P- Parenting is Purposeful

Parenting is often not rewarding but purposeful. Yes, that statement meant to catch attention sounds strange, but what I mean is that the feeling of "reward" from being parenting doesnt fill the present moments as much as the nitty gitty moments of guidence and real PARENTING.

Day to day, moment to moment, there are more instructing and sometimes aggravating moments than blissful when parenting kids, of any age. Maybe this is the perspective of an overwhelmed mama, but really, parenting is disproportionately discipline (which is teaching and preparation) and instruction mixed with smaller amounts of open observation and also moments of joy. The joy really comes in reflection - back on the observation, back on their responses to discipline, back on the long trek up a mountain that got you to a certain peak. Its not always a smiling moment that brings joy to parenting, but the look-back on the months and years that brings paralyzing joy.

This is a project that is never finished. It is not a presentation that you've concluded at work or a huge puzzle that is finally together. The satisfaction will not come when the work is done because the work is never done. I guess this is why it is so challenging. You must keep on your toes, ready for the next change and anticipate how this will effect them in their ability to be a respectable adult, then execute your parenting course. 

I am not their "friend", I am their guide.

It is challenging to create something, then let it off to be its own creation. Like that puzzle - it's like spending days on a 3000 piece puzzle then finishing - and watching it morph, muddle up, bend, crack and slowly, slowly rearrange into its own scene. I can only watch and advice hoping a piece wont fall off the table. I can only tell them how I managed to get some of my pieces in line despite a gale and storm around a younger me. I can cringe as the theoretical puppy walks by sniffing to take a piece away with him. I can yell "That wont fit there!" Or I can bite my tongue while they try and flip, turn and force... only to come to the same conclusion without me. (Or like some of them, stubbornly jam a slightly larger pice into a smaller curve, and insist it fits, and insist they're right while every time their arm moves, they peel back a bit of puzzle flesh because it's awkwardly sticking out above a should-be-flush surface.)

Parenting is such a dance, with no guarantees, and heart swelling waiting around every turn.

Parenting is purposeful.

O- Open-mindedness

The other day, a child - we're talking between 6 and 8 year old, made several negative comments to my daughter about her religion. Obviously this was passed down from her parents, and I am guessing that with the emphatic nature that this girl said these things, the contention at home around religion must have been very high and very sensitive. We are catholic and live in the Deep South, but I have also heard of kids back north being made fun of because they were not catholic, but go to a christian bible-based church in the north. 

This is so ridiculous! 

They worship the same God and are supposed to have the same values of being Christ-like - but yet they are ostracizing and putting down someone for not being in their "club". 

This is not a post about religion, this is a post about open-mindedness and I am perplexed at how far we in this country have to go. Forgetting about the Middle East and the major problems outside of this country. 

My daughter should stick up for herself, but I also told her that when she suspects that someone is immovable on their stance, esp. on a subject like religion, than don't even bother giving it your energy and time. Let it go, let them feel right and move on, because more bad can come out of trying to convince an intolerant person you don't know well something just. When you've established someone is irrational, don't give it your time.

People can only change, or understand others if their mind is open enough to hear them. And when you realize that kids are already shutting their windows down at elementary age... you get worried for the future!

Keep your mind open.

N- when in doubt, write a poem

When something sits right

Stay by its side

Like a friend

Seen seldom in your harried life

Upon rejoining

Time lapsed only in wrinkles

A tessellation viewed from afar 

Is but two or three collapsed colors,

If that,

But steps that take advantage of

Vagueness

Serve to confuse

Beg to decipher

Toe touch your emotions and 

Bear we weight on your 

Instincts

For one is the work of a master

And the other a fraud

Stare not into the pattern

Expecting your clarity

When within you carries 

all the knowing you need

As simple as a friend

Who's smile was never a mystery

M - Moving

Moving. We're moving again. Moving and emptying out a house can be both cathartic and stressful. It is an immense project with a beginning and a very clear end. With tangible results, a project can be satisfying. But, there are many layers of stress to this move, as well as the last one that brought us here. For some people growing up, they moved so much, military families, etc. that this is no big deal for them. So I could make a huge deal out of a move, or just take it in stride, like all the other families. 

When I was unpacking this last time, I would rip off the tape on each box so that if packed again, the box would have fresh tape and adherence. I remember thinking that each time i took off the tape, a bit of box fuzz would go with it. I ripped and flattened, ripped and flattened, and came to think that with each move, we lose a little piece of our self, like the box. With each move, our core feels weakened a bit. 

But, each time we feel weak, we are actually getting stronger. Each box that looses some of its fuzzy soul learns to still hold the same contents. Each half millimeter gone allows the box to ask for help and accept an extra strip of packing tape it wouldn't have normally needed. It goes from "I'm strong, I'm perfect, I can handle it, I meet my edges perfectly, no big deal" to "I'm not so rigid now, I'm tolerant and flexible.Yes, I'll take a little extra tape."

So, in a way, we've been torn and drawn from moving so much, but in another we are resourceful and quite adaptable, which in this world, makes us stronger.

L - Letters

In retrospect, when I look at these letters to choose my topic for each A-Z blog post, I have found that I chose things that may not be the most paramount use of the letter in my life, and of course I blew A. I have passed family member names and a big 'ole disease that starts with C that has affected us, but I did not choose it for my C entry. Is that a good thing? It may be simply that creativity finds your true soul burrowed beneath all the kids and illness and circumstances and that is what matters when you write and paint and sing - that old you gets a chance to shine through. How freeing to find me in this format! 

It's like when they show you a picture and ask you to say the first thing you think of - it cuts back to the you you knew before you had a reason to analyze. 

I surrender to my letters!

K- Knots

K is a tough one. I actually looked in the dictionary and saw the word knot, which reminded me of Shipping News, a book by Annie Proulx, the talented woman who wrote the original short story that was Brokeback Mountain. In this book, she introduced the chapters with a picture and description of different knots.

Here, knots exemplify how the human experience is both versatile and variable.  They are certainly essential to nautical world, but to many other realms as well. It is interesting how they were woven into this book- (the book was quite boring to start so I am not encouraging anyone to read it here, it wasn't another Brokeback, but aside from that, the theme of the knots was memorable :)

Each specific knots has its own strength and way of connection - they are similar in a very simplistic way to relationships - and yet part of the beauty of knotting is that each knot can be tied and untied, made and remade, again and again. One of Proulx's themes was that some relationships must go through an examination of how they are bound to the past and how they can be loosened, remade or reformed into a totally different knot.

I love the idea that a simple rope can be twisted on itself in order to hold onto boats and docks and have a million other uses. Like our unimaginable strength when we are in the right frame of mind, the right knot. 

The reason I looked into Annie Proulx's writing is because Brokeback Mountain was a profound story. And in thinking of the knots and their symbolism in this movie, sometimes you get contorted into a knot that even if it is unwound, and forced open again, the kinks and turns from the last knot still remain, despite any new form it is put into. The muscle memory of the knot that held you best cannot really let you go. 

From The Ashley Book of Knots

J

J to me a hook I find

like I've hooked your heart 

in kind

but as they say with rescued pets

who has usurped who?

In voice, a Blue Jay is there

solid and perfect no matter where

we could take a message from nature,

I see

God made us exactly as we should be.

A pirate, a whimsical story

to my children thats J in its glory

memories of mommy or daddy 

reading

with imagination, nothing superseding.

J is just a letter

could start a word for hate or better

a simple alphabet could build the world

in words

or tear it down with ill intention.

Just joy.

I - Intuition

For I", I chose Intuition. And I am at a loss for a catchy, relevant story this morning, so I wrote a poem:

That chip behind your ear

the scratch under your nail

a wire of sudden hints

details do not entail

Mind that quiet creature

that rights your moral code

your gut stretches your torso

and can move you head to toe

But its nature is inconspicuous

and at first it trusts you full

until you avoid the effort

and cave into the pull

If you ignore it once

it may simply give a shrug

but twice you get a minor pinch

Then a screech if you get smug

Just ask yourself the question

"What is it should I do?"

and the first convicted answer

will ring for you as true

If we could listen to our gut

our quiet intuition

without an explanation

and rationalized suspicion

Then quicker our decisions made

and less the consequence

of emotion, or error, or fault

as guidance into life's suspense

H- Homeschooling

I took on homeschooling my son for a few months in the end of a school year, for multiple reasons, and this temporary arrangement was the right decision for us and has taught us all a lot. It was a difficult decision to make but we knew it was right when the outcome was positive on all accounts.

I jotted down some reflections when I started homeschooling him, and here are a couple things I learned:

I have learned more about who he is and how he learns by teaching him and being with him all day.

When I am teaching him, I am very present. And that is peaceful.

He loves to learn anything! There are subjects I historically found boring but to see someone so interested, it makes me interested too. My curiosity grows vicariously through his.

Life will send you down bunches of situations from which you can learn and teach. Life is a classroom and that is no more apparent than when you are charged with teaching a moldable young mind.

Homeschooling or not, the flowing is true:

It is a huge responsibility to impart your angle on the world to a child. They will probably inherit your biases, your opinions, and your temperament. You could pass along political stances, religious beliefs, and prejudices. Wether inadvertently or purposefully, we perpetuate our mindset on to our children. This is both scary and beneficial- but it is in OUR HANDS which we had over more predominately to our kids- the fear or the benefit.

This is my boy using a typing program in his free time :)

G - Gratitude

Gratitude. I bet a lot of A-Z bloggers will pick Gratitude. I am grateful for big and small things, and small things that could be big things. I am thankful for my sight and my hearing. I am thankful that my neck doesn't hurt and I don't have a tooth ache. I am grateful that I am safe and loved. 

I believe gratitude is an important piece of having a positive perspective on life so I started a Gratitude Bowl in my house and on my kids' daily chore sheet, adding to the Gratitude Bowl is on there - it's there like a chore, but really it's a reminder so that we actively practice gratitude. Not all things come inherently, day in and day out. We need reminders and tangible, frequent ones. They started by adding generic papers saying "my mom" or "my dad" and evolved to specific notes like my scooter, the Christmas tree, or my dog's nose. I hope this practice reminds them that there is always something to be thankful for and always a positive position to take amidst the unfairness that will inevitably come. 

The Gratitude Bowl, of course, overflowed because we've been doing this for about a year now, so it evolved to a drawer. When I look in this drawer, it warms my whole soul with a beauty that is almost painful. My little children have followed their chores and have written what was in their heart, that day, what made them happy, what they appreciate. I started the idea, but they've done it and liked it and surpassed any tangible example of practicing gratitude by any adult I know. It is overwhelming for me to look in that drawer. I am so grateful! I asked them to do it and they reflected back to me how it's done well. I hoped it would extrapolate for them into an adult life well lived, but they have showed me it's right now, each moment, that is gratitude inducing.

F inspiration (...just kidding)

Something that inspires me that starts with the letter F.... the future. You could see the time ahead of you as grim and arduous, or see it as full of possibility and mystery and supremely engaging. Whether or not the future works out to be what you think as being in your favor, if it's not that good of a situation, it can teach you something. It can give you an experience with which you can teach someone else - there is something to be gained in all the experiences that will come. So either something good is coming, or a new tool in my mental tool case, or a new value that I will have for having lived through a bad thing. 

It makes it difficult to have this perspective when you're posed with the question, "So if XY happens you will be better off??" There are a lot of terrible XYs that could happen, but by me not wanting them will not ward them off. I have no choice in some of the things that happen to me, so with what I am given, my hopes and choices completely out of the picture, I will have this attitude. The future inspires me.  

E- Eve Ensler Quote

I listened to a TED talk with Eve Ensler and I took down two quotes that resonated with me:

"When we give in the world what we want the most, we heal the broken part inside each of us."

"Happiness exists in action. It exists in telling the truth and saying what your truth is, and it exists in giving away what you wan the most."

So if you didn't have security growing up or an unstable family, you could now work in some capacity with children in need, or be a consistent presence to someone, and would probably feel highly rewarded and fulfilled. If you always felt criticized growing up, you can offer your friends a nonjudgemental ear and heal yourself by giving her that. These are clear ties, but there are so many blurry ways to heal our selves in service of others. And I believe there is a way to give that to yourself and your recipient in your work, your home or your community. Look for what you do that feels good, and it probably just smoothed out an old crack on your heart. 

D is for Dog. My Reflective Dog Year

I have had a very reflective dog year. I lost one old girl and welcomed one young boy. In stepping back from it, it is symbolic of the cycle of life. But it feels dishonorable to my old girl to simmer her life down to the Capital letter at the beginning and the period ending her sentence. She was an experience and a slowly molding stream that ended up carving me out a ravine I never knew I had. She enabled me to love this new boy. And the sad part is that she gave me that gift, but in order for her to give it to me, like a little sacrificial savior, she had to die. 

She also emboldened my already strong thoughts on death, and honoring life during the dying time. (I have since become a hospice volunteer) Her death made her whole life enlivened. She died in a way that I can only hope for myself, and remained true to herself and her character her whole life. And now, I am so much more aware of this new puppy. I am aware of who I am and who he is and our interactions. I am able to reflect and learn from this divine animal. My old girl gave my new pup a mirror that he holds in front of me every day, and for that I send her a grateful thank you.

C - creativity, (plus a little commitment and character)

So I committed to doing this blog and tried to think of some ideas in advance knowing that when April came along, I'd be quite busy. And sometimes busyness squelches creativity. I have to schedule a moment from my brain to wander free in order to pluck inspiration, and then write. But when April 1st arrived, I forgot until I saw an email from a friend who is doing the challenge too. This was dinner time with a whole evening of busyness ahead of me - no good material was going to come out of me for an entry! So hence my first post for "A". But because I said I was going to do something, I must do it and I did. Better to stand up and say I am here, but I am not prepared, than to cower away in an unknown absence. (Even though there is only a tiny crew of people who read this blog... that is beside the point- do the right thing even if no one is looking :) So for C - commitment, character and creativity. 

Commitment -make them and follow through, even if it's not your best, be a person of your word, hence...

Character - yours.

Creativity - allow time to be creative. 

I once saw this quote:

"Any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right or better." John Updike

I like this because it reaches out to all those who say they are not creative. It broadens the definition of creativity away from the arts that we automatically think of - painting, song writing, etc. There is so much to being creative and so much benefit. Find your niche!

B for Books

B is for books. I choose to spend much of my free time with them, (not that I have a lot of free time) I love books, I love their spines looking at me. I used to work in nursing homes and sometimes I'd see one of the old ladies sitting in a sprint of sunshine through her window reading a book. Book after book, because there wasn't much else to do. And although they would complain to me about their physical ailments, and their situation really wasn't to be envied, I felt just a bit of jealousy for their time spent with books. Then I'd think When I retire, I'll read a whole lot of books!

I came across this quote about books this morning:

"I've always loved books. I'm passionate about them. I think books are sexy. They are smooth and solid and contain delightful surprises. They smell good. They... can be carried around and opened at will. They don't change. They are what they are and nothing else. " - Sue Townsend

No, books do not change tangibly, but our experience of them will. I could read one book, like Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh when I'm a teenager, then young mother, then retiree and have a whole new experience with the book each time. 

So here's to book! and heres a shelfie:

A- AN entry about keeping commitments

I commited to doing a blog challenge, A-Z blog, a letter for the days in April (more or less). Well, for today I just remembered now and have nothing to say because my mind is scurrying over the events of my day. So my blog is this- an entry for the sake of keeping my commitment :)

A Pit Bull named Blue

I've waited,

Like you,

For someone to understand me

In every day I see everyone who hurt me

In the cold ground I sit on

The callous fence

The duty-bound care taker.

I know how I got here,

Left alone, wandering the streets.

I try not to be bitter, so I just stay quiet 

I am broken, and judged unfairly

It almost makes me want to live up to it all but,

I'm better than that.

I'm just waiting for someone to see it too.

I know you see the down turn of my smile

But don't fear my temperament,

For that is just the way my mom's turned too

And my jaw is strong, I know

But that came to me through evolution,

Just like your thumbs,

Your Achilles

Don't fault me for my history

But don't you see my eyes?

I try to share what's left of my soul through them.

A young women came to see me and the others,

And I know she knew.

She let me smell her fingers and the way she smiled at me, she knew.

I stood so nicely and made eye contact so she could take my picture.

But still, 

I know she won't take me home,

She just looked too nice, too clean.

I'd never fit in with her.

I'd mess up somehow

And I know she'd be too responsible to accept any threats.

I sat so calmly

I dispelled my demons and gave her the best smile my downturned mouth could muster.

I saw her move on down the row.

Those silly nuts,

Jumping and barking

Catching their feces in their paws...

She won't take y'all either.

So foolish! 

They think the more conspicuous they make themselves the more attention they'll get.

The more noise, the more she'll notice. 

But guess what,

After she went down the line, she came right back to me.

She kneeled down eye to eye and started to talk to me. Just me.

I saw her eyes go moist,

And she said, "I'm sorry."

I don't know why, 

She has nothing to be sorry for,

Not even the intangible pain of false hope.

She looked at me like she knew me and who I was,

And I, in turn

Looked back, and I knew who she was. I could tell, in her eyes.

It was like that unrequited love,

We may have been best friends but in the same acknowledged moment,

We knew we wouldn't.

Another good one gone.

I wish I could speak.

I'd tell them I'm not a bad dog.

I'm not like the bad stereotypes say I am.

Yeah, I've seen some stuff,

I've been hurt,

But all I want is someone to love me wholly from paw to flopping ear.

And I'd be so good to them! I'd try so hard!

Man, I really think I could do it!

I want to be accepted as a pit bull,

It's who I am,

But for how I carry my self as such.

For how, despite presumed destiny, risk, generalizations, fear...

That I am a good dog,

And I am worth it.

Violin

I was running and listening to my iPod. With the combination of the mental-cloud-busting endorphins and the music and surroundings, there are times I find myself reflecting, day dreaming, but overall just feeling good. 

A song came on that was written by Ray LaMontange, a folky rock singer, but the version I was listening to was covered by the Zac Brown Band, a country group. The violin is so melodic and engaging in this song, I ran along and lost myself in it, bowing my arms in my mind. 

My daughter plays the violin so we have a little sized violin in the house, and I am tempted to pick it up. But that darn instrument takes a lot of practice and finesse. I started playing the guitar and I am slowly learning to sound like something decent. I've held back when that desire to pick up the violin overcomes me, because you can only try so many new things before you become the jack of all trades and the master of none. 

I realized then and there that I don't need to be that music to fully enjoy it. I don't need to play it and learn it. I love it for what it is and that is all I need. Why do I have to have the idea to take my appreciation to next level? The beauty of that instrument is there to give me joy and it does. And that is its reason for being, for me. No more.

The song:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ospPO9DKABc

Reflective run

I live in a historic southern city with a big federally landmarked military park. I have never been there since I got here, though they have had races, events there and tons of parents I know go running or walking there. 

There's a relatively short race coming up and if I want to train, I can only run so far through my neighborhood, so I ventured over there. It's beautiful and huge with monuments and cannons every few feet. I opted for the 3 mile run, and aimed to work up to the longer ones. Well, despite attempting to remember the map in my head, I took the wrong road and ended up covering nearly 10 miles. The runners high can only get you so far, then you start wondering "when is this three miles going to end?"

The park has some serious terrain, hills and turns all over, so this turned out to be a run/walk for me and I'm pretty beat! 

So with life's mishaps, I ask myself, "what is this trying to teach me?" 

Physically, I was tired, my glucose ran out and I was tapping into my glycogen reserves. I could use a drink and a carb. I was also uncertain about when I was going to see the starting house again. I surmised that my lesson was empathy. As I acknowledged my hunger, thirst, fatigue and uncertainty, I passed the monument of a fallen leader, a troop surrender, a brotherhood of soldiers. What must they have been feeling? I chose to run there that day and give my body an intentional and manageable stress, but the whole reason for the park to exist is because these soldiers were put through so much more, worse and longer circumstances, and uncertainty. I am not feeling guilt for my symptoms, but I believe there was no better way to come to a place of empathy with something from decades ago but to acknowledge just a piece of that they went through, unexpectedly, but ironically in this setting. 

Here's to a scenic, reflective, and exhasting run through empathy!

Beautiful sky

This southern sky is just beautiful. So many times I've felt compelled to take pictures of it- the dusk, the night, early morning, the middle of a Sunny day, an impending storm, I've even recorded the sunrise straight out my window. So I'm going to put some photos here to pay tribute to this beautiful sky. The colors are REAL.

A double rainbow- halo around sun from ice crystals reflected in the sky

Tornado in MS 2014

My first night here- stunning, though blurry

The sky goes on for miles...

A beautiful southern sky song: 

http://youtu.be/GqrWbOCe2Jg

Track memories

When I was in high school I ran track. It started as something to do in the spring season that could help both the soccer and basketball that I played at other times of the year. But it turned into the sport I excelled at and eventually held state ranking in. I was a sprinter and ran the 100m and 300m hurdles, the 400m (hell race, so he put me in the 4x400 relay too) and the high jump. But hurdles were my thing and I focused most on them. 

When you have meets, several high schools come to each meet and you see the same competitors multiple times a year. The way it panned out was I came in first several times, but whenever these two sisters from a school 40 minutes away were there, the old McCloud would come in first, and I'd be second. Every time. I never could quite catch her. The younger sister McCloud got better and would be threatening my standing a few times too. In fact by my senior year, younger McCloud came in second at the state open, I was fourth and the older sister was fifth. I guess that one time, I was able to beat my nemesis, but of course, the sister took her place ahead of me. 

So my dad, who like me loves spreadsheets, sent me all these track scores from back then, and I get to wondering what those girls are doing now. The had a smooth poise about them, the ran with a mature focus, there was no gritty rivalry because they were better than that. I remember once, after really IDing her as my "person" who I couldn't beat, I cycled through thinking of her as that damn wavy haired bitch to, surrendering my feistiness and thinking, she's just good. She's consistent and clean and just good. I'm pretty good, but she's better. So I told her so. After one race that she beat me, I told her afterwards that she ran a good race and she's a good runner. After nonverbal acknowledgement of this girl for so long, I never heard her speak, didn't know if she was a bitch or not, but she stopped and genuinely told me I did well too and I was awesome. You really have no idea what people think of you until you say something. Who knows, maybe me tailing a hair behind her all the time kept her pushing herself. I always wanted to reach her, she always wanted to escape my pursuit. 

Of course later, it wasn't just her, her darn sister was hot on my trail. If it wasn't one it was the other, trading off around me. 

So I looked them up because you can google anything. The older one went to Dartmouth and has a PhD in behavioral pharmacology from Johns Hopkins and works there now. Friggin slacker. I found that the younger one went to  Barnard at Columbia University and is the Director of Worldwide Training for Subway restaurants at their headquarters in Connecticut. She married the love of her life and had a daughter in 2008. I knew they'd make something of themselves, they just seemed to have that focused maturity about them. Their parents did a good job. 

But I went back to google the younger one and I found an obituary. Young McCloud passed away a year and a half ago, at the age of 29 from breast cancer. I was shocked, dismayed and downright sad. She was diagnosed at 26. That is crazy unheard of young. She went through some rough treatment and was clear for maybe two years then it came back and took her life in 6 weeks when her daughter was 4. 

I remembered her as the attractive, vibrant young runner. And now she's dead. When I was 17 and running along side these girls, all of us adorning our school tank and shorts, spiked shoes, toting our blocks, stretching on hurdles, punching our chest out over the finish lines, we were competitive, determined and thought only of the next race. And after coming back to our bench out of breath, we reflected on the race just passed - we were lit up, pissed off, humbled, proud... and either way, so very alive. We held an assumption that went without ever saying or being conscious of- that all these young people around us would be alive later on. We'd all grow up, do something, have some job, maybe have kids, maybe meet a mate, but we'd be alive for goodness sake. And after one simple google mission, I've knifed the scene in my head and decapitated that assumption. 

I ache for her husband because I'm a wife of a cancer survivor. I ache for her daughter because I have my own little piece of magic packaged up in a girl I bore. I ache for her mom because when I told my own mom this story her first response was, "oh, her poor mother."  And her father, for 

when I mentioned this to mine, he felt an unheard of sense of guilt for his fingers over a decade and a half befor that typed her name on those spreadsheets, noting the unfairness. Aside from that I feel for her and her family as a human. I don't really google these random people from the past, so what drew me to seek these sisters is a curious thing, but as I was reading "It's Always Something" Gilda Radner's autobiography, I learned of another woman who has died too young, too unexpectedly, and I know that although there is abundant tragedy, I still have my husband. We shouldn't feel guilty for that, I should be greatful and joyful. Because if I ever lost my husband, the last thing I'd want is for every other wife to be depressed they were still with the mate they loved. We should honor what we have because others aren't so fortunate. Here's to Greatfulness. And god bless the selfish, short-sighted teenagers who are thinking about the next meet, party or test - it can be a beautiful time!

Maya Angelou

"I am a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman that's me."

I remember the first poem I ever read by her- she exuded a boldness as well as an acceptance that could nudge along any seeking soul. From the books in my younger years to interviews in my mature self, she reminded us all that we were phenomenal and capable of greater love. 

RIP Dr Maya Angelou!

I remember her for all the snippets of moments. I didn't even know her but she allowed me to better know myself. I remember one time listening to her at a down-trodden time in my life and she made me realize where I stood to improve and how I could move forward with grace.

I remember reading I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and since then, I've held this picture of her outside sitting by the fence. No, I did not share the same experiences that she did in the book, but I've sat at a fence and thought about my life too. I've shared the same sentiments, the same intangible feelings she has. 

It's almost as if I regard her as a friend. As if she were a part of me. But actually she helped me to understand my life better; I understood the world better because of little certain things she said and for that her influence is without measure to me

Her poems gave confidence to the timid girl they gave intent to the bold. Her thoughts on motherhood were words that were beyond a writer or a poet. They were heart sounds. 

And her views on faith...Are those that, to this day, I can only admire and hope that one day I can find that type of relationship with God.

So why am I teary for somebody who I didn't even know? I guess because I fear that she possesses another nugget of wisdom, or has some other thing to say that would be a help or an eye-opener in my life, except now, I will never know it.

So I guess I'm crying for myself. Isn't it always about onesself? Things she said helped me to navigate life better. And now I'm sad because I'm lost for understanding the potential understanding because she's not there to deliver it to me.

After saying this shouldn't I realize that she only touched in me whatever I had in me already?

It's as if you go to a lake and while looking at the water you have an epiphany. And suddenly you live a better life after that. Years later you come to find out the lake has been drained and the wooded area has been burned. You're sad for the memory and location of an important moment and an integral moment. You're also sad for the potential of more moments and deeper understanding that the lake could have given you. As she said, you may forget what they did but you'll never forget the way they made you feel.

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

I also realized that she was able to rewrite her own stories, so to speak, enough that she no longer blamed those who had done her wrong. She wrote her final book in her eighties honoring her mother, all about her mother. One could say she had a crappy mother- she was abandoned, hit, exposed to inappropriate surroundings for a child, but Maya didn't begrudge her so-so mother. She acknowledged her mothers shortcomings as part of her, but honored her strong points as the prominent story. She didn't regurgitate her own injustices, but danced in her fortunes. 

Maya stood tall. God bless her.

My Dog

My dog is almost 15 years old. In dog years, as they say, she's 105. She certainly has slowed down and declined in the past two years, but steadily over the past 5. She is probably 75% blind and has the same amount of hearing left. We've moved her half way across the country, and she took about as long to adjust as our children, and in her own way she is comfortable and acclimated. 

She has always been a bit neurotic and holds onto her aversions like a true stubborn Italian- but you can tell it's not stubborn pride that is the root of her behavior but pavlov's fear- petrified from the initial incident that cause the aversion. One is her fear of bathrooms. All bathrooms. She won't put a paw in a bathroom- no ball, no food, no loved owner can lure her in. This is because of her dislike of getting a bath. The word bath does it too. When I plan to bathe her, I speak in Spanish, or cryptic phrases while avoiding eye contact with her. I close all the doors first, get the stuff ready, hours before, because she'll know there is strange activity going on in the bathroom and sense something is up. I have to one up her mind games. I'll carry about my day for a couple hours, the she gets the sneak attack- I'll be casually singing to myself, or munching popcorn and swoop down to pick her up, bring her up the stairs and plop her in the bathroom closing us both in. 

All of this being said, my dog will now, after having moved into this new house, saunter into any bathroom. Sometimes when hubby or I are getting ready in the morning, in she'll come and lay down on the bath mat like it's totally normal. After years of being petrified of tiles and toilets, she's past it. Is it that she can't see what she's doing, or with two faculties half gone, doesn't discriminate much any more, is she too old to care? 

One time, another house ago, we moved in and after a week or so, I decided I didn't want the dog bowls to be visible any more. They were unsightly and  I wanted them hidden. So I established the place for her food bowls to be near a laundry room, still part of the kitchen flooring, but around a corner. She refused to eat. I thought, "sucks for you" and "she'll get over it eventually" I'd hear her feet in the middle of the night, hungry, but equally traumatized by the corner she'd have to turn to get to her food. She'd finally muster enough courage to make it to the bowl, grab some nuggets in her mouth and run back to the known landscape of the kitchen. There she'd drop the food and eat it from the floor where she stopped. Some nights she'd get through most of it, some not. And on and on it went like this. I didn't want to give in. We had the bowls in the kitchen in the last house and I didn't like it- slobbery food bowls, spilling water... But I must say, in the end she won. Her neurosis won out over my stubbornness. Because what I was trying to avoid was happening, since she'd bring her mouthful back to the kitchen, she was getting her slobber on the floor anyway! And the whole ordeal- walking a couple feet to the corner, retreating under the table. Then a couple inches further, retreating. The a foot further then retreating. Then she'd give up, come into my bedroom for 10 minutes, and later try it all over agin. I couldn't fall asleep listening to this go on. The consequence of what I had to listen to and observe from me standing my ground became more aggregating than just giving in. I didn't get it. I thought it was rediculous. I even compromised and moved the bowl out of the laundry areas to the corner of the hallway, now visible from the kitchen. But nope. Still traumatizing. So I gave in and put the darn bowls right smack in the kitchen where she could not have a panic attack every night and we moved on. Morale of the story: If someone's irrational, don't fight or try to change them.

But what is the kicker for me now is one night I'm half sleeping, and I hear her nails click clicking through my bedroom, and turn down the little hallway to our master bathroom. Then click click into the bathroom, further in and stop. Then I hear a lapping of water. That geriatric, half blind, half deaf dog of mine was drinking out of the toilet! Well I'll be damned. I have no explanation for it (there was in fact plenty of water in her bowl) but that her inhibitions and mental indigestion were gone momentarily and she was taking something for herself for once in life. The dog that needs to look back over her shoulder and check for approval befor taking a shit. She's obedient to the point where it threatens my sense of feminine self worth. She was thirsty and figured she'd try something new. When I recounted this story to my mom, she was inspired, and decided she too was going to drink from the proverbial toilet now that she is older. Well, here's to you pup! And here's to drinking from the toilet- I am truly proud of you, and I'm honored on behalf of all woman kind!

Weather you know it or not

The news is bias, as we all know, and it's actually not that informative. In NY I'd hear who was shot in the bronx, who tried to jump off the tapan zee bridge and what's happening in lybia. 

Now I hear who's still flooded in Jackson, who murdered their girlfield in the trailer park and what's happening in Ukraine. 

It's locally depressing and wordly detached. We don't get much about the day to day in other parts of our own country- and I realize now the south has, and always did have, some crazy fickle weather. 

We get ice storms that are impairing but beautiful.

We get lots of flooding when the rain is relentless. This was a park like front yard of my son's classmates house. Now with 4 feet of water, a flowing river took over their yard. I dropped my son off for a play date and after 2 hours of pummeling rain, I saw this. I told the mother, "you have a river in your yard." She said, "yeah, it happens every time there's a lot of rain. We we have that hump there so it never reaches the house." Ok. If you're ok with it, I guess I'll be. 

This is our back yard. The volume is much more profound in person when your used to just grass being there.

And we get tornados. Random, unpredictable- it's like practicing medicine, they tell you that conditions are favorable for the possibility of the development of a tornado. We are not diagnosing one, but we're not ruling one out. 

There was one small but destructive tornado since I've been here, about 30 miles away. The emergency broadcast system interrupts the radio stations indicating the location of these favorable conditions, or the location and speed of powerful thunderstorms. They add a scroll to the tv, all the while I tell my kids, don't worry. I actually like the thunder, I find it amazing!

The country

I don't know what image gets conjured up when you think of the rural south, the one stop towns. When someone tells me they live "out in the country" I often picture a dinky house on a dirt plot with some dusty farm next door, far out from anything. I never like to be too far out from stuff- grocery, stores, friends, etc. But there is a simple beauty to the country. 

I went in a field trip with my boy and his kindergarten class to a petrified Forest "in the country" and this involved about a 25 mile ride after getting off the interstate on a two lane country road. 

Houses, rolling hills, horses, farms... there were so many opportunities to stop and take a picture, just because of the simple, God given beauty. I didn't because 5 miles off the highway, my gas light went on and I had no idea how far it would take me on this country road or if there was a gas station ahead. I passed probably three cars on the whole journey, if that. 

As I took in the beauty, one undeveloped mile after another, I said screw the petrified Forest, and put a gas station into my iPhone. 

I came upon a wide farm and passed a huge green farming tractor riding along the shoulder. The guy in the cab was talking on his smart phone. What an amusing scene- the basics of historical food production coupled with the top of technology, all in rural Mississippi. 

It was quiet, the air was clean, the sky was blue and freckled with puffy clouds, the horses seemed happier. 

These horses itched their backs on the ground, hoisted themselves up flicked their manes, looked at me with an air of displeasure. These were some animated horses. 

The wildflowers are quite lovely and everywhere- purple, fushia, yellow.

This is my kids picking some flowers. And believe it it not, this is right next to my house.

Us New Yorkers and northerners have to get out of the congestion, the poor air quality and embrace the country sometimes. Even a ride up the Taconic north of peekskill, or removed Connecticut like north of New Milford, Litchfield and on will do it. Especially in the fall...

And yes I did get gas when the back road intersected a bigger back road. I also found that the ride was better than the petrified Forest. A number marked one big hard piece of tree after another. I liked the gift shop and flaming was cool. 

Had I sped along at 75 cause I could and not taken in what was around me I would have missed a big part of the gift of that day. Sure a picnic with my son on my birthday is priceless (with 40 kindergarteners around) but you miss so much when life is taken as an event, and not the whole of the adventure. 

Human

This quote, since I first heard it, changed the way I thought about people, things and life, and has resonated with me for years.

"I am a human being. Nothing human can be alien to me."

Terence 

A16 year old stabbed some people in a school in Pennsylvania the other day and while the story played silently on the tv at the gym I was at, one girl said they were reporting he had bad acne and was taking an acne medication and it can cause psychosis. 

A few moments of silence passed, and debunking the group-think that could have ensued from the tone and manner in which the comment was proposed, another girl said, "I was wondering what excuse they were going to come up with for this one."

I laughed, knowing that's how it goes. 

But then the quote floated back to my mind and I remarked, "that means that if you trace back enough, every one of us has some factors that can be identified that would cause us to stab, shoot or go all Michael Douglas in Falling Down on people." 

I could be viewed as questionable for saying that, or stripped down insightful.

We've all got the ingredients to do the abhorrent, we as humans have the potential or capacity to do all things human- good and bad. Voluntary or involuntary. Psychologically, physically. 

How can that quote not foster empathy for others?? 

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=-eREiQhBDIk

Black Boy

I am reading Black Boy by Richard wright. Coming off black history month and living just about an hour from where Wright was born in Mississippi, I was moved to read this biography. And it is captivating, as any good bio is- shocking, deviating from what is considered a "normal" upbringing, filled with injustice, poverty, illness, prejudice- this is well written, introspective but simple. 

After I read this passage below, I had to read it over several times, it's dense with both reflection and foreshadowing and tells of the conflicting sentiments of one who empathizes with another's pain but burns with his own. I found no good way to chop it down to post it on social media so I put it here. It took my awe and I felt I needed to share.

"At the age of twelve I had an attitude toward life that was to endure, that was to make me seek those areas of living that would keep it alive, that was to make me skeptical of everything while seeking everything, tolerant of all and yet critical. The spirit I had caught gave me insight into the suffering of others, made me gravitate toward those whose feelings were like my own, made me sit for hours while others told me of their lives, made me strangely tender and cruel, violent and peaceful.

It made me want to drive coldly to the heart of every question and lay it open to the core of suffering I knew I would find there. It made me love burrowing into psychology, into realistic and naturalistic fiction and art, into those whirlpools of politics that had the power to claim the whole of men's souls. It directed my loyalties to the side of men in rebellion; it made me love talk that sought answers to questions that could help nobody, that could only keep alive in me that enthralling sense of wonder and awe in the face of the drama of human feeling which is hidden by the external drama of life."

Black Boy, by Richard Wright

Dirty South

Imagine yourself in a church of a religion you are not, in a part of town you don't frequent. You feel conspicuous, and utterly out of place. You don't know the songs, the mantras, the gestures... Your worried about your car. Are you supposed to park there?

You just follow along as much as you can, try to blend in and hope that you'll observe enough to "get it".

That's how I feel. I just moved from New York to the Deep South. The two places are pretty opposite. 

I am paranoid that my kids seem rude, with their sarcasm that has become casual in our family and their lack of proper formalities that the southern folks have had banged into their heads. Ma'am means, "what did you say?" and a formal "Mrs/Miss" and "Yes" and most times it's just like a verbal period at the end of a sentence. I wonder how they view me if I don't say it? Do I just say it all the time and feel like a jack cuz it's not natural for me? 

The people here run the gamut- from the uppity southern lady with the finer things who has big rings and a guarded, exclusive neighborhood, to the guy who lives in a shed that he made and burns mattresses in his front yard. (Yes I've seen both)

And as foreign as it is to a New Yorker born in the 80s, people here are prejudice- from both sides I'm told. Whites outwardly segregation-minded, and blacks verbally disrespectful to whites. 

The library is proud to be desegregated since the mid 70s, as their main web page states, and the Cracker Barrel has a framed disclaimer in the lobby, and as a foot note on all the menus, about how they accept and allow all people in their restaurant. 

This blows me away.

Now, I haven't witnessed or felt any of this first hand, but it is a unanimous account from the residents here. 

And as I overheard in a coffee shop, many people just don't want to change. This is what they know, this is what they like, and this is how it should stay. 

And, let me tell you, as a dietitian, it is very difficult to eat healthy in this town. I got a flyer from a place called  Bumpers that serves, for $4, a meal called: grilled cheese sandwich and chilli pie. A chili pie, from the ad, looks like Fritos with chilli and cheese on top. For only $4! I went into the wrong grocery store one day, and it is amazing how cheap you can eat, and how crappy the food is. This ghetto supermarket had wrinkled fruits and vegetables- weather because they don't turn over enough, or because that's all the clientele is able to pay for, I don't know. And kool aid, boxes of grits, and sugar cereal. And every store has pork chittlins. I still don't know what that is, but I don't like the looks of it. One man who provided a service at my houses said, "if it ain't fried, it ain't good."  He is on a diet now, per his doctor, and he suggested if you want to eat healthy, you gone have to cook it yourself.  

There are signs, I swear in any southern town noting that Bubba will will buy your junk, or sell you fire logs, or clean your pipes.

Everyone loves camouflage. (I actually do too) And man do they have a thick accent.

This all isn't meant to be negative, just honest. But the beauty of the south is that's there is no traffic, mild winters, very nice people, and a LOW cost of living. Bell peppers were 0.69/pound and that wasn't even on sale. Gas is a buck less than NY, and cigarettes, if you choose to hasten your death, are HALF the price. A $9 pack up north is $4 here. Maybe it's Bloomberg. 

They love beer and foot ball and everyone from Bubba in the shed with fire wood or Greg and Betty Sue in the housing association regulated neighborhood have an American made pick up truck. 

And I'm stuck here with no tv for the Super Bowl, what an atrocity!! I don't know what to do- there is a Rent-to-Own on every block so I thought about rentin' me a tele-vision for one day, but I don't know... 

But I got beer.

The nice things about the south are REAL nice, and the unfamiliar parts are REAL foreign. All in all it's ok.

I live in a beautiful home with a garbage disposal in the sink, in a beautiful neighborhood with neighbors who will probably be stopping by with their loafs. My house is one open floor with a big master closet. The weather is nice. The catfish is wonderful and there is Blue Bell ice cream.

It's ok.

Y'all.

Rudy and women

I tend to be flatly wired, or more closely, plugged into the ground wire- I'm steady and experience little emotional fluctuations in terms of sadness and joy. So I decided to use a prompt to bring out some of my emotions so my kids could see what a human, like their own mama, can experience.

I rented Rudy.

I remember being a youth and my parents rented this movie- by looking at the cover, I had little desire to watch it then, but it turned out to be memorable enough to follow me almost two decades later. I remember crying at this movie to an extent I felt my own inane emotions betrayed me. That movie reels you in and squeezes you out like a wet towel. 

So I put it in and Gabby nestled against me through the whole film, Marco fidgeted, in and out, on and on. 

I provided some bits of narration to ensure they understood the reasons behind some things. They get the feelings the actors feel, and understand the literal action, but not always the motives, or little, but important lines.

Gabby was cheering Rudy on and giving words of encouragement as of half way through the movie, well before a climax. She didn't fuss or want to get up, and as Marco was rolling over us and seeing how far off the couch he could jump, Gabby and I were with Rudy.

Once again, I cried. I cheered and gathered in my girl who felt the emotion as naturally as any heart wielding human can. 

Afterward, she said she was embarrassed about crying, and told me of another time she cried watching a movie while other kids didn't. It was the Lion King- well, geez, that one will get you for sure! I told her she has a  beautiful heart that can feel for others and nothing should ever change about that. We bonded in Rudy's name- she wanted to meet Rudy.

But the finest part came later.

After we all got ready for bed, washed up, read books, tucked in, Gabby comes to me in the kitchen as I was getting a cup of tea and says she was scared before of my reaction, but she was now brave. She proceeded to confess a minor infraction to me- something that had been a contentious subject in the past. She hid it from me since she got back from school, but now, on her own accord, she confessed her actions and mental dialog around it. It was kind of priceless... and it was Rudy!! She said Rudy made her brave! I bet part of it was a emotional bonding during Rudy which fostered a safer place for confessions, but either way...

Rudy prevailed again.

Women are fantastic creatures and I should really embrace all the expanses of our compassionate capabilities. Crying has a purpose sometimes, I suppose!

(I wonder what I confessed to my mom after I watched this as a youth? Lol :)

Making Stories

I might be moving.

And it's a blog unto itself to explore all the ideas that that brings up. But I recently asked a friend of mine if she ever moved around when she was younger and the conversation led to us sharing a story about our grandmas' and Snapple drinks.
I thought about how our stories define us when we are young and don't really know who we are yet. We meet someone new and tell them where we grew up, what nationality we are, what are parents do for a living. These things make up the superficial picture of us to a stranger. Well, I am arming my kids with lots of material to tell their strangers. One was born in the hard fast north and the other was born in the deep Cajun south. We moved once and now we're moving again - they will tell their strangers all about it and integrate all the pictures I'll be taking with the scant memories they'll have at these young ages. Hopefully they will say it made them stronger or more outgoing, or more fearless.

I might be giving them stories.

And when we pack our bags and say good by to this house that they started school in and get on the plane, I'll say, "Alright kids, let's make a story."

Domestic abuse and human expansion

I went to a domestic abuse vigil to support a friend of mine. And it was sensitive and triumphant and a simple beauty. I sat and observed and took in the night.
There were probably 20 total people there and one could assume that most of them have had a personal experience with domestic abuse, or like me they were supporting one who had. There was an older man sitting there who raised his hand and spoke at some point during the night and he offered up his lack of understanding about the whole situation and cycle. He didn't understand how you could love someone who hurts you, how you could stay with them - the whole thing really blew his mind. He told briefly of the solid, wholesome foundation of his nuclear family, and of his adoring relationship with his wife. This is what he knew and he admittedly did not understand the speakers, the survivors or the turmoil and grief.
I was surprised to hear a man come to a domestic abuse vigil to say that he didn't get how all this even went on and how these women could find themselves in this situation. Yet, I was silently grateful for his openness to admit his naiveté and in this forum. It's like going to a rally against cancer to say you don't get how people get cancer. After taking in his questions and responses, I regarded him as brave to have the conversations, and to attend the vigil. He engaged in something he didn't understand and when you put yourself beyond your comfort zone, it enhances you. And engaging yourself in something you don't understand expands humanity.
We tend to stay with what we know, and only by being thrown into an experience is how we experience it. But I think more of us should attend targeted groups and focused rallies. If I know nothing about Alaska, I should watch the show about law enforcement in Alaska. And if I care nothing for weddings, I should attend a bridal show. That is how I will expand myself. That is how I become more human - not by indulging in that which I already relish.
Kudos to the older man who can't grasp domestic abuse! He showed up, naïve and simple and all and he expanded himself.