Freedom of Speaking My Mind

When I was in 5th grade, there was a speech competition focused on freedom, I think. Or maybe it was inventions. Either way, I'm pretty sure one of my classmates, Karalyne or Katherine won with their speech about trains.

I went a less straight-forward route. I wrote about the telephone.

We were still in the midst of the 1980s bit of the Cold War, and tapped phone lines were part of the vernacular of the time. It was a prevalent theme in movies, along with bugging various objects in any given space a person might occupy.

I found the speech several years ago, although I have no clue where it is now, while going through stuff at my parents' house, or in some box Mom shipped off while on a cleaning spree. It was simple and complex, big-picture and small potatoes. It was the rambling of a child who has a warped idea of a country portrayed as out-to-get-us, fed by movies and television shows and the nightly news.

It was also fueled by living 30 miles from Oak Ridge and the knowledge that nuclear weapons were being built there...and that it was a serious possibility that our city would be wiped out early if nuclear war were to break out. (Note: this was a time when we would regularly have bomb drills where we would crouch under our desks, arms and hands covering our heads...like that would help at all in the case of a blast or fallout.)

Back to the speech. I remember lamenting the Russians ability to speak freely. The horror of having to watch what you say. The inability to criticize the government, or a neighbor, for fear of retribution and being locked in a gulag in Siberia.

Doctor Zhivago (1965)

Fast forward to my college days. I was a fierce advocate for the Free Burma movement. I regularly gathered hundreds of signatures in a matter of hours, sent them to Halliburton, Total, Texaco and a handful of other multi-national corporations, asking them to divest from business in Burma and to stop supporting the military junta in power (The State Law and Order Restoration Council--SLORC at the time) which was inflicting human rights abuses and forcibly relocating dozens of ethnic minority groups throughout the country, and in particular, those in the paths of the pipelines these companies were working to build.

I became convinced that my phone was tapped. I heard clicks while interviewing a member of the Pogues for my college paper. I heard clicks while speaking with my friends. I was a little paranoid the the FBI had a file on me, and that Dick Cheney (then at Halliburton) was out to get me. Of course, I have no proof. And, it stopped eventually.

In light of the apparent return of the Cold War within our most recent presidential election, I can't help but think back to that 5th grade speech competition. Today, I used my freedom telephone to call a whole bunch of US Senators to ask them to oppose a cabinet nominee who I believe to be grossly unqualified for the position, and whom I believe would dismantle public education, something I benefited from in elementary, middle and high school.

I believe in our freedom to speak truth to power and am grateful to have had the time and energy to do so today.

Truth, Justice and the American Way

This afternoon I had the privilege of being an audience member at Nashville's Writers Resist: Voices for Social Justice, hosted by The Porch Writers' Collective, located at Scarritt Bennett. We were given a writing prompt during the intermission, and I was inspired. The poets and songwriters who performed their own and others' works were moving and got my creative juices flowing. At the end of the scheduled program, the event closed with an open mic for those who wished to share what they wrote during the intermission. After several people read their beautiful poems, my heart began to beat out of my chest and I lumbered down the steps to the front of the room and the podium. With tears in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks, I read the following poem.

Truth, Justice and the American Way

 

"Hey, Jew," said the 7th grader passing me in the hall between classes, 

a swastika on the back of his jacket in masking tape. 

Another that he tossed onto my lunch table, 

folded into a paper note, 

the black lines wrapping around themselves, 

taunting me,

making me feel smaller than my 13 year old body.

The adults didn't know, didn't see. 

I tell my brother, the scrawny older sibling who confronts my bully 

surrounded by his linebacker high school friends. 

"Don't look at my sister, 

don't talk to her. 

Stay away from her."

Not the last time I felt the burden of ignorance 

forcing shame upon me for my ancestry. 

Fear builds in my belly, 

my ire sparked, 

I want to lash out, 

share my people's strength, resilience and 

hold my head up high 

while crushing stereotypes and prejudice. 

I find solidarity in just pursuits.

Hillel's words lead me to righteous deeds 

and occasional righteous indignation. 

"If not now, when?"

Tzedek, tzedek tir dof. 

Justice, justice I shall pursue. 

These words of my ancestors are my truth.

Sabbatical

I have been writing this blog for six months.

It dawned on me recently that I've been spending precious time writing that I could use doing things like hanging out with friends and family, swimming, gardening, meeting the man of my dreams, finding my dream job or doing any of the other numerous things on my list of daily tasks that I have a bad habit of ignoring.

With that, I leave you, dear readers, until I get the urge to write to you again.

A long day's journey into night

I work too much.

A lot of people say that, but I've been living it for the past three years.

 First, I worked for a catering company. It was my first foray into the for-profit sector in a decade. I ended up working about 80-100 hours per week. Needless to say, that did not last long. Longer than I expected, but not long.

Since then, I picked up one job, then two, then three, then four. All of them part time. Two are very part time (teaching Sunday school 1-2 hours per week during the school year, and working as an election official to help people use the voting machines--three times this year for a total of about 45 hour).

My grant-funded, non-profit job in my field is ending July 17. I have loved the work, and value the relationships I've gained, the conversations had, and the accomplishments made. The work is not yet over, as so much of the non-profit work I've done in the past has been left. That is not to say that I feel it is incomplete. I have been able to do more than I expected, and reached and then exceeded every goal set out for me. And yet, there is more work to be done. There is always more work to be done.

The job that provides my benefits will increase in hours in order to make up for some of the loss of my non-profit job. I will likely struggle a bit with the loss of income. The upcoming semi-annual raise should help defray that struggle.

The bright side is the time I will have on my hands. I will gain 5-10 additional hours per week. To garden, to see friends, to meet new friends, to date. The possibilities are endless.

I will happily live on beans and rice (and my CSA share) in order to have time to relax, time to practice the ukelele, time to write letters, time to read books, time to swim and lounge at the pool, time to visit with Grandma, time to cook, time to plan a party, time to clean the house, time to make art, time to volunteer, time to do nothing if that is what I choose.

I look forward to having time.

Fine print

In January I started taking a medication that resulted in some adverse side effects.

Six months later, I told the doctor who prescribed it that I needed her help to get off of it, knowing that additional side effects could result from stopping the medication without further instruction. Unfortunately, the doctor's recommendations resulted in nausea, dizziness, eye issues, headaches and blood pressure so low I started to black out. Not awesome.

After suggesting it might be an inner ear infection, the doctor recommended an alternative way to get off the medication. This week I started getting the side effects again. Cannot wait for this to be over. Also cannot wait to find a new doctor...who takes me seriously.

Ask your doctor questions. Ask your pharmacist more questions. Do your research. Make sure you know what will happen if you stop taking a medication and hopefully you will avoid feeling miserable.

Looking forward for this to be over and getting back to "normal."

Old skool

Yesterday I saw a white Camaro.

I immediately broke into the only song I know with the song Camaro in it. By the Dead Milkmen.

If you know that song, you should be smiling by now.

Gone to seed

My garden is in full swing.

The green beans are prolific, the melons, acorn squash and zucchinis are teasing with their tiny fruits, and the radishes have gone to seed.

I see the radish flowers adding a splash of white to my otherwise green garden, and think of the little seeds I want to collect from them when they are ready. I've never collected seeds from spent flowers before, so this is going to be a new adventure. Hopefully, I'll catch some before they fall to the ground or get eaten by the numerous birds that call my yard and trees home.

Labor of love...love of spicy radishes.

Sigh of relief

Last week one of my part time jobs offered me a full time gig...until the end of November.

After asking some clarifying questions, not getting the answers I was hoping for, and being tied up on knots for two days, I turned it down. If I am going to give up longer term job and health insurance security, I want to feel that my worth is being met. I also don't particularly want to relocate and work 18-24hr days.

While I feel comfortable with my decision, I do wonder if I will moss out on other opposed as a result of not being in the center of an exciting campaign...that I would have a major role in running.

Then the wonder passes and I remember how much I like to swim outside, garden, take my grandma out, and see my friends. It will be delightful to downgrade my employers from four to three by the middle of next month. I can't wait to have an extra 10 hours per week to hang out...and finally clean my house.

Revival of the fittest

Last winter was pretty harsh.

The temperatures were low and sustained. Pipes froze and everyone was miserable.

Once it was over, and spring began to work its magic I saw what survived and what was tinder.

One of my losses was a lavender bush I planted eight years ago when I bought my house. It was a new have gift from Mom. She actually got me two of them, but construction guys killed the other one three years ago. Jerks.

Much to my surprise, three lavender seedlings emerged a few weeks ago. I don't have the heart to uproot the mother plant yet, still not convinced that the original is truly gone.

Either way, I cannot wait to watch the new plants grow, and smell their delicate aroma wafting across the yard as I mow.

Dining in

There's not much better than a home cooked meal.

I mean, I end up doing the cooking, but still. Rice, saucy jerk tofu and coconut chard with watermelon for dessert.

Simple things often bring the most pleasure, and man, do I get pleasure from a good meal.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Rain out

It seems like there is never enough time at the swimming pool.

This afternoon was no exception. I somehow lose my ID cards to get into the pool--which I found later wedged in between the driver seat and the center console of my car. Luckily, the kid working the gate has known me since he was 10 and has seen me there at least three days in the past week.

After changing into my suit from my work clothes, I found a lounge chair facing the 4pm sun and pulled out my book to read until a lap lane opened. Of course, I ended up catching up with a friend instead of reading, and by the time I got into the pool, within five minutes the entire pool and deck was cleared due to thunder.

At least I got to see a couple of friends, be amazed at how big their kids have gotten, and get a nice dose of vitamin D. Looking forward to giving it another shot on Tuesday!

Squash. Bugs.

There are good bugs and bad bugs.

My garden is home to them all. I've spotted cucumber beetles, lady bugs, three kinds of bees, two kinds of wasps, several varieties of weird looking flies, roaches in the compost, fireflies, and some giant red thing with wings I may never identify.

Worst of all, though, are the squash-killers. I'm not sure if they're stink bugs, leaf-footed bugs or squash bugs. All I know is that they suck the life out of all the vegetables in my garden and lay their eggs on the leaves of cucumbers, zucchinis and pretty much any variety of squash-type vegetables.

I do my best to scrape the eggs I find off of their perches, but this afternoon, I found hatchlings. Well, they lived up to the name squash bugs after I found them. Hopefully, their corpses will deter any new arrivals.

Ever vigilant.

Wilted and watered

It was too hot to be outside today.

And yet, before I could get out of bed and into the shower, my neighbor was on his shiny, red, new riding mower and taking down my overgrown grass and weeds in the front yard.

When I got home from running errands, I took a look at the garden, on to find it sad looking. The squash and melon leaves hung off their vines like Salvador Dali paintings. The only upright plants were the tomatoes and tomatillos.

A few hours later, the clouds rolled in with the thunder and wind and lightning. That is all it took. A brief, if steady rain, and the garden regained its life, the beans were snappable. The daikon leaves shaded the sprouts beneath their usual canopy.

It always amazes me what magic water holds.

Stroker ace

I love to swim.

When I was four, my dad decided it was time to teach me, and threw me between himself and one of his friends. Their grand plan was simple. They tossed me back and forth, and then tossed me a little short and moved out of the way so I had to swim for the stairs...and what seemed like a full mile away. I'm sure it was only five feet, but while I was doggie paddling my little heart out, I could've sworn I they were going to let me drown.

Thankfully, I didn't, and I wanted to get back into the water...just not with them. I wanted to swim without anyone's help. Welcome to independence!

I took lessons got pretty good at holding my breath under water. I still love swimming under water, close to the bottom, skimming it with my fingers, my chin, my belly, my toes, seeing the world around me and from a blurred perspective and hearing with muted ears. My first challenge was to swim the length of the pool without touching the side. That would qualify me to swim in the deep end and ultimately to use the diving board.

Having two older siblings, I knew that I belonged with them, in the line to dive, cannonball or belly flop. There was the high dive and the low dive. By six years old, I was able to use the diving board.

Soon thereafter, my siblings egged me on to go off the high dive. I've always been cool with heights, just not getting down from them. Tricky thing when you're 20' off the ground. Actually, I have no idea how high it was, I just know that it felt like I could've been blown off the narrow diving board by as stiff breeze and they wouldn't let me climb back down the ladder. Once you got up there, there was only one way off. Jump, dive or fall.

I jumped...and I have a slight recollection of my bathing suit going entirely up my backside. I also remember the otherworldliness of the reaching the bottom of the deep end. The penny retrieval competitions on July 4th, the men's competition to capture the greased watermelon, and the endless games of Marco Polo.

These days, I am lucky to get an hour at the pool, nothing like the full days we used to spend in childhood. If we'd get bored swimming, we'd watch people play tennis, or play on the playground, or place pennies and nickels on the train track behind the pool, or just lay out, play cards, or read magazines.

I haven't just hung out at the pool or in the pool for a long time. When I go to the pool, I go to swim laps, to read a book in the sun, to relax.

Thank goodness it's summer and I get to swim whenever I get a chance.

Pot likker

I had a miserable day on Monday, but my CSA share turned it all around.

There were a couple of things I'd never tried to cook before: lamb's quarters, borage and collard greens.

I told you last night about the lamb's quarters. They're phenomenal hot or cold, and I loved them even as a late night snack.

The collards were a bit more complicated than the wild greens. They required more cooking time, for one thing.

I washed the giant leaves, broke the stems off at the base of the leaves, stacked them, rolled them, and cut the rolled leaves into one inch strips across the stem. Backing up a bit...I sweated a finely sliced onion and a clove of elephant garlic, then tossed in the sliced collard greens. Once the greens were in the pot, I topped them off with 3 cups of water, 1/4 cup of apple cider vinegar a pinch of hot pepper flakes, a couple of tablespoons of tamari sauce, a couple of healthy dashes of cumin, brought the whole thing to the boil, covered it and reduced it to simmer for the next 45 minutes.

I think it would've worked just as well with 1.5 cups of water. I just forgot to halve it for the recipe I was loosely following.

I cooked up a pot of stone ground grits to go with the Southern fare on my stove, and stirred some nutritional yeast and coarse ground pepper into it.

Pretty sure all of my relatives rolled over in their stuffed cabbage and pickle Eastern European fare graves when I took a bite, and then second helpings, but let me tell you something here and now. I may never have eaten grits growing up (except occasionally at the Waffle House), and definitely couldn't find collards on any kosher-style plate I came across growing up in Knoxville (meaning I didn't taste them until I was an adult).

The food I made last night couldn't be found in my antique cookbooks. They list kale as a food you cook when you can't afford anything else.

I'll admit here and now. I am on a fairly tight budget, but I find these greens to be some of the best food I've ever eaten. I feel better when I eat it. I find satisfaction in my meal, but also in the joy I gain knowing that I've purchased this food from a farmer I know. I've seen his fields, picked cabbages and radishes from them, eaten fresh persimmons from the side of the dirt road running up one of his hills, spied his cows, eaten at his table and learned about fermentation at a workshop at one of the houses near one of his barns.

If you've ever prepared a meal with me, you know that it is a process. There is determining the main ingredients, finding recipes in my cookbook collection, making sure we have everything else we need in the house, occasionally a run to the store for the rest of what we need, and at least 2-3 hours of preparation and cooking time.

Food in my house is an experience, something to prepare with love and devotion. Something to be enjoyed, planned out and experimented with. Food in my house is about satisfaction of the process as well as the meal itself. Thank goodness, since I usually make enough for a family of eight.

Can't wait to see what I get to experiment with next week!

Weeds are wonderful

I admit it; I was scared to cook lamb's quarters.

The furry texture wasn't the problem, it was the seemingly endless dirt to be washed off of it. Well, and I wasn't sure how it would taste.

The research I did said that it's fine to eat fresh, and I tried a few leaves, but I didn't love them that way.

I did a little more research and found a handful of interesting ideas. I settled on one, sort of, and combined what I read in a recipe with my knowledge of cooking delicate greens.

I browned an onion in olive oil, then I sauteed the washed greens in the pot with the onions, adding 1/2 cup of water to help get things wilted a little faster. When the greens were wilted and a dark green, I drizzled them with a well-aged balsamic vinegar.

Delicious. Seriously delicious.

If I ever see it growing in someone's yard, you can bet I'm going to pick it and take it home for dinner!

Oh deer

Yesterday morning I was awestruck.

I was driving home from a morning swim and saw three deer in the middle of my street. The night before I'd been talking about all the critters in my neighborhood, but that there were no deer. I was wrong.

They were beautiful. They seemed young, and were curious. They stared at me, and my car, as I stared at them. We checked each other out for a minute or so before they finished crossing the street, jumped into a gulley and disappeared into the brush leading to Richland Creek.

I am constantly amazed at the world around me. You never know what you'll see if you just look.

Pater familias

It's Father's Day.

I called Dad this morning and we had a really nice talk. He's getting ready to go to "summer camp," and I found out something I'd never known.

He went to summer camp as a kid for two weeks. Once.

He went by train from Knoxville, TN to Hendersonville, NC to Camp Judea, well, it was Camp Judea before there was an actual camp site, so they were housed at Camp Blue Star, he and several of his friends from Knoxville.

He never went back, but it wasn't a lack of interest, it just wasn't an option that was offered, and he didn't ask. His family didn't have a lot of extra to spend, and he was grateful to have the experience.

When I was 10 years old, I went to what became Camp Judea in Hendersonville, NC. I was there for four weeks. I plotted to run away nearly every day of that month. Different times, different children, different experiences.

I'm so glad my parents decided to have a third kid. I am I lucky to have my dad.

Opening up

Today the first daylily of the summer blossomed.

It was one of my favorites, a deep red, speckled with black along the insides of its petals. A bright spot in the otherwise green front yard, nestled in the flowerbed under the picture window.

It was a beacon for the rest of the buds that the 5i!IMG is right for them to follow suit.

I cannot wait for my own, personal, flower show. Can. Not. Wait.

Billed me up

Last night I paid my bills.

It was a typical Thursday night. I'd had the day off, so I slept in a little, gone to the pool for a swim and some sun, did a little work, went to physical therapy, went to group therapy, and skipped the movie I'd considered seeing in favor of checking something off one of my lists of chores for the week.

I used to dread paying my bills.

I was never sure if there would be enough left after each paycheck got deposited to purchase the basics, like food. There usually was, but it was close sometimes, especially when I'd make donations and forget I still had one more big bill coming.

Six months ago, I was at that point. Last night, I was free from the fear and anxiety that used to come from bill paying. I was able to pay everything at once, with plenty left over to move into my savings account for emergencies.

There is a big sigh of relief when you finally reach one of your goals. I didn't think of this goal as a big one. I thought of it as a way to retain my middle class status, a way to retain my dignity and self-respect, a way to reflect the hard work I do, a way to justify the multiple jobs I work.

While this was a great goal, now I get to adjust it. Now I get to figure out how to maintain this path of financial security while increasing my ability to have a social life (preferably by working fewer jobs).

Some people have bucket lists. My lists are much more mundane. Buy a house. Check. Lose weight. Check. Get finances in order. Check.

Instead of focusing on the mundane, I think it's time to focus on the really important things: following my passions, and finding passion with someone else.