I will heal
but not
immediately.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
flora
Today at school is "dress up like what you want to be when you grow up" day.
When I was the students' age, I wanted to be an author and a mom.
So. Since I can't be a mom, I'm going to rekindle my elementary school dream.
I'm going to start posting every day. I won't have time to write every day, so some days I will post poems I've written in the past two decades.
*
This morning, one of the third grade special education students I've been trying to build trust with brought me a magnolia. He picked it from one of the "trees" we have growing in the "quad" area of our campus.
(The school I work with is housed in modular buildings. It's like a cheery trailer park, complete with xeriscaping of grey gravel/rocks. And the "trees" are in giant boxes.)
I don't see many magnolias in New Orleans. I don't know if it's too wet or hot here for them, but it's one sign that New Orleans is not really the South. So the fact that we have them on campus makes me really grateful.
Magnolias were a really important part of my childhood. We had a huge tree in our front yard, with lots of low, thick branches... making it the perfect climbing tree. My brother and I would dare each other to go up one branch higher each time, and as we grew taller, we were able to get nearly to the top. It taught us about teamwork: how to look out for each other and how to work together to accomplish a goal. It gave us shade and a hiding place. It also taught us risk, which is something children don't learn anymore in the litigious era.
We would pick magnolias for our mother, and in the month of June, our whole house smelled of crisp white goodness. At Christmas, she would line a non-working fireplace with their waxy green leaves.
The rest of the year, my brother and I would climb.
Magnolias smell like the best parts of my childhood:
innocence, laughter, playtime with my brother
the unconditional, unquestioning love of a child for her family
coming home.
When I was the students' age, I wanted to be an author and a mom.
So. Since I can't be a mom, I'm going to rekindle my elementary school dream.
I'm going to start posting every day. I won't have time to write every day, so some days I will post poems I've written in the past two decades.
*
This morning, one of the third grade special education students I've been trying to build trust with brought me a magnolia. He picked it from one of the "trees" we have growing in the "quad" area of our campus.
(The school I work with is housed in modular buildings. It's like a cheery trailer park, complete with xeriscaping of grey gravel/rocks. And the "trees" are in giant boxes.)
I don't see many magnolias in New Orleans. I don't know if it's too wet or hot here for them, but it's one sign that New Orleans is not really the South. So the fact that we have them on campus makes me really grateful.
Magnolias were a really important part of my childhood. We had a huge tree in our front yard, with lots of low, thick branches... making it the perfect climbing tree. My brother and I would dare each other to go up one branch higher each time, and as we grew taller, we were able to get nearly to the top. It taught us about teamwork: how to look out for each other and how to work together to accomplish a goal. It gave us shade and a hiding place. It also taught us risk, which is something children don't learn anymore in the litigious era.
We would pick magnolias for our mother, and in the month of June, our whole house smelled of crisp white goodness. At Christmas, she would line a non-working fireplace with their waxy green leaves.
The rest of the year, my brother and I would climb.
Magnolias smell like the best parts of my childhood:
innocence, laughter, playtime with my brother
the unconditional, unquestioning love of a child for her family
coming home.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
O positive
Every year (June 1-May 31), I have to volunteer for approximately 50 hours as part of my member obligations to the Junior League.
Every year, I scramble at the very end to complete my shifts.
Today, I was supposed to complete my last shift: I was going to get 3 hours of credit for giving blood.
The last time I gave blood was in college, when mad cow disease became a thing, and I'd spent too much time as a child in the United Kingdom (we house swapped with family friends for a couple of weeks every few years). The blood bank people worried I carried the disease in my blood. And there's no test for it. Still.
So. I kept my blood (and my theoretical mad cow disease) to myself.
But, in the past decade, the blood bank people have changed the parameters around time spent in the UK, and I still haven't been a prostitute, slept with a prostitute, or slept with anyone who has slept with a prostitute. So I signed up to donate.
I show up at East Jefferson medical complex, which is terrifying from the outside and friendly on the inside, to complete a variety of forms detailing my travels abroad; the dates (months and years) that I took Accutane (um, ninth grade?); and the prostitution/intravenous drug use/homosexual tendencies of myself and my male partners.
The nurse doing my intake takes a blood sample, my temperature, my blood pressure. She verifies that Tobago is not a country considered dangerous to my blood.
And then the results come: I AM REJECTED.
My iron "count" is 36, and I have to be at 38 in order to give blood. Allison assures me that 36 is enough for one person (me), but not enough for two people.
I am given a list of "iron rich" foods and asked to return in 2-3 weeks.
This list includes red meat, shellfish, spinach, beets, eggs, and tuna.
See also: my top 20 most favorite foods, with the exception of all things dairy.
Exhibit A: I had red meat or shellfish in all four of my meals yesterday.
I mean, it just can't be right that I need more iron.
I think my takeaway from all of this, after being assured that I still get credit for the shift, is that maybe my body just makes enough of anything for one person. Maybe I should set limits and restrictions on the amount of time and energy I give to other people. Maybe because I am generous with these immeasurables, I should keep the basics, like my blood.
And, in the meanwhile, I finally have a list of foods that I'm certain I can stick to.
Every year, I scramble at the very end to complete my shifts.
Today, I was supposed to complete my last shift: I was going to get 3 hours of credit for giving blood.
The last time I gave blood was in college, when mad cow disease became a thing, and I'd spent too much time as a child in the United Kingdom (we house swapped with family friends for a couple of weeks every few years). The blood bank people worried I carried the disease in my blood. And there's no test for it. Still.
So. I kept my blood (and my theoretical mad cow disease) to myself.
But, in the past decade, the blood bank people have changed the parameters around time spent in the UK, and I still haven't been a prostitute, slept with a prostitute, or slept with anyone who has slept with a prostitute. So I signed up to donate.
I show up at East Jefferson medical complex, which is terrifying from the outside and friendly on the inside, to complete a variety of forms detailing my travels abroad; the dates (months and years) that I took Accutane (um, ninth grade?); and the prostitution/intravenous drug use/homosexual tendencies of myself and my male partners.
The nurse doing my intake takes a blood sample, my temperature, my blood pressure. She verifies that Tobago is not a country considered dangerous to my blood.
And then the results come: I AM REJECTED.
My iron "count" is 36, and I have to be at 38 in order to give blood. Allison assures me that 36 is enough for one person (me), but not enough for two people.
I am given a list of "iron rich" foods and asked to return in 2-3 weeks.
This list includes red meat, shellfish, spinach, beets, eggs, and tuna.
See also: my top 20 most favorite foods, with the exception of all things dairy.
Exhibit A: I had red meat or shellfish in all four of my meals yesterday.
I mean, it just can't be right that I need more iron.
I think my takeaway from all of this, after being assured that I still get credit for the shift, is that maybe my body just makes enough of anything for one person. Maybe I should set limits and restrictions on the amount of time and energy I give to other people. Maybe because I am generous with these immeasurables, I should keep the basics, like my blood.
And, in the meanwhile, I finally have a list of foods that I'm certain I can stick to.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
the day of mother, 2013
Last year, I wrote a blog post on how hard this day is for me.
Some things get easier with time. Others don't.
This year is harder than last.
*
my college roommate is pregnant.
one cousin's wife had a baby girl. another cousin's wife is pregnant.
the friends I stayed with during hurrication got pregnant with twins, without trying
also last weekend
a friend had her third IVF transfer:
all of my fingers and toes are crossed.
Some things get easier with time. Others don't.
This year is harder than last.
*
since last mother's day
one cousin's wife had a baby girl. another cousin's wife is pregnant.
the friends I stayed with during hurrication got pregnant with twins, without trying
one friend listened to her baby's heartbeat at one doctor's appointment, and then heard nothing the next
I attended the memorial service of a friend's mom
and held her baby at the back of the funeral home.
two friends started trying to have a baby before they got married:
one is now in her second trimester
and one was inseminated last weekend.
a friend had her third IVF transfer:
all of my fingers and toes are crossed.
one friend accidentally got pregnant.
one friend accidentally got pregnant, then had an abortion.
I buried my grandmother
next to my aunt (her daughter)
and wept with my cousins (her daughters)
friends I introduced tried for almost a year
and had a baby girl last fall
and then, of course, there are profile pictures that are not you, but your child
x-rays of people's internal organs
oversharing about everything from placenta to lactation
watching your friends' bellies swell
and hearts mature with acceptance
and loving them all
or, simply, trying your best.
*
A friend once told me that I'd done the hard part: I'd already found the man I wanted to have children with.
Disagreed.
The hard part isn't finding someone whose genes you'd like to pass along and whose parenting values/skills align with your own.
The hard part is keeping him; loving him despite all of his expectations and flaws; loving him for who he is in the present, not who you hope he will be in the future.
The hard part is neither of you losing yourself in the process of compromise and change.
The hard part is surviving the challenges, the complications, the mourning.
The hard part is waking up every day and choosing to love someone you may not like very much in that moment.
The hard part is finding someone who wants to keep you, who will love you despite all of your own expectations and flaws, who will love you for who you are today.
Today, I am sad.
Today, I am not easy to love.
Today, I celebrate and empathize and mourn with my friends, near and far.
Today, I must simply try my best.
*
A friend once told me that I'd done the hard part: I'd already found the man I wanted to have children with.
Disagreed.
The hard part isn't finding someone whose genes you'd like to pass along and whose parenting values/skills align with your own.
The hard part is keeping him; loving him despite all of his expectations and flaws; loving him for who he is in the present, not who you hope he will be in the future.
The hard part is neither of you losing yourself in the process of compromise and change.
The hard part is surviving the challenges, the complications, the mourning.
The hard part is waking up every day and choosing to love someone you may not like very much in that moment.
The hard part is finding someone who wants to keep you, who will love you despite all of your own expectations and flaws, who will love you for who you are today.
Today, I am sad.
Today, I am not easy to love.
Today, I celebrate and empathize and mourn with my friends, near and far.
Today, I must simply try my best.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Boston
I wrote this poem on Tuesday (4/16) when it was a sticky 85 degrees in New Orleans.
I'm publishing it today (4/19) when it is a rainy 55.
I am cold.
Chilled from the week's events, my own inability to process tragedy, this ambivalent drizzle.
*
Most of my memories of my time in Boston
are of being cold.
My first visit
was August 1991
when a coup was taking over
the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
I needed a sweater at night.
Later trips were to visit a boy I liked:
our first kiss was Spring Break, our senior year of high school
in a parking garage
a few blocks away from where bombs would explode in 2013
our last kiss was in February 1999
in his Harvard dorm room
Then Easter 2001
where I went to my first Red Sox game
in sleet
and drank whiskey I had just (legally) qualified to drink
I wore a dress I'd worn at Christmas 2000
to a church
that marathon runners pass
Mothers' Day 2008
I was there with another boy
his fraternity brothers
and a suede jacket
I have wandered Boston Common
in snow
and in bloom
but always in chill.
Boston, take it from Oklahoma City
or from New York City
or from New Orleans, my current home:
you will bloom again.
and we will keep you warm in our hearts and prayers.
I'm publishing it today (4/19) when it is a rainy 55.
I am cold.
Chilled from the week's events, my own inability to process tragedy, this ambivalent drizzle.
*
Most of my memories of my time in Boston
are of being cold.
My first visit
was August 1991
when a coup was taking over
the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
I needed a sweater at night.
Later trips were to visit a boy I liked:
our first kiss was Spring Break, our senior year of high school
in a parking garage
a few blocks away from where bombs would explode in 2013
our last kiss was in February 1999
in his Harvard dorm room
Then Easter 2001
where I went to my first Red Sox game
in sleet
and drank whiskey I had just (legally) qualified to drink
I wore a dress I'd worn at Christmas 2000
to a church
that marathon runners pass
Mothers' Day 2008
I was there with another boy
his fraternity brothers
and a suede jacket
I have wandered Boston Common
in snow
and in bloom
but always in chill.
Boston, take it from Oklahoma City
or from New York City
or from New Orleans, my current home:
you will bloom again.
and we will keep you warm in our hearts and prayers.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
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