, who, in the big picture, only recently have been allowed to vote, much less represent, how chastising us for feeling good about our progress is not making anything better.
Meanwhile, other women chimed in, and Joseph with his mighty keyboard, shred us all to bits, never acknowledging one thing anyone said, always scorning and berating.
I stuck up for one woman. I said that everything she had said was in direct response to his own statement and that I found her argument sound.
And.. meanwhile he had gone on to further denounce and insult - me in particular and all "women like me" in general.
I said something to the effect of: 1) Listen to women 2) Support women. If you want more of us to stand up and go for public office, rather than chastise us for not meeting your quota, get out there and clear the way. Trust me, you have no idea what it is to be a woman or what we are up against.
All this time I was fretting over the fact I was simply arguing with him and not working on keeping the peace. Shortly after the last post, I arrived home and went straight to my computer so I could send Joseph a message saying that I did not know what had inspired his first post but that I wanted to apologize for calling him arrogant and that we all truly want the same thing so let's work together in harmony.
Too late. I was blocked. I went to his twitter page to see if I could find a way to send him a personal message, just to apologize and say what I had intended to and should have said in the beginning. Not to get unblocked, necessarily, but just to do the right thing. I could not find a way to contact him privately.
This morning, this unfinished business was still bothering me, so I went once again to Joseph's twitter feed, thinking "you know, we must all get along as best we can and if those of us who share common beliefs can not be civil to one another, then what hope do we have?" So I went there intending to just post something on his feed like "Let us all honor each other" or... heck, I dunno, I figured something profound would manifest..
When I opened his twitter page, this is the post he had most recently done:
"I'm so tired of people who do nothing but complain!"
Which really set me back on my heels. This has long been my greatest complaint (silent but seething) about Joseph!
Ay, madre mia! So I recoiled. And here it is, all vomited out for your perusal.
Now what? Perhaps something profoundly peaceful and simple and apropos will come to me and I can go make my little gesture.
Ah, life, you little fox, you trickster.... you make me smile.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Family, Disparity, and Lotus Visions
My brother and his wife are coming to visit this week. I love them. My brother took care of me when I was a baby. Then we were separated when I was two. When I met him again a few years later, he cried because I did not remember him.
No, we have not been close. I have been a life-long hippie and he has been a lifelong - hey, I am not sure what! But politically, I support taxing the rich and he, rich, supports not doing so. According to him, making him pay more taxes is the equivalent of charging him more for bread and he has a long explanation to support that stance. My response is that when we all have bread, we can talk about that.
I promised my brother long ago not to ever ask him for money and in return all I want is for him to let me be his sister and stop holding me at arm's length for fear that - gasp - I may want something from him. I have held up my end of the bargain, altho it is a strange thing to have a quite wealthy brother and to have this understanding - and such disparity in my own family, such that it is. To be fair, my brother and his wife are quite generous in certain ways. They have given a lot to help people obtain higher education. At one point they gave all of their siblings, myself included, a sum of money as our "early" inheritance. Strangely, it came in increments and I never received the last bit of mine, leaving me in a quandary... is asking for what I was promised asking for money? So, reluctantly, I mentioned it... and was still left short! 15 years later... and still I think about it. This makes me realize how it must feel to be in my brother's position - with people calculating what "he owes them".
Here are the things I fret over and endeavor to resolve as the visit approaches:
1) How can I explain to him that I believe in working together as a country for a solid infrastructure, for health and education for all, for clean air, clean water, renewable energy - without arguing, without being summarily dismissed, without angering him? More importantly, without becoming angry or dismissive.
2) If he were not my brother, how would we feel about each other? How can we get to know each other better and maintain that thread of family bond which has been so tenuously stretched through early childhood events and a subsequent lifetime of misunderstanding and neglect?
3) We disagree in another area too. My brother is pretty darn sexist. I often find his comments offensive. Rather than retaliating when, for instance, he proudly proclaims that a proper woman should have small breasts (mine are astonishingly humongous, as I age) how can I maintain my "Ram Dass" serenity?
4) How can I prevent my husband from blurting out what we paid for any particular item and why should I need to do that? I am almost 60 years old and here is my brother continuing to chastise me for "spending money foolishly". Does a sibling, even a remotely connected sibling ever allow "the baby of the family" to be an adult? Ok, seriously, that would be up to me, right? To allow myself. I know! My brother can be himself and I can be me and my husband can be himself! Ah.... there now!
5) How can my brother and I simply love and accept each other? I don't need to meet his criteria of beauty or political savvy or wealth. He does not need to meet my criteria of - ah... but here is where I struggle... I do hold him up to the light of scrutiny in these areas: Compassion, sexism, arrogance, yes, also generosity. So... hey, thanks, people, I am glad we had this little chat. Here I go, then, to envision my brother in pure light.
Hmm... encountering some resistance here...
Ah.... now I realize the most important question is:
How very fortunate am I to have this fine brother despite all our early life turmoils and how wonderful is it that, despite our differences he and his wife are coming to visit us? What can I offer in the way of support and love? How can I make this the very best sort of visit possible for all of us?
No, we have not been close. I have been a life-long hippie and he has been a lifelong - hey, I am not sure what! But politically, I support taxing the rich and he, rich, supports not doing so. According to him, making him pay more taxes is the equivalent of charging him more for bread and he has a long explanation to support that stance. My response is that when we all have bread, we can talk about that.
I promised my brother long ago not to ever ask him for money and in return all I want is for him to let me be his sister and stop holding me at arm's length for fear that - gasp - I may want something from him. I have held up my end of the bargain, altho it is a strange thing to have a quite wealthy brother and to have this understanding - and such disparity in my own family, such that it is. To be fair, my brother and his wife are quite generous in certain ways. They have given a lot to help people obtain higher education. At one point they gave all of their siblings, myself included, a sum of money as our "early" inheritance. Strangely, it came in increments and I never received the last bit of mine, leaving me in a quandary... is asking for what I was promised asking for money? So, reluctantly, I mentioned it... and was still left short! 15 years later... and still I think about it. This makes me realize how it must feel to be in my brother's position - with people calculating what "he owes them".
Here are the things I fret over and endeavor to resolve as the visit approaches:
1) How can I explain to him that I believe in working together as a country for a solid infrastructure, for health and education for all, for clean air, clean water, renewable energy - without arguing, without being summarily dismissed, without angering him? More importantly, without becoming angry or dismissive.
2) If he were not my brother, how would we feel about each other? How can we get to know each other better and maintain that thread of family bond which has been so tenuously stretched through early childhood events and a subsequent lifetime of misunderstanding and neglect?
3) We disagree in another area too. My brother is pretty darn sexist. I often find his comments offensive. Rather than retaliating when, for instance, he proudly proclaims that a proper woman should have small breasts (mine are astonishingly humongous, as I age) how can I maintain my "Ram Dass" serenity?
4) How can I prevent my husband from blurting out what we paid for any particular item and why should I need to do that? I am almost 60 years old and here is my brother continuing to chastise me for "spending money foolishly". Does a sibling, even a remotely connected sibling ever allow "the baby of the family" to be an adult? Ok, seriously, that would be up to me, right? To allow myself. I know! My brother can be himself and I can be me and my husband can be himself! Ah.... there now!
5) How can my brother and I simply love and accept each other? I don't need to meet his criteria of beauty or political savvy or wealth. He does not need to meet my criteria of - ah... but here is where I struggle... I do hold him up to the light of scrutiny in these areas: Compassion, sexism, arrogance, yes, also generosity. So... hey, thanks, people, I am glad we had this little chat. Here I go, then, to envision my brother in pure light.
Hmm... encountering some resistance here...
Ah.... now I realize the most important question is:
How very fortunate am I to have this fine brother despite all our early life turmoils and how wonderful is it that, despite our differences he and his wife are coming to visit us? What can I offer in the way of support and love? How can I make this the very best sort of visit possible for all of us?
Sunday, May 5, 2013
BODY CARE INCLUDES THE PSYCHE
Whilst proclaiming that our bodies are our temples and that we would do well to worship said temples by eating right and exercising, these same people are seemingly unaware of a simple truth: Words are powerful. In fact, it is not simply what goes into our mouths that can poison us. Equal care should be taken regarding what comes out of our mouths.
A study* by Dr. Masaru Emoto (a mind blowing and highly disputed study) showed the difference in water molecules before and after being blessed. People have followed up with rice experiments with mixed but impressive results. Granted, these are home studies, but they do tend to show that energy affects water and food.
Of course, any of us who grew up in a religion probably grew up blessing our food before eating. I believe that a lot of religious practices are based on common sense and, if you will, the magical phenomena of "believing equals receiving".
Books have been published about talking to our plants and how that affects their health and vigor.
Other books, such as "The Little Engine That Could" teach our children about empowerment.
So.... perhaps you believe some of this stuff. Perhaps not. To a great extent, I do.
When I discovered the book "Creative Visualization", oh, so many years ago, it changed my life. I focused on two things: my physical health and love. I started doing two affirmations. The first: "I have the body of a dancer. I eat what I choose. My body takes what it needs and discards the rest." My body transformed. I had energy. I felt "dancer-like" in my body. I assure you, I was not counting calories or eliminating foods. In fact, when people asked me my secret I told them it was dessert for breakfast. My second affirmation was "I am love", the boiled down concentrate of: "I am worthy of love", "I am capable of loving", "I am ready for love" ~ This, coupled with consciously trusting the universe to bless me with the kind of relationship I longed for, whilst letting go to any attachment about who that significant other would be. In a magical swirl of energy, I fell in love with Kevin, a man I had known for two years. He, interestingly enough, was also doing very similar affirmations.
I once took a class, "Women as Entrepreneurs". It was half nuts and bolts of planning, navigating the legal system, advertising, etc. The other half, taught by a different professor, was empowerment. One exercise we did was to seat one woman in a chair and 4 or us lift her, then the four of us step aside and do a breathing/empowerment exercise before lifting her again. The first lift was scary and awkward and difficult. The second lift was effortless and magical.
I used to have a spice can called "love". I used to sprinkle that "love" on many of my recipes. I hope that whoever has that can now is using it lavishly.
So - yeah - while I can not vouch for the accuracy of every study, I can honestly say that I believe that words and thoughts are powerful.
What alarms me is how abusive so many of us are to ourselves and to each other. Ok, not merely that, but that those who profess to be teachers, leaders, visionaries, suppliers of holistic health remedies straight from Mother Earth herself are so unaware of this important aspect of wellness.
Why do we surround ourselves with things we love? With pretty colors, art pieces, inspirational messages: "Reach for the stars", "Dance", "Peace", "Embrace the Day"? Because these things make us feel good. Why then, would I buy a "holistic women's health care product" made by a man who calls young happy women joyfully frolicking on the beach "whales"? Or from a woman who calls herself "a cow"? I would much rather buy a product from someone who's motto is "find the good and praise it".
Yes, I talk to my plants. Kindly.
And today I am talking to you. Speak kind words. To yourselves. To each other.
* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWAuc9GIvFo
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Progression...
Last night our band, the Corvallis New Horizons Band, took part in a 'progressive' concert. The groups consisted of 6th grade band, 7th grade band, 8th grade band, New Horizons 'geezer' band, and 8th grade/New Horizons Band combo. That was very cool. Not only does time march on, it salsas and two-steps, as well....
Whilst sitting in the audience, I really enjoyed hearing the other bands play, as well as watching our director, an amaaaaazing musician in his own right. I will admit, tho, that I was a bit distracted by a baby nearby. She seemed to be half of a set of twins. She was bopping to the music, giving the man sitting next to her a mischievous eye and generally enthralling me. She, her sister, her dad and mum, and myself all had our own progressive ripple going on....
Afterward, we had a party at our president's house. I chatted with some fellow(ette) gardeners and they were astounded if not downright appalled to learn that I catch the snails and slugs and release them in a location I consider non-threatening to other gardeners' plots.
Last night, I slept well, despite the blustery deluge of rainfall and this morning I awoke to too much rain to feel like going out de-slugging, so instead I watched an enlightening video about life and perspective and connectivity. innerworlds
That movie was a great way to start the day and I highly recommend it. After having my/our eyes opened by that film, I (astonishing as this may seem, yes, I actually did) looked at some daylily pics online. I pointed one out to my husband as a truly beautiful flower with a wonderful plant habit, that altho it is many years old (this introduction), is still as lovely and awesome, really, as about any flower out there. Well, pretty much, I think. He largely ignored me, but hey, we get along.
Then, lo and behold, the sun broke out! So I went outside to wander through the gardens and search for slugs and snails. It was a lackadaisical effort so I wore no gloves and carried no bucket. Partly because of the late hour, surely, or the sun actually coming out, there was nary a gastropod to be found. But in good self aggrandizing form, I was congratulating myself on the fruits of years of effort, hand picking off the little buggers, and assuring myself that this was not some fluke but a sign of progress... and then... I found the grandmother of snails. There she was, sitting on a lovely daylily plant. Luckily for me, snails come with handy dandy, built in, well, handles! So I gingerly removed her and she was kind enough to withdraw into her shell. I headed for my secret drop-off site and watched her carefully as I walked - because those little slimy things can launch out of that shell and attach to your hand in the most alarming and yucky sort of way. Again I was fortunate, cause Old Mother West Wind was blowing a steady beat and keeping my not so little gastropodarian tucked in for respite.
We made it to the (place that shall remain unnamed) both of us unscathed and I reasonably gently deposited my slimy friend, said goodbye (yes, I did) and headed home, thinking about this catch and release thing, about what my bandmates had said last night about them not being native and that therefore I should kill them, thinking about the film I watched this morning, about connectedness, about another film I watched in which an adopted (by a gay couple) hispanic boy gave a moving speech, and proclaimed 'we are all Americans' and my ever so slightly filtered through racism mind flashed on that as remarkable..... thinking about how snails are here now so it does not matter how they got here, they can be immigrants.....
And I made one more pass through the garden, slightly dreading actually finding another critter of the family mollusca, thinking perhaps I would crush it if so, in order to lessen the number of trips to the drop off point, thinking no, no, I could not do that because we are all connected and they have the same...... but ah.... I did not have to make that drastic decision because thankfully, all the other snails and slugs had gone into hiding... I mean, er, my eradication program is working so well, that no others were apparent.
Before I came inside to coffee and interweb, I finished my patrol by giving the plant which had yielded gramma mollusca another once over and I found it standing free and clear and oh, so splendid. I was happy that I had gently relocated that snail (after all, a snail shell so gloriously personifies the magical/scientific/glory of creation unfolding, does it not?) and everything was post rainstorm shimmery. As I admired my lovely plant, I realized, that, cosmically, it was the very same one I had been discussing (by myself) 'with' my husband earlier, the timeless and lovely hemerocallis, "SPIRITUAL CORRIDOR"
Whilst sitting in the audience, I really enjoyed hearing the other bands play, as well as watching our director, an amaaaaazing musician in his own right. I will admit, tho, that I was a bit distracted by a baby nearby. She seemed to be half of a set of twins. She was bopping to the music, giving the man sitting next to her a mischievous eye and generally enthralling me. She, her sister, her dad and mum, and myself all had our own progressive ripple going on....
Afterward, we had a party at our president's house. I chatted with some fellow(ette) gardeners and they were astounded if not downright appalled to learn that I catch the snails and slugs and release them in a location I consider non-threatening to other gardeners' plots.
Last night, I slept well, despite the blustery deluge of rainfall and this morning I awoke to too much rain to feel like going out de-slugging, so instead I watched an enlightening video about life and perspective and connectivity. innerworlds
That movie was a great way to start the day and I highly recommend it. After having my/our eyes opened by that film, I (astonishing as this may seem, yes, I actually did) looked at some daylily pics online. I pointed one out to my husband as a truly beautiful flower with a wonderful plant habit, that altho it is many years old (this introduction), is still as lovely and awesome, really, as about any flower out there. Well, pretty much, I think. He largely ignored me, but hey, we get along.
Then, lo and behold, the sun broke out! So I went outside to wander through the gardens and search for slugs and snails. It was a lackadaisical effort so I wore no gloves and carried no bucket. Partly because of the late hour, surely, or the sun actually coming out, there was nary a gastropod to be found. But in good self aggrandizing form, I was congratulating myself on the fruits of years of effort, hand picking off the little buggers, and assuring myself that this was not some fluke but a sign of progress... and then... I found the grandmother of snails. There she was, sitting on a lovely daylily plant. Luckily for me, snails come with handy dandy, built in, well, handles! So I gingerly removed her and she was kind enough to withdraw into her shell. I headed for my secret drop-off site and watched her carefully as I walked - because those little slimy things can launch out of that shell and attach to your hand in the most alarming and yucky sort of way. Again I was fortunate, cause Old Mother West Wind was blowing a steady beat and keeping my not so little gastropodarian tucked in for respite.
We made it to the (place that shall remain unnamed) both of us unscathed and I reasonably gently deposited my slimy friend, said goodbye (yes, I did) and headed home, thinking about this catch and release thing, about what my bandmates had said last night about them not being native and that therefore I should kill them, thinking about the film I watched this morning, about connectedness, about another film I watched in which an adopted (by a gay couple) hispanic boy gave a moving speech, and proclaimed 'we are all Americans' and my ever so slightly filtered through racism mind flashed on that as remarkable..... thinking about how snails are here now so it does not matter how they got here, they can be immigrants.....
And I made one more pass through the garden, slightly dreading actually finding another critter of the family mollusca, thinking perhaps I would crush it if so, in order to lessen the number of trips to the drop off point, thinking no, no, I could not do that because we are all connected and they have the same...... but ah.... I did not have to make that drastic decision because thankfully, all the other snails and slugs had gone into hiding... I mean, er, my eradication program is working so well, that no others were apparent.
Before I came inside to coffee and interweb, I finished my patrol by giving the plant which had yielded gramma mollusca another once over and I found it standing free and clear and oh, so splendid. I was happy that I had gently relocated that snail (after all, a snail shell so gloriously personifies the magical/scientific/glory of creation unfolding, does it not?) and everything was post rainstorm shimmery. As I admired my lovely plant, I realized, that, cosmically, it was the very same one I had been discussing (by myself) 'with' my husband earlier, the timeless and lovely hemerocallis, "SPIRITUAL CORRIDOR"
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