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    • Apr

    15

    Reports from the Home Front

    Filed Under being creative, lil things, love, new things, people, plans, pregnancy | 11 Comments

    Stuff #1: Well, not only did he not know who Cyndi Lauper was, or recognize the blind, black man with braids as Stevie Wonder, but today I discovered that my husband doesn’t know who Sean Penn, W.E.B. Dubois, or Langston Hughes are. Or Bette Davis. 

    But in all truthfulness, I’d never heard of Richard Feynman, Alan Turing, Gauss, Heisenberg, Von Neumann or the Bernoullis before I met him… so we both have our weak areas. His is popular culture and Black History; mine is physics, mathematics, and computer science. You can decide which is worse. 

    In any case, we are learning from each other. Hopefully, our child(ren) will learn from us both. 

    ***

    Stuff #2: I’m learning to swim! After 3 lessons, and 3 additional sessions (on my own), I can “kick” and “fin” on both my stomach and my back, without any assistance. So if I fall into a small body of water I shouldn’t drown.  Although this has never been a real danger for me, knowing this feels really great.  I love going to the pool. I finally got over my swimsuit fears (well, mostly; my suit is a short skirt and midriff-concealing top), and don’t care what people think of my body. So I guess that’s modesty without the self-consciousness, which is all I ask.

    Yesterday, the midwife told me it was okay to get in the hot tub so long as I didn’t let myself cook; that made my DAY. I love a jetted hot tub. Learning to swim has been an empowering experience; every day I see progress, and become more bold. Plus, I’m doing my part to defy the stereotype that black people can’t swim. (Click here for an interesting article on that annoyingly persistent myth - most of my family believes it, and they all swim!)

    ***

    Stuff #3: Picked up Murakami’s Elephant Stories (at reader Hotei’s suggestion), as well as several Saramago novels I’ve not yet read, including his latest, Seeing. I’ve decided to write a few short children’s books for my own kid(s) based on people in my and Michael’s families. Getting the illustrations done will be the biggest challenge, but my brother-in-law is an artist, and one of my brothers is very good, too. I’m teaching myself to draw,  but it will be a while before I can do anything substantial.

    I learned more about my predecessors … my granddad (an aspiring writer, who wrote numerous novels that were never published) wrote a letter to W.E.B. Dubois, who wrote back to him. The letters are published in a book of Dubois’ correspondence. This granddad’s mom, Rebecca, was a labor organizer in Panama, and met Paul Robeson (another person Michael’s never heard of). And her mom, Mary Jane - the Jamaican woman who married the Scotsman - wasn’t of African descent, as I’d assumed; she was Arawak. Rebecca was a pretty incredible woman. Discovering things about my recent ancestors has been such a gift. I feel more grounded, richer … as though I have something to give to my children apart from myself.

    I also learned that Michael’s paternal ancestors from Spain were Sephardic (Jews). When I told him this, his response was the typical wisecracking: “So there’s still a chance I’ll be rich!” Oh lord. He doesn’t care a whit about ancestry or family history. In some things, we couldn’t be more different.

    So many stories …. If you’re looking for stories, start at home.

     

    Popularity: 55% [?]

    Apr

    10

    The Family I’ve Always Had

    Filed Under being creative, from the heart, happiness, life changes, love, people, spiritual practice | Leave a Comment

    Nanny as a Young TeenAfter my grandmother was pulled over by the police for driving “one mile an hour” down a hill after dark, she decided to stop driving. The rest of our little family agreed this was for the best. Over the last two years, Nanny’s health had sharply declined, and she was becoming less independent.

    During a family meeting of my parents, my oldest brother, his wife, me, and my husband, we all agreed that Nanny was very probably lonely, and needed help managing her health, nutritional intake, and finances. It also concerned us that her short term memory was less reliable; her paranoid statements were becoming more alarming than amusing; and she seemed depressed and easily agitated. 

    In my family, we tend to always look at two things first as the source of any problems: physical health and personal relationships. Nanny was sitting at home most of the day, eating frozen food, and not being nearly as social as she used to. Not to mention, my brother and I weren’t spending much time with her.

    My brother and his wife - who have four kids - volunteered to have Nanny move in with them. They both work and the kids are all in school, so Nanny would have some privacy and quiet during the day, as well as some energy and life in the house on the weekends. They needed a larger place, and within a week, we’d found a five bedroom house across the street from my house! They moved in two weeks later. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad put Nanny’s house up for rent. 

    A year ago this time, I probably talked to my grandmother once every two weeks on the phone, and saw her about once a month. Now, I talk to my grandmother almost every day, and see her four or five days a week, if not more. I can pop over to visit with her as easily as checking the mail. She is always happy to see me. Sometimes I make her a sandwich, or help her with something, or we just chat while she goes about her business. 

    Even though this has been an adjustment for everyone, I feel a tremendous amount of relief:  I’d had no idea how lonely my grandmother was. I used to hear about old people in nursing homes whose families would visit them once a month or only on the holidays, and think, “That’s really sad; that’s your mom/dad/grandma/granddad!” And yet gradually, I’d become more and more distant from my own grandmother, just taking for granted that I’d spend more time with her “later.” Looking back, I see how easily that happened.

    Last spring, my decision to move back to the suburbs of my adolescence - the suburbs I’d hated and sworn never to return to - seemed like a weird faux pas. I had to keep explaining it to my friends, and started questioning my progressive identity. But something compelled me; I don’t know what. That line from The Sunscreen Song kept playing in my head,

    The older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.

    Maybe it was my grandfather dying last fall that helped me get real about my relationship with Nanny. I didn’t know him well, and we weren’t close, but we loved each other. When he died, it felt like a sudden zip! Everything he’d thought and felt, remembered, desired, hated - it just evaporated with him.  I can recall looking at the dark hole of his open mouth, the large head, and the massive eye sockets. And it occurred to me: I would never know the half of it. 

    Unlike her ex-husband, Nanny has never pushed me away. All I have to do is be there. I’ll drag my feet to pick her up from here and there; huff silently to myself as she slowly puts on her coat, but it’s always worth it. Last night, after we picked Nanny up from choir practice, she told me and Michael the story of her first visit to the community pool. Neither she nor her little sister could swim, so her father instructed them to sit on the bench after they changed, and he’d take them to the wading end. But Nanny wanted to take a closer look, so she’d stood at the edge of the pool, and noticed its beautiful white marble walls, and how the light hit them,  and … she just jumped in. She went straight to the bottom, and looked at the walls all the while. Eventually, she floated back to the top. And her little sister was screaming “in awe,” she said, and her father was so distraught he returned to the men’s dressing room to sneak a drink.

    He looked at himself in the mirror, but found no new line or wrinkle on his face, It’s probably somewhere inside me, he thought, then he ran the tap, washed his hands, and went out.           ~The Cave, Jose Saramago

     

     

    Popularity: 49% [?]

    Feb

    3

    Today’s Black Pride Moment

    Filed Under being creative, from the heart, lil things, local, small happinesses | 6 Comments

    What’s the most awesome thing about being Black? I could totally wear this hat.

    Woman's Kufi (Crown)
    Now, maybe I won’t get hired for a job while wearing it. But I’d probably get a lot of compliments at the health food store from envious not-Black Portlanders. It’s not so much the aesthetic (and I’m more of a caftan girl myself), it’s about having the guts.

    *Photo courtesy of Wilsdom African Designs, at Wilsdom.com.

    Popularity: 32% [?]

    Jan

    28

    Girls Who Wander into the Temple Wilds

    Filed Under being creative, new things, poetry | Leave a Comment

    My thoughts today are scattered four ways to the wind … as I prepare for class in a few hours.

    In ancient Greece
    it was custom to send a girl child -
    when she was six years old -
    into the wilderness that
    began on the outskirts of the city
    not naked, but draped in the skins of dead animals
    the girl would live there
    foraging for food
    and living as any young beast
    without a parent
    to protect it
    after one year she would be found again
    brought home,
    prepared for marriage
    and by the age of twelve, she would
    meet her next great test -
    surviving childbirth.

    Feeling Overwhelmed - Some days I want a thick iron door, twenty feet high, to slam shut on all new ideas and “thoughts to ponder.” But then, I go and open all the windows in the house.

    Other People - When people tell me I’m going to turn into a mean bitch, that makes me feel mean and bitchy.

    Weight - Vanity must be tied to regret; I fuss more about my waistline now than ever because, I suppose, it was never as small as I wanted it to be.

    And Lastly - Artemis was the lady of wild things.

    Popularity: 26% [?]

    Jan

    17

    Bossy Meets Bossy

    Filed Under being creative, from the heart, humor, lil things, love, people | 2 Comments

    Open Letter to My Grandmother:

    Dear Nanny,

    Why do you have five pairs of slippers, four tvs, and six can openers? Maybe you don’t remember, or you don’t want to lose track, or you’re convinced of technology’s promises. When I showed you the battery operated blue and white plastic thing that made the whirring noise, you examined it, and turned it on, and frowned into your eyebrows for ten minutes, and all you could say was, “I just got this. It’s new. I forget what it does, but don’t throw it away.”

    Well, I love you, Nanny. I’m glad you’ve moved across the street from me, and that I can see you every day. Visiting you will be as easy as checking the mail, and I feel like calling out: to what do I owe this pleasure?

    Nanny, I know I’ve been bossing you around. The point of downsizing is to downsize, and you said you wanted to do it. I hope you see the purpose of my insistence that you choose between your 20 sets of place mats from the Caribbean; I’m helping you achieve the goal of your golden years. Once you’re down to one-fifth of what you had before, you’ll have more space in your brain for important things, like baking me sweet potato pies.

    You’ve met your match in me. I know you don’t listen to Mom very well - probably because you two have a different kind of relationship. That’s okay: I can’t tell her what to do, either. But you and I are on the same page. At times I even feel like a warrior from WoW, and I’m leading the way onto our next quest with you as my trusty pet sidekick. Especially the way I’ll walk too fast, and you get stuck behind a door, and forget the mission.

    It’s all good, Nanny. You, me, all sixty as-yet-unpacked boxes in the garage. It might sting a little right now to say goodbye to so much, but by the end of the month, you can sleep well in your Craftmatic bed: your discarded belongings will have clothed whole villages of naked people, filled empty kitchen drawers across the state, and supplied homemade, plastic, Easter bookmarks to used Bibles everywhere.

    No worries, Nanny. Close your eyes and rest assured - three lamps, a night-light, and A&E light your dreams, and the carpeted path to the bathroom. I’ll see you in the morning.

    Love,

    Hafidha

    Popularity: 36% [?]

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