A Mark On My Wall

(Hi Betsy! I’ll call you tomorrow…)

Okay, so it took the worst film ever to pull me out of my writer’s block.

The sublime was this speech- many words describe it but I found it liberating. I left home at sixteen and worked full-time taking electrocardiograms on burn patients while attending college full-time. By the time I was ready for graduate school I was burned out on that, no pun intended. I applied for PhD programs in clinical psychology (so did 50% of the over-achievers in America in 1972; the rest applied in anthropology) and while I was accepted at some of the best, none gave me a full free ride. So I fell back to the best social work program in the country and went for a master’s degree and a career. The September that I started at U of M’s School of Social Work, I was informed by the financial aid administrator that there was no financial aid for me. Every single bit of it was designated for affirmative action. Now, my mother had reared me in a totally prejudice-free environment and I did not grow up hearing racial anger or innuendos. Unlike many mothers, she believed in and practiced equal rights and differences and respect. And there I was, 21 years of age and totally enraged at Black Americans. By then I had already witnessed the Detroit riots, I had marched with BAM for welfare mother’s rights (black fathers were still incognito in welfare families at that time) and I cheered on the rise of the Black Panthers on campus.

But at this fork in the road I seethed and churned internally as I continued to work nights at the hospital while attending my first year of graduate school. The second year I received a bit of merit-based aid but by then I was in a permanent state of pissed. I was watching some of my fellow students cruise through with tuition and money for books and rent and even food and tutors because they were black- and I couldn’t get out from under a hundred hour week that included classes, internship and a fulltime night job that ended at midnight. Before I ever cracked a book. All these years I’ve carried this resentment, unable to shake the feeling that I got screwed because of affirmative action. Through my time as a social worker, a clinician, a champion of the underdog, a volunteer educating inner-city children- I’ve still been pissed that I had to struggle so damn hard because of affirmative action. But I never talked about it. Today, I feel as though this speech helped set me free. At last. (Thank you.)

Right after the speech I had a doctor’s appointment. I would not have gone if Rich hadn’t taken me, held my hand, cheered me on, comforted me. It’s that Mo-Fo basal cell carcinoma. Pardon my language, but dammit, I HATE this cursed stuff. (And now that someone has put that liberating racial card on the table, I’ll go ahead and say Mo-Fo) I live in stark terror that it will show up on my face. I’ve gotten used to the slice and dice on other body parts but last week, fuck! (You haven’t seen that word here for over three years but I just don’t have any other): there was a spot, granted microscopic, but still a spot, on the side of my nose. You have to understand that I am so hyper-alert to this stuff that all it takes is four cells out of place and I’m twitching frantically. So I did my research and called the best of the best Mohs surgeons in this part of Florida, he had a cancellation and off we went.

I’m not vain so it’s not about appearances exactly. It’s about having chunks cut out of my face. My face. It’s the notion that this type of cancer has the nerve to set down so many deep roots before it ever shows itself. And the pain and the itch and looking in the mirror and the itch and the ooze and the stitches and the scabbing and the itch and the scars. I don’t sun-bathe and I slather 50 SPF all over myself before I brush my teeth and I wear my Tilley hat consistently. This stuff is not my fault. It’s because I have white skin that doesn’t tan, green eyes and parents who baked their red-headed toddler to a crisp every Sunday afternoon at Detroit Metropolitan Beach through the 1950s. And a basal cell cancer gene. Mo-Fo basal cell.

So off we went and I had the spot on my nose scrutinized and another one on my forehead and one on my toe (my toe, for Pete’s sake!) burned away (this is a form of torture in foreign prisons, burning holes in people) and I go back in 2 weeks for the nose. I’m flying back to Chicago to give a private tour to a high end donor the first of April and I’m not getting whacked up prior to that, but right after…the last thing I did before coming down here for the winter was go to the dermatologist and now this. Darn. (I have the swearing out of my system now.)

Anyway, we got home and I was whining about the burn on my toe so Rich suggested a movie. This was the ridiculous thing. The only movie showing at the time ended up being, I kid you not, the rock bottom worst film I have ever seen. We went to see Jumper. It’s some nonsense about a kid who teletransports himself all over the place while being chased by the bad guys as portrayed by Samuel L. Jackson. And he doesn’t do it well. Every time he “jumps”, even after he has perfected where and with whom and doing it with cars, even then he crashes. He doesn’t jump into a room with dignity; he crashes in and furniture breaks, dishes fly, glass shatters. That was the first clue that this film was aimed at 9 year old boys who will love it because there is no sex, no violence, just crashing into home furnishings. But before we figured out how really bad the film was, we figured out this: a lot of it was filmed in Ann Arbor. In the opening sequence there was a high school and I thought, wow, that looks just like…”Hey! It’s Huron High! It’s the Huron River!” So Rich and I were all excited about that until it turned out to be the worst film ever. It’s really really bad. But we sat through it because we kept wanting to see more scenes of Ann Arbor. And then it ended (badly) and we were getting up when I glanced at the credits and saw that a bit part (really bit) was played by Tom Hulce. Who? Tom Hulce. Tom Hulce went to school in Ann Arbor years ago and was nominated for an Academy Award for his role as Mozart in Amadeus. What???? Who knew you could fall so far?

Now I don’t feel so badly about being a former top-notch clinician who has retired to a life of zoo tours, has divots all over the place and posts so intermittently.

Bud. I need to tell you about Bud. Who we’re trying to get hooked up on the world wide web in a corner of the woods where wi-fi that moves at the speed of paste (64 k costs more than 50.00 per month.). Bud, who had such a good time here in Florida that he bought me approximately 1000 tulip bulbs by mail order. Yes, people. Think about where I live and then think about that. I see a new donor garden in the zoo’s future. Bud, who loves the manatee so much that I made this to send up in a little Easter basket. Speaking of Easter, have you started hardening off your Peeps yet? It’s time, you know…

Just checking in to say hello. The past month has been such an emotional roller coaster that I’ve been rendered relatively speechless when it comes to blogging. Trying to capture the sheer level of activity and relationship intensity and shape it into some sort of readable post just hasn’t made sense. Lots and lots of news and I’m thinking that the challenge for me is to find a way to write with a little more day-to-day balance. You have to admit, it’s pretty much all or nothing around here.

One problem is that I would really like to write more about my family: Rich, the children, Bud, my sisters and brother. There’s some great material there but they’re all so darn sensitive. Take my sister, Betsy for example. I could tell you some great stories about her vile cat, Cujo, but then she’d stop speaking to me. (testing. testing.)

Did I mention that this date marks the end of three years of blogging? My first stab at it was on March 11, 2005 so, if I’m here tomorrow, it will be the beginning of my fourth year here. Coincidentally, tomorrow is also the second anniversary of the day my mother died. Just typing that dries up any more words for today. This morning, I did revisit the words I wrote on March 11, 2006 and that’s what reminded me that I write well when I write about the people I know and love. I also took comfort anew from all the kind, loving and supportive comments left at that time.

I’m here and it’s pretty wonderful that most all of you, who read and write, have been around for most of that time. Thank you, both for reading and writing your wonderful journals. Robin Andrea, I know where your heart turns about this time in March. Gene, I got your e-mail. And I’ve been by your place. And it’s already been six months, so it’s probably like the thing about sick kids. Make an appointment with the pediatrician and they miraculously get better.

Talk soon. Be well.

(this beautiful valentine pink tree is in full bloom right at the edge of Coffee Pot Bayou)

Happy Valentine’s Day! I’m finally on the mend but this cold feels as though it’s hung on forever. My grandmother always said, “Two days coming, two days here and two days going.” That describes the pace of my current malaise and tomorrow, thankfully, is day seven. Good, too, because I just, this minute, drank the last of the Robitussin.

For Christmas, Abby and I each got sewing machines from Rich. Well, I got us sewing machines from Rich. When the children were young I had the most basic of machines and used it for simple clothing and mending- just your straight stitch sort of stuff. When Abby was about eight the basement filled with water one Spring (Michigan basements do that) and the machine was sitting on the floor in the laundry room. It was old enough that it didn’t have much insurance value and I never replaced it so with this new one I’m starting back at square one.

I spent the last couple days taking it easy and getting acquainted with the machine and doing a little needle felting too. These were fun- not very fussy or refined but they’ll do.

The manatee must have known I was sticking close to home; they left the power plant to come back to me at the bayou wall. There’s been a buffett of seven all tucked up by the dock wall, lolling about (if a sea cow can “tuck up”). There were a couple of calves and some veterans who have had close encounters with boat props. Today, there was a red eared slider taking advantage of one of them for sun bathing purposes. It made for an absolutely delightful photo but by the time I got my lens cap off the turtle surfed down the manatee’s back and zipped under the dock.

Here’s wishing you a lovely loverly day.

I’ve been down and out with bronchitis- darn those homeless mugwumps, anyway. Today was a Valentine’s Day tea party for them, but I missed it. I’ll return soon with another animal themed lesson. I’m going to teach them how animals can provide for us without going to the butcher shop (no, no, I’m not pointing a finger at you) by taking in alpaca and llama fleece and we will make felt. For that lesson we’ll make colorful felt beads, using fleece, hot sudsy water, unsweetened koolaid powder and old nylon stockings (such a better use for them- wrapping up colorful wool beads between knots while they dry in the sun!) and then turn them into necklaces and pendants.

But for now, I’m pretty lackluster in the energy department so I’ve been staying house-bound and finishing up the taxes. Abby came by and did her FAFSA and then zoomed off again to one of her 4 jobs. She works too hard but I’m not going to be the one to tell her that as long as she continues to do so well academically. Mostly, it’s on my mind to get healthier prior to the onslaught of company this weekend. I’m very excited- we’re having Bud for his 80th birthday, my brother, Bruce (aka Uncle Buck) will come down, Rich’s Melissa will join us and Daniel will come to Florida for the first time. He’s coming off tour in the Northeast and he’s anxious to be out of the cold and snow. I think NOMO will be putting out their fourth album on vinyl; they’ve just finished some long sessions in the recording studio.

Rich and I, and our friend Susan, who was also a bit under the weather, agreed to sit quietly at the movies Sunday afternoon. We went to see There Will Be Blood. Oh, my, oh my, oh my. Very harsh, very stark, and Daniel Day Lewis definitely deserves that best actor award. I thought the film was a powerful and fascinating portrait of good and evil. It’s based on an Upton Sinclair novel about the hard scrabble times of oil drilling out west in the early part of the last century. Juno was still my favorite film of the year but I have to say that the acting in this film is unsurpassed.

Anyway, we were just picking up Susan when I noticed this on the the windshield of the car. I know now that she won’t be a stranger to my Florida friends but we were sort of freaked out. What is that??? We actually turned around and drove slowly the couple blocks back to the house so I could photograph her and set her loose. I think she was pretty well hunkered down on the windshield but I feared the force of wind from driving would knock her awry. So? What is this? I researched it and found the answer but I’ll be interested to know what words you choose for that web search. Let me know. I’ll post the answer shortly.