on death, dying and choosing to live

Yesterday two icons died. We mourn their loss. We think back upon their lives and the memories we have of them. Meanwhile, J is in LA visiting a friend battling breast cancer, while another fights the fight to survive. Two of my family members have died of cancer −my mother to a cruel and perverse disease. To date I know twenty people who are fighting the fight, or who have survived another year, or have lost the battle. I am one person who knows twenty and this does not include the ten or so that died of AIDs back in the day.

I think of my father who attends funerals on a regular basis now. He is 87 and his friends that are dying are of the same age. Only a few of his friends died young. Most of the people I speak of are my age or younger. Just few a little order.

And so I sit and ask myself, am I doing what I want with my life? Do I spend my hours and days living my life or just biding time until I can get to where I am going? Life is short we say. And it is. I ask myself, if I were diagnosed today would i have regrets about what i have done with my life? Would I feel proud of the person that I am? But most importantly, would i spend the rest of my days doing what I am doing presently? The answer doesn’t take much consideration. It is NO. I would spend my days, reading, writing, doing art and helping others. I would spend my days growing, spreading my wings, laughing, and making other people laugh. I would fill as much space with laughter. I would spend my time trying to be a better person in every way, and I would start with the small stuff…like being a better listener. I would try to get back to being the person I was before I was hurt so many times. Get back to giving even if I don’t get back in return. I have put up walls. I have stopped listening, I have stopped offering my hand, I have closed myself in and I want to get back out. I want to smile more, I want to stop worrying… about everything….HAKUNA MATATA….that is what I learned from my Godchild today…it’s from the Lion King apparently…no worries for the rest of your days. I like that. And when I worry about money, I need only remember what a spiritual guru (whose name I do not recall) once said when asked, “and where will I get the money to do this?” - “from where ever it is now” he replied. Sounds like an answer to me.

So,NO. the answer is NO. I would not be spending my days sitting around and waiting to hear what I am supposed to do next. I would be doing what I am supposed to be doing. I would be living my life.

seismic thoughts

the sweeping of US route1

as i travel to and from work everyday i need to find ways to entertain myself during the 3 hours i spend on the road- so today I found myself sighing an AHHHH went i noticed that route 1 had been cleared of debris. One of my favorite things is to take note of highway junk. Route 1 is an archeologists dream and I often wonder what people in the future will make of the buried findings on our abandoned freeways. Some things are natural rubbish; weeds, remnants of a variety of winged creatures, road kill of varying sizes and shapes (recently i was unable to make out the species on one particular carcass? was it a bear cub? it certainly wasn't a dog or cat) - whatever it was, it broke my heart. One day I actually saw a bird fly right into the car in front of me and ping off the front fender like a bullet. very sad.

but the man made artifacts are of most interest to me. A lot of it I totally get, and it makes perfect sense how they came to find themselves on the side of the road; cigarette buts (of which i am a guilty offender), trash bags, grocery bags that often take flight and scare the shit out of me, plastic water bottles, empty energy drink tins no doubt tossed with zeal, endless proof that Dunkin' Donuts still rules or perhaps just evidence that Starbucks drinkers are more environmentally conscious and of course paper, paper, paper. Collision residuals are totally understandable although I don't get why they don't pick up all the bumpers, fenders, headlight casings, hub caps, and shattered glass rather than just sweeping them to the side.

but the really good stuff are those things that make me asked How the hell did that get there?? on the side of a highway? OK so baseball caps- maybe the wind blew them off, but lawn chairs, couch cushions, refrigerators, garden tools, ladders, teady bears, bicycles, childrens toys? The soiled diapers adorned with pink butterflies? - (shame on them for tossing those out the window) and how does the single shoe end up there? i don't understand that. I've seen hundreds of single shoes. Once i actually saw a suit jacket still sheathed in its 2ml plastic dry cleaning cover, wire hanger still in place. the most ridiculous sighting of all however has to be the bald, one armed manikin torso which settled propped upright again the guardrail, eyes looking upward, hand reaching to the skies above. i really wanted to stop and get it but it would have meant my life and since it was a good day, i decided against that option.

anyway, i look forward to the accumulation of new things and will keep you abreast of any noteworthy finds.

to Lola

a second mother's day without her. the day has changed for me. it is now a day of reflection, of remembrance, of honoring who and what she was. the list is too long. i wrote it all down when she died. who she was, what she liked, what she didn't like. she was so many different things all twisted into one huge person that touched so many people in so many different ways. old friends still comment on how they remember her, her laughter, her anger, how she scared them, how loving she was, how she always insisted that you eat even if your weren't hungry. she was bigger than life. and then life happened to her. she suffered in the end. but she still laughed, everyday. it was my sister mission to make her laugh even if she didn't understand what she was laughing at.



i loved her intensely. We loved each other. Too much. I will never be able to understand why we couldn’t tell each other that. We were so afraid of hurting each other, of disrupting the balance we had created between us. It was an unspoken love. We tried to protect each other, but inevitably we hurt each other, by omission, with our words, with our gestures, with our silences. We were too much alike. The intention was never to hurt each other. We saw each other as the same person, in different times and space. She needed to hurt me to free herself of what she held inside. She wanted to free me in order to free herself. She sat before me once at a moment of complete despair and told me I could leave. She thought she was freeing me. she didn’t realize she sentenced me to my death. She told me to go away from her. Was it for her or for me – this freeing? I will never know. Instead she died in a state of unknowing. But she was kind to me. she loved me unconditionally and without regret and without holding back. She loved me openly and freely and with laughter. She held me and touched me and yes ….she told me. she told me .. that she loved me. that’s what I carry with me.

happy mother's day Lola!

silently touching others

While sitting in bumper to bumper traffic this morning, I happen to look into my rear view mirror and was delighted to see the smiling face of the gentleman in the car behind me. It was such a sweet smile that I didn’t want to look away. I wondered what he was smiling about. He was not on the phone so I could only assume he was listening to something that pleased him. As his smile grew and stretched across his face I found that mine did also. I kept looking as he nodded his head and watched as his smile grew and grew. The more he smiled the more delighted I felt. I was filled with a sense of joy by it. Then suddenly he broke into a full bolt of laughter, head thrown back, his hands banging the steering wheel, clapping his hand together. The harder he laughed the harder I laughed! It was such a wonderful feeling, this shared laughter with a total stranger; I felt completely filled up by it. Then abruptly he changed lanes and I was so disappointed.

An old red Chevy pulled up close behind me, driven by an older man, somewhat rough looking. He was on the phone screaming at someone. My smile was replaced by a furrow. He was so angry. He was shaking his head and pointing his finger at the voice on the line, banging on the dash. He ended the call and kept shaking his head, putting his hand on his head, gritting his teeth and then began yelling at no one in particular, the traffic, God maybe, me perhaps. Although I was shaken by this, my smile was still lingering under the surface and I all I could think was… the poor bastard. How sad to be so angry at the start of the day. Just as we passed the toll booth he sped around me, running away from the world.

A woman in a BMW pulled up close behind. She looked forlorn, downtrodden, resigned or perhaps just bored out of her mind. She held her tilted head up with her hand, elbow resting on the door, occasionally running her fingers through her hair, looking down into her lap. I felt such sadness looking at her – there was such hopelessness in her vacuous stare. I wondered what her life read like. I wondered if she was alone in the world. I found myself hoping that at the end of the day she drove home to someone who loved her, worshipped her, and gave her reason to drive in the opposite direction with a longing for the embrace that awaited her.

My day had barely begun and I had traveled through a day’s worth of emotions. I wanted to be left with the laughter that began it all so I returned my thoughts to that gentle smile that followed me as I crossed the bridge into the city, affirming that laughter truly is the shortest distance between two people.

new works - mexico 09

the I in i

Women with husbands, women with women, some with children, crying, laughing, shouting; adults renewing memories through the little people they have brought forth; others reliving a tarnished life with a new brush of color. Women with men, women alone, some happy, some not so much; men with other men, with or without children, dogs, cats. Men alone. Some are overwhelmed and travel circles to reach their destination; others rearrange condiments to align with the alphabet of choosing, sure and certain and quiet.

All the lives are hauntingly the same apart from the noise level and degree of participation. Even those alone dream the same dreams, desire interchangeable desires—a wanting for love and laughter, for comfort and safety, a longing to be heard, encouraged, and adored—passion, once foremost on the list, now a secondary consideration overshadowed by a vast wanting to be known and embraced for the I in i.

the pointed sound

opposite the space

dodging turkeys

Yesterday was to be my last road trip with my cherished 1997 Nissan Maxima that I adoringly called Maxi – an appropriate name as it was like being enveloped in a made-for-a-big-woman pad. But the time had come to put her to rest. The struts were totally gone and it became more like riding bare back on the LAP of a big-woman atop a bucking bronco. On a few occasions my head actually hit the roof on a pot hole rebound. This always made me laugh for some reason. Besides, Maxi had developed so many unidentifiable noises that it became nearly impossible to have a cell phone conversation. “Where the hell are you!!!” my sister would scream, “you sound like you’re on an aircraft carrier!” She would get so pissed at me, like it was my fault!

At any rate, it was time to let go. I decided to go environmentally correct and purchase a small, energy efficient Scion XD (intended for the young I might add―not for 50-somethings…but I decided to go with this rather than to plump my lips with collagen injections).

On route to work I saw a flock of wild turkeys making their way onto highway I-95. Traffic was moving at approximately 85 miles an hour – typical for north of Boston traffic. Suddenly everyone is dodging turkeys, cars swinging from lane to lane, horns blaring, arms flailing from windows. I burst out laughing. The road in front me had cleared of traffic and there stood a wide-eyed black thing with that disgusting red dangling thing―I couldn’t help myself―I took aim! I wanted Maxi to have a memorable last ride, and besides those bastard turkeys are ugly to the bone! I had the whole visual―I would go tonight to pick up my new car with turkey guts splattered across the windshield, feathers sticking out of the grill, head lodged under the wiper! This made me laugh even harder! I thought of my father with whom I share a macabre sense of humor and couldn’t contain myself. With all the laughter and car bouncing going on, I missed my target! I was pissed! My only chance to fold the little fucker and I MISSED!

Oh well. It all turned out for the best as my new XD had a slight flaw and I was unable to pick it up. I would have been horrified to have driven home with the splatters of an uncooked Thanksgiving dinner on my windshield.

handprints on my heart

most of them keep me warm and carry me through my life, some hurt like hell, others piss me off, but I will never let any of them fade away.

god's wrath

So let’s see if I have this straight, god (and I won’t capitalize since this god surely is not a god of love, light and kindness), is about to lay his wrath upon us and ravage major cities across the United States (fires, riots, looting in Times Square and so on – how exciting!) apparently because he is pissed at all the raging sins of America – this according to the esteemed Pastor David Wilkerson who allegedly received a message directly from the Holy Spirit. Please take the time to read David’s most interesting insights!

Most importantly take heed of David’s suggestion to stockpile a 30-day supply of food and toiletries. I assume this also means an adequate supply of tampons and duck tape, god forbid any democrats, Jews or homosexuals try to squeeze themselves into your safe zone! The tampons along with the duck tape could also be used for gagging purposes in the event some Muslims slip through the cracks.

I want to know who these people are that believe such things. I want to know what their God looks like. Actually I would really like to know what THEY look like. I want to be able to recognize them so I can make sure to throw things at them should they pass in front of me.

And what exactly are the raging sins of America?

Abortion? Clearly these are the same people that stand in front of abortion clinics protesting. My partner J once took a friend to an abortion clinic, she had been raped. There was a woman there yelling out quotes from scripture as they passed by. J couldn’t help herself; she approached the good christian (again not deserving of capitalization) and asked if she would be willing to take the child if her friend carried it to term. The protester turned her back and walked away. Apparently she wasn’t christian enough, or at the very least, interested in caring for an unwanted child. She just wanted to let them know that god hated them. I’ll bet she was really ugly, but does god love ugly people? I should remember to ask if I ever cross paths with such a person.

Homosexuals? Oh boy!

"Homosexual Sodomites came out of their closet and became activists, casting a demonic spell over a whole generation of men and boys. They grew politically powerful, controlling everything. Sodom became the world's gay capital, a society so vile, wicked and crazed with violence that its sins thundered throughout the heavens, filling God's holy environment with a hellish cry"; this according to the most honorable David. See full article. It’s a delightful read and so informative.

I’m not really sure I need to go on. It’s just more of the same. And it simply exhausts me trying to take in all this important and pertinent information.

I just want to know if I should be hording some hotdogs. I especially need to know if there would be any backlash to specifically having Hebrew National’s kosher Jumbo Beef Franks as they are my favorite…or would that lessen my chances of surviving the forthcoming cataclysmic events.

TAKE-AWAY POINT: If only God would give me some clear sign! Like making a large deposit in my name in a Swiss bank. Woody Allen

things that irritate me

I was in the grocery store today, on a Sunday, the first sunny warmish day New England has enjoyed in what seems like 2 years. Ok so - that is an exaggeration, but suffice it to say it was beautiful out and I didn’t want to be grocery shopping. Besides, I would rather be eating food than shopping for it any day and I was starving at the time although I try never to go food shopping hungry. I inevitably come home with things I have no idea what to do with, but somehow look appetizing at the moment. By the time they mold over and are being heaved into the trash bin, slime oozing out of the bag, I haven’t a clue what they were to begin with. At any rate, I overcame my hunger and stuck to the list in hand. (Actually I woke up with a belly ache but that never stops me from wanting to eat. I convince myself that what I am feeling is actually not an ache but hunger. Maybe a little food will help?!)

Anyway, I have been trying to be more mindful of my spending in keeping with our economic times and am also buying store brand products rather than brand names. Some things of course I refuse to down grade, like toilet tissue. There are certain comforts I am willing to pay for. But I digress.

Back to the point. Things that irritate me …. So like I said, it’s beautiful out, I want to accomplish my shopping task in less than a hour. The bridge that crosses the Merrimack River is out of commission which means I have to get on the highway to get to the store. This already adds five extra minutes both ways to and from the store. I have done my job and taken the necessary time to compile my grocery list by isle for efficiency and I successfully wiz through the shopping list in less time than expected. Now the hard part.; picking the right checkout counter. I admit I’m not good at this, I don’t know why. I get in the shortest line being careful not to get in the lane where the woman who talks to the bagger is stationed. (She actually stops scanning things while she recalls in excruciating detail how her dog threw up last night… it must have been the leftover turkey drumstick …does the bagger really care to hear I wonder?)

Anyway, I get in lane 5. The fellow in front of me only has eight items. I should be ok. But no. PRICE CHECK! Since no one is behind me I dart for lane 12. Again I am lucky enough that the person in front of me is just about to finish up, three or four items left to scan although they are near the end of the conveyor belt. The cashier reaches for the items one by one without advancing the belt which prevents me from unloading my basket. I patiently wait. The coupons get scanned while the cashier and customer exchange pleasantries. It’s not until the total is rung up that she begins digging through her handbag, which not-for-nothing, is made from a whole cows worth of leather, to find her …no don’t say it…. CHECK BOOK! Who writes checks in this day and age??? Now we have to go through the security check, ID please, phone number exchange, great grandmother’s maiden name and so on.

I’m losing my patience. I’m trying to remain peaceful but my face which contorts without any conscious direction from me betrays the cool, calm mood I am trying to convey. They both take notice and hastily try to wrap things up.

I begin placing my items on the belt. Of course my basket has been carefully arranged by like stuffs… refrigerator items, freezer items, paper goods, can goods etc., so that they are bagged properly and in order to expedite putting everything away on the back end. All of this time saving has been carefully calculated to keep the entire process at under the projected hour.

I continue unloading my basket but the cashier is not advancing the belt, so I start pushing the items forward so I can continue. I push and push until I can push no further and then he begins the scanning process. He scans, scans some more, reaches for more, he is reaching a full arms length to get at items. ADVANCE THE BELT! I want to say, so I can keep loading and keep pace with the scanning! But NO, he keeps reaching. Finally he advances the belt two inches, enough for me to add three canned goods. I still have half my basket to empty. Time is ticking off – I am behind schedule. ADVANCE THE FUCKING BELT!! My face is the size of a prune at this point but on the outside I am calm and peaceful, even smiling when he looks up. He continues scanning, reaching, scanning, reaching. I can’t help myself, since he won’t advance the belt I begin grabbing items from my basket and throwing them into the front part of the belt that he has already cleared. He ignores me until the toilet tissues bounces off the belt and hits him in the chest. He thinks this is funny. I am furious!. So I toss the bag of limes which manage to set free of the bag and bounce in every direction. He gathers them all up and advances the belt while I composedly unload the balance of goods just shy of my time line.

everything matters

feeling real

Mr. Bows was a quiet, lonely man who feared contact with people. People frightened him. He never knew what to say. He was always so afraid of saying the wrong thing that he simply chose not to speak at all. He avoided making eye contact on his travels back and forth to work and once there he planted himself in his cubicle where he avoided interaction with his co-workers.

Every day, weather permitting, he took his bag lunch and sat on the same bench in the park by the river. One day a small child came and sat on the bench next to him. His heart was racing and he tried not to look at her but she pulled on his sleeve.

“Are you a stranger?” she asked

“Yes!” he said paralyzed with fear.

“Do you have a gun?” she asked.

“My heavens NO! Do YOU?”

“No.” she said, “But I have a shoe lace. Do you want it?”

Mr. Bow had taken to removing his shoe laces as he often tripped on them.

“But why would you give it to me?”

“Because you need it.” She said.

“But I don’t need it; the shoe works fine without the lace.”

“No it doesn’t,” she said, “your foot slips out and the shoe just slaps the ground.”

“That’s true.” he smiled.

“AND!” she continued, “without the lace the shoe can’t talk. See how the tongue just hangs there?”

“But a shoe can’t talk.” He said confused.

“Everything with a tongue can talk if it feels real.”

“But how can it feel real if it can’t feel at all?” he questioned.

“But it can feel if you let it. If you take the lace and tie it, it will feel your foot touching its sole.”

“And what would the shoe say?” he asked this child that was touching his soul.

“The shoe would say that without the foot it feels cold and empty but when the foot is inside it feels warm and safe, so…”

“So…” he prompted.

“So the shoe loves the foot.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, “but I don’t know how to tie my shoes.”

“That’s OK.” she said, “I’ll teach you.”

And so she taught him and Mr. Bow came to understand the odd nature of love and realized for the first time in his life that if you tie something close enough to your soul it will make it warm enough to feel real.

dreams

Dreams are so weird. I have been dreaming a lot lately and actually remembering them. This is rare for me. The dreams are seemingly meaningless, strange characters, odd places, scenes that jump from meeting rooms, to doctors offices, to fields of war.

This is what I penned down at 3:00 am.

His name was Jerry Weele and he had ridiculously enlarged nostrils. I can’t believe I actually remembered his name. He seemed to be in a twelve step program of sorts where he was learning to accept his tragic disfigurement. He also seemed to have suffered a ruthless barbering- hair chopped in every direction. He assured everyone his disfigurement was not a congenital defect, although he blamed his mother who he disliked. She apparently suggested that he was born a congenital idiot from his father’s side. According to him, she had proof. There didn’t seem to be any evidence to support this claim, at least he didn’t state any, but somehow he went on to explain that she had succeeded in securing government support for his disability. They needed the money he said. This, all according to the speech he was giving at the meeting. So on and on it goes, he spent his formative years with his mother who masterfully taught him awkward facial expressions and incoherent mumblings. For effect apparently. He demonstrated several of the facial gestures and delivered some noises. It was really quite funny.

Years seemed to have past, and as it happens in dreams, we are suddenly in war time. Apparently for the first time he seemed delighted that he was about to recognize the first benefit of his self-imposed lunacy. He was running around in the street waving some sort of flag and laughing in that mongoloid kind of way he had been taught to do. Regrettably the army took him anyway. They needed the help he said. He went, he marched, he fought, and he made friends. This all happened really quickly. I don’t remember the details. He then returned with a curious upper respiratory infection which caused a constant and uncontrolled dribble of nasal discharge which inevitably turned into a steady stream. His mother appeared again and blamed bad genes from his father’s side. This is what I believe I heard any way. A bunch of doctors and what seemed like years later (because he changed in appearance) the nasal drippings prevailed. They kept telling him it was in his head even though the snot just ran down his face like from an open spigot.

Finally he goes to see some doctor he kept referring to as Doc W- some ear, nose and throat specialist who was known to have done miraculous work on orangutans’ suffering similar maladies. There was big poster on the wall showing proof of this. I can’t believe I actually took notice of it, but it was hard to ignore because of the grotesque picture of the orangutan with what look like piping coming from his nose. Doc W apparently had perfected a cylindrical device which, simply stated, collected and evaporated nasal drippings. He explained all this to Jerry, as well as to let him know that there was a dilemma. First this had never been done on a human being and secondly, the device measured 4 centimeters in diameter and required one on each side of the nose. That’s how it came to be that his nostrils were enlarged and the devices implanted. It was a really messy procedure. Blood everywhere, but I like gory and I kept trying to look closer.

After that it seemed his life changed and that’s when he started hanging out with other disfigured people. It was a scene from a Fellini film – short arms, elastic torsos, earless children, eyebrows made of bundles of twigs. Any way, he seemed to be at home. Mother was out of the picture entirely at this point. He stopped all the facial expressions and was openly reading and writing as he pleased. He sort of emerged as a leader among his new founds peers. Below the window of his apartment was a dumpster. He suddenly started throwing away all his belongings, anything that had to do with his past. He was totally into embracing his new self. Everything was going out the window. The dream ended when he was totally naked and I found him disgusting to look at.
___________
What was I to take away from this dream? I took it as a sign to start purging, to renew myself. Of late my brain has formed a crust of dried up thoughts. I come home and install myself on the couch looking for answers which I do not find. so I began the purging.

I cleared out my closet, then under the bed, the cabinets, the junk drawers, the studio. I can hardly wait to get into the basement. I need the trash collectors to come every day. It feels like a cleansing— a cleansing of thoughts and feelings that I wish to evaporate.

age is a work of art

always remember to wear a hat, it adds dimension and texture!

hope

As a child I liked playing games as long as I could win. I liked to win. It felt good to win, although it wasn’t so much about the winning as it was the pursuit of excellence. I didn’t see the purpose of playing something unless you were going to give everything of yourself to it - and wasn’t the point winning after all? I thought that’s what it was about. Winning. I was an athlete. I was good at it. I was sort of a natural athlete. I was always the captain of every team I ever played on. I took it seriously. I expected everyone to play with the same level of commitment and seriousness as I did. I was a team sport player, I liked the feeling of being in synch with my team mates, the oiled machine, the perfection of the play, the eloquence of a pass that was practiced over and over again with a single purpose, to score a goal. There was nothing like it. It was like a dance, running in silence but knowing exactly where I was supposed to be in order to strike at the precise moment and watch as the goal net flapped back and then the cheers of success, the arms raised to acknowledge the victory. It wasn't just me, I was just were I was supposed to be. Those days are long gone. The closest I get to playing a game is poker. I lose on purpose sometimes just to get out of the game earlier. I don’t see the purpose in winning although I could potentially go home with a $120 pot. Maybe it’s the singular part of it. The playing for myself. The one against everyone else. I like the synchronicity of playing on a team. The trust, the knowing, the united allegiance to a common goal. This is so hard to find today. I’m too old to play sports. I work for a living. I go to a job. Everyone for themselves. The successes of our youth never translate into our adulthood. This is another game entirely. The rules are different. We don’t strive for perfection. We strive to get through another day. To get on the other side of it. To close the door behind us and get back to our homes where we can find comfort in those we love and who love us back. This is our team. The people we trust. The home we have created for ourselves. This is who and what we fight for.

We have elected a new president…. a new president of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. It’s a whole new game. We can fight together again if we choose. It is up to us. We need to be on the same team. We must oil the machine. We must practice being where we are supposed to be in order to score the goal. This is our future. This is and should be, our new family, to protect and preserve the intention of what this country represents… hope, belief, unity, a commitment to goodness and liberty for all.

Let us hope.

TAKE_AWAY POINT:Sanity may be madness but the maddest of all is to see life as it is and not as it should be. DON QUIXOTE

fear

How wonderful would it be if it were so simple that we could erase our fears daily. Would they re-materialize the next day- that’s what I would like to know? It doesn’t say. And if I write it down say at 8:00 AM approximately what time could I expect that they would be erased? By 8:00 PM maybe? That would give everyone 12 hours of fearless joy. Ok maybe JOY is pushing it a little. 12 hours at least to reflect on your fear before it reappears. Do you think it’s possible to reflect hard enough in one 12 hour period to assuage the fear permanently? Or would it take several 12 hour periods to do so? If so, how many, and would they need to be consecutive? These are the questions that meander through my mind. Nothing is that simple. Besides given those hours, its really not 12 hours if you intend to sleep.

I personally have been held back in my life because of fear. I fear a lot of things. I also fear fear. Mostly I fear failure, not being good enough. Good enough for whom I’m not sure. I strive for goodness and sometimes I fail. I disappoint myself. I often fear emotions and feelings, as I cannot bear the depth of them. I fear straying from “what is expected of me” behaviors. Ironically a lot of people would say the opposite about me, but really I stay pretty close to the edge. my crayons may slip over the line from time to time, but never too far. I barely leave my house let alone my neighborhood. I expose my true self to few people. I fear being compromised. I don’t want to have to append anything to who I am. It took too long to get here and I have appended and discarded so much of myself that at times I need to look in the mirror to make sure it’s me. then of course I gained 50 pounds and didn’t recognize myself anyway so it didn’t matter that the person didn’t fit the face. I digress. Maybe I should end this subject. I’m afraid of where I will go next.

TAKE-AWAY POINT: never let fear hold you back from living your life. that would be a waste.

love

Another one of those over used and regrettably tired words that has managed to lose all meaning. So when you really want to tell someone how very much you love them you need to put in qualifiers. I mean do I fall above or below chocolate chocolate chip ice cream on your list of things loved. This information is very important and will eliminate any misconceptions.

“I love you honey”

“I love you too baby”

‘No, I mean I really love you”

“Me too baby, I really love you too”

“How much?”

“As big as the world”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“What do you mean ‘What’s that suppose to mean?’”

“I mean are you talking diameter or circumference”

“Does it make a difference?”

“Of course it makes a difference!”

‘A difference of what?!!

“A difference of pi!!!”

“Apparently I don’t love you enough!”

“Apparently NOT!”

TAKE-AWAY POINT: If love is the answer, could you rephrase the question? ~ Lily Tomlin

laughter

Laughter is a great thing- one of my favorite things. I love to laugh, but I especially enjoy hearing people laugh. I have always hoped that I will spend my last days in a room full of people that can make me laugh and whose laugher I love to hear. In one fell swoop I went from laughter to my dead bed, a sure indication that laughter is critical to my well being. I read that the average person laughs 17 times a day. That’s impressive, I thought.

Some people have the most incredible laughs. There are certain people in my life whose laughter I can still hear after many years of absence. I have an old friend, that to this day, when I hear or see something that I know would strike him funny, I swear to you I can hear him laughing as if we were in the same room together. I can hear him so clearly laughing with such joy that my jaw aches from the stretch of my smile. I have another friend whose laughter makes me laugh so hard I almost always have to beg her to stop so I can catch my breath. I never quite know what she is laughing about, but it doesn’t matter really.

My father can make me split a gut laughing. He is the best story teller I have ever known and a brilliant joke teller. I especially love when he tells jokes in Greek. There is something about the language itself that is funny to me, so many different words and ways of expressing ideas that are lacking in English. My mother used to laugh like hell at my father even after she had so much frontal lobe damage that she couldn’t move her body, she still laughed with zeal at my father telling the same old stories she had heard a hundred times. This is true love.

TAKE- AWAY POINT: I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose. ~Woody Allen


Here is to brilliant laugh!

friendship

Friend is a word that is used too loosely in our language, like LOVE. So many different kinds of love and yet we use the same word for all of them. I think there should be distinctions, because just as we don’t love our shoes the same way we love our partner, we shouldn’t call acquaintances FRIENDS. Sometimes we find we do because there are people who are a little more than an acquaintance and although not quite a friend, acquaintance seems too small. You get the point.

I am suggesting that there are many flavors of FRIENDSHIP. Everyone isn’t a FRIEND, and by using the term loosely it minimizes important and valued relationships. So for that reason I reject this singular word usage. We need distinctions and categories. Below are my suggestions for some new terminology.

BUDSTERS: The work buddy – lots of laughs at the office, occasionally go out for drinks, maybe share a personal story or two but nothing too profound. You go home and your paths rarely cross outside of work. No weekend phone calls to check in. When they leave their job you stay in touch for a month or two, maybe as long as a year and then it fizzles out – maybe a Christmas card over the years wishing you joy and peace and overlaid with promises of getting together which never materialize.

COMFIES: The Confidant-Those with whom you can talk and share secrets with but never a laugh because they just aren’t funny and don’t even have a sense of humor for that matter. This is not the person you seek out when you’re looking for a good time because they can be a real kill joy although a savior during tough emotional times. They are generally older than you and you have much respect for them and value their role in your life. It is just a very specific role. This is understood by both.

HILAIRIES: The “I like her, she makes me laugh” friend - the person who makes you laugh, split a gut kind of laughing but beyond a shared sense of humor there’s not much else to talk about. Shallow conversation that is often strained because outside of the context of humor you find there’s not much upstairs and you’re really not that interested. You might invite this person to a BBQ but certainly not for an intimate dinner party.

CHITTERS: The gossip friend - most often, but not always,it is a co-worker since at work you are typically surrounded by all sorts of people you would never otherwise associate with– they make easy targets for gossip. The gossip friend is the one you chitter-chatter with, usually in whispered tones, disparaging your co-workers behind their back. You practice changing subjects with ease and alacrity so you don't get busted when someone pops their head in your door. (some people are really bad at this part!) Ironically, this is not a person you would ordinarily be friends with outside of work as generally people who gossip will gossip about you behind your back when they are gossiping with someone other than you.

COMATES: These are the people in your life that come closest to the meaning of the word FRIEND, because they are kind and loving people and are present when you expect them to be (funerals, illness, special moments, things like that), but you wouldn't necessarily feel comfortable calling them in the middle of the night to ask for a ride to the hospital.This would be beyond the scope of this friendship. You enjoy each others company and enjoy good times together and lots of laughs, but it is not a friendship where there is deep emotional depth. You don’t talk about profound things together or share really deep secrets. You do love and care for these people, it’s just not a deep bond. This category could be further broken down into sub-groups. Most of us have a lot of COMATES. Some BUDSTERS can fall into this category as well as Good Neighbors. You get the idea – each group with subtle but distinct differences between give and take and why they are in your life, but balanced all the same.

FRIEND: the real deal, the authentic, undeniable friend. The one with whom you can laugh and cry and share all your secrets with and never fear that your secrets or vulnerabilities will be used against you or dispersed. The one who is always there for you, who will drop anything to come to your aid, who will defend you like a lion or lioness if someone hurt you, or wronged you, or just plain said something mean to you. Loyalty is a true measure of friendship. A true friend is the one who comes to your aid before you even have to ask – they know you, they can sense discomfort and want to make your world better for you. They care deeply about you. They know unmistakably and completely in the deepest part of their heart that you would do all of these things for them as well. They never question your loyalty or motive. This is the person with whom you can be completely honest and expect the same in return. Did I behave improperly? What should I do? could I have done this or that better? Do I look fat in this outfit? They help you grow and you trust that they will always tell you the truth because they love you. The true friend honors and respects you and would never allow anyone else to dishonor you. This is the friend that is still going to be sitting next to you laughing when you are old and holding your hand when you are lonely and scared.

Friendship is also about forgiveness – about allowing for mistakes because God knows none of us are perfect –it is about apologizing and accepting apologies – about never letting hurt go unspoken – but expressing it out loud so there is no projecting – it is about communicating honestly.

It is also about making sure there isn’t spinach or lipstick on each other’s teeth, but more importantly it is about doing the boogy check after they have blown their nose.

This kind of friendship is hard to come by and usually only comes once in a life time if you're lucky. If you are lucky enough to have found such a person, look after them, nurture and protect them, love them unconditionally, don't ever take them for granted and demand all the same in return.


TAKE-AWAY POINT: be careful when choosing a friend. Pay attention to red flags from the start. To quote Maya Angelo, “when someone shows you who they really are, believe them the first time”. It’s a really valuable lesson that will ultimately spare you a lot of heart ache.

BLOGing

– an interesting concept.

I began this blog during the Katrina disaster as a way to share my experiences. I since abandoned the practice, but last week we endured a severe ice store here in New England and we were 1 of the many who lost power. 8 days to be exact. I was going out of my mind. The whole romance aspect, sitting by candle light by the wood stove with a vodka and reminiscing lasts about 2 hours and then you're like "what now".

So I have come back to the page to tell my tales and circulate my word pellets out into the universe to see where they land – and hopefully not back on me – which is always a risk when you expose something of yourself. You risk that pieces of yourself, important pieces, private, sensitive, essential pieces will get hurled back at you. Funny how that happens -especially since you normally only expose those meaningful pieces to people you think you trust to begin with. People can turn on you though. I’ve seen it done. I have personally experienced it. Just when you think its safe – bang, you find you’re missing a chunk of skin and as long as it doesn’t penetrate beyond the epidural layer your fine – if it gets to the basal cell layer you’re in deep shit. Run like hell.

Back to topic – it is an interesting thing this blogging thingy. i understand the political bloggers, the environmentalist, the How-To be’s (how to carve the perfect pumpkin, bake the best cookies, unload a lover etc and so on) – but these personal blogs (like this one)..about how I spent last Sunday and how proud I am that my niece got a scholarship - who reads this stuff ? Two or three friends maybe, our husbands or wives or whatever terminology to convey life partner- (we get hung up on these words) -Journals used to have locks and keys on them. Now everyone is writing to the whole world. since the only people reading these personal blogs are indeed the afore mentioned – why not do it person – like in the old days- sit and have real conversation, share real intimacies, tell your stories out loud and in person where you can see the persons face and see if they are actually interested in what you are saying after all. We have become a species who communicate in digitally rendered letters that form words and then sentences. We can say whatever we want. None of it need be true because they cannot see us. We measure our success in the world by the number of facebook friends we have, or how many LinkedIn connections and recommendation we can garner. People take all this quite seriously.

So, with all that said – I am hereby announcing that this - my personal blog – posted as a form of entertainment for myself, is available for your reading pleasure. but no facial expressions please, just pretend to be interested (which is what most people do anyway while they pretend to listen to you). remember i can't see you while you read this, so I'm banking on the honor system here.

One more thing…. Each entry will have a take-away point….

TAKE- AWAY POINT: when someone is pretending to listen, just pretend to talk

who say's?

So I am here because I am compelled to the page by Judith Scott, a 55 year woman, deaf, dumb and with Down’s Syndrome – an artist - a sculpture. Her work is describe as “totally non-functional objects” – I wanted to laugh when I read this – this “intellectualization” of the art she creates.


“the notion of sculpture is far beyond Judith’s understanding..”

“Judith possesses no concept of art, no understanding of its meaning or function.”

“she does not know she is an artist”

“she is not concerned with the making of art nor does she understand that her “objects” are perceived as art…”

“what then is she doing…?” (this is a question?)

“is is possible that she is obsessively involved in an activity that is without meaning?”

“does serious mental retardation invariably preclude the creation of true works of art?”

“Is it plausible to imagine an artist of stature emerging in the context of massively impaired intellectual development?” (this is a question?)

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those who do not avow they are swallowed, transported, taken, knowingly or otherwise to some other layer of time and space while they work – that they create what they do not understand - are not artist's but technicians

finally

decided to finally revisit my site. stopped doing god's work and i guess i felt i needed to stop talking. life is good and at times i am riddled with guilt about it. the unfairness. the inequity of life. the why over the suffering of so many. the how of the gene pool gamble that plops you into one life over the other. i hate watching the news, reading the paper, clicking the links. i'm sounding like i'm in my twenties - truth is i'm long past the passion but some things still stir my core liquids and those tiny bubbles rise up to form a belch of stimulated thought.

begin again....

decided to finally revisit my site. life is beautiful. the sounds, the colors, the light of the moon that paints the lake and reflects it's light upward. the upset of the whole thing is the light shines so bright into my bedroom window i can't f'ing sleep. i mean really. can something be too perfect? i have to get up and pull the blind to shield me from the perfectness of my life. good god. should i begin again?

wondering

after returning from the gulf, I distributed the journal to family and friends that would have found interest in our journey. many replied offering their praises, pronouncing their pride. I found myself feeling badly, as though my sending it were a way of soliciting accolades. "i would not have been able to do it" many said. I did not understand that. which part would they not have been able to do? those who uttered those words were loving, giving, kind people. i did not feel special for having done it, i did not feel i was sacrificing (other than my paycheck and enduring the unbearable heat), i did not feel worthy of praise for just trying to help those in need. in fact i did not feel i helped enough. i'm not certain what i could have done that would have made me feel as though i had done enough. i never responded to those who emailed a reply.

the day before leaving i overheard someone say "i don't think i should have to pay for the misfortune of others". i think my internal, absolute gutteral inability to comprehend such sentiment was the only moment i felt pride in myself. i was proud to be a human being who cared about other human beings enough to pay in whatever way i could.

Katrina relief - a journey

On September 25th Janet and I left for Gulfport MS to help with Katrina relief. Although we were long time American Red Cross volunteers, we were unable to be deployed by the Red Cross. We hooked up with Volunteers of America who had set up a Medical Clinic in Gulfport Mississippi by a friend, so we decided to go there.

The following is the journal I kept during our 8-day stay in Gulfport.

I decided to begin this blog as way of sharing this experience.


9.25.2005 day 1 Sunday

Arrived @ 3:30 pm local time and were met at the airport by Debbie who is the Clinic coordinator form Volunteers of America (VOA). She is a retired electric company employee from Florida. She seemed exhausted but greeted us with open arms and thanks.

We drove toward the clinic and although we were driving through the less devastated area – the roads were lined with piles of debris 8 feet high. There were sheds tossed across roadways, home after home with broken windows and roofs in blue tarps. The clinic was stationed north of the tracks (the dividing line between destruction and total annihilation) and the trip there was like traveling through an abandoned wasteland. The temperature was in the high 90’s with humidity like you have never felt.

We arrived at the clinic, which is made up on of 2 trailers set at right angles to each other. It is set up in a strip mall parking lot whose buildings have been abandoned. Next-door is the Pass Baptist Church. In the parking lot of the church the North Carolina Baptist Men and Women (a large faith based disaster relief organization) has set up an entire feeding station, shower facilities, laundry facility and are apparently serving breakfast, lunch and dinner to both volunteers and the homeless. Apparently yesterday they served 12,000 meals including those that they gave to the Red Cross who go out in their trucks to distribute to people in the community.


These were the Port-a-Potties we used. The tents set up are where they served our meals.

The Red Cross is not being well received here as they took forever getting here. We brought our Red Cross hats and name badges and were told it was not a good idea to wear them.

Debbie showed us around the clinic and introduced us to the doctors and nurses that are here. A doctor and 3 nurses that came from California and are associated with the International Relief Organization. They have been here 2 weeks and will be leaving tomorrow. There is another Doctor, Jennie, Alice’s friend and the reason we are here. There is still another Doctor who is from Mississippi. They all look exhausted and appear burned out. During the first week, I understand they were seeing as many as 600 people in a day.

The 2 trailers are divided into 3 sections. One trailer has a pharmacy set up (bags and boxes of drugs are just thrown everywhere – all have been donated by doctors from all over), and center area to see patients and side room equipped with you standard patient table and set up for suturing and so on. The second trailer has a room set up for tetanus and Hep A&B shots and for respiratory problems and other general area for patients and a side room where Janet will be sitting with people. Janet’s main purpose here is to serve as a grief counselor. The clinic is overflowing with donated supplies that have come from doctors and hospitals all over the country. I have my job cut out for me and can hardly wait to get my hands into organizing everything.


This is picture of the inside of one of the clinic trailers after I was able to do some organizing. We slept on the floor in the clinic while we were there.


By the time we finish the tour, they have decided to forego the Baptist dinner tonight and venture out to TGI Fridays for dinner. How weird - that in the midst of all this destruction, port-a-potties and third world conditions there is one restaurant opened. We wait for a good hour to get seated at there is hardly anyone working. Half of the items on the menu have been crossed off with black magic marker as there are limited food shipments coming into the area – particularly anything fresh – no vegetables or salad stuff.

When we get back I begin to clean out the tetanus room and make a space large enough for us to blow up our air mattress and get some sleep for the night.


9.26.2005 day 2 Monday

Today about 300 people came through the clinic. Janet sat with about 10 and there could have been many more but she could not leave those she was with to see the many that waited.

The stories are all so sad – people who have lost everything – their homes, their cars, all their possessions and on top of all that, their jobs. They sleep in their cars and wait in lines to get food and medicine from the kindness of strangers who are reaching out to them.

The Baptist church is great; they cook and feed us everyday with a smile on their faces – laughing at us because we don’t know anything about grits.

The patients today had everything from chest pains, spider bites, shingles, nose bleeds, rashes, abscesses, diabetic and respiratory issues to a volunteer whose thumb was cut off while cutting down trees. He had made a makeshift splint and just covered the top of his thumb and wrapped it in gauze and just kept on working. We gave 110 tetanus shots and filled endless prescriptions. All of the local clinics and doctors offices are simply gone. There is nowhere for these people to fill their prescriptions. Beyond all this is the endless grief. These people have a particular look in their eye; a stare that looks out to nowhere. I spoke with a woman today, held her while she cried and told me about the 9 people in her family she lost to the storm. Her faith was strong however – these people are sustained by their faith and believe that God will look after them as he already has – they survived after all – they may have nothing – but they have God. I marvel at this as of course I am inclined to ask where God was when these winds took everything from them. Instead, I hold her tightly and assure her that indeed God with look after her.

You can see the look on the face of the mother here. I will never be able to shrug the image of that fixed stare painted on the faces of so many.





9.27.05 day 3 Tuesday

Today I toured Pass Christian – one of the most devastated areas of Mississippi- it was very surreal – like a Hollywood set – complete and total destruction as if a nuclear bomb had been dropped. We had to cross a military check point to get through. We were allowed only because we were with VOA.

Nothing was left standing. Mile after mile after mile, street by street, neighborhood after neighborhood, only rubble remained. Only the slab foundations remained of million dollar beachfront homes. Stairs that lead nowhere – toilets still plumbed to concrete, their cars twisted in treetops. There wasn’t a personal article to found. Where are the walls I wondered? The roof? Their possessions? What force is capable of crumbling entire homes and driving everything 2 blocks north? Words cannot describe what I have seen. Hundred year old great big oaks, leafless but standing, their braches blooming with shreds of clothing, door frames, bicycles, baby toys, all tangled and lifeless in the still humid air. The sun beats down hard on all the ruin in sharp contrast to what my eyes and mind are trying to absorb. There are no words.





The people continue to dribble into the clinic all day – another 300 or so today. An 86 year old woman falls and splits her forehead open as she struggles to walk toward the clinic, a girl in her 20’s with her young daughter is having an asthma attach and cannot breath, at least 15 come in with what we are calling the Katrina rash. Children with fevers, men with cuts and gashes all wait for assistance. For each the physical ailment is nothing compared to their grief.

The day before yesterday Janet spends hours with a guy who lost everything and is crippled with depression and anxiety. He was a college professor and is now living out of his car. He stops by each day and speaks with Janet. This morning he came again and brought his fiancé – they were looking for the pastor to marry them.

Later today, Janet spoke with a woman whose son died in a car accident just before the storm and now she finds that her father has colon cancer. They lost everything in the storm and she can no longer deal with the cumulative loss and is in a state of despair.

Tonight after the clinic closed, we rode along with the doctor, nurse and EMT searching for people in need of tetanus or hep A vaccinations. We come upon a crew of men working to clear the rubble and vaccinated about 20 guys. No one had even told them that they should not be working in these conditions without shots.

And in the midst of all this tragedy there is this little Sicilian angel called Maria who somehow found us and cooks meals for us each day. She comes and tells us that she lost her business but she has her home and her family and she must give back because we all have too much as she says! All she wants is to give what she has and so she cooks for us – pasta, lasagna, pizza, meatballs, rice with saffron and peas, salmon puttanesca AND she brings special vegetarian meals for Janet – fresh broccoli soup, broccoli calzone, mushroom pizza.

9.28.2005 day 4 Wednesday

Today I organized the pharmacy – it took all day. I was thankful to be out of the 100 degree temperatures.

Janet spoke with a man who landed there from New Orleans who lost everything. His brother drown in the storm and his 2 two children who he had custody of were taken to the Houston dome. He has not seen them since. He was living in his car, had no money to even attempt to get to his children, and didn’t know what to do even if he got them. He didn’t want to get them just to have them all live in the car. He barely spoke and had that indescribable frozen stare. Such grief and sadness is so hard to imagine. He was one of many to whom we gave money.

The Baptist men’s (and women) group not only cook and clean for us but they also send groups out to the community to do clean up, cut down trees from roadways and yards, sweep out mud from peoples homes and tarp their roofs. The tidal surge was 30 feet high, anyone within a half mile or more of the beach was flattened, beyond that, houses were filled to just below the roofline with seawater. Those houses that stood were for the most part unlivable but FEMA would not declare them totaled. Already in just 4 weeks, these houses were nothing but black mold. Every possession was mud covered. These were the houses that the Baptist would clean. Sweeping muck and mud. How these old men and women could do this work in 100+ temperatures and 100% humidity was beyond me. You could not be out in this for more than a minute before you were soaked to the bone. And yet they went, praising the lord and thanking God but NOT before curling their hair and putting on their makeup 3 women deep behind the two sinks in the bathroom we all shared!

This evening we went out again after hours to find people to vaccinate. On our journey, after clearing one military check point and another by local police, took us to US 90 that runs along the beach. Part of the highway was collapsed. It is along this road where all the casinos were. The casinos were the livelihood of this state, the poorest in the nation. Gambling is not legal in Mississippi and so all the casino were on the water. Well no longer. The highway was impassable at one point because one of the casinos was smack in the middle – they are built on huge barges bigger than 2 football fields and some were carried miles before they were set down on roadways and where houses once stood.

9.29.05 day 5 Thursday

Today a man is his early 40’s brought his children and wife to the clinic – one of the children had an infected blister on his foot. He stayed outside while his family went in. I was outside alone at the check in desk and I watched him. He stood there, immobile, his hand covering his eyes, head bent forward for the longest time. I walked up to him to see if he was OK. He slowly brought his hand down and raised his chin ever so slightly. Again that vacuous stare. I asked him if he needed anything, if there was something I could do for him. Forty seconds passed before he shook his head…”I’m so tired” he said. I asked how he made out in the storm and again he shook his head. Another long pause – I put my arm around him “we lost everything” he said and his eyes well up. I’m wondering what I should say but cannot think of anything. He is still staring forward toward some infinite point and doesn’t notice that I am crying. I put some money in his pocket and give him a hug before he walks off.

Janet spoke with an 11-year-old girl whose family did not evacuate. She had three sisters and younger brother. Her best friend was also with them. When the storm surge came, they were in the water. She was holding her friend but lost hold of her and she drowned. How does a child survive this trauma? “Only the stupid people stayed” she said behind tears, angry that those who should have looked out for her did not take them to safety. You can only shake your head.


10.1.2005 day 6 Friday

Today a clean up crew from the Baptist church unearthed 3 bodies, 2 of which were babies. We are becoming more accepting of the horror and can shake our heads without crying.

A young man nearly cut his leg off with a chain saw and was brought to the clinic. We are seeing more injuries from falls and glass and nails and more and more pulmonary issues from the mold and heat.

It is becoming more difficult to sit and write at days end. The fatigue of the day has grown too large. And the heat is frying my brain and skin.


10.2.2005 day 7 Saturday

This morning on my way for my breakfast of biscuits gravy and grits one of the Baptist men said “good morning sister” to me. It has been interesting being here in the Bible belt where God leads the way. It is a culture foreign to me. Their faith is so strong. They thank God for everything and never for a moment consider that God had anything to do with what has happened to them.

So many people whose houses are unlivable but not flattened praise the lord and live in guilt that others have it worse.

Janet spoke with a man and a woman who also decided not to evacuate. When the water rose beyond their roof they managed to get into a boat. They were in the boat without food and water for days, naked as the wind blew the clothes off them. When the water receded, the boat lodged in a tree. They managed to get down onto the roof of a casino where they found table clothes to wrap around themselves. Once they made their way to the street a neighbor of theirs passed them on the road, stopped, but would not give them a ride. The woman sobbed as she told the story. She could only think that he did not take them because they stunk and this horrified her more than what she had endured through the storm.

Another couple who came to speak with Janet who were experiencing difficulties since the storm actually invited us to dinner. The people here are so grateful for our being here and for coming all this way to help them. They bless us and pray for us daily. This gratitude is was has been most fulfilling about this experience.


10.3.2005 day 8 Sunday


Charles and Katrina came to pick us up and drive us around to see some of the damage and see their house. They have been struggling as Charles wants to attempt to redo the house and Katrina wants to leave and not look back. Hundreds of thousands of people left the area during the evacuation and many of them will never return. They have nothing to return to.

C and K’s house was completely filled with see water and mud and completely unlivable. They paid $4000 annually for homeowners insurance (half of which was hurricane insurance). Because most of the damage was caused by the water from the storm surge the insurance is not covering anything. They agreed to give them $14,000. Meanwhile they lost their car and must continue to pay their $700 a month mortgage as well as the insurance on a house that will get demolished. This is the case for all of these people. Consequently, most of these people will simple foreclose on their properties and not only be left with nothing but with no monetary ability to more forward in their lives. Most people also lost their jobs. How does anyone cope with this loss? Most of these people are in their 50s and 60s and now must start over.


This is the inside of C+K’s house – once they removed their belongings.

When they drove us to see everything in their neighborhood, beside what our eyes were taking in, the stench was overwhelming. There were 20 tons of Tyson’s chickens in tractor-trailers that were tossed around in the storm like potato chips. All of these chickens were now strewn all over this particular neighborhood rotting in the 100-degree heat. The smell was unbearable as were the flies. Of course, this was an added horror to those who returned to find these in their homes tangles among their possessions.

I think I need to stop writing……….

10.4.2005 day 9 Monday

Today will be our last day here. Doctors from Alabama and California arrived and it is over crowded. We will leave with Doctor Keith and traveling by car for 3.5 hours to Jackson to get an earlier flight home.

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If you are interested in seeing more images – please let me know and I can send some.