Category Archives: personal

personal

Well, Isn’t that Special

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I thought I had the need-to, need-to, need-to smoke thing completely beat. I don’t crave it with coffee, after dinner, while driving, etc., etc., etc.

But apparently I still do when I’m very, very, very angry.

And I am. Very, very, very angry.

It’s bad enough when I realize that my buttons are being purposely pushed. It’s even worse when it involves my cats.

For the record, I don’t have children. I know that parents will say (rightly, perhaps) that “it’s not the same.” But, given that I’m missing the human equivalent, these are my kids. My kids that I had to give up custody of them after Katrina because of housing issues. My kids that were staying with someone who supposedly cared enough about cats and who supposedly cared enough about me to take care of them.

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college, personal

What You Do Is Who You Are

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(Shamelessly snagged from Leonard Peltier’s page from his poem “In the Spirit of Crazy Horse” from his book Prison Writings)

I was reminded of a conversation I had with a friend a long time ago. She was a survivor of the Nose’s class; in fact, that’s where we met. She was one of those clever but clueless folks I really dig. She was late; she was always late, and, oddly enough, it was probably one of the reasons I dig her so much. In some ways, she’s very much like me.

She apologized for being late for our lunch, and told me she had stopped to get gas. While there, she had seen an RV that said “Need Gas Money” on a piece of cardboard in the window. She talked to them, found out their story, where they were headed. Finding out they had something like a 75 gallon tank, she told them that she could only afford to fill half of it. As they talk, the gas pump shows it’s over 40 gallons, and she tells them to fill it up all the way. After finding out they hadn’t eaten in three days, she bought them food and water from the gas station, enough to cover them for a couple of days, anyway.

She tells me this, not to convince me how cool she was, or how much money she had available on her Visa (Visa..pfft), but to tell me why she did it.

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personal, semester break

Something about Mary

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One of the most memorable lessons in humility and compassion I’ve ever had was given through a woman named Mary. It was several years ago, and I was working in admissions at the local hospital.

She was an alcoholic and an addict, and was making noises from her room.

She was ignored. We were full of alcoholics and addicts that night; the ER was packed, and they were all making noises from their rooms.

When they’re going through detox, they’re all making noises from their room. And when they’re addicts and alcoholics, they’re so easily ignorable.

I remember the end part of that night like it was yesterday. It was busy; I was exhausted. I hated my job and was wondering why I was even there. I didn’t like my co-workers and I couldn’t stand the utterly superior nurses in Medical ER.

I was really, really unhappy.

But then I met Mary.

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personal

The Carpe Diem Girls

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So I met up with the girls last night. It’s been a long time, far too long, since the three of us were together. There’s such an energy there, I get giddy just thinking about it. There is something that hums inside of me, something that seems like it’s tangible when the three of us are together. It’s present regardless of our moods, our temperaments, or our circumstances.

In Lit class, we learned about the “True” woman and the “New” woman. Granted, this was early 19th Century, but it still loosely applies today. A true woman was comprised of purity, piety, domesticity, and submission. Sounds a bit patriarchal to me, but who am I to quibble with the source? It’s been a while since we’ve covered new womanhood, but what struck me most was that it wasn’t the antithesis of these qualities, but rather the choice to enact them as they choose them.

I was hit by an image of a quilt coming home from meeting the girls. One piece of cloth being stitched to another, some more closely and, as you get away from the first piece, some further away. The needle goes in, and it pinches; it goes out, and it’s pulled.

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personal

I’ve Succumbed

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I am the worst present-wrapper in the world. Ever.

My squares, at best, look like rectangles and at worst like dodecahedrons. (I counted today…definitely 12 sides for that picture frame). My circles look like stacks of saltines, beaten for soup.

Yeah, I think you get the idea.

But I was humming. Humming! Me, the anti-gift person, humming while I did my anti-wrapping.

Joy like this just couldn’t be contained. “Guess what I’m doing!” I called Sherry. She answered the phone, and I’m pretty sure I squeaked in excitement. “I’m wrapping your present! Na-na-na-na!” Her shock that I had gone shopping was almost tangible through the phone.

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personal

Another Reason to Love Bikers

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A toy run for the Gulf Coast:

Forget the Sleigh, Asguard Toy Run

(Is it just me, or does this not seem like the author is imploring the reader to forget both?)

And then there’s Whiskers. He’s the man that stood beside me while we watched my grandfather’s casket being lowered into the ground.

mar1.jpg

I couldn’t have asked for better company. Maynard, Mark and Me.

(photo taken by Sun Herald staff)