June 2009

Perhaps one of the greatest tragedies of the veil is the loss of the great continent of Africa. The thought of going to Africa was frightening because I could not get my mind past the slave posts and the roads so many million marched down and so many are buried along the way. I could only see myself reaching my hand to feel the cold walls of the slave forts and being consumed by an unimaginable grief. I would hear children crying for their mothers, young girls and boys still with a fear none had ever seen before. I will stop, not tell you of all I see as my hands shake and my body trembles bringing me to my knees. Maybe now I can visit Africa with it diverse landscape and many cultures and ways of life. In time I will see the wonder and beauty of the land and of the people. I will breath in sweet cool air of the rivers. I will see Africa as it really is, not the Africa shown on television or in American news. I will feel a peace, a glow, the Mother Land holding one of her children, rocking, healing her, loving her. Mind you, I have no regrets. I have enjoyed understanding life, culture, and reasons. I marched through the heat, sand clinging to my body, feeling the weight of the chains linking me to others. I traveled in the hull of a slave ship; gagging from the stench of urine, feces, and vomit. Ii stood before men leering at my unclothed body, licking their lips. I ran into the streets with the cry of freedom on my lips then walked hundreds of miles to find my mother, old and bent over from years of hard labor in the fields. I sat with writers and musicians in clubs after renting a brand new apartment in Harlem. I rented out the bedrooms to cover the rent but the apartment was beautiful. I cried at the death of Dr. King and watched the riots of the Black Power Movement. I loved teaching others, cultivating an interest and excitement in them to learn more, to explore any and every thing of interest to them. I expect to continue to study but on a lesser scale and with other subjects in between. I am very interested in linguistics, music, arts, world cultures, and many other topics. Now I have time to expand more as I no longer need to be a respected scholar in my field. I will be just me!

A New Star June 2009

My Jewish Play-Mom died after choosing not to undergo the chemo she first endured more than 10 years ago. We knew each other for years and laughed at people trying to figure how I, a brown skinned woman, could have a Jewish mother. I would remind her Jewish mothers and African American mothers are pretty much the same, so I knew the rules. I learned from Cece to live the life I want and to do what is most important to me. She once said she did not want to grow old saying, “I wish I had….” She and her husband, Andy traveled to Japan, a country Cece loved, for a year that stretched into 11. Ill health forced them to return. The damp chill of Seattle sent them to New Mexico. Cece smiled and laughed a lot. She taught me marriage requires a lot of work as both partners grow. She and Andy where married for more than 60 years. Andy is carrying Cece’s ashes to Japan where her life will be celebrated with their friends. Cece is now memories, none of which are troubling. Cece is now a star dancing in the night sky; there for me to gaze upon, think my thoughts, and ask questions. Cece will answer with wise words of advice, support, and praise. And I will smile and say, “Yes, Mom.”

Lists, Bananas & Chicken Pox June 2009

I wish I kept the lists I made for this move; although I am not sure I have a box big enough to store them. I think counting them and reading them could be an interesting activity. (When one is retired, such activities are not a waste of time as time is endless.) Some lists were neatly typed on the computer while others were hand written on lined yellow legal paper. Lists were made on the backs of register receipts, on scraps of torn paper, and on napkins. Lists were long and short, documenting what needed to be done and what was done. Lists were stuffed into purses and pockets, scribbled with reminders and shopping lists and lists reminding me to make lists. Lists were made of what items were going into storage or the trash or to Goodwill or into the RV. Items were crossed off the lists and then the lists copied so the lists would be neater. Making lists takes a lot of time as does managing them. However, without the lists my head would spin with all that was needed to be bought, sorted, fixed, and remembered. Of course I would need to put head spinning on a list so I would not forget. Over the years of my life I was I was allergic to various foods and substances even though I have eaten and been exposed to these same foods and substances for many years. Still I dutifully removed them from my diet and my life. Bananas are my favorite fruit. I have not eaten one for years because I am supposedly allergic to them along with eggs, milk, and corn. Cats were on the list. I was always greatly relieved dogs were not. (Had they been I would have taken a shot or whatever to keep my three little ones.) Being allergic to so many foods requires a lot of thought and pre-planning; in other words, stress. Food has to be planned, prepared, and packed. Running into a store for a snack is very difficult. Ice cream is impossible to do without. My purse has bottles of Benadryl, as do my car and office. Being without the little pink pill sends terror through my body. After all these years of careful planning and boring eating, an allergy blood test that found I am only allergic to latex. Ok, this is not working for me. So I had the skin prick tests (the most accurate of the allergy tests) for 48 foods and substances. None showed any allergies. On the way home from the allergist I enjoyed the best tasting banana I have ever eaten. During the time of my childhood and for many years before and after, getting Chicken Pox was just an expected step in a child’s life much like losing baby teeth. It’s going to happen. The question is when and preferably earlier rather than later. What no one tells you; or perhaps they do not know( or is it simply no one will tell) or it is on a need-to-know basis, is the Chicken Pox virus DOES NOT GO AWAY. The nasty virus lies dormant in bodies, sleeping like a hibernating bear. And as a hibernating bear too soon awakened, the virus reappears in other mysterious forms with little warning and for no clear reason. Shingles, with blisters piling on each other, appear sending pain and itching streaming through the nervous system. Herpes does the same. While TV, magazines, newspapers, and ads warn of the sexually transmitted Herpes; how to protect against and the frightening reality of Herpes lasting a lifetime, the virus is already lasting a lifetime though with a different name beginning in childhood. The ads do not warn of the Herpes virus breaking out ANYWHERE on the body. Herpes, just as Shingles, may appear on a cheek, an arm, a leg, anywhere without sexual contact! The key word is stress. Too much stress is the signal for the various bumps and blisters to appear. Perhaps vaccinating children against Chicken Pox is a good idea. No more hibernating bears disturbed in the middle of dreams of cuddly cubs. I leave today. No, everything is not ready. No, the RV is not packed and set up. No, I did not fill the tank. No, I did not finish emptying the house. No, I did not empty the refrigerator or take out the trash. But one day has to be the day. The next day or the day after can no longer be the goal. If I need to throw everything into a box and toss them into a box to be unpacked later, so be it. My new life begins today.

Yellow Rose

My RV yard has six rose bushes set in large pots. The one in memory of my father was planted late so it needs to grow before producing bulbs. The rose I planted for my mother was the first to bloom, one huge rose a week before Mothers Day. On Mothers Day the bush was covered in purplish pink roses. Next bloomed the rose of fire (red and yellow) spread wide. Planted in memory of my brother, Rod, the rose makes a powerful stand, The buds on the two red rose bushes are slowly opening just enough for me to peek at the richness of their color. But the yellow rose will not give away any of its secrets. The bulbs are closed tighter than necessary as they prepare their beauty. Nothing will be shown until the roses are ready to display the deep yellow satin petals. Every day I look closely at the bulbs hoping to see just a hint of yellow. The bulbs seem to tighten their green curtains and turn away. I am anxious. Yellow is my favorite of the roses I’ve seen. I purchased the bush early this season because they disappear quickly. One day I’ll walk out of the house and will catch my breath. The branches will be covered with the deepest yellow imaginable. I will smile as I run to them. I’ll think of my mother, father, and brother waiting for me. I’ll think of my dogs waiting for me in heaven. I’ll think of my wonderful family. I’ll think of how happy and fortunate I am. Yellow roses. Sweet yellow roses.

Confusion

I may have posted a couple things twice. With my memory I'm not sure. I also can't figure it out by going over the posts. The joys of a brain injury.

Greek, Secret Codes and Disney June 2009

Greek, Secret Codes & Disney Each day I read manuals to learn how to make everything in the RV work. I have decided the manuals are either written in Greek or some secret code. Somehow I am supposed to actually know what is being talked about. Who knew there are different hoses each with its own name and use and that they are to be connected to something somewhere in some way? I would normally ask why I should care but I need to know how to work the shower after I figure out how and where to put the water. There is water and grey water and black water. Are they actually those colors? I cannot believe people know how to do such things or even how to read the manuals. Manuals are written by people in the industry who have a clear understanding of how things work. It is much like taking math from a mathematician. He/she knows and understands math so well that he/she is unable to teach those who struggle with the subject. The mathematician cannot break down concepts and then slowly rebuild then in a way all will understand. I think people like me should be test readers for manuals. If I can understand them then anyone can. At the start of each section would be a glossary of terms. After that would be a numbered or bulleted list of steps in the order they are to be taken. I would also include LOTS of pictures, drawings, and diagrams. I am beginning to really understand I am not going to fit everything I want to into the RV. I knew this already but still foolishly had hope. I am looking at what I need as opposed to what I want. At times I think I should stop looking in boxes and just seal and store them. There is also the issue of weight. This is a good incentive to diet. The less I weigh the more I can carry and the happier I would be. Fortunately the combined weight of the three dogs is under 60 pounds. It would be less if Princess was not a ball. I have again moved the departure date as I have faced the fact that I am not a miracle worker. There are still boxes and furniture to go into storage and all the things I am hoping to fit into the RV; then comes securing everything. And of course there is trying desperately to understand the manuals! Disney Television shows to help preschoolers learn in order to be ready for kindergarten. This is in place of running outdoors, chasing grasshoppers, or wondering at the feeling of cold mud as it squishes threw their little fingers. Phineas and Ferb is the only daytime cartoon. Candace spends her days trying to bust her brothers and nursing her crush on Jeremy. the little girl has a crush on Phineas while he has no clue. The remainder of the day is filled with preteen shows such as The Suit Life of Zack and Cody, Zack and Cody on Deck, Wizards of Waverly Place, and Hannah Montana. The girls have long luscious hair and wear makeup. So, there is preschool and preteen programming. So what happened to the amazing years in between? What happened to the years spent in playgrounds playing hopscotch and jacks? What happened to the years of snowballs fights, kickball, little league, and dress-up? What happened to the endless stream of asking “Why?” and “How come?” That happened to little girl and little boy laughter? It is no wonder children are growing up so fast, wearing make-up over their perfect skin, and exploring each others’ bodies while popping their parents’ pills. Their childhoods have been packed up without a ribbon and put away on a high shelf they cannot reach. Adulthood lasts so long while childhood is over in a blink of an eye. Childhood is so very precious. Please Disney, give it back. 10, 9, 8,…1 Ground control to Major Tom, “Commencing count down; engines on.” I will be on my way Sunday or Monday. All the furniture and boxes will disappear on Saturday. The car is sold. The RV is done “enough” to leave. I will be moving things around in the RV for some time as I live in it. Stay tuned! The excitement is about to begin!

Help Arrives

I have problems asking for and accepting help. Many women share this challenge with me. We insist on being amazingly competent. We work at demanding professions, raise perfect inspired children, and run immaculate homes while we pay all the bills on time. We rise in the morning looking like we just had nine hours of sleep instead of the two gotten because of a puking kid and a colicky baby. Walk at a quick pace as if our three inch heels – narrow at the toe – are not killing our feet. Our hair looks like we not only just walked out of a salon, but also as if we are followed around by a hairdresser to correct any out of place strands. We easily and graciously bake a few dozen cupcakes for our kids’ classes even though we were told the night before as the little one climbed sleepily into bed. We climb into bed looking sexy and inviting, ready to please our men. We have never ending energy and always wear a smile laced with perfectly applied lipstick. In our minds we want to be tired when we are tired, grumpy when we are grumpy, hungry when we are hungry, and allow our hair to hang in our faces. We want to stand at the top of the stairs screaming while throwing those damn high heels so hard they make a hole in the wall. We want desperately to ask for and accept help. Women know and understand women who can (or at least seem) to do everything by themselves while they are really exhausted. Women know women need help yet cannot ask. Women know women are just told help will come on this day at this time. Women know women will want to cry from relief. I am very blessed to have a friend who knows me well enough not to ask if I need or want help. Why ask questions with known answers? Why go through the argument I will put up while inside I am screaming, “Yes! Yes! Please help me!” This friend simply told me the day and time she and another woman would come to help me pack. The house is packed. I cannot believe the house is packed because women know women.

Music 2009

One of my first stops will be to visit my friends, Stan and Marion. Marion is an incredible visual artist whose work sells as soon as the paint dries. She also creates inked cartoons released as cards. Marion painted an amazing painting for me of children dancing and playing happily in the street. The painting is full of energy with blues and reds. Unfortunately it is too big to carry in the RV. The smaller painting of a child with wings taking to the clouds will fit. Marion painted the picture of freedom, happiness, and wonder to mark my then new job as a mid-level university administrator. I think of the paintings as gifts of life. They give me great peace when I gaze upon them. Stan is an incredible musician living in the world of jazz and classical music. He instantly understood music as a child who, instead of simply banging on the piano, at the age of three played the piano. This is in sharp contrast to me who, after years of study, has given up on ever being able to read music or to sight sing. I am or was a lyric soprano with no lower range. For eleven years Stan worked with me to add bottom to my voice. During this time I tried to sing blues and jazz. I had a lot of fun singing at open mics. and at friends’ gigs. My voice glided into the secret world of tenors and quickly, quietly touched the notes of baritones. I lamented the failure to do the impossible, to romanticize bass, letting the cool notes float over the bottom much like a light breeze over still waters. Johnny Johnson sang bass; refusing to sing secular music of love, desire, and heartbreak and live praising the Lord. His voice was like a black silk sheet casually tossed across a bed. How I wish to sail there. Still I missed dancing the high notes, twirling them in the air and watching them float – bubbles in the wind with soapy rainbows. I no longer try to sing the jazz I learned but never belonged to. I returned to the high notes. The tenor in the music group, The Dells, hits high notes letting them flutter as a down feather gently blown, floating quietly to the earth. I am working to express the same lightness on top notes to be used when my mind takes them there. My dogs watch me sing; I am not sure if from enjoyment or the fear that I am hurting. Singing is my peace, my heart; so much a part of me it is me. From Stan I learned to color words, to express the meanings of songs more than the notes. Thought will take the notes where they need to be. With him I wrote my first professional show about dolls through the stages of a woman’s life. After studying with Stan I can direct songs to help audiences feel what I hope they will feel; that they will leave feeling more than when they came in. Most of all I became friends with him and Marion. To pay for lessons I couldn’t afford I cleaned their house. I ate lunch with them. Marion’s meals look like a work of art and taste even better. They will be one of my first stops. I am very excited.

The Bees Have It - June 2009

Bees are building hives inside the door of the RV! How they are getting inside the tightly sealed space is not the question. The question is how to make sure they never return! Luckily the hives were at the beginning stages so I could quickly destroy them. I am not sure of all the spaces the little stingers can get into. Right now I am spraying everywhere! To prepare for my new life as a fulltimer, I am reading books with information on living on an RV when I should be reading the books on how to set up my RV. One book tried to discourage traveling with pets. I think the authors are nuts. I would not travel without my pets. There is a reason they are called pets as opposed to animals. Of course, as with many pet people, I call mine my kids. They are an important part of my life. I would never give them to another home or have them put down because they have become inconvenient. By adopting them I agreed to love and care for them. They are company and give me great pleasure. They also protect me, especially Princess who is the smallest yet the most aggressive. No one enters the house until she has inspected them and deemed them to be worthy. I am looking forward to reading books of interest and fiction. I cannot think of a more pleasant way to spend a day than curling up on the couch or sitting outside in the shade with a good book and a cup of tea. School books will soon be available by down loading from computers which will alleviate some of the crippling weight of kids’ backpacks. This is great as it will reduce the growing number of kids with back problems. However, for pleasure reading there is nothing more satisfying than to touch the fragrant pages of a book while holding it open on one’s chest, getting lost in another life in another time and/or location. I will also be able to write freely. In higher education (my most recent life) professors are required to publish so called scholarly papers. These papers, based on research and studies, have their place I guess, however they are dry and abstract. They lack any hint of feeling or emotion. They do not allow for the reader to reach within themselves, to cry, dance, to see colors. I believe emotions in scholarly papers may drive the readers to want to work for change in themselves, their community, the nation, and/or the world. The papers may allow the readers to feel. Perhaps because I am an artist the need to bring feelings, thought, relief, an exploration of self, or whatever the listener needs to feel at the time is the most important reason for writing. I am free to write from long buried feelings. I will allow the multi colored butterflies to take flight and watch them as they fly free on the wind. I will be me

Heat

This week the temperature has been in the 80s, too hot for Seattleites. We are fortunate that the humidify is low and the air cools down at night. This is not at all like the summers in New England. There the temperature sores into the high 80s and 90s with over 90% humidity. The nights may cool to the 80s but the humidity remains as high. When I was there I didn’t have air conditioning, only a fan blowing constantly. At night I’d get into the shower wearing a t-shirt. I could sleep in front of the fan until the t-shirt dried. In Worcester, Massachusetts I worked at the Edward Street Daycare Center. Every day was magical as I shared their world. In the heat the kids could be challenging. They were as sleep deprived the adults. Everyone was grumpy. The staff would pull out the kiddy pools for the kids. We kicked off our sandals and put our feet in the water. Living in a third floor apartment didn’t help with the heat at all. I plan to never leave the Northwest.

They call us fast, hot, and whores, when we are just lonely women looking for a bit of warmth.

Singing

I sang as a kid. After 25 years of study I still do. I loved to sing and the peace it brought me. I’d often sing for no reason at all. Other times I sang with songs on the radio and TV. There were even a few times when singing would get me into trouble. Music is very powerful. During U.S. slavery the enslaved people sang to endure their lives. Without music the Civil Rights Movement would not have been as successful. Marchers sang before, during and after marches. This gave them strength to face hostile police and crowds. Singing gave them strength to face fire hoses and vicious attack dogs. Singing gave them strength as they were loaded into paddy wagons to be thrown into jail. One afternoon police entered the black section of a movie theater (the balcony) to harass the people sitting there. The people started to sing We Shall Overcome, softly at first then louder until the song filled the theater. A police officer said to them, “If you must sing must you sing so loudly.” The officers left. The music was too powerful. So how would singing get me into trouble? When Mom disciplined me I would softly sing. Mom would say, “Don’t sing while I’m talking to you.” I didn’t even know I was. I did know that while I was singing the sting of being corrected didn’t exist. I don’t know if I even heard what she was saying. Singing gets me through happy times, sad times and rough times. I love the power of music. I love to sing.

What me 60?

I think 60 year old women are not supposed to spread their arms and pretend they are airplanes (complete with zaroom noise) while walking in the park. I don’t think they can pretend they are fairies fluttering with delicate wings from a yellow flower to an orange flower. Or skip with a big grin on their face while singing some song from their youth. Well, I guess it is okay if they are with a grandchild. But alone? December I will be 60. When 60 years passed I have no idea. I always thought I’d reach my idea of an adult by now. However, I still sleep cuddled up with my stuffed bear (and of course my two dogs.) I love hot chocolate in the winter and ice cream causes my eyes to glitter in the summer. Flowers are imagined as fairy dresses and having fun, as always, is my primary goal. So I check to see if anyone is nearby before I twirl in the middle of the sidewalk pretending I am wearing a light pink tutu. I hide this part of me from a judging public’s eyes. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve done a lot of adult things like get an education, work, live alone and support myself. I’ve attended boring professional dinners and conventions. Speaking with political correctness while boiling inside and leaving any sign of passion outside when dealing with issues was a great skill. But I’ve never given up my childish ways. Now I will be 60. The age, as each age, is welcome. I mean, think of the senior discounts. I am still me, still happy. A world of fantasy, art, music, and dreams of love still remain. Yet I feel publicly I must display the dignity I did as a higher education administrator and professor while inside I am dancing as I did at 20. Perhaps the difference with 60 is some things I do such as those in the opening paragraph must be hidden. But wait until 80! At 80 I won’t care who sees or thinks I’m crazy. I’ll just smile sweetly and keep dancing in the middle of the street wearing a rainbow tutu and wig.

Hello, Little Blog.

Hello, little blog. I’ve missed you. One of the Moms at my niece’s school asked me if I am my OLDER brother’s mother. How does one respond? I was in shock. I know I don’t look my 61 years. The woman was so upset she made such a mistake I spent my energy trying to console her instead of taking care of myself. I told my brother. So did she. He asked her why she thought I was his mother. She answered that it was not based to looks but energy level. That hurts too. Before my TBI I was very active. I am hopeful I’ll be that way again. I understand she is still upset. So am I. Due to my lack of energy my psychiatrist prescribed a stimulant I should have tomorrow. Please let that help. I told my cousin the story about being mistaken for my brother’s mother. I also told him I never feel fully awake. He replied that was because of the depression. I was surprised. I thought the depression was better and I was just dealing with the TBI and the sudden major changes in my life. As I thought about what my cousin said I realized I am still very depressed. I honestly didn’t know. Now I am more depressed. Many people believe depression is just a feeling of sadness and for some this is true. It can also be disabilitating as it is with me. I’ve been this way for so many years I only recognize when I get worst. I somehow need to get out of this. I’ll have to talk to my therapist next week. You’d think all the medication I am on would take care of it. I will not have my old life back but I need to have a life with hopes and dreams. Soon I’ll write about my desire to take trips on trains.