10.07.2012
8.09.2012
What do you like?
Sometimes I forget that we are all creatures of desire.
Not that we're controlled completely by our desires, but that we have them. We have dreams, and ideals, and there are specific characteristics we look for in other things and people that make them more appealing to us.
Facebook does some strange little notifications in a newsfeed like format along the right. (Yes, I'm on Facebook. It's a thing. It helps me stay in touch with some people who are far away.)
This morning my little newsfeed on the right was filled with a column of pics of women Olympic athletes. Next to each image it said "(This person) likes Jordan Webber", or which ever athlete my friend had chosen to click on the "Like" button for. There were about five of these in a row.
And for a split second my reaction was disgust. My brain went to this place where the only kind of person who would actually do something like that was some kind of misogynist pig.
It was startling.
All I had was this list of names and likes. The images weren't even suggestive. Moments frozen in the middle of a race, or a floor routine, or some other Olympic activity. And all I knew was my friend had chosen to click "Like" on their page at some point.
So he could have clicked that little button for any number of reasons. AND who am I to judge what his likes and dislikes are? Particularly without knowing his motives or desires.
My reaction (and that's what it was, a reaction) was particularly unsettling. Though it has reframed my whole day today as apparently my brain is likely to move in a lazy and judgmental direction. And that's uncalled for.
So on to happier and less judgmental things today.
5.21.2010
Melancholy is the theme
Months have passed again. But the blog waits for me; patient and open. Good 'ol blog.
So my step father is dying. Not in a few months kind of way. The doctor's stopped giving him hydration. It was probably the only thing keeping him alive. And my mom now has a steady stream of visitors who sit with her and him. Which I appreciate. I hate to think of her sitting alone in a house with a dying man.
A few months ago an acquaintance of mine posted photos on his Facebook page of the emergency room where doctor's tried to save his father. Rumpled hospital sheets with blood on them. Machines and tools gathered to try and administer comfort amid the chaos of death. His father had been sick for awhile I believe, but lingering illness apparently didn't lessen the impact of his end.
Some people found these photos very disturbing. Tasteless even. I found them extraordinarily brave. I believe he needed a way to process this highly personal event so he recorded it.
This acquaintance also has a brain injury and can be forgetful.
I don't know how forgetful really, but it does beg the question: what would you do if you thought you would you forget the death of someone you love? Would a photograph be enough? Would a social taboo hold you back from preserving that moment in any way you could?
In a quiet moment has my mother taken a photo?
And there have been a lot of quiet moments.
So my step father is dying. Not in a few months kind of way. The doctor's stopped giving him hydration. It was probably the only thing keeping him alive. And my mom now has a steady stream of visitors who sit with her and him. Which I appreciate. I hate to think of her sitting alone in a house with a dying man.
A few months ago an acquaintance of mine posted photos on his Facebook page of the emergency room where doctor's tried to save his father. Rumpled hospital sheets with blood on them. Machines and tools gathered to try and administer comfort amid the chaos of death. His father had been sick for awhile I believe, but lingering illness apparently didn't lessen the impact of his end.
Some people found these photos very disturbing. Tasteless even. I found them extraordinarily brave. I believe he needed a way to process this highly personal event so he recorded it.
This acquaintance also has a brain injury and can be forgetful.
I don't know how forgetful really, but it does beg the question: what would you do if you thought you would you forget the death of someone you love? Would a photograph be enough? Would a social taboo hold you back from preserving that moment in any way you could?
In a quiet moment has my mother taken a photo?
And there have been a lot of quiet moments.
1.11.2010
Body Image
When I think of my grandmother I think of cotton, flower print blouses and loafers. (Or Keds). They are her signature look.
Like Barbara Bush and pearls.
Audrey Hepburn and skinny pants.
Ernie and a striped shirt.
For years, her right foot has been a little lazy. My mom, who spent a lot of time in the hospital while trying to grow up, says she always knew when gram was coming down the hall because she could hear the slight drag in her step.
At 95, right foot has decided to go beyond lazy. It's actually gone a bit rogue. "Flopping around" as she says. Not necessarily turning under when she walks, but certainly not landing flat. Swinging at her ankle; carefree, reckless.
Now, I'm not one to stifle creativity. But this carefree foot could, in its hapless way, bring great harm to gram. Not that harm is right foot's intent. I'm sure right foot just wants to let loose a bit after 95 years of heel toe.
Who can blame right foot, really.
Gram's doctor would rather right foot get back in line though. So he ordered a brace, had her and right foot fitted, and then recommended some orthopedic shoes.
I don't know if this bothers right foot. Gram, on the other hand, is quite underwhelmed.
Last Sunday at our monthly gram breakfast she picked up my mother's worn, though small and somewhat stylish sneaker, looked at it adoringly and said "If only I could have gotten something cute and small, like this."
In order to fit right foot and the brace into a shoe, gram had to get a shoe that is almost two sizes larger than her beloved loafers. It is dull and black. It closes with velcro straps, like the simple shoes of a child. It is clunky at best.
Add the stiff, controlled gait of brace, and right foot has lost all essence of right footedness.
"Maybe I need to get slacks so people won't see," gram sighs.
I've seen my gram wear slacks once. Thick, woolen, plaid slacks so she could ride the toboggan with us down the narrow path behind her house.
Her cotton, flower print blouses are always paired with a matching skirt. Color matched, sometimes pattern.
And did I mention the loafers?
These are trademark items. Right foot supplied a trademark gait.
Will gram lose her gramness? How do you help someone maintain their id when what comprised the id is threatened?
All because right foot decided to finally let loose, do what right foot always wanted to do right along.
Break free of the loafers!
Right foot actually had a subversive strategy all along. Would whisper at night of the secret pleasure of green grass or cool vinyl against sole.
---
I don't know how to end this. And it's far more melancholy that I want it to be. So I'm just going to stop writing.
Like Barbara Bush and pearls.
Audrey Hepburn and skinny pants.
Ernie and a striped shirt.
For years, her right foot has been a little lazy. My mom, who spent a lot of time in the hospital while trying to grow up, says she always knew when gram was coming down the hall because she could hear the slight drag in her step.
At 95, right foot has decided to go beyond lazy. It's actually gone a bit rogue. "Flopping around" as she says. Not necessarily turning under when she walks, but certainly not landing flat. Swinging at her ankle; carefree, reckless.
Now, I'm not one to stifle creativity. But this carefree foot could, in its hapless way, bring great harm to gram. Not that harm is right foot's intent. I'm sure right foot just wants to let loose a bit after 95 years of heel toe.
Who can blame right foot, really.
Gram's doctor would rather right foot get back in line though. So he ordered a brace, had her and right foot fitted, and then recommended some orthopedic shoes.
I don't know if this bothers right foot. Gram, on the other hand, is quite underwhelmed.
Last Sunday at our monthly gram breakfast she picked up my mother's worn, though small and somewhat stylish sneaker, looked at it adoringly and said "If only I could have gotten something cute and small, like this."
In order to fit right foot and the brace into a shoe, gram had to get a shoe that is almost two sizes larger than her beloved loafers. It is dull and black. It closes with velcro straps, like the simple shoes of a child. It is clunky at best.
Add the stiff, controlled gait of brace, and right foot has lost all essence of right footedness.
"Maybe I need to get slacks so people won't see," gram sighs.
I've seen my gram wear slacks once. Thick, woolen, plaid slacks so she could ride the toboggan with us down the narrow path behind her house.
Her cotton, flower print blouses are always paired with a matching skirt. Color matched, sometimes pattern.
And did I mention the loafers?
These are trademark items. Right foot supplied a trademark gait.
Will gram lose her gramness? How do you help someone maintain their id when what comprised the id is threatened?
All because right foot decided to finally let loose, do what right foot always wanted to do right along.
Break free of the loafers!
Right foot actually had a subversive strategy all along. Would whisper at night of the secret pleasure of green grass or cool vinyl against sole.
---
I don't know how to end this. And it's far more melancholy that I want it to be. So I'm just going to stop writing.
1.07.2010
Attachment
I could say that my cats are attached to me.
My husband says it's something to do with the size ratio. I am equivalently the size that the adult cat would be to a kitten, if the kitten were the size of a full grown cat.
Right now I'm watching the special "This Emotional Life" on PBS. (I missed a few nights, but am enjoying last night's and tonight's editions in the series.)
Attachment and how it is related to brain development in young children, I'll say birth to 5.
Tonight's special is focusing on things that I am thinking about every day now.
How do young families: mother and father, single parents, one child, multiple children; deal with creating attachments? How do they deal with children who can't form attachments? What role does trauma play? How can services help families? When is the best time to start?
Brain development is truly fascinating. I've often wondered what sort of neuro safety net was in play for me.
On a trip down to Nantucket my friend and I got into a discussion about the kind of "inner strength" that some people seem to get. Take 10 people, put them each through the same traumatic situation, and you will likely get 10 variations of survivor.
My friend attributes my "inner strength" to soul. She has been reading and studying "A Course in Miracles". She also recounted for me a time when she was young, on the swings in the park by herself, and she had a God moment. Suddenly it occurred to her that there was a power beyond her, and that awareness gave her a sense of security. She does not attend church on a regular basis, that I am aware of. But she believes that the soul is the strength.
It's not that I don't believe in powers beyond my comprehension, but I am a firm believer in the science of brain development. There were times when I didn't want to keep going, yet something kept me from giving up completely. And I would say that I have relentless optimism. The more I learn about the studies into brain development the more I think that, though my abuse was devastating, there was some delicate mix of timing and love that kept the true horrors of my abuse from breaking me completely. But it was because of that timing that my neuro safety net connected like it should. There was always enough time to recover between episodes or something.
So while there is an essence within me, without the correctly connected neurons the essence would have been damaged. It wasn't the essence that held the neurons in place.
For some quick views of the studies into young children, check out the Harvard Center on the Developing Child.
But I retained the ability to form attachments. I had to learn how to make healthy attachments, but it wasn't too difficult.
Now, if my cats would miss my lap is another question. Or would any old lap do.
My husband says it's something to do with the size ratio. I am equivalently the size that the adult cat would be to a kitten, if the kitten were the size of a full grown cat.
Right now I'm watching the special "This Emotional Life" on PBS. (I missed a few nights, but am enjoying last night's and tonight's editions in the series.)
Attachment and how it is related to brain development in young children, I'll say birth to 5.
Tonight's special is focusing on things that I am thinking about every day now.
How do young families: mother and father, single parents, one child, multiple children; deal with creating attachments? How do they deal with children who can't form attachments? What role does trauma play? How can services help families? When is the best time to start?
Brain development is truly fascinating. I've often wondered what sort of neuro safety net was in play for me.
On a trip down to Nantucket my friend and I got into a discussion about the kind of "inner strength" that some people seem to get. Take 10 people, put them each through the same traumatic situation, and you will likely get 10 variations of survivor.
My friend attributes my "inner strength" to soul. She has been reading and studying "A Course in Miracles". She also recounted for me a time when she was young, on the swings in the park by herself, and she had a God moment. Suddenly it occurred to her that there was a power beyond her, and that awareness gave her a sense of security. She does not attend church on a regular basis, that I am aware of. But she believes that the soul is the strength.
It's not that I don't believe in powers beyond my comprehension, but I am a firm believer in the science of brain development. There were times when I didn't want to keep going, yet something kept me from giving up completely. And I would say that I have relentless optimism. The more I learn about the studies into brain development the more I think that, though my abuse was devastating, there was some delicate mix of timing and love that kept the true horrors of my abuse from breaking me completely. But it was because of that timing that my neuro safety net connected like it should. There was always enough time to recover between episodes or something.
So while there is an essence within me, without the correctly connected neurons the essence would have been damaged. It wasn't the essence that held the neurons in place.
For some quick views of the studies into young children, check out the Harvard Center on the Developing Child.
But I retained the ability to form attachments. I had to learn how to make healthy attachments, but it wasn't too difficult.
Now, if my cats would miss my lap is another question. Or would any old lap do.
1.06.2010
Tsutomu Yamaguchi
It always makes me feel bad when I find out about great people simply because they die.
I'm going to make a crane in his honor. I'll post a picture soon.
3 hours later.
Because I'm a little on the crazy side, I made a lotus instead out of Hell's Bank Notes. These patterns and rituals are taken from Chinese culture, but I have used them in tribute to Tsutomu because they are the tools I have. It hopefully won't be an insult to his Japanese birth right.
According to an origami book I own, the lotus grows in the mud, but blossoms in the light. For this reason the lotus has come to symbolize triumph over adversity.
The lotus I made has 28 leaves, so I shall list the people I thought of while making this lotus, though I may not reach 28. (Don't think I'm some meditation guru, my mind did a lot of wandering too.) All of these people have over come some adversity. Some are still involved in it.
Tsutomu Yamaguchi
Me
James Renn
Beverly Ramstrom Manning
Richard Manning
Jeff Skinner
Lou TwoHearts
Kola TwoHearts
Lahanah TwoHearts
Norman Skinner
Heather Brown
Katie Grochmal
Kris Bowden
Dorinda Wegener
Tarren Renn
Kelly Dane
Michael Mead
KelliAnn Johnson Mead
Carter Mead
Chase Mead
Hope Gunther
Mary Renn
Thomas Deery
Gertrude Ramstrom
Michelle Graziano
Richard Skinner
I'm sure there are more; are far more people than the 28 leaves of my lotus can ever account for. (Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes, it's a few hours past my bed time.)
As a tribute to Tsutomu, I burned an origami yuen bao made out of a Hell's Bank Note. (Not to worry sweetie, I was uber safe in my pyrotechnics.) Traditionally the yuen bao is burned at funerals in honor of family ancestors.
The pictures aren't all that great. But here they are.
I like how the burned yuen bao looks a bit like a lotus itself.
Now I am thoroughly tired, and will probably miss working out at the gym because I will only get a few hours of sleep.
I'm going to make a crane in his honor. I'll post a picture soon.
3 hours later.
Because I'm a little on the crazy side, I made a lotus instead out of Hell's Bank Notes. These patterns and rituals are taken from Chinese culture, but I have used them in tribute to Tsutomu because they are the tools I have. It hopefully won't be an insult to his Japanese birth right.
According to an origami book I own, the lotus grows in the mud, but blossoms in the light. For this reason the lotus has come to symbolize triumph over adversity.
The lotus I made has 28 leaves, so I shall list the people I thought of while making this lotus, though I may not reach 28. (Don't think I'm some meditation guru, my mind did a lot of wandering too.) All of these people have over come some adversity. Some are still involved in it.
Tsutomu Yamaguchi
Me
James Renn
Beverly Ramstrom Manning
Richard Manning
Jeff Skinner
Lou TwoHearts
Kola TwoHearts
Lahanah TwoHearts
Norman Skinner
Heather Brown
Katie Grochmal
Kris Bowden
Dorinda Wegener
Tarren Renn
Kelly Dane
Michael Mead
KelliAnn Johnson Mead
Carter Mead
Chase Mead
Hope Gunther
Mary Renn
Thomas Deery
Gertrude Ramstrom
Michelle Graziano
Richard Skinner
I'm sure there are more; are far more people than the 28 leaves of my lotus can ever account for. (Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes, it's a few hours past my bed time.)
As a tribute to Tsutomu, I burned an origami yuen bao made out of a Hell's Bank Note. (Not to worry sweetie, I was uber safe in my pyrotechnics.) Traditionally the yuen bao is burned at funerals in honor of family ancestors.
The pictures aren't all that great. But here they are.
I like how the burned yuen bao looks a bit like a lotus itself.
Now I am thoroughly tired, and will probably miss working out at the gym because I will only get a few hours of sleep.
1.05.2010
Cats
It is inevitable, I sit down on the couch and I become a cat repository. First, the aging diabetic cat walks across my chest (and I am sitting up straight) a few times and eventually I have to force him to flop down so I can see either the TV or the computer.
Of course, he is usually across my arms as well which makes typing a strange variation of bicep curls.
After a few minutes one of the other two cats shows up.
If it's the ginger, she creeps from above. Walking across the back of the futon, stopping to sniff my head in a disturbing, bug crawling in my hair manner. Then she places one paw carefully on my shoulder, and descends my right side like sloping pavement covered with a skin of ice. She settles, somewhat uncomfortably, on my lap behind the laptop screen.
I don't call her ginger simply because she is orange.
With any luck, the third cat will decide she can't be left out. She will sit delicately near me and purr. Aggressively. All 20 pounds of her.
After a few minutes she will extend one paw and pick delicately at my sleeve. Turn her head demurely expecting a touch.
She may just settle in that spot eventually.
If she is feeling extra aggressive she will take a few careful steps closer to me, place half of her body on my arm (right or left), rest her chin on her paws, and continue to purr aggressively.
Three cats and a laptop battery (and possibly a fleece or down blanket) ensure a gradual progression from an endothermic to an exothermic state.
For me.
The cats always seem surprised when I explode.
Of course, he is usually across my arms as well which makes typing a strange variation of bicep curls.
After a few minutes one of the other two cats shows up.
If it's the ginger, she creeps from above. Walking across the back of the futon, stopping to sniff my head in a disturbing, bug crawling in my hair manner. Then she places one paw carefully on my shoulder, and descends my right side like sloping pavement covered with a skin of ice. She settles, somewhat uncomfortably, on my lap behind the laptop screen.
I don't call her ginger simply because she is orange.
With any luck, the third cat will decide she can't be left out. She will sit delicately near me and purr. Aggressively. All 20 pounds of her.
After a few minutes she will extend one paw and pick delicately at my sleeve. Turn her head demurely expecting a touch.
She may just settle in that spot eventually.
If she is feeling extra aggressive she will take a few careful steps closer to me, place half of her body on my arm (right or left), rest her chin on her paws, and continue to purr aggressively.
Three cats and a laptop battery (and possibly a fleece or down blanket) ensure a gradual progression from an endothermic to an exothermic state.
For me.
The cats always seem surprised when I explode.
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