| it was a dream | ||
| by Lucille Clifton | ||
in which my greater self rose up before me accusing me of my life with her extra finger whirling in a gyre of rage at what my days had come to. what, i pleaded with her, could i do, oh what could i have done? and she twisted her wild hair and sparked her wild eyes and screamed as long as i could hear her This. This. This. | ||
Friday, December 31, 2010
loving ms. clifton
a new year's eve poem
by lucille clifton
i am running into a new year
and the old years blow back
like a wind
that i catch in my hair
like strong fingers like
all my old promises and
it will be hard to let go
of what i said to myself
about myself
when i was sixteen and
twentysix and thirtysix
even thirtysix but
i am running into a new year
and i beg what i love and
i leave to forgive me.
and the old years blow back
like a wind
that i catch in my hair
like strong fingers like
all my old promises and
it will be hard to let go
of what i said to myself
about myself
when i was sixteen and
twentysix and thirtysix
even thirtysix but
i am running into a new year
and i beg what i love and
i leave to forgive me.
in the bleak midwinter
I think this old Christian hymn was written by Christina Rossetti? It's a little too Jesus Christ-y for me. I reject the creation myth that centers around the birth of a male, with only the requisite "virgin" mother as the only female character. As if women were always minor characters, supporting roles. But I love the first stanza. .. . esp. 'earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone'. Isn't that beautiful? And I love the reverence. And I love how she reminds us that there are multiple hierarchy of angels, angels being beings in the supersensible realm. There are nine hierarchies of angels. This time of year, considered 'the holy nights' by many, is a good time to remember the mystery. The core of all creation myths is the mystery of love, isn't it? So enjoy this old poem with me, skip past the male dominator aspect and behold the mystery with reverence. Why are we here? What is this business of being human about? Why? What?
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter
Long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When He comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable-place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim
Worship night and day,
A breastful of milk
And a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
Which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air,
But only His mother
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give Him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him,
Give my heart.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
feeling smug
When I was raising my kid, she and I were our only relatives in our watershed, in Minnesota. I started out single parenthood trekking dutifully to spend 'the holidays' with my family of origin so the kid would have better holidays. My dad and most of my siblings were in Chicago, along with, as Rosie got older, a few cousins for her. My mom, and another sibling or two, with another batch of cousins could be found in Ohio.
Everyone travels to spend 'the holidays' with kinfolk, right? Esp a single mom with one lonely toddler.
Gradually, I noted that virtually any time we traveled between November and March, we'd run into snow. We drove a lot. When it snows in Wisconsin, the interstate near Madison turns into a hellish vortex. It's some kind of pocket for misery, sucking in intense winds that knock you off the road and into hotels.
The last time I drove during winter months between Chicago and Minneapolis, I was with my mom, my daughter and a friend who had caught a ride to Chi-town. We had to go all the way into Madison before we found a room and it was expensive .. but, at least, it had an indoor pool. When we had no swimsuits, we went out and bought some. It always feels so great to pull off the interstate to get out of a blizzard after driving for several hours in hell. The room, even when it is a dingy crap hotel, feels cosy, toasty, homey. Whatever food you eat tastes great, even if it's just crap in the machines in the hotel laundry room, like candy bars and potato chips.
Eventually, by fiat, I announced that we would never travel for 'the holidays'. Even when we went by plane, a snowstorm somewhere would mess up travel. You don't have to be in the city with the blizzard to have your flight cancelled. There just has to be a blizzard somewhere to mess up travel. I hate being stuck in airports or airport hotels, if you are lucky.
So Rosie and I, from the time she was four or five, stayed home for Christmas. We had Cornish game hens on Xmas Eve, opened some presents early and then more on Christmas Day. On Christmas Day, we went out for Chinese food at The Great Wall restaurant and then to the movies. If Katie were speaking to me, she might tell you about the Christmas Day -- I am hanging my head in shame, this is proof that I am unworthy of her love, I admit it -- I took her to see The Prince of Tides, a noisy Barbara Streisand movie. I thought it was a romantic comedy. Barbara plays a psychiatirst who treats Nick Nolte for childhood sexual abuse, with him and his siblings. It was an inappropriate movie to take any child to see, much less on Christmas.
I should have just left when I realized how awful it was. But all the theaters at the multiplex were stuffed with people. One reason I had chosen Prince of Tides was simply because tickets were available. It's not like we could duck out and duck into another movie.
So I toughed it out. And she threw that bad judgment in my face many times.
I always wonder if she thinks of me on Christmas. And if she remembers The Prince of Tides.
Everyone travels to spend 'the holidays' with kinfolk, right? Esp a single mom with one lonely toddler.
Gradually, I noted that virtually any time we traveled between November and March, we'd run into snow. We drove a lot. When it snows in Wisconsin, the interstate near Madison turns into a hellish vortex. It's some kind of pocket for misery, sucking in intense winds that knock you off the road and into hotels.
The last time I drove during winter months between Chicago and Minneapolis, I was with my mom, my daughter and a friend who had caught a ride to Chi-town. We had to go all the way into Madison before we found a room and it was expensive .. but, at least, it had an indoor pool. When we had no swimsuits, we went out and bought some. It always feels so great to pull off the interstate to get out of a blizzard after driving for several hours in hell. The room, even when it is a dingy crap hotel, feels cosy, toasty, homey. Whatever food you eat tastes great, even if it's just crap in the machines in the hotel laundry room, like candy bars and potato chips.
Eventually, by fiat, I announced that we would never travel for 'the holidays'. Even when we went by plane, a snowstorm somewhere would mess up travel. You don't have to be in the city with the blizzard to have your flight cancelled. There just has to be a blizzard somewhere to mess up travel. I hate being stuck in airports or airport hotels, if you are lucky.
So Rosie and I, from the time she was four or five, stayed home for Christmas. We had Cornish game hens on Xmas Eve, opened some presents early and then more on Christmas Day. On Christmas Day, we went out for Chinese food at The Great Wall restaurant and then to the movies. If Katie were speaking to me, she might tell you about the Christmas Day -- I am hanging my head in shame, this is proof that I am unworthy of her love, I admit it -- I took her to see The Prince of Tides, a noisy Barbara Streisand movie. I thought it was a romantic comedy. Barbara plays a psychiatirst who treats Nick Nolte for childhood sexual abuse, with him and his siblings. It was an inappropriate movie to take any child to see, much less on Christmas.
I should have just left when I realized how awful it was. But all the theaters at the multiplex were stuffed with people. One reason I had chosen Prince of Tides was simply because tickets were available. It's not like we could duck out and duck into another movie.
So I toughed it out. And she threw that bad judgment in my face many times.
I always wonder if she thinks of me on Christmas. And if she remembers The Prince of Tides.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
wishing walls
http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-hometown-new-york-20101226,0,6289210.story
This link takes you to a story in the LATimes about a wishing wall in New York City.
I dream of wishing walls in every neighborhood. It would be pretty easy, I think, to create online wishing walls. I don't keep up on all the new wonders of the internet but I think it is easy to create collaborative online wiki spaces, open the space up to many -- even to anyone who wishes to show up. But I'd like to see wishing walls all over.
I have planned and facilitated many events for groups and organizations that have wishing walls, a space for all participants to share their dreams. I'd like to see ordinary people, neighbors who already live near one another, whose lives intersect even when folks might not be fully aware that they do, beginning to wish together out loud.
I live in downtown Berkeley. Nearby, in a downtown park, there is a peace wall. The peace wall is covered with tiles decorated by children with images and wishes for peace. I wish I could turn that peace wall into a wishing wall, and put a wishing wall on very corner of downtown Berkeley.
Maybe my wishing walls could be like old fashioned mail boxes, where you drop the mail in to be sent somewhere but instead of mail, people would find pencils and paper and they could drop their wishes into the slot. Only then everyone wouldn't see everyone else's wishes, which I guess is part of the benefit of a wall.
If people could post their wishes on the wall, where others can read them . . that is a dreamier dream.
Imagine the great wall of china, which stretches many thousands of miles I think, covered with the wishes of humans.
Now I am thinking of the wailing wall in Israel and the Vietnam War memorial in Washington D.C., which is a black slash of grief, holding the names of all who died in that war serving this country.
Let's stop grieving human loss and start wishing and dreaming for positive, hopeful dreams.
I have many positive, wishful dreams. In this instant, I am dreaming mostly for myself. I have all the love I deserve. I have emotional intimacy, good friends, the devoted love of my only child, the love of my five siblings and one good man, my man, my lover and best friend. I am so happy. I wish everyone could be as happy as I am, as beloved as I am.
I wonder how hard it would be to create a network of wishing walls all across one city the size of Berkeley. I am thinking about the artist Christos who, with his wife (whose name I have forgotten) do large installations, such as once he covered the cliffs of Dover England in cloth or once he create a ribbon of orange cloth 'gates' throughout Central Park in New York City and once he created a fence that snaked through part of the wine country in Sonoma County, California. His projects do not stay 'up' long. Many people don't realize that the art is not really the drapes on the white cliffs of Dover or the orange cloth of 'the gates' in Central Park. The real art, which is to say the real work, is the network of cooperating humans and human agencies that have to come together to make his art happen.
I think there is much insight into the commons and how it might be restored in Christos' work.http://www.christojeanneclaude.net/rf.shtml.
The above link takes you to something about Christos' work. His wife was named Jeanne Claude. Like many women mates to famous male artists, her contribution to his work was overlooked for much of her life. Only after decades of him getting all the credit did the art world routinely credit her.
Often
This link takes you to a story in the LATimes about a wishing wall in New York City.
I dream of wishing walls in every neighborhood. It would be pretty easy, I think, to create online wishing walls. I don't keep up on all the new wonders of the internet but I think it is easy to create collaborative online wiki spaces, open the space up to many -- even to anyone who wishes to show up. But I'd like to see wishing walls all over.
I have planned and facilitated many events for groups and organizations that have wishing walls, a space for all participants to share their dreams. I'd like to see ordinary people, neighbors who already live near one another, whose lives intersect even when folks might not be fully aware that they do, beginning to wish together out loud.
I live in downtown Berkeley. Nearby, in a downtown park, there is a peace wall. The peace wall is covered with tiles decorated by children with images and wishes for peace. I wish I could turn that peace wall into a wishing wall, and put a wishing wall on very corner of downtown Berkeley.
Maybe my wishing walls could be like old fashioned mail boxes, where you drop the mail in to be sent somewhere but instead of mail, people would find pencils and paper and they could drop their wishes into the slot. Only then everyone wouldn't see everyone else's wishes, which I guess is part of the benefit of a wall.
If people could post their wishes on the wall, where others can read them . . that is a dreamier dream.
Imagine the great wall of china, which stretches many thousands of miles I think, covered with the wishes of humans.
Now I am thinking of the wailing wall in Israel and the Vietnam War memorial in Washington D.C., which is a black slash of grief, holding the names of all who died in that war serving this country.
Let's stop grieving human loss and start wishing and dreaming for positive, hopeful dreams.
I have many positive, wishful dreams. In this instant, I am dreaming mostly for myself. I have all the love I deserve. I have emotional intimacy, good friends, the devoted love of my only child, the love of my five siblings and one good man, my man, my lover and best friend. I am so happy. I wish everyone could be as happy as I am, as beloved as I am.
I wonder how hard it would be to create a network of wishing walls all across one city the size of Berkeley. I am thinking about the artist Christos who, with his wife (whose name I have forgotten) do large installations, such as once he covered the cliffs of Dover England in cloth or once he create a ribbon of orange cloth 'gates' throughout Central Park in New York City and once he created a fence that snaked through part of the wine country in Sonoma County, California. His projects do not stay 'up' long. Many people don't realize that the art is not really the drapes on the white cliffs of Dover or the orange cloth of 'the gates' in Central Park. The real art, which is to say the real work, is the network of cooperating humans and human agencies that have to come together to make his art happen.
I think there is much insight into the commons and how it might be restored in Christos' work.http://www.christojeanneclaude.net/rf.shtml.
The above link takes you to something about Christos' work. His wife was named Jeanne Claude. Like many women mates to famous male artists, her contribution to his work was overlooked for much of her life. Only after decades of him getting all the credit did the art world routinely credit her.
Often
what I need
Dear Tree,
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. You are a magical, special being and I feel like I am a lucky man to have found you. Your heart is safe with me, Tree. You can trust me to love you always. You can trust that I want you to tell me what you are feeling, to trust that you can ask me for what you want from me. Whatever you want from me, if it is within my power to give it to you, I will. You can trust that I will never disengage from a dialogue with you, that if you ask for my attention, you will receive it. I love you. You can count on me. You can count on me to love you always. I love you, Tree. I am so glad that you love me. You matter to me. You are the most important person in my life.
I will never tell you that I don't have time to talk to you, Tree. Since no one is more important to me than you, I will always have time to talk to you if you tell me you need me. I love you, Tree Fitzpatrick. I love you, just the way you are.
You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. You are a magical, special being and I feel like I am a lucky man to have found you. Your heart is safe with me, Tree. You can trust me to love you always. You can trust that I want you to tell me what you are feeling, to trust that you can ask me for what you want from me. Whatever you want from me, if it is within my power to give it to you, I will. You can trust that I will never disengage from a dialogue with you, that if you ask for my attention, you will receive it. I love you. You can count on me. You can count on me to love you always. I love you, Tree. I am so glad that you love me. You matter to me. You are the most important person in my life.
I will never tell you that I don't have time to talk to you, Tree. Since no one is more important to me than you, I will always have time to talk to you if you tell me you need me. I love you, Tree Fitzpatrick. I love you, just the way you are.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
one time my dad said
One time, when I was in my early thirties, visiting my dad with my toddler daughter, a squall broke out between me and dad. I don't remember what the quarrel was about. My recollection really is more like a sudden change in weather conditions, from sunny blue skies to dark thundering clouds and a sudden, windy burst of rain.
Katie was three or four. In our little family, her and me, we didn't have many sudden squalls, had few arguments. It was just the two of us and I had made a decision, probably a wrong one (I'm still working on letting go of all the mistakes I surely made with her), that when it was just her and me, when she wanted something different than what I wanted, if the thing in question didn't really matter to me, I would yield to her preference. I actually gave that decision a lot of thought.
I have seen many parents get into many battles of will with little ones. Not all parents do this but many parents seem to think that if they are really doing their parenting 'right', their kids will obey them on autopilot. Some parents seem to think that ordering their children and having their orders obeyed unquestioningly constitutes good parenting, seem to connect the child's autopilot responses as a measure of their parenting skill. Or something. I have seen a lot of interactions between adults and their children that I never understood. I get that it is a 'good thing' to encourage children to eat unsweet breakfast cereal but I don't get why a parent might buy some crappola sweet cereal and then get into battles of wills with their kids about when they can have the sweet crap. My point probably seems meaningless to anyone who might be reading. My point probably is meaningless. I am a meaningless speck of cosmic dust. Right?
But let's pretend, what the heck, it's Christmas, let's pretend that I matter, that my thoughts matter.
I have seen many parents order their kids to do meaningless things and it has seemed to me that they order the kids just to see the kids obey. The parent seems to feel some validation in such an exchange.
Katie and I started living alone together when she was 1.5 years old. And our real lives were always just the two of us, but when we still lived with her dad, I did a lot of faking with him. In front of him, I tended to step into his idea of what a parent was. His ideas about what it was to be a parent were very similar to my family's ideas. He and I came from very similar family backgrounds: blue collar, Catholic, lots of kids, never enough money. My parents were college grads and his parents were h.s. drop outs. His family was poorer when he grew up but his folks drove their kids to get good educations and they all did. His parents weren't well educated but they were smart, esp. his mom. I give my ex mother-in-law points for being smart and for being determined to give her kids the best start in life she possibly could. And I forgive her for her mistakes because the mistakes she made in choosing which values to emphasize with her children are standard middle class mistakes. She thought that status meant more than being.
My ex mother-in-law ran a tightly controlled household and so did my mom. And my mom got that from my grandmother, who very definitely believed that a central function of being a parent was to command blind obedience. I adored my maternal grandma Joy but I remember a couple instances when I 'crossed' her, when I did something innocently childish with absolutely no conscious awareness of having crossed one of her arbitrary lines. I remember those instances because I remember the pained shock I felt when I realized that in her anger, my grandmother, fleetingly, I admit, had withdrawn her love for me. She had given me conditional love.
And my mom mothered me in that tradition. Conditional love. As long as I was blindly obedient, and, as I got older and became more physically able to help her, blindly servile to my mother, she loved me. But if I crossed her, if I dawdled on my way home after school to talk to friends instead of rushing home to take over babysitting the latest babies to give mom a break, mom would withhold her love.
I am learning so much about myself this week. Gosh, Marc, thank you for loving me conditionally and judgmentally. Thank you for downgrading me to acquaintance. I'm burned out on all the jumping I've been doing to win your love. And let's be honest. I gave up hoping to win your love a long time ago. Lately I've been settling for a cessation of meanness, defining your 'love' as times when you aren't being verbally abusive. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.
Back to what my dad said one time. Back to me and my kid.
When we still lived with Katie's dad, until she was 1.5 years old, (so not so long), I did a lot of pretending. But privately, when Katie and I were alone, I loved her as much as I wanted. He said there was something wrong with me when I talked to her in gooey love baby talk. He said I was wrong to sing to her as much as I did. He said it was wrong for me to adore her as much as I did.
And maybe I was wrong. Who knows? Who knows anything?!
But what I thought I was doing was trusting the love ray that I felt between her and me. If she wanted one thing for lunch instead of what I might have suggested, I gave her she what she wanted. What difference did such choices make? I made lots of decisions as the adult. I set limits and maintained them. But within those limits, I held a conscious intention, to the best of my ability, to be as flexible as humanly possible.
Katie was three or four. In our little family, her and me, we didn't have many sudden squalls, had few arguments. It was just the two of us and I had made a decision, probably a wrong one (I'm still working on letting go of all the mistakes I surely made with her), that when it was just her and me, when she wanted something different than what I wanted, if the thing in question didn't really matter to me, I would yield to her preference. I actually gave that decision a lot of thought.
I have seen many parents get into many battles of will with little ones. Not all parents do this but many parents seem to think that if they are really doing their parenting 'right', their kids will obey them on autopilot. Some parents seem to think that ordering their children and having their orders obeyed unquestioningly constitutes good parenting, seem to connect the child's autopilot responses as a measure of their parenting skill. Or something. I have seen a lot of interactions between adults and their children that I never understood. I get that it is a 'good thing' to encourage children to eat unsweet breakfast cereal but I don't get why a parent might buy some crappola sweet cereal and then get into battles of wills with their kids about when they can have the sweet crap. My point probably seems meaningless to anyone who might be reading. My point probably is meaningless. I am a meaningless speck of cosmic dust. Right?
But let's pretend, what the heck, it's Christmas, let's pretend that I matter, that my thoughts matter.
I have seen many parents order their kids to do meaningless things and it has seemed to me that they order the kids just to see the kids obey. The parent seems to feel some validation in such an exchange.
Katie and I started living alone together when she was 1.5 years old. And our real lives were always just the two of us, but when we still lived with her dad, I did a lot of faking with him. In front of him, I tended to step into his idea of what a parent was. His ideas about what it was to be a parent were very similar to my family's ideas. He and I came from very similar family backgrounds: blue collar, Catholic, lots of kids, never enough money. My parents were college grads and his parents were h.s. drop outs. His family was poorer when he grew up but his folks drove their kids to get good educations and they all did. His parents weren't well educated but they were smart, esp. his mom. I give my ex mother-in-law points for being smart and for being determined to give her kids the best start in life she possibly could. And I forgive her for her mistakes because the mistakes she made in choosing which values to emphasize with her children are standard middle class mistakes. She thought that status meant more than being.
My ex mother-in-law ran a tightly controlled household and so did my mom. And my mom got that from my grandmother, who very definitely believed that a central function of being a parent was to command blind obedience. I adored my maternal grandma Joy but I remember a couple instances when I 'crossed' her, when I did something innocently childish with absolutely no conscious awareness of having crossed one of her arbitrary lines. I remember those instances because I remember the pained shock I felt when I realized that in her anger, my grandmother, fleetingly, I admit, had withdrawn her love for me. She had given me conditional love.
And my mom mothered me in that tradition. Conditional love. As long as I was blindly obedient, and, as I got older and became more physically able to help her, blindly servile to my mother, she loved me. But if I crossed her, if I dawdled on my way home after school to talk to friends instead of rushing home to take over babysitting the latest babies to give mom a break, mom would withhold her love.
I am learning so much about myself this week. Gosh, Marc, thank you for loving me conditionally and judgmentally. Thank you for downgrading me to acquaintance. I'm burned out on all the jumping I've been doing to win your love. And let's be honest. I gave up hoping to win your love a long time ago. Lately I've been settling for a cessation of meanness, defining your 'love' as times when you aren't being verbally abusive. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.
Back to what my dad said one time. Back to me and my kid.
When we still lived with Katie's dad, until she was 1.5 years old, (so not so long), I did a lot of pretending. But privately, when Katie and I were alone, I loved her as much as I wanted. He said there was something wrong with me when I talked to her in gooey love baby talk. He said I was wrong to sing to her as much as I did. He said it was wrong for me to adore her as much as I did.
And maybe I was wrong. Who knows? Who knows anything?!
But what I thought I was doing was trusting the love ray that I felt between her and me. If she wanted one thing for lunch instead of what I might have suggested, I gave her she what she wanted. What difference did such choices make? I made lots of decisions as the adult. I set limits and maintained them. But within those limits, I held a conscious intention, to the best of my ability, to be as flexible as humanly possible.
Friday, December 24, 2010
I open myself fully
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I have received much love today. I've been thinking about a line from Dr. Seuss' Grinch Stole Christmas, how, near the end, it says 'the grinch's heart grew two sizes that day'. I was not a grinch about Christmas, have never begrudged it of others. I have begrudged myself Christmas.
A few days ago, someone I have believed was a friend who loved me a lot told me that he did not want to continue to consider me a friend. He actually said that he was downgrading me to acquaintance.
That really happened. I am not making it up.
I deserve to give and receive love. I am love. I am wonderful.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I open myself fully to give and receive love.
I have received much love today. I've been thinking about a line from Dr. Seuss' Grinch Stole Christmas, how, near the end, it says 'the grinch's heart grew two sizes that day'. I was not a grinch about Christmas, have never begrudged it of others. I have begrudged myself Christmas.
A few days ago, someone I have believed was a friend who loved me a lot told me that he did not want to continue to consider me a friend. He actually said that he was downgrading me to acquaintance.
That really happened. I am not making it up.
I deserve to give and receive love. I am love. I am wonderful.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
do the right thing
do you know the Shaker hymn, tis a gift to be simple? Here are the lyrics:
Like any art/poem, it has many possible meanings. It is said that the coming round right is about dancing but I don't think so. I think the song is much simpler: it is about living life simply and in harmony with our inner knowing. If we do our best to make the right choice for ourselves in each moment -- and trust that everyone else is also doing their best to make their right choices, that we ALL will come round right, to the place just right, in the valley of love and delight (heaven on earth).
If you do what is right for you, always, it will always be the right choice for others.
-
- 'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
- 'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,
- And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
- 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
- When true simplicity is gain'd,
- To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,
- To turn, turn will be our delight,
- Till by turning, turning we come round right.
- 'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free,
Like any art/poem, it has many possible meanings. It is said that the coming round right is about dancing but I don't think so. I think the song is much simpler: it is about living life simply and in harmony with our inner knowing. If we do our best to make the right choice for ourselves in each moment -- and trust that everyone else is also doing their best to make their right choices, that we ALL will come round right, to the place just right, in the valley of love and delight (heaven on earth).
If you do what is right for you, always, it will always be the right choice for others.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
had I not been awake: seamus heaney
Had I not been awake by Seamus Heaney, from his new book Human Chain. Seamus has won a Nobel Prize for his poetry. An Irishman.
HAD I NOT BEEN AWAKE I WOULD HAVE MISSED IT,
A WIND THAT ROSE AND WHIRLED UNTIL THE ROOF
PATTERED WITH QUICK LEAVES OFF THE SYCAMORE
AND GOT ME UP, THE WHOLE OF ME A-PATTER,
ALIVE AND TICKING LIKE AN ELECTRIC FENCE:
HAD I NOT BEEN AWAKE I WOULD HAVE MISSED IT,
IT CAME AND WENT SO UNEXPECTEDLY
AND ALMOST IT SEEMED DANGEROUSLY,
RETURNING LIKE AN ANIMAL TO THE HOUSE,
A COURIER BLAST THAT THERE AND THEN
LASPED ORDINARY. BUT NOT EVER
AFTER. AND NOT NOW.
HAD I NOT BEEN AWAKE I WOULD HAVE MISSED IT,
A WIND THAT ROSE AND WHIRLED UNTIL THE ROOF
PATTERED WITH QUICK LEAVES OFF THE SYCAMORE
AND GOT ME UP, THE WHOLE OF ME A-PATTER,
ALIVE AND TICKING LIKE AN ELECTRIC FENCE:
HAD I NOT BEEN AWAKE I WOULD HAVE MISSED IT,
IT CAME AND WENT SO UNEXPECTEDLY
AND ALMOST IT SEEMED DANGEROUSLY,
RETURNING LIKE AN ANIMAL TO THE HOUSE,
A COURIER BLAST THAT THERE AND THEN
LASPED ORDINARY. BUT NOT EVER
AFTER. AND NOT NOW.
time for a christmas poem
Various Portents by Alice Oswald
Various stars. Various kings.
Various sunsets, signs, cursory insights.
Many minute attentions, many knowledgeable watchers,
Much cold, much overbearing darkness.
Various long midwinter Glooms.
Various Solitary and Terrible stars.
Many Frosty Nights, many previously Unseen Sky-flowers.
Many people setting out (some of them kings) all clutching at stars.
More than one North star, more than one South star.
Several billion elliptical galaxies, bubble nebulae, binary systems.
Various dust lanes, various routes through varying thickness of Dark,
Many tunnels into deep space, minds going back and forth.
Many visions, many digitally enhanced heavens,
All kinds of glistenings being gathered into telescopes:
Fireworks, gasworks, white-streaked works of Dusk,
Works of wonder and or water, snowflakes, stars of frost …
Various dazed astronomers dilating their eyes,
Various astronauts setting out into laughterless earthlessness,
Various 5,000-year-old moon maps,
Various blindmen feeling across the heavens in Braille.
Various gods making beautiful works in bronze,
Brooches, crowns, triangles, cups and chains,
Various crucifixes, all sorts of nightsky necklaces.
Many Wise Men remarking the irregular weather.
Many exile energies, many low-voiced followers,
Watchers of whisps of various glowing spindles,
Soothsayers, hunters in the High Country of the Zodiac,
Seafarers tossing, tied to a star…
Various people coming home (some of them kings). Various headlights.
Two or three children standing or sitting on the low wall.
Various winds, the Sea Wind, the sound-laden Winds of Evening
Blowing the stars towards them, bringing snow.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Christmas
One of the most peaceful Christmases I have ever had was the first Christmas after I separated from my ex-husband. Christmas 1983. He got the baby for Christmas. I had not lived in Omaha long before I had my baby. I didn't really know anyone on my own, my whole social life was through him. That first separated Christmas, I didn't know anyone but women from the two battered women support groups that I went to. That's not exactly a party crowd, as you might imagine.
I had become friends with a few neighbors during the year, since the separation.
Christmas is not, at least in my experience, a very social holiday. Folks socialize with relatives on the actual holiday. Yes, there are lots of holiday parties but on the holy day itself, not much socializing. And now, having said that, of course I can recall some lovely Christmas dinners with friends. I've had some mighty fine, sacred holiday dinners with families of friends.
But not many.
Anyway, Christmas 1983. Katie left on Christmas Eve for her grandmother's. Her father lived with his parents during our divorce. His family goes way gaga over Christmas. My family never really did. We had presents, Christmas dinner, played Christmas music, ate cookies and drank egg nog but it wasn't all precious or holy. It was mostly about presents. And then movies on Christmas Day.
When my kid we little, we had fancy dinner on Christmas Eve and then we'd go out and listen to Christmas music as a big church, like a cathedral, checking out before the mass began. Or maybe we'd drive around and look at Xmas decorations. I guess folks still do these things, guess there are still emotionally, supposedly reverent holiday services at churches. Alleluia choirs, food drives, caroling. That all still happens, I supposed.
I'm rambling. I feel dissociated from the human race most of the time but esp. this time of year. I'm down with the idea of ritual and celebration, esp. community ritual. I think ritual and holiday matters a whole lot to human culture. It is how we align ourselves to one another.
I was just thinking the other day about how, during the Vietnam War, and, for all I know, other wars, there would be a Christmas ceasefire. I like that but I also ask: huh? What's the point of a ceasefire on Christmas? in the middle east, do they call ceasefires on Muslim holy days? In India, if there was a war, would there be a ceasefire on the major Hindu holidays? And what about Buddhists? Do they have major holidays that merit ceasefires in wartime? Why not, um, cease the war.
Humans. Go figure.
Anyway. Katie left on Christmas Eve. I kept a fire going in the fireplace for hours. I fixed good food, but I don't remember what food. I probably drank some wine, although even back then I was never much of a drinker.
I had become friends with a few neighbors during the year, since the separation.
Christmas is not, at least in my experience, a very social holiday. Folks socialize with relatives on the actual holiday. Yes, there are lots of holiday parties but on the holy day itself, not much socializing. And now, having said that, of course I can recall some lovely Christmas dinners with friends. I've had some mighty fine, sacred holiday dinners with families of friends.
But not many.
Anyway, Christmas 1983. Katie left on Christmas Eve for her grandmother's. Her father lived with his parents during our divorce. His family goes way gaga over Christmas. My family never really did. We had presents, Christmas dinner, played Christmas music, ate cookies and drank egg nog but it wasn't all precious or holy. It was mostly about presents. And then movies on Christmas Day.
When my kid we little, we had fancy dinner on Christmas Eve and then we'd go out and listen to Christmas music as a big church, like a cathedral, checking out before the mass began. Or maybe we'd drive around and look at Xmas decorations. I guess folks still do these things, guess there are still emotionally, supposedly reverent holiday services at churches. Alleluia choirs, food drives, caroling. That all still happens, I supposed.
I'm rambling. I feel dissociated from the human race most of the time but esp. this time of year. I'm down with the idea of ritual and celebration, esp. community ritual. I think ritual and holiday matters a whole lot to human culture. It is how we align ourselves to one another.
I was just thinking the other day about how, during the Vietnam War, and, for all I know, other wars, there would be a Christmas ceasefire. I like that but I also ask: huh? What's the point of a ceasefire on Christmas? in the middle east, do they call ceasefires on Muslim holy days? In India, if there was a war, would there be a ceasefire on the major Hindu holidays? And what about Buddhists? Do they have major holidays that merit ceasefires in wartime? Why not, um, cease the war.
Humans. Go figure.
Anyway. Katie left on Christmas Eve. I kept a fire going in the fireplace for hours. I fixed good food, but I don't remember what food. I probably drank some wine, although even back then I was never much of a drinker.
Thursday, December 09, 2010
tea is love
The dream lives on. Once my teenager stayed home from school when she was feeling sick. The next day, her brainiac boy pals said "Why did you stay home? You could feel lousy here and not miss class and there is food and friends. Staying home alone is so boring."
She said "My mom brings me cups of tea in bed. That's why I stay home when I am sick."
I was a proud mother.
And felt a little sad for the smart kid who said it. He went to Duke. That kid, smart, very short and not very popular with the girls -- he was a math geek friend of Katie's and if interested in her, he never let on -- as soon as he got to Duke he got together with a tall, gorgeous girl who had been homecoming queen at her high school. Happy ending for geek boy. I was happy for him then. But I still feel a little sad to recall that he said when he was sick, even in early grade school, he would spend the day home alone with his working parents calling to check on him. No tea and dry toast on a tray in bed. No fluffing of pillows, fresh sheets to freshen the soul. Fluff, fluff. Fresh out of the dryer sheets are such a balm, yes?
Anyway.
No one has ever brought me a cup of tea when I've been sick. Not when I was a kid, with a stay at home mom who hated me if I stayed home from school. She would say 'don't expect me to do anything if you stay home'. I did not have such big dreams in those days, no dream of tea in bed. My mom never brought me anything in bed, never ever. She never 'took care of me' when I was sick. She only let me stay home from school if I was actively vomiting at breakfast time. Barfing the night before was not enough for her stay-at-home standard.
I thought my kid might have done it for me sometime as she grew up but she didn't. She would never do things for me. Even when she wanted something.
I've lived alone, without another adult in the house since I was 30. Who's ever gonna bring me a cup of tea? When I am sick and have an upset tummy and I don't really want anything. The tea is gesture. The tea would be love.
She said "My mom brings me cups of tea in bed. That's why I stay home when I am sick."
I was a proud mother.
And felt a little sad for the smart kid who said it. He went to Duke. That kid, smart, very short and not very popular with the girls -- he was a math geek friend of Katie's and if interested in her, he never let on -- as soon as he got to Duke he got together with a tall, gorgeous girl who had been homecoming queen at her high school. Happy ending for geek boy. I was happy for him then. But I still feel a little sad to recall that he said when he was sick, even in early grade school, he would spend the day home alone with his working parents calling to check on him. No tea and dry toast on a tray in bed. No fluffing of pillows, fresh sheets to freshen the soul. Fluff, fluff. Fresh out of the dryer sheets are such a balm, yes?
Anyway.
No one has ever brought me a cup of tea when I've been sick. Not when I was a kid, with a stay at home mom who hated me if I stayed home from school. She would say 'don't expect me to do anything if you stay home'. I did not have such big dreams in those days, no dream of tea in bed. My mom never brought me anything in bed, never ever. She never 'took care of me' when I was sick. She only let me stay home from school if I was actively vomiting at breakfast time. Barfing the night before was not enough for her stay-at-home standard.
I thought my kid might have done it for me sometime as she grew up but she didn't. She would never do things for me. Even when she wanted something.
I've lived alone, without another adult in the house since I was 30. Who's ever gonna bring me a cup of tea? When I am sick and have an upset tummy and I don't really want anything. The tea is gesture. The tea would be love.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Invisible Work
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Friday, December 03, 2010
Tooth #12: Hero-dontics
My dental student told me I had to have tooth #12 removed, replaced with an implant. I resisted the new-fangled implant, because she also said she was not completely certain she could place an implant in the spot after extracting the tooth. The uncertainty caused me to hesitate. I hesitated on the right day. While a dental faculty person reviewed Erin's work on a simple cavity repair, I asked him to give me his opinion on tooth #12. Before he actually looked, he said "I think implants should be an absolute last resort. Always save a tooth if you can."
Then he looked, assured me tooth #12 could be saved and the saving (saviour?) was on. Hero-dontics it would be.
So far, tooth #12 has been opened, injections of pain killer done, drilling, clicking and clacking, eight times. She opened it a couple times to develop the plan and to have the right experts look. Every decision in the dental school has to be reviewed by faculty with expertise in the particular area. Just because you are dental faculty at a dental school, you are not the expert on the gums, the crown, the roots (is a root canal needed? only a root canal expert can, officially, opine although they all knew the answer: yes, if you are going to do a crown lengthening, then a crown, you have to do a prophylactic root canal. I knew this going in and I did not go to dental school. But Erin had to clear the decision with a half dozen non-experts first. Each expert, in his or her turn, would say 'I say yes, call the next person'. I guess it is a system of checks and balances. All the weighing of opinion mentors the student.
I needed a prophylactic root canal: three appointments. I, or tooth #12, needed a post. The post took three appointments, and it would have taken four but a friend in dental school with Erin has never done a post. When her patient stood her up the day of my core post prep work, she helped, which speeded things up. Without her help, the post would have needed four appointments. Two long prep appointments, then send the work to a lab to cast the gold post, then an appointment today to put the post in the tooth. The crown, when it is finally placed on what is left of tooth #12, goes on the lab-cast gold crown.
Some dental faculty said that only in a dental school would they insist on a crown lengthening. One, in this instance, is not absolutely, positively necessary. Dental schools are conservative, said my 'always-save-the-tooth-if-you-can' guy, and do more crown lengthenings than are really necessary. But Erin insists we need one. If the crown will be bonded th the gold post now in my tooth, why do I need more crown? To make the crown more stable.
Sometimes I think about what life was like for humans in the olden days, vis-a-vis dentistry. We know, don't we, that George Washington had wooden false teeth, which suggests he had all his teeth pulled, which suggests most of his teeth had rotted.
What did people do in the olden days? Laura Ingalls Wilder never talked about dentists on the prairie. Her family struggled for shelter, living in a mud cave one winter, then living in log cabins, which were no more than one tiny room with a stove and a whole family. All the humans living in log cabins must have had toothaches, cavities, dental pains and infections. And no porcelain crowns or gold posts.
I have read humorous 'memories' of barbers pulling aching teeth. Not a joke, really. What did folks do? Before flouridated water and cavity-preventing daily brushing of teeth? Now when I think of olden days life, folks milling about town with horses and wagons and no electricity, I am wondering about rotting teeth.
Jane Austen never mentions tooth care, does she? Did Fitzgerald or Hemingway?
Now, most of my molars have had root canals and then crowns. So far, the teeth in the front, non-molars, have had very little in the way of decay. I keep thinking there can't be many more expensive things going wrong with my teeth: it's all root canaled and crowned over.
When and why did dental care get separated from the health care debate? How can humans be healthy without good dental care? It is so expensive. I am spending about two grand on tooth #12, at dental school prices, which are supposed to be forty percent below a private dental office. Does that mean, on average, I would spend two grand on a root canal, then two grand on a crown? Approximately?
How does someone earning sixty grand a year, with a kid, a housing payment, a car payment, a car insurance payment and a health insurance payment eat and pay two grand (or four grand in a private dental office) for one tooth?
Stop the world. Let me off. I am not suicidal but I would like to stop living this life. There is too much inequity in it, not enough love and there sure as shit isn't enough love for me. I hate my life. I hate tooth #12. I hate that I didn't just let them pull it. Pulled, it would have left a very visible hole in my smile and I didn't want to go around with that hole in my smile but, then, when I reflect, who the fuck cares? Nobody cares about my smile.
Then he looked, assured me tooth #12 could be saved and the saving (saviour?) was on. Hero-dontics it would be.
So far, tooth #12 has been opened, injections of pain killer done, drilling, clicking and clacking, eight times. She opened it a couple times to develop the plan and to have the right experts look. Every decision in the dental school has to be reviewed by faculty with expertise in the particular area. Just because you are dental faculty at a dental school, you are not the expert on the gums, the crown, the roots (is a root canal needed? only a root canal expert can, officially, opine although they all knew the answer: yes, if you are going to do a crown lengthening, then a crown, you have to do a prophylactic root canal. I knew this going in and I did not go to dental school. But Erin had to clear the decision with a half dozen non-experts first. Each expert, in his or her turn, would say 'I say yes, call the next person'. I guess it is a system of checks and balances. All the weighing of opinion mentors the student.
I needed a prophylactic root canal: three appointments. I, or tooth #12, needed a post. The post took three appointments, and it would have taken four but a friend in dental school with Erin has never done a post. When her patient stood her up the day of my core post prep work, she helped, which speeded things up. Without her help, the post would have needed four appointments. Two long prep appointments, then send the work to a lab to cast the gold post, then an appointment today to put the post in the tooth. The crown, when it is finally placed on what is left of tooth #12, goes on the lab-cast gold crown.
Some dental faculty said that only in a dental school would they insist on a crown lengthening. One, in this instance, is not absolutely, positively necessary. Dental schools are conservative, said my 'always-save-the-tooth-if-you-can' guy, and do more crown lengthenings than are really necessary. But Erin insists we need one. If the crown will be bonded th the gold post now in my tooth, why do I need more crown? To make the crown more stable.
Sometimes I think about what life was like for humans in the olden days, vis-a-vis dentistry. We know, don't we, that George Washington had wooden false teeth, which suggests he had all his teeth pulled, which suggests most of his teeth had rotted.
What did people do in the olden days? Laura Ingalls Wilder never talked about dentists on the prairie. Her family struggled for shelter, living in a mud cave one winter, then living in log cabins, which were no more than one tiny room with a stove and a whole family. All the humans living in log cabins must have had toothaches, cavities, dental pains and infections. And no porcelain crowns or gold posts.
I have read humorous 'memories' of barbers pulling aching teeth. Not a joke, really. What did folks do? Before flouridated water and cavity-preventing daily brushing of teeth? Now when I think of olden days life, folks milling about town with horses and wagons and no electricity, I am wondering about rotting teeth.
Jane Austen never mentions tooth care, does she? Did Fitzgerald or Hemingway?
Now, most of my molars have had root canals and then crowns. So far, the teeth in the front, non-molars, have had very little in the way of decay. I keep thinking there can't be many more expensive things going wrong with my teeth: it's all root canaled and crowned over.
When and why did dental care get separated from the health care debate? How can humans be healthy without good dental care? It is so expensive. I am spending about two grand on tooth #12, at dental school prices, which are supposed to be forty percent below a private dental office. Does that mean, on average, I would spend two grand on a root canal, then two grand on a crown? Approximately?
How does someone earning sixty grand a year, with a kid, a housing payment, a car payment, a car insurance payment and a health insurance payment eat and pay two grand (or four grand in a private dental office) for one tooth?
Stop the world. Let me off. I am not suicidal but I would like to stop living this life. There is too much inequity in it, not enough love and there sure as shit isn't enough love for me. I hate my life. I hate tooth #12. I hate that I didn't just let them pull it. Pulled, it would have left a very visible hole in my smile and I didn't want to go around with that hole in my smile but, then, when I reflect, who the fuck cares? Nobody cares about my smile.
television and movies
I had had a couple chunks of my life in which I whiled away a lot of my one precious life watching mindless tv. Reruns. Leave it to Beaver, Seinfeld, Cheers. What a waste of life force.
When I was a kid, with no cable, the 'only' tv was broadcast tv. There were the three networks, a local station and a public television station that had very little on it when I was very young.
The local station filled a lot of its airtime broadcasting old movies. They played old movies in afternoons and after the 10 p.m. local news broadcast. Also, lots of dead air time on Saturdays and Sundays was filled with old movies when there was no sports. They used to broadcast bowling, tennis, golf. I imagine such things are still shown. I never watched them That stuff was just not old movies.
I loved watching movies.
At some point, maybe age nine or so? I would stay awake until I was sure the whole household was sleep and sneak into the living room and watch the late movies. I never got caught. I loved all old movies, even awful ones. I hated gangster movies but loved them. I hated cowboy movies but loved them. I hated criminal movies but loved them. I loved everything I had to watch on the sneak.
I don't think anyone in the family ever knew about this. If my brothers had wised up to me, they would have ratted me out. They couldn't do it because their bedroom was upstairs and they could not quietly come down the stairs. I know because they tried. Their trying gave me the idea.
I miss those movies. I imagine I have romanticized the experience but in my memory, it was wonderful.
I don't have cable. I have never had cable. Sometimes I have lived briefly with folks who had it and so I know there are movie channels and lots of movies get broadcast but it's not the same Nothing stays the same. And what should? I don't know what should stay the same but one of my favoritest movie watching experiences was watching old movies in black and white on my parents old black and white tv set, in the dark, illicitly, the house full of sleeping siblings and parents, me an outlaw.
Good times.
The programmers at WGN, Chicago's local broadcast station, must have acted as some kind of curator. They didn't show musicals like Oklahoma at 10:30 p.m. They showed movies like The Children's Hour, the one where Shirley MacLaine falls apart when a wicked girl in her boarding school accuses her of lesbianism. They showed James Cagney being evil, Madge throwing away her future in Picnic for the sizzling of William Holden. Life was dark, threatening, foreboding in the reruns at 10:30 p.m.
When I was a kid, with no cable, the 'only' tv was broadcast tv. There were the three networks, a local station and a public television station that had very little on it when I was very young.
The local station filled a lot of its airtime broadcasting old movies. They played old movies in afternoons and after the 10 p.m. local news broadcast. Also, lots of dead air time on Saturdays and Sundays was filled with old movies when there was no sports. They used to broadcast bowling, tennis, golf. I imagine such things are still shown. I never watched them That stuff was just not old movies.
I loved watching movies.
At some point, maybe age nine or so? I would stay awake until I was sure the whole household was sleep and sneak into the living room and watch the late movies. I never got caught. I loved all old movies, even awful ones. I hated gangster movies but loved them. I hated cowboy movies but loved them. I hated criminal movies but loved them. I loved everything I had to watch on the sneak.
I don't think anyone in the family ever knew about this. If my brothers had wised up to me, they would have ratted me out. They couldn't do it because their bedroom was upstairs and they could not quietly come down the stairs. I know because they tried. Their trying gave me the idea.
I miss those movies. I imagine I have romanticized the experience but in my memory, it was wonderful.
I don't have cable. I have never had cable. Sometimes I have lived briefly with folks who had it and so I know there are movie channels and lots of movies get broadcast but it's not the same Nothing stays the same. And what should? I don't know what should stay the same but one of my favoritest movie watching experiences was watching old movies in black and white on my parents old black and white tv set, in the dark, illicitly, the house full of sleeping siblings and parents, me an outlaw.
Good times.
The programmers at WGN, Chicago's local broadcast station, must have acted as some kind of curator. They didn't show musicals like Oklahoma at 10:30 p.m. They showed movies like The Children's Hour, the one where Shirley MacLaine falls apart when a wicked girl in her boarding school accuses her of lesbianism. They showed James Cagney being evil, Madge throwing away her future in Picnic for the sizzling of William Holden. Life was dark, threatening, foreboding in the reruns at 10:30 p.m.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
doing the dishes
I wonder if any guy has ever liked me. I think the only guys who have ever acted like my friends just put up with me because I liked them but none of them ever liked me.
NoboI wish I did dishes as soon as I was done with them. If I have a cup of coffee, I 'should' wash the cup and the coffeepot immediately after I'm done. Right?
NoboI wish I did dishes as soon as I was done with them. If I have a cup of coffee, I 'should' wash the cup and the coffeepot immediately after I'm done. Right?
Ah, no.
That seems so inefficient to me. And what about wasting water? Running water to clean one cup?
I got my first apartment when I started law school. Until then, I lived in dorms or with my clan. I owned four plates, four bowls, a set of flatware for 8 that my dad bought at Maxwell Street (a flea market in Chicago that is now a very pale version of the very cool thing it used to be), one serrated knife that I got at a grocery store when I spent $30 one week in 1975. I still have that knife, too. For many years, it was my only sharp knife. I still use the flatware my dad bought that year. A friend from college, Mike N. came to visit me once. I had visited another college friend in Colorado and Mike impulsively decided to ride back to the Midwest with me, see a bunch of old friends. A free ride, why not?
On the road we talked about everything and nothing. Mike is gay but this was 1977, he was not yet out to me and I was a little clueless about homosexuality. On that trip, I had stayed with Mike in Denver a few days. He had a female housemate I never met, she was out of town when I was there. This female friend, Mike told me, was traveling with a rich businessman who did not want to date her but he paid her to accompany him on some business trips posing as his girlfriend. He paid her living expenses, paid her rent and gave her living expenses. Basically, this female friend, Mike said, was a paid companion to a rich businessman who did not have sex with her. And Mike was living in the house, freeloading off the female friend's freeloading. It was her job, Mike explained to me. And, Mike also carefully explained, since Mike and this woman did not have a a sexual relationship, the rich business guy didn't care if Mike was around. In fact, Mike said, they were all friends. But Mike did not have sex with the female, the female did not have sex with the rich businessman.
I was so naive. I don't remember asking if that young woman had sex with anyone or if Mike had sex with anyone. What I mostly remember is Mike kept asking me, over and over, across Nebraska, then Iowa, then Minnesota. .. what reason would that rich business guy have to hire a female to be his date if they weren't having sex? Why didn't the guy just get a girlfriend? or hire a professional escort?
Mike must have been lying about something to me. Or, if not lying, dong something way weird.
I think he was trying to see how clueless I was about homosexuality. I think I was supposed to guess that the rich business guy was gay, using Mike's female housemate as a beard. Maybe I did make that guess.
Looking back, I think Mike was struggling to come out to me. If I had said the right thing when he kept pounding me about the weirdness of his female housemate's relationship .. . . Mike also said that this rich guy was thinking of moving to CA, and financing the female and Mike to move there. And not long after, Mike did move to CA. Then he became a Unitarian minister and, many years later, he came out to me in a letter. An old fashioned letter, the kind with ink and paper, longhand.
He wrote to tell me he had graduated from ministerial school, ordained and had accepted a job in Kansas, which is where his parents lived. Mike had not grown up in Kansas, but his folks had and they had returned to Kansas while Mike was in college, which meant Mike ahd to leave our college for a cheaper state school in Kansas.
I must have seemed to blindly naive to Mike. He and I got drunk together a few times when we were freshmen. Once, drunk, he asked me why I never came onto him for sex as I had with a friend of his. I had a crush on his friend and roommate Dan. I had no idea, when Mike asked me, why I felt like a buddy with him and felt sexually attracted to Dan, who was totally not interested in me. I guess one night, when very drunk, I had made a fool of myself with Dan, asking him to have sex with me, noisily and shamelessly. Guys do that all the time and they aren't fools. Whatever.
Years later, when he wrote to tell me he was not a full fledged Unitarian minister, and was leaving CA to take a job with a church in Kansas -- gosh, who would go to Kansas? and what gay educated minister would do so of his own free will? someone with a good family? -- Mike wrote about moving to kansas and then he wrote that his heart was breaking because his dear friend, his best friend in the whole world that he had been living with for the few years of ministerial school, Josie, would not leave CA to be with him. Like I said, he wrote in longhand. Then he crossed out Josie and wrote Jose, with the accent on the 'e'. I don't know how to write the accents to make Spanish look right.
That's how Mike came out to me. That was the last time I heard from him. I google him once in awhile. I'd love to be in touch, see if he is happy. I really loved him. I still do.
I wish I had asked him why he was never attracted to sex with me.
He asked me, very drunk, "What would you say if I told you I am very horny and want to have sex with you?' and I said "I think I would tell you to walk it off." And he was hurt. But I was a virgin, we were so not in love. We were best friends. He was a best friend. He was my first guy best friend.
Mike had curly blonde hair, a screechy voice, a shrill laugh. and he was dramatic. He talked me into doing some crazy things. Nothing arrest-worthy.
Once, Mike, Kenny T, a black guy and I carried all the desk-chairs in the unlocked classrooms in main hall in the stairs blocking the inside of the entrances to Main Hall. We exited through the basement. It took us all night. It was a ton of work. Classes had to be cancelled because no one could get in, except through the basement fire exit. And all the furniture was stacked in the stairwells blocking all the main level doors. The desks were the kind with half-desktops attached, so you could put a notebook on the desktop and write. The desks were old, metal framed, lasted a lifetime. They weighed a ton. It took janitorial staff a whole day to put them all back. The word was that the authorities thought quite a lot of students had been involved in the stunt. There was much debate about whether it was vandalism. Nothing was damaged. We thought it was a classic college prank. I don't remember why Mike wanted us to do it. I went along because it was fun, imagining professors coming to class and being unable to enter. We didn't think it through. It didn't take all that long to drag all those chairs down and we thought the janitors were being lazy cause it took so long to help.
We never told anyone it was us because it was never made clear if the activity was considered a crime.
Why did we do it? It doesn't sound like fun, does it? It wasn't that much fun doing it but it was fun seeing college administrators and professors trying to understand it. We never wrote a note to explain our behavior. We thought it was self-evident: old fashioned college prank, but it seemed to befuddle many.
Maybe -- and this might be manufactured -- maybe Mike or Kenny had a big test that day.
And now I am wondering if maybe Mike and Kenny were gay.
I also loved Kenny.
I'm lonely tonight, longing for old friends. Do people who were my friends for two years in the early seventies count as friends tonight?
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
hum diddy do dum dum
I have a friend who invented a gender neutral pronoun: hum. A combo of him and her? she and he? Instead of saying 'she does not drink green tea', someone could make a gender-neutral statement by saing 'Hum does not drink green tea'. Does this work? I like hum but I am not sure if it fits for him, her, she and he. And what about 'his and hers'. Could I write hum's? for the possessive pronounces his and hers?
Hum. What do you think.
Hum. What do you think.
