30 days of gratitude, the power of the word

Day 2: A friend of mine shared this gutwrenching poem on Facebook this morning.  And after verifying with the author that I could share it publicly... today's moment of gratitude was for the strength of this woman through the days, and the power in the word.

///

November 14th.
In the coffee shop,
the man in the
Make America Great Again hat
smiles at me, so I take this
as an invitation.

“Pardon me, but I have to ask—
do you think Trump’s
ideologies keep every person
in this country safe?"

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Ma’am, I can’t get wrapped up
in identity politics, all I can
worry about is how
I’m going to feed my girls.”

///

At my 40th birthday party,
an acquaintance asks
why we have “so much
Mexican art in the house.”

“It might be because I’m Mexican,” I say.

“No,” he laughs, “you’re not Mexican."

“Yes. I am.”

"No," he continues, reassuringly,
“and if you are, you’re only, maybe, 17%."

The winter air stiffens between us.
An old, familiar pain.

///

There was a time when I
would have thanked him.

The early years,
when I wanted only to pass,
to rid myself of my last name—
the dead giveaway,
its muddy lineage

crawl out from the burying shame
that held me down every time
my father picked me up
from school in our shitty car,
his bushy mustache
& brown face
magnified by the sun.

///

A local white woman
posts a photo of her new tattoo:
a Mayan god etched eternal
on her flesh. When I point out
the disrespect, she assures me
she speaks Spanish fluently,
spent three years
in South America.

For the next six hours,
I argue with her friends.
They demand I quit being so
divisive. Judgemental. Close-minded.

“We have a racist running for President,
and you’re complaining about a tattoo?”
asks the white boy, who spray paints
murals all over this city
with impunity.

O, to be permitted the luxury
of only worrying about one thing at a time.

O, to be white in America,
to wake up knowing every god is your god.

///

When you never see yourself,
you search for yourself all the time.

You know the white girl
in the sombrero isn’t you.
The bro dude in Calavera makeup
isn’t either, not the ponchos
and glued on mustaches,
not the lowrider Chevy
in the Disney movie
or the hoochie-coochie
sex pot on the Emmy
award-winning television show.

Maybe you are only this:

the scorched bird pulled
from the chimney,
covered in soot.
Not the actual bird,
its velvet sack
of jigsaw’d bones,
but the feeling
of recognition.

The ash of knowing.

///

A white comedian tells this joke:
“I used to date Hispanics,
but now I prefer consensual.”

The audience laughs.
And you do, too.
Until the punchline hardens,
translates into a stone
in your throat.

You swallow it, like you always do.

You don’t change the channel,
but you also can’t remember
a single joke she tells after that.

A few months later, the comedian's career
blows up. She’s so real. So edgy.
Such a hardcore feminist.
When someone writes an essay on
her old stand-up routines—
noting her blindspot when it comes to race,

her response is:

“It is a joke and it is funny.
I know that because people laugh at it.”

///

If two Mexicans are in a car, who is driving?
A police officer.

How do you starve a Mexican?
Put their food stamps in their work boots.

What’s the difference between a Mexican and an elevator?
One can raise a child.

What do you call a Mexican baptism?
Bean dip

How do you stop a Mexican from robbing your house?
Put a help wanted sign in the window.

What do you call a Mexican driving a BMW?
Grand theft auto

What do you call a Mexican without a lawnmower?
Unemployed

What do you call a building full of Mexicans?
Jail

How do you keep Mexicans from stealing?
Put everything of value on the top shelf.

What do you call a bunch of Mexicans running downhill?
A mudslide.

Why don’t Mexicans play Hide ’n Seek?
No one will look for them.

What does a Mexican get for Christmas?
Your TV.

What do you call the Arizona man shot to death
by his white neighbor, screaming, “Go back to Mexico!”
Juan Varela

///

November 29th.
For weeks, I’ve avoided
eye contact with strangers.
My face is a closed curtain.
My mouth, the most
decorated knife.
I pay for groceries,
grab the receipt &
let my half-hearted
thank yous trail like smoke.
I no longer want to see
who refuses to see me.

Anyone is everyone.

///

December 1st.
I keep waking up.
There isn’t anyone
white enough to stop me.

Pantomime the living until
the body remembers:
wicked bitch. Bloodwhirl.
Patron Saint of the Grab Back.

Still. Still. Still. Still. Still. Still here.

///

I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh.
I am my own devastating god.

- Rachel McKibbens, published December 1, 2016

___________

Day 2: Fighting the good fight:  http://www.feedingamerica.org/  Support your local food bank.  Hunger in America is real.  

30 days of gratitude, another year and outrage

I didn't finish last year's 30 days of Gratitude. A year later, I step back to this space. Jote's 30 Days  always makes me think,, makes me reflect.  I let this blog founder for the year, despite so many stories to tell.  The stories aren't necessarily relevant to anyone but me, anyway.  And so many other things eat my time and my energy and often falling on the sofa with a novel seems like the best way to end an evening.

Jote's invitation this year was the invocation I needed.  Because I am so angry and so despairing and so fundamentally sad about what the election says about where we're going and who we as a nation are and have chosen to be.  And I'm a lucky one. I'm a white woman in a progressive state.

I'm not sure if I can play along properly.  I'm not sure if I can really find the gratitude within myself.  I'm hoping that this will force me to, though.

Day 1:  Shared outrage.  That I'm not alone.

And also picking up Jote's lead:  people fighting the good fight.  I'm going to highlight in each of these blogposts, someone I think is doing something worthwhile in the world.  It may be a charity, it may be an individual, it may be a corporation.  It might be largescale, it might be a small kindness.  If you like it, pass along the URL or pay it forward.

Day 1:  www.Patagonia.com  -- yep, it's a clothing company.  But it's a clothing company that has made a point of trying to be ethical and to be a reasonable steward on this earth.  This year, they announced that 100% of their Black Friday sales would be donated to environmental charities. I #optedoutside instead, but I was amazed to read that they'd done $10MILLION in sales, rather than an anticipated $1-2 million. And that they were following through.

30 days of gratitude, day 11: those old familiar rags

I have a backlog of posts that will eventually appear, once I double-check spelling and grammar and have a few minutes to breathe. But tonight...

It's a Friday evening; so many things to be grateful for on this quiet evening at home. I've pulled on my favorite pair of sweatpants, nearly worn thin after 23 years of use. I remember buying them in college, sometime in the fall of 1992.  The elastic waistband's failed; the fabric's disintegrating. El Bandito keeps trying to convince me to discard them, and if I were moving somewhere, if drawer space were really an issue, or hell, if I was assessing them realistically instead of sentimentally... they'd be gone.

But they're comfortable. Easing into your own skin comfortable.  I've got a sweatshirt I inherited from S. that has the same ripped, disintegrating, and yet... home-ishness. For years, I had a pair of jeans that I borrowed from Jote on one of our last shared days of college and never had a chance to return. Banana Republic, way back then They were close to a perfect fit, already broken-in. I did try to give them back, but we'd gone on separate paths and didn't reconnect for a while. Eventually, they disintegrated, as well-worn and well-loved jeans do, and when not only the knees, but the butt and the inseams ripped... I had to admit they were done, as much as it kind of hurt to do so. It was not only the memories of many days across several years, but the association with a friend who replaced my champagne-sodden pants with clean, dry jeans and a perfect understanding...

These sweatpants... I should admit they're done too. But they're a comfort, a reminder of time past, and when they really won't stay up anymore, even with the drawstring knotted...  I'll say goodbye, and the next pair, I'm sure I'll say "they don't make 'em like they used to", though they may last just as long in just as disreputable condition. That's not the point.

30 days of gratitude, day 3

Sports medicine.
I don't know at one point I realized I was an athlete, but I have come to accept it as true.

I haven't actually had that many injuries as an adult, but the ones I've had have been doozies.  Torn shoulder ligament, grade 2-3 ankle sprain and high ankle sprains.

And now, the reminder of my youth -- the osteoarthritis that was predicted in my teens from the damaged knees has made itself known.

I've been working on strengthening and stabilizing the more-affected knee in physical therapy, and that's helped.

But going to sports medicine specialists? They get it.  They understand that it's not a matter of *not* doing something, it's figuring out how to minimize pain and damage as a consequence.

They think this circus stuff is crazy, and that running is... probably not the optimal activity for me... but they're helping reduce the pain and make it easier for me to do the things I love.

30 days of gratitude: day 2, TK

This isn't, despite the photo, specifically a post about circus, and the gratitude I have for all that it's brought to my life.

It's about the sheer joy I have seeing this woman, friend and travel companion extraordinaire, back on the trapeze after 11 months of rehabbing an injury.

I  know, from my own history of injuries, just how hard it is to be patient.  Or how easy it is to think about just giving it up.

She has an ear-to-ear grin when she's in the air, and I am so happy for her return. She's not ready to rejoin me as a doubles-partner yet, but hopefully that will come eventually.  In the meantime, I get to enjoy her love for the trapeze and her thrill at being back.

(see also, last year, day 13)

30 days of Gratitude: Day 1. Remembrance.

A year later, I step back to this space. Jote's 30 Days  always makes me think, and I love seeing how the idea has spread amongst my friends.  I let this blog founder for the year, despite so many stories to tell.

But this... I could do this project on instagram, or even Facebook, but I like separating it a little from the fleeting nature of those forums. Even if this is neglected, less written in, less read... it's also a little more present.

Today's World AIDS Day, and it breaks my heart that we need such a designation.  We've come so far.  It's not like the bleak early days when it was "the gay plague", not like the late years of high school and early college days when it felt like friends and friends of friends were dying too often, too quickly, too young. But just because it's not ... I was about to say, because it's not in my current circle of friends, family and acquaintances... but now, it's so much more manageable that it may well still be present and just not really discussed.

More manageable. Still deadly. Still heartbreaking. It's a day that I remember those young lives cut short, those fresh faces of my own youth, and applaud the people who remain activists in some form or another.

And it's for them, and for the remembrances, that I'm grateful on this first day of December.

gratitude, day 22.

That I am married to the kind of guy who will share his umbrella with a stranger at the bus stop.

Gratitude, Day 20

... that so much, big and small, of the last 5-10 years of my life can be summed up with "I had planned to ________, but I trained circus instead." 

Damn everything but the circus!

...damn everything that is grim, dull,
motionless, unrisking, inward turning,
damn everything that won't get into the
circle, that won't enjoy, that won't throw
its heart into the tension, surprise, fear
and delight of the circus, the round
world, the full existence... 

- e.e. cummings
 

tk (gratitude day 13)

for a friend, a travel companion, a cat-sitter extraordinaire, a drinking pal, a trapeze partner.

and this. the reason we do these crazy things, hanging from each other's hands. The grace. The bringing in to being.

We talked about the fact... by Robert Lax We talked about the fact that it wasn't the danger, it wasn't the skill, it wasn't the applause that made the act what it was. It was principally the grace; the bringing into being, for a moment, the beautiful thing, the somersault, the leap, the entrechat on horseback. The skill, of course, has something to do with it. It is pleasant to know you can do anything so difficult. It is good when you have mastered it, and you are really in competition with yourself. "When we make a mistake in the ring we are very angry. The audience doesn't know, but we know." But it is a pleasure to do anything so difficult and do it gracefully. "We talked about the fact..." by Robert Lax from Circus Days & Nights. © The Overlook Press.

Let the rain come down... (gratitude, day 12)

There's a backlog of posts waiting to see if I could find the right images to go with them.  Some of them fully written, some half-formed. 

But after a quiet evening and another chaotic week, I was sitting here listening to the complaining cat and the sound of the rain.

The blessed, blessed rain.  Tonight is a quiet rain, loud enough to be heard, not a torrential downpour.  So much more is needed to really break the drought, but oh, to hear the raindrops fall is a joy.

Rain is grace; rain is the sky descending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.

John Updike

hand in hand is the only way to land... (gratitude, day 6)

I spent a fair portion of today in contact with another body, and not necessarily El Bandito.  A few hours of doubles trapeze training, which involves both intentional grabs and "oh crap, that wasn't what we meant to do grabs" -- and basic hand-to-hand contact.

Which was a good metaphor for the day.  My trapeze partner is one of the people who I travelled with last year in my spates of adventure -- she's a good friend and great adventure partner, in so many ways. Our mutual friend and travel companion (and her primary trapeze partner) had expressed frustration and sadness that he was effectively single-parenting for  a few weeks and was feeling overwhelmed at pre-Christmas preparation. That getting a tree, running up and down from the basement to get decorations, etc..., just all seemed too much.

To which we declared an easy solution -- El Bandito, myself, my partner, her boyfriend, her trapeze partner and his 3-y.o. daughter met up for brunch, picked out a tree, and spend the afternoon hanging out, watching them decorate and drinking champagne.

Sometimes, you just need to stretch out a hand. I think we all had a good afternoon, and I know he felt better about things when the tree was up.

outrage. fury.

There isn't an appropriate image for this. And it's a strange thing to say I'm grateful for. Fury? Outrage? Who's grateful for some negatively connotative emotions?

But I am. I am grateful that I am surrounded by voices who question the lack of grand jury indictments. Who stand up and speak for those who aren't heard.  For those who force themselves to be heard.

A strange tumult of emotions.

http://mlk-kpp01.stanford.edu:5801/transcription/document_images/undecided/630416-019.pdf

Tap Tap Tap... (2014 Day 1 Gratitude)

Is this thing on?

No, not really.  But resurrection in the blog world is simpler than in the real world. Here we go.

It's December.

For the last six years, Jote at blessherheart.com has undertaken a project that suits her so well, based on her papa's wisdom. 30 days of gratitude -- with a little leeway. A chance to recognize, reflect, and revel in the important things.  Which can vary from the global to the mundane; the morning cup of coffee to the abstract question.

And for the last few years, I've played along. I barely touched this blog since the last round, but hey, it's a good reason to come back, to reconnect. And on my Sunday evening run, I was thinking about Jote's project, her papa's wisdom, the kindness of Jote's heart and the circles of her world... and I knew I'd be back to this.

So here I am, grateful. For the reminder.

Stay tuned.

Oh, intentions

I intended to finish days 28,29, and 30.
I had posts planned.
Full of gratitude.

And then suddenly January happened. Funny how the earth continues to rotate through day and night whether or not you're really noting the passage of time. It wasn't a bad month; it wasn't a great month, it just kept sliding by.

Suddenly, it's February. A year ago, I'd just gotten back after a week's adventuring with Goose in Hungary and Croatia, jet-lagged, happy, wanting more adventure.

I didn't realize how much that desire would pervade my 2013, but my 41st year was one where I just kept seizing opportunities for travel. And regretting any that I turned down, even when work and financial solvency intervened.

It's 2014, and I keep craving more. Seeing new things, resetting my world view, meeting people whose experiences are so foreign from mine...

Fortunately, this year El Bandito's a little freer to join me on jaunts. So I keep day-dreaming. And starting to look at flights.

And hoping too, that my wandering and that of dear friends intersects this year...

But hi, blog. Maybe I'll remember to return more often.

days 26 & 27: walks in the snow and warm boots.

Many years, when we come to visit my family for the holidays, there's no snow on the ground. This year, there had been an ice storm a few days previous, visible in the trees and wires coated in clean crystalline ice and covered with fresh snow.  El Bandito and I wandered through the fresh snow, threw snowballs, made snowmen.  Enjoyed a brief bit of actual winter.  Grinned like a fool.

And the winter boots that I bought prior to the trip have proved worthy.  Warm feet and good traction. Grateful to have that option.

day 25: the family gathering

Despite the way my sister and I push each other's buttons, despite the grumbles and the rolled-eyes, I love that I get to spend a few days each year in warmth and tradition. And gratitude to El Bandtio for putting up with the hassle and talking me down when I get a little riled-up.

clear roads and easy travel: gratitude day 24

A fun final day wandering the Windy City with El Bandito before picking up the rental car and heading off to my family for the actual holidays.  Grateful for smooth travel, a convenient car rental and upgrade, grocery stores with good take-out sections to make the drive more palatable.

day 23: the lake in winter

There's something about the icy great lake that always fills my heart with joy.

day 19: connection. reconnection.

If you've been following along at home for the last few years, you already know that I started this December 30 days of gratitude because of an inspiring, but physically distant, friend: Jote.
That we'd reconnected in the ether with social media allowing us to have found each other and giving glimpses into our lives.

But we hadn't seen each other in almost 15 years.

I mentioned that I went to Austin in December.  I was wrapping up a year of travel, of exploring, and of doing things I've been saying for years I'd do.  That happened to include visiting my friend E. and his lovely family.

And it was also an excuse to see Jote.  With a little trepidation... despite the world of social media, our lives are so different than those unformed college days.  What if she didn't like me as much anymore? What if she wasn't actually excited to see me, but felt obligated to make time in her overwhelmed December pre-holiday schedule because I asked, and it had been so long?

When I opened E's door to head off with the lovely Jote for a cold morning walk, and she bounced her excitement at me... All that was dispelled. This was Jote, and her essential, quintessential, Jote-ness still speaks to my heart.

A couple years ago, I wrote about Jote "Older. Wiser. More bad-ass."  So true. She's a woman with a generous heart, an impeccable sense of what's needed, a snarky sense of humour in a very loving way. She's found a community of women friends that suits her, but I'm glad I'm still among them, even remotely.

So thankful that that connection is still there. That reconnection.  Here's to more reunions and more adventures, Jote. More walks along the water with touching public art displays. More conversations roaming from old to new to future.  And thank you for being so very you.

furry faces: day 18

(although this is being posted later. intended earlier. started, not finished, while I looked for a photo...)

 These furry faces are so very very helpful. Inquisitive.  Demanding. Ridiculous.

I have always been a dog person, but I can't have a dog currently -- I'm not home enough to be fair to the dog yet. Someday.  I'm also a cat person.  A lot of people are one-or-the-other.  Not to say that cats aren't time-intensive, but there's a little less structure to it.

These guys are devoted and have us well-trained.

There's something about having a completely relaxed critter sprawled against you, lacking all dignity, that's incredibly soothing and relaxing.

They force us to sit down and chill out sometimes. and that's a bonus.

And they leave huge pawprints on our hearts.