Repost-Yes Virginia

I know I posted this last year but I wanted to re-post it.  I hope it reaffirms your faith, hope, and love in all things. 
  
"Dear Editor--I am eight years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in The Sun, it's so.' "Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia O'Hanlon 115 W. 95th Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the scepticism of a sceptical age.  They do not believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.  All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's are little.  In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.  There would be no child-like faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies!  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.  Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart.  Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond.  Is it all real?  Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus!  Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Abby

Abby sitting on the couch (2000)

I've had Abby since 2000.  She was a stray that moved in with me one Spring day.  I say moved in because that's really what she did.  I first saw her lurking about the apartment complex where I lived with Shadow.  This big dark brown blackish puff ball with big green eyes would sit on railings watching the parking lot and the people coming and going.  I didn't think much of her and didn't even know she was a her until she moved in.

At the same time that she was hanging out in the complex there was a little gray cat that I was trying to catch.  I put a box, food and water outside my door hoping to entice the gray cat.  Problem was it was being courted by another apartment dweller and I only managed to catch a brown blackish puff ball.

curled up with orange mouse (2010)

The first time I saw Abby in the box she was curled up sleeping.  I'd come home from classes.  As I rounded the corner from my stairwell I could see a mound of dark fur and I knew exactly who it was.  I walked up, leaned down, ran my hand over the fur and went inside.  I figured the best approach wasn't to "ooh and aah" but to be nonchalant.

Now I've been blessed or cursed, depending on how you look at it, with a cat that is afraid of the outside world.  Shadow is perfectly content to spend his life in a climate controlled dwelling watching from open windows and doors what the outside world is doing.  So, one Spring day I left the door open for him to watch as the world passed by.  I was sitting at my desk working on a paper when I heard a car door slam and out of the corner of my eye I saw a streak of black run past down the hall to the bedroom.  I figured the sound of the car had scared him.

I went to check on him and found him sitting on my pillow and Abby curled up on my bed.  She lifted her big green bug eyes to me, meowed once and I responded.  "Well, you're here now.  I guess you live with us."   

sitting on the bed (2009)

Abby was about three or four years older than Shadow when she came to live with us making her about sixteen or seventeen years old.  According to a book I just read the ratio of cat years to human years is 4:1.  So in human years Abby is sixty-four/sixty-five years old and she is every bit of her age.

A four summers ago she caught a pretty bad virus which included me having to administer saline injections to rehydrate her.  It was scary but I did it and she bounced back in a week.

Two weeks ago I noticed that she was very sick again.  She wasn't eating and drinking very little.  She was extremely congested, listless, and plain miserable.  So I took her to the vet.  She'd caught another virus and lost a pound which meant the administration of more meds. and saline injections.  After two days she got her spark back but it's a different kind of spark.  When once she wanted only to sit near me she is now sitting on my lap all the time.  At night she sleeps on me rather than next to me.  And she no longer minds being carried from one room to another.    

Bug eyes (2011)

I've also discovered that she can no longer eat her canned cat food as is.  I knew that she was no longer eating dry food as it was too hard on her gums and teeth but now even the canned stuff seemed to be giving her some trouble.  Experimenting, I pureed a can and let her try it.  She licked it up instantly.  So, now she gets pureed cat food.

As I sat watching her eat her food, stopping every few moments to look up at me with her cat food covered face I found myself laughing and holding back the tears as I thought, "Are we here already?"  How much time do we have? Do I have before I have to say good-bye? 

sleeping beauty (2012)

I'm not ready to let her go and I'm going to do my damnedest to keep her happy, healthy, and here.  But when it is time I will have no doubts that I've provided a good home and a happy life.  In return she's given me more love and devotion I could ever expect and deserve.  Because that's the way love is suppose to be.     

A Recipe

I decided to share a recipe I discovered the weekened before last.  I spent some time with my friend of mine and she had this book called Power foods which you can get on Amazon.com.  After going through a few of the recipes I decided to copy two of them, Banana Bread with Walnuts and Flaxseed and Spiced Nuts and Seeds.

So, far I've only tried out the Banana Bread with Walnuts and Flaxseed recipe and thought I'd share it with you.  Again, I got the recipe from the book featured on the left.  I didn't have walnuts and didn't want to go out and buy them so I used pecans.  I also didn't bother to toast them because I was lazy, haha.  Finally, I didn't have a 9x5x3 pan so I used my 8x5x3 pan (basically a normal loaf pan).

I hope you enjoy the recipe and I highly recommended this book if you're looking for ways to improve your health through eating right.  Best banana bread I've ever eaten.

Banana Bread with Walnuts and Flaxseed

Ingredients
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus 1 teaspoon softened, for pan
1/2 cup whole-wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup ground flaxseed
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 large whole egg, plus 1 large egg white
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3/4 cup mashed very ripe bananas (about 2)
1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped (optional)

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Brush 9 x 5 x 3 inch loaf pan with softened butter.  In a bowl, whisk together both flours, flaxseed, coarse salt, baking powder, and baking soda.

2.  With an electric mixer on medium-low speed, beat whole eggs and egg white until thoroughly combined.  Add melted butter, the sugar, vanilla, and bananas, and mix until combined.  Add the flour mixture, and mix on low speed just until incorporated.  Stir in walnuts by hands.

3.  Pour batter into prepared pan.  Bake until golden brown and a tester inserted into the center comes out clean, about 35 minutes.  Let cool slightly in pan on a wire rack before turning out onto rack to cool completely, top side up.  The bread can be wrapped tightly in plastic and kept at room temperature for up to 4 days.

Makes 1 loaf; serves 8
per serving:  263 calories; 3 g saturated fat; 7.5 g unsaturated fat; 35 mg cholesterol; 37 g carbohydrate; 6.2 g protein, 231 mg sodium; 4/3 g fiber

Change

**WARNING**
I am a liberal/democrat.  This blog is an impassioned rant about a phrase I've been hearing lately.  I do not mean to offended just as those who offended me don't mean to.  Please keep comments to yourself because I will not be posting them.  And even though I'm posting on a public forum I'm being selfish and not allowing anyone to put their two cents in.  If you want to say something write your own blog. 

This will probably be the only time I speak on politics because my intention was never to make this a political blog.  We have enough of those and I'm no where near being an expert on the subject.  However, I wanted to say this one thing.  So here goes...


This morning I read my friend J's Facebook status and the subsequent comments that followed.  It was a rant about the petitions going to the White House asking to peaceably succeed from the United States.  He, like I, think this is a stunt by a bunch of sore losers who need to get over it.

However, that's not what I want to really blog about.  What I want to say is directed at one comment that I keep hearing and reading everywhere.  A lot of people keep saying they want change and that President Obama hasn't done that.  Here's the thing he caught Bin Ladin effectively beginning the end of a very costly war.  He even has a timeline to get us the heck out.  He appointed the first Latina to the Supreme court.  He has started a massive reform of the health care system.  Gays are now getting equal rights.  The Latino vote and women's vote are stronger than they've ever been.

So here's what I'm thinking, it's not that there hasn't been change it's that there hasn't been the change that certain groups want.  These groups want a backward change instead of a forward change.  They want to shove women back into the kitchen, gays back into the closet and minorities out into the gardens to mow grass.  

The problem is women, gays and people of color aren't going backwards.  We're moving forward.  Our vote spoke that loud and clear.  So everyone wanting backward change need to either get use to the change WE want or get the hell out of the way because we're moving forward not backwards.  

by Rumi

Our death is our wedding with eternity.
What is the secret? "God is One."
The sunlight splits when entering the windows of the house.
This multiplicity exists in the cluster of grapes;
It is not in the juice made from the grapes.
For he who is living in the Light of God,
The death of the carnal soul is a blessing.
Regarding him, say neither bad nor good,
For he is gone beyond the good and the bad.
Fix your eyes on God and do not talk about what is invisible,
So that he may place another look in your eyes.
It is in the vision of the physical eyes
That no invisible or secret thing exists.
But when the eye is turned toward the Light of God
What thing could remain hidden under such a Light?
Although all lights emanate from the Divine Light
Don't call all these lights "the Light of God";
It is the eternal light which is the Light of God,
The ephemeral light is an attribute of the body and the flesh.
...Oh God who gives the grace of vision!
The bird of vision is flying towards you with the wings of desire.

Rumi

When Bad Shit Happens

Over the past several months, my self-esteem has begun to drop and all my little insecurities have begun to grown into huge doubts.  Doubts about who I am, what I believe, and whether my beliefs are the right ones.

For about three hours today I thought my luck had finally changed.  I thought I would finally be able to close the book on the whole job situation.  I was trying to be cautiously optimistic but as the hours wore on I became more and more confident and I shouldn't have.  As soon as I received the news that I was back to square one I wanted to cry.

I came home and to wonder how much wrong have I done that Karma has spent the last seven months raining down on my head?  How bad have I been?  And, exactly what have I done?  I mean, I know some of the things I've done but I also know lots of people who have done far worse and as far as I know they've never had to deal with the unrelenting stream of bad shit I've been juggling.  

Coin Toss

So, as many of you may remember I've been vacillating on whether to take this new teaching job or not.  I hit a real low last Friday night/Saturday morning.  It started on Wednesday night when I couldn't sleep.  My choices and the consequences of my choices kept running through my head.

It was all this that caused me to cry an ocean of tears at 2 a.m.  I cried out of frustration, confusing and fear. I began to think --not for the first time-- that I'd managed to waste three years of my life and wracked up even more debt by getting an M.A. and that I wasn't even sure I wanted to bother with a PhD if this was how my life was going to continue to be.

I cried and cried until I was caught and assured that I was making the right decision and in fact, needed to leave my current job for the unknown.  However, I remained unsure.  Part of the problem is trusting someone with my well being.  It's not just trusting this particular person.  It's trusting anyone with paying bills.   

Problems the Other Drugs of Avoidance

Yesterday, I told one of my students that people who get high, drunk or constantly move to other cities & states to escape a problem aren't doing themselves any favors because when they sober up and/or stop running the original problem is still there and it's brought ten of its friends with it.  The ten friends being the problems you created by being out of your head or running instead of facing the problem.  I've always prided myself on not avoiding problems.  An issue comes up and I meet it straight on, tits out (cause I don't have balls to "balls out") and I deal with the shit.  Even with the mountain of crap that's been coming at me over the past six months I haven't backed down.  Don't get me wrong, there have been a few times when I've broken down and cried and felt like I just couldn't take one more thing going wrong but I shook it off, readjusted the boobage and said, "bring it on bitch."  

Until today I thought I was doing pretty good.  Then I discovered that I'd been facing every problem and issue except the first one in the string of problems.  

I don't want to go into too much detail but it's enough to say that someone decided to show up after being gone since December and for these past months I've managed to put the hurt and loss of this person's presence deep in the back of my mind and heart.  My financial problems took precedence and when I felt I'd exhausted every angle I'd pull out the career problems and look at them for awhile.  It was working pretty well until the emotional problem (the person who disappeared) showed up today.  

Now, I realize that I've been using my other problems like alcohol and drugs to avoid the emotional situation.  I never cried and in fact, convinced myself that I wasn't surprised or hurt.  The person has done this before --disappeared with no rhyme or reason--I knew it would happen at some point so no shock there. I was wrong, it did surprise and hurt me but so much else happened in quick succession that I didn't have time to think about my hurt and it was easy to push it aside in favor of more pressing matters.  

So, here it is the pain, disappointment and anger.  I've cried and I'll probably cry a few more times but I'm dealing with it and the sooner you deal with it the sooner it goes away.  It's also got me to thinking that maybe if I'd dealt with it when it first happened then maybe everything else might not have been as hard to deal with it.  Like this emotional pain has been making the financial and career stress/pain feel more intense because I was lacking balance in too many areas of my life.  So, hopefully, things are going to turn around now or at least, stop sucking as much.  

And next time I get my heart hurt I'm going to deal with it instead of using other problems as avoidance drugs.     

 

90% -- 95%

I received my Master's degree in December 2011.  In January 2012 I had some financial problems and my mother had a stroke.  So, it hasn't been a good time.  After about two months of being pissed off, regretting my decision to go back and get my master's and suffering from depression I decided to put my big girl panties on and take hold of my life.

In March, I decided that even though I was in a relatively secure job I couldn't continue to be a secretary for the university with an advanced degree.  So, during Spring Break I spent two days applying to various English adjunct positions at Junior colleges.  By the end of March I'd received a response and set up an interview.

Fortune Cookie Truths

Every time I have Chinese food  after I've read my fortune from my cookie I put the slip of paper into a pocket in my wallet.  I've been doing this for about four years now.  

Today I decided to pull the fortunes out and take a look at what I had.  After leafing through them I've come up with a couple of inevitable truths.

1.  Like snowflakes there are no two fortunes the same.

2.  Some such as, "Gold is in your future" are empty promises either that or my definition of what constitutes gold is too limited.    

3.  Fortune cookies can give some really great advice, "Trust others, but still keep your eyes open."

Cleo Update

So, after about a month of dealing with Cleo I can finally report that she seems to be out of the woods.  Two weeks ago they removed the tube and Monday the removed the stitches and bolsters holding her ear together.

On Thursday I noticed her ear was swelling up and suspected that she had more fluid/blood filling it.  I took her in Friday and my suspicions were confirmed.  However, the vet said I should wait about a week to two weeks and see if maybe the fluid is absorbed by her ear and goes down.  If it gets worse, starts to bug her too much or doesn't go away then in two weeks they'll re-operate on her.

I won't be charged for the second operation.  It's a more invasive operations.  They'll basically cut her ear wide open, clear out all the fluid and scar tissue, resew the ear and wait for it to heal.  For obvious reasons I'm hoping her ear gets better on its own.

In the mean time she is doing well and has developed an interesting new behavior.  In the past she never really protested anything.  If you pulled her from her food dish, picked her up and carried her off some place she just went along with it.  However, now she's become much more vocal and protests when she's not pleased.  She doesn't meow or fight.  She groans and moans like a petulant child.  I know I shouldn't laugh but it's damn funny to hear her let out a groan akin to a child about to throw a tantrum.  Thankfully, she doesn't fling herself on the ground kick and screaming as I've seen evil children in Wal-mart do.  

I'm cautiously optimistic about Cleo's recovery and I've once again been shown what I'm made of.  I'm stronger than I would have judged myself.  There were a few times it was suggested that Cleo be "put out of her misery" but I knew and still know that she is just sick not fatally ill.  All she needed was her cat mommy to help her through and not give up on her.  I'm not the best cat mommy but I'm pretty fucking good at it.  

Two Poems from Bird Eating Bird

Language Poetry / Grandma's English
by Kristin Naca

Dos / doze / those / toes shuffle through my head
when Grandma speaks, consonants blurred
from her mouth a flat tire.  Unable to make out
each word I try reading lips, What / that / cat woman,
but end up lost.  Her lips relaxed, bursts of sound
fretting through them.  You muddy her, Grandma barks
at my father.  You muddy her, she drives you grazy.

A child, I love their arguments, never fully
 understanding what Grandma means when
she tells Dad, She get you rosin / rousing / rosing.
You watch.  She geep driving you grazy.  Though
I do get when Grandma says, / gahng /, for can,
and when she says, /gahng /, for can't.
When she curses, wants sympathy -- like,
/Gahng / it raw meet.  It gives you gancer.
Look it's / rrrud /, she blusters. Her r
like she's starting a lawn mower. / Rrraw / meat,
Charlie, she argues, shows it to my father.

Marinade, he answers.  And Grandma gives up.
A martyr she says, Go on, it it.  Her tongue
forcing sparks from our household English.
Beauty when she grabs her chest and sighs,
I gahng go up dos stairs, Charlie.  My art, my art!


_________________________________________________

A Poem by D.H. Lawrence

Whales Weep Not!
by D.H. Lawrence

They say the sea is cold, but the sea contains
the hottest blood of all, and the wildest, the most urgent.

All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
   the sea!

And they rock, and they rock, through the sensual ageless ages
on the depths of the seven seas,
and through the salt they reel with drunk delight
and in the tropics tremble they with love
and roll with massive, strong desire, like gods.
Then the great bull lies up against his bride
in the blue deep bed of the sea,
as mountain pressing on mountain, in the zest of life:
and out of the inward roaring of the inner red ocean of whale-blood
the long tip reaches strong, intense, like the maelstrom-tip, and
   comes to rest
in the clasp and the soft, wild clutch of a she-whale's
   fathomless body.

and over the bridges of the whale's strong phallus, linking the
   wonder of whales
the burning archangels under the sea keep passing, back and
   forth,
keep passing, archangels of bliss
from him to her, from her to him, great Cherubim
that wait on whales in mid-ocean, suspended in the waves of the
   sea
great heaven of whales in the waters, old hierarchies.

And enormous mother whales lie dreaming suckling their whale-
   tender young
and dreaming with strange whale eyes wide open in the waters of
   the beginning and the end.

And bull-whales gather their women and whale-calves in a ring
when danger threatens, on the surface of the ceaseless flood
and range themselves like great fierce Seraphim facing the threat
encircling their huddled monsters of love.
And all this happens in the sea, in the salt
where God is also love, but without words:
and Aphrodite is the wife of whales
most happy, happy she!

and Venus among the fishes skips and is a she-dolphin
she is the gay, delighted porpoise sporting with love and the sea
she is the female-tunny-fish, round and happy among the males
and dense with happy blood, dark rainbow bliss in the sea.

Mixed Feelings

While scroll through my Facebook page today I noticed an old high school friend/acquaintance had posted a picture of a CD with the caption, "Remember the D------?"  I did, in fact, remember the D------.  They were a band whose lead singer, C.G., was a classmate.  I remember him with very mixed feelings which is why I decided not include the band name or his name.

A Poem from News of the World

News of the World
by Philip Levine

Once we were out of Barcelona the road climbed past small farm-
houses hunched down on the gray, chalky hillsides.  The last person
we saw was a girl in her late teens in a black dress & gray apron
carrying a chicken upside down by the claws.  She looked up &
smiled.  An hour later the land opened into enormous green mead-
ows.  At the frontier a cop asked in guttural Spanish almost as bad
as mine why were we going to Andorra.  "Tourism," I said.  Laugh-
ing, he waved us through.  The rock walls of the valley were so
abrupt the town was only a single street wide.  Blue plumes of
smoke ascended straight into the darkening sky.  The next morning
we found what we'd come for:  the perfect radio, French-made,
portable, lightweight, slightly garish with its colored dial &
chromed knobs, inexpensive.  "Because of the mountains, reception
is poor," the shop owner said, so he tuned in the local Communist
station beamed to Spain.  "Communist?" I said.  Oh yes, they'd
come twenty-five years ago to escape the Germans, & they'd stayed.
"Back then," he said, "we were all reds."  "And now?" I said.  Now
he could sell me anything I wanted.  "Anything?"  He nodded.  A
tall graying man, his face carved down to its essentials.  "A Cadil-
lac?" I said.  Yes, of course, he could get on the phone & have it out
front--he checked his pocket watch--by four in the afternoon.
"An American film star?"  One hand on his unshaved cheek, he
gazed upward at the dark beamed ceiling.  "That could take a week."

A Poem from Spoon River Anthology

JEREMY CARLISLE
by:  Edgar Lee Masters

Passer-by, sin beyond any sin
Is the sin of blindness of souls to other souls.
And joy beyond any joy is the joy
Of having the good in you seen, and seeing the good
At the miraculous moment!
Here I confess to a lofty scorn,
And an acrid skepticisum.
But do you remember the liquid that Penniwit
Poured on tintypes, making them blue
With a mist like hickory smoke?
Then how the picture began to clear
Till the face came forth like life?
So you appeared to me, neglected ones,
And enemies toom, as I went along
With my face growing clearer to you as yours
Grew clearer to me.
We were ready then to walk together
And sing in chorus and chant the dawn
Of life that is wholly life.

Cat Mommy

I don't have traditional human children.  Instead, I have cats.  The thing about cats is that they never really grow up.  Yes they become "adult" cats but they never go to college, get a job and get married.  They stay perpetual five year olds their entire lives.  And I will always be their cat mommy with all the rights and responsibilities that entails.  The hardest part of being a cat mommy is being strong when your baby is sick.  All you want to do is cry but you can't because you have to be strong for your cat baby. 

Last Saturday, I had to take my cat Cleo to the vet.  She had a hematomia in her ear.  The best way to explain what a hematomia is is to say it's like a bruise that has no place to spread.  The blood vessels in her ear burst and the blood couldn't spread like it would  in a normal bruise and instead her ear swelled.  Part of the reason that there was so much blood in her ear is because cat ears have lots of blood vessels.

On Monday I took her to the vet who lanced, drained and bandaged her ear.  After about an hour she managed to push the bandage off.  Yesterday as she was walking by I noticed her ear looked a little odd.  So, I picked her up and checked her ear to find it was even more swollen than on Monday.   

As it was the beginning of Easter weekend the office was about to close early so I rushed her to the vet.  The vet put a small tube in her ear, more medicine down her ear and wrapped her head in gauze.  She then sent me home with instructions on how to flush the ear by squirting deluded iodine through the tube, how to put more sap down her ear and how to redress her head.  In addition she has to take a liquid antibiotic to help kill the infection that has developed in her ear.  The process is uncomfortable and painful for Cleo and heart breaking for me.  She hates the bandages covering her head and continually tries to push them off. Last night she slept with me so I could keep her from messing with her bandages. Luckily, she slept most of the night.

Monday she goes back to get a more secure tube put in her ear versus the temporary one she has now but until then she has to be bandaged up.  Her ear will be permanently broken as the weight from the blood has broken the delicate ear cartilage but she should be okay.  I wish I could make her more comfortable and fix her ear.  Mostly I wish she hadn't gotten hurt in the first place.  We don't know how she hurt her ear.  The vet speculated that she may have been scratching and she stabbed it with her nail.  However, it happened the only thing I can do is be strong for her and get her through this moment in her little cat life. 

A Woman of Lean

Lately, I've been feeling a little sad.  I know I shouldn't complain about my financial situation because there are people who have far worse problems than me but there are some things that I'm already starting to miss about having money.  Don't get me wrong, I've never been rich but up until a few months ago I was able to afford more things than I can now.  I just wish I was still a woman of means rather than a woman of lean. 

About two weeks ago, I bought two pairs of skinny jeans.  I've been putting off having hemmed because I can't afford the $10 a pair.  So, last week while surfing through Pinterest I found a pin about hemming jeans and decided to give it a try.  I was pretty damn proud of myself and still am for being able to hem the jeans.  However, the next day I started thinking about the fact that in the past few months I've had to really find ways around my financial problems and I was sad.

Along with hemming my own jeans, I've started coloring my own hair, doing my own manicures & pedicures, and I don't go out to eat anymore.  It's true that, at least, I could afford to buy some new jeans but it's frustrating to know that I won't be buying any new clothes or shoes for at least, six months if not more.  I hate that I can't afford the "me time" that came along with getting my hair and/or nails done.  Mostly I miss going out with my friends.  I hate declining invitations to dinner, movies or drinks.  

I've been applying for adjunct positions in various junior colleges and I'm hoping one of them will pan out.  I'm also thinking of selling Mary Kay but the initial investment seems a little too steep at the moment.

"Trayvon Martin and the fatal history of American racism" by Kevin Powell

Last month Mr. Kevin Powell was the keynote speaker the NAACP Gala, hosted by our university chapter.  It was a privilege to meet him and hear him speak.  Recently, he wrote this piece about Trayvon Martin.  I wanted to share his thoughts and feelings.  Although, I believe people are entitled to their opinions, I also believe that I am entitled to not read those opinions.  So, I ask that if you have negative thoughts to keep them to yourself.  I am a biracial person --white & Latina-- and work with people of different races and cultures.  

"Trayvon Martin and the fatal history of American racism"

by Kevin Powell

I am Trayvon Martin.

So are you. And so is any human being who has ever felt cornered, in a dark and desolate alley, between life and death. Add the grim reality of skin color in America, and you have the disastrous spectacle of 250lb George Zimmerman, 28, pursuing 140lb Trayvon, 17, until that man-child is screaming "Help!" – and then gasping for air after a bullet from Zimmerman's 9mm handgun had punctured his chest. A majority-white, gated community became, on 26 February, the makeshift mortuary for a black boy who will not get a chance to live, to go to college with his exceptional high school grades, to make something of his life. Trayvon's fatal act: a mundane walk to the nearby convenience store to buy a can of iced tea and a bag of Skittles.

This is what racism, the American version of it, means to black boys like Trayvon, to black men like me. That we often don't stand a chance when it has been determined, oftentimes by a single individual acting as judge and jury, that we are criminals to be pursued, confronted, tackled, and, yes, subdued. To be shocked and awed into submission.

The police authorities in Sanford, Florida, where the shooting occurred, are apparently so mired in racial prejudice and denial that George Zimmerman, at this writing, still has not been arrested nearly a month after Trayvon was killed – in spite of Zimmerman being told, on 911 police dispatch audio, not to follow Trayvon Martin.

A Few Thoughts on Trayvon Martin

Like many people in the U.S., I have been following the Trayvon Martin story as it unfolds.  Many have started to make something of the fact that the shooter, Zimmerman, may be half Latino.  Being half white and half Latino I feel that I can speak on this. 

Much is being made of the color of the perpatrator's skin color when in truth it has little bearing on the issue.  Our focus should be completely on the skin color of the victim, Trayvon.  I've learned that people who hate on the bases of color can be any race.  As I understand it, a hate crime is defined as a crime committed against a victim of a different race from the attacker.  I've known white, brown and black racists.  So, it doesn't really matter what color Zimmerman is because the witnesses who heard Trayvon's pleas for help were white and Latino.  And these same people stood next to Trayvon's parents during a press conference and told their story.  They want justice just like everyone else who knows that what happened is a crime.     

New Plain of Adulthood

Last night two things happened.  First, I learned that you should never be afraid to be who you are, share your thoughts and opinions because there are like minded people who are willing to help you achieve your goals.  Second, I came to a realization about where and who I am today. 

Last night I went to my friend's birthday dinner.  The guests included several professors from the English department, which makes sense considering she is an adjunct in the department.  But for some reason I hadn't really thought about the guest list.  I was going to celebrate her birthday with her.  So, when we got there and I saw some of the other guests I felt fairly intimidated.  There were no less than three of my former professors there.  These are people that I respect and want to be but have no idea how to even do that.

So, there I am watching and listening for a while until I finally decided I needed to just dive in and once I did it was pretty awesome.  We talked about recent articles on NPR and in the New York Times online edition, students at the college, and thoughts on education.  Everyone I talked to listened and shared their thoughts with me as an equal and not as a student getting ready to write a paper for them. 

Davy Jones & The Monkees

I know it's been a week since Davy Jones passed but it's taken me that long to decide what I wanted to really say about him.  I read this thing online about a month ago that said that the music you listen to during your adolescences dictates what type of music you'll like when you're an adult. 

Well, from about twelve to fifteen I listened to nothing but The Monkees.  I knew the lyrics to all their songs, I bought every cassette (I grew-up in a time before CD's and Ipods) and watched and recorded ever rerun of their show I could.  Nothing made me happier than a Friday/Saturday night Monkees's Marathon on Nick at Nite.  It didn't matter if I'd seen the episode a thousand times before I had to watch it again.  I loved The Monkees.  I wanted to meet them.  

When I think about the music that I love the most I realize it's very folk orientated that --thanks to Nesmith-- was a big part of The Monkees's music.  Yes, they had hits like "Daydream Believer" and "I'm a Believer" but "Last Train to Clarksville" was one of their more folksy type songs.  I was especially drawn to songs sung by Micheal Nesmith or Mickey Dolenz.  However, it didn't matter who was singing or what they were singing because I just loved them.

Last week when I found out Davy Jones had died I was sad.  He was so much a part of my awkward years.  In school I was the weird, ugly duckling but when I got home and turned on the television there was Davy along with the other Monkees to distract me from reality and when the show was over I went into my room, pushed play on my tape player and they were there to sing to me while I typed up stories on my typewriter.  They were inspiration for me and I thank them for that.  I thank Davy Jones for his lovely voice, his humor and for his inspiration. 

"I Won't Give Up"

Have you heard this song? More importantly have you seen the official lyric video version of the song? I've seen both and the later pisses me off the most.

It doesn't piss me off because I hate the song or Mraz, in fact, I love him and the song is beautiful.  It's just that "I Won't Give Up" is one of those songs that makes you wonder if you've made the right decisions, done enough or given up to early on a relationship/person. 

Perhaps, the lyric video version affects me more because they words are scattered across envelopes, slips of paper and boxes.  There's this worn, travelled feeling to the video and as Mraz sings and the music plays, I feel like I'm looking back at someone's relationship journey.  It makes me think about my own relationship with someone. 

I've gone back and forth with the same person for fifteen long years, nearly half my life.  He's left and come back countless times and every time I've forgiven him and taken him back.  I know in my head that I've done everything I could do.  So, when the lyrics, "I don't want to be someone who walks away so easily/ I'm here to stay to make the difference I can make" I can't help but feel in my heart that maybe I gave up too soon.  Did I walk away too easily?  Did I give up on us?  Him?  When is it time to give up and move on?  And how does someone really do that?  I've been trying for fifteen years and if he called this moment --much to my wonderful friends' dismays--I'd forgive him.  When there are songs like this one --singing about not giving up-- how do you give up, walk away, stop loving someone?  

Jerry

Jerry is my mentor.  He's been my mentor since Fall 2010.  When I met him I was immediately intimidated.  He wasn't trying to be scary but Jerry exudes this gruff confidence.  He knows who he is, what he writes and is uncompromising.  I knew the moment I shook his hand that he wasn't the type of person to mince words or candy coat his criticism.  It's one of the things I really love about him, even if it bugs me from time to time.

I have to do some extraordinary writing to get, "I like this" from him.  I get a lot of honest and fair comment, a list of writers to read but mostly I get a lot of questions.  "What makes this important?" "Why are you writing this?" "What's the heart of the essay?"  "Everyone goes through this to one degree or another, so what makes it unique to you?"  As much as I dread the questions once he asks them, I'm always glad because it makes me think about the purpose of each essay I'm writing and pushes me to find myself.

As far as writing goes, Jerry is one of the few people who not only believes in me but actually pushes me to keep writing.  Over the winter he took the time to send me a post card from the South Pole that simply said, "Hello from the South Pole!  Get to writing!!!"  Who does that other than someone who really gives a shit about your writing and believes your good?   

A mentor's support comes from seeing the potential in you because they know what makes someone good in their field.  They see your potential even when you doubt yourself which is what Jerry does.  He's a writer.  He's been published numerous times and knows what is needed to be successful. 

Whenever I start to doubt myself, I think of Jerry and remember that he'd never push me if he didn't think I had the talent.             

Father-Daughter

A few weeks ago, I was looking through Pintrest.com ,which is nothing new there.  I've become addicted to the site.  I came across this DIY (do-it-yourself) project for a flower scarf.  I clicked the picture and it scent me to a blog, http://watchmedaddy.blogspot.com/.

I read through the directions and decided that I could probably manage to do this scarf and decided to repin.  After I repinned the project I started looking through the blog.  I came across an introduction that explained why the blog was called Watch me Daddy.  Apparently, my fellow blogger lost her father in April and this is her way of continuing to talk to him and show him what she's doing in her life.  She has special blog entries called, "Lunch with Dad."  I read two of them and it got me to thinking about my own relationship with my father.

Watch me Daddy isn't the first blog of this type that I've read.  I've noticed that many of the bloggers have fond memories of their fathers, lunches they had, activities they did together and shared conversations.  They always miss those activities and wish they had a few more moments to cherish.  When I compare their memories to my memories I can't help but wonder if there was something really wrong with my father-daughter relationship.


The Jewelry Shop


These bloggers all seem to have a deeper connection with their father than I ever had with mine.  I never had long lunches where we had deep conversations about life, love, politics, or books.  The only activity we ever engaged in was watching television and most of those memories are from when I was a child.  We were never like that Norman Rockwell painting The Jewelry Shop.  When I remember our relationship during my teenage years into my early twenties I always cringe.  We had a very bad relationship.  We screamed accusations and insults trying to win a victorless fight.  And are verbal blows were known to hit below the belt on many occasions.

It wasn't until transferred out to a university six hours away that our relationship got better.  Distance and time helped us to see each others' perspective a lot more clearly.  He was trying to protect me and I was trying to spread my wings and fly.  When I came home, after my first semester, for a visit I decided to make peace with him.  We were in his truck out on some errand when I told him that I understood why he had tried to be so strict and argumentative with me about so many things.  And I apologized for the things I'd said and done to hurt him.  He said he was sorry too.  We never talked about it after that and even though our post-war relationship was never the same, we were in a better place.  

So, when I think about our long relationship I always wonder why ours was so bad compared to other peoples.  Why didn't we have lunch, take walks, talk?  And why didn't it occur to me to start such things? Did I think we had more time to ease into that part of our relationship?  Or maybe it just wasn't us.  When I imagine having lunch with my father sharing my thoughts and feelings about love and life, I can't help but roll my eyes.  We may have liked Norman Rockwell's paintings and even wished we were more like the father-daughter subjects, but the truth is we just weren't painted that way.

Life Update

I decided to need to post something since I haven't posted anything in like, what? a month, maybe more? 

Something about me, I have OCD.  I'm not As Good As It Gets, Jack Nicholson or Monk, Tony Shalhoub but I do have OCD and when changes to my routine or unexpected stress comes along I have a really hard time adapting and moving forward.

The first of January I fell into financial trouble and then my mother had a heart attack.  Combine these things with me already dealing with the, "What are you going to do now?"  and doubting my ability to actually write sent me into a mental and emotional overload.  All I wanted to do was hide under the bed.    

The reason I mention the OCD is because for "normal" people when a series of bad things happens to them, they become sad, stress, cry and eat their weight in ice cream before they put on their big girl/boy panties/briefs and grab life by the balls.  For me, an OCD person, I become depressed, lethargic and I don't eat.  I blame and berate myself for not having foresight.  I tell myself that I'm stupid and deserve the bad "karma" I'm getting.  I take aim at my body, calling myself ugly and fat, sure that this is why everything is going wrong.  I basically obsessive compulsively over my faults, true or false. 

I have other ticks, nonstop counting in my head, drawing the same patterns over and over, organizing and reorganizing items and a whole myriad of things that I can usually control and even keep from doing when I'm having a "normal" day/week/month/etc.

But when I have a series of downs --as I have had-- everything goes to shit. Because along with the ticks and the personal self-esteem bashing comes the anxiety.  I get anxious, that I'm not going to finish counting before someone stops me and I'm upset when I'm interrupted.  I worry that I'll never come out of the black hole I know I'm in.  I can feel my skin crawling, there's a squealing in my ears and tears are ready to pour out of my eyes at the slightest provocation and I can't breath. 

I just want to sleep to avoid everything, the problems, the berating, the anxiety.  Because in sleep there's peace and I don't have to deal with trying to be a "normal" person. 

However, the past few weeks things have slowly turned around. 

The weekend of the 11, I presented at a conference and got a lot of positive feedback.  Last week, I got news that the financial stuff while not completely fixed it is better than it was.  Today I got news that I'm being put in a pool for a possible online teaching position and I've started getting emails about possible job opportunities in my field.   

I'm still broke as hell.  I don't have a job in my field and I haven't written anything expect this blog but I've stopped torturing myself, stopped counting and I can breath again.   

Lines from my Birthday **Warning lots of bad language***

So, the past month has been pretty shitastic which made me really not want to celebrate my birthday.  However, my friends had other ideas.  Friday night we went out to dinner and then to one of our local watering holes.  I had a great time and I'm glad they convinced me to forget my problems for a few hours.   

Our drink names:

The Ditchy
Secret Assassin
Lights Out
Guilty Pleasure
Oops!

Random joke:  La-a, the - is a dash, it's pronounced Ladaysha

The porn we tried to write:

Character Names
Portia Drainditch
Sir Cumalot
Lucious Bitch
Mss Lickalot
Titty Licious & Sugar Tits

The Story
Once upon a time Sir Cumalot was riding Miss Lickalot in the land of Flash.  (I forgot to keep writing for several minutes)  That was some good dick.  Some good dick.  Throws D's on it.

Random comment:  69 is always the question and the answer!

Heart attack

Monday morning I received a call from my mother's friend Linda.  I never receive calls from her friends so I knew immediately that something was wrong.  My mother had been taken to the hospital via ambulance.  She called me about an hour later to tell me that they thought she'd had a heart attack and that they were sending her to have a cardiac catheterization.

A cardiac catheterization is when they send a tube through the groin and up to the heart.  Once in the heart they check out the arteries and if any are clogged they inflate a balloon which is suppose to clear out the arteries so the heart can pump blood properly.

As soon as she told me what was going to happen I left work, packed a bag and headed to her.  I knew I wouldn't make it there before she went into surgery but I was going to try and be there when she got out.  The drive to her is about five to six hours, which was probably the longest drive in history.