Saturday, December 03, 2011

Things forgotten... and remembered


As I begin to ponder my annual Christmas greeting epistle, I am in the midst of a project to digitize the family ‘home’ movies - all those VHS tapes chronicling the kids from birth until we got out of the habit of filming (likely during the awkward pre-teen years!).  The films are precious beyond belief to me, to my kids and to their father, not just because they are the star attractions, but also because the videos allow us to see and hear my father and mother, and my ex-husband's mother - all of whom are no longer with us. These films also remind me of things I had forgotten.

I had forgotten:
  •  how sweet and loving my daughter Kate was, and is
  • how engaging and charming my son Scott was, and is
  • how funny and handsome my son Jamie was, and is
I had forgotten:
  •  the love that surrounded us all
  • the creativity and wonderment that oozed from their every pore
  • Jamie’s determination in figuring out how things worked, moved, came apart
  • Scott’s exuberance, his joie de vivre, and
  • that Kate’s imagination is innate and has always been magical
I had forgotten:
  •  how much I have missed the sound of my father’s voice
  • how much I sound just like my sister
  • how much I miss being able to pick my children up in my arms and make    everything right in their world
But I have never forgotten that my life has and is blessed with love, joy and laughter.

Friday, December 02, 2011

Thursday, December 01, 2011

Customer Service???

This week I have had two experiences in retail stores that leave me scratching my head.  I am puzzled as to why, in the current economy, that sales staff would treat customers in anything but a stellar way.

Example 1:

I am at the cash of Long Tall Sally, having tolerated the obsequious sales clerk dogging my heels at every move, and finally selecting an awesome red dress that I am purchasing for a sum that can only be described as exorbitant; but I digress.  I am at the cash waiting behind another shopper who asks for her government discount.  What, what? I think.  I've never heard of this.  So I ask "what government discount?"  Oh, the girl replies, we give 10% off to government employees.  You just have to show your ID.

At this point, I am both happy and pissed off - happy to save some money, pissed because no one mentioned this discount a month ago when I spent $600 on new winter boots, fancy shoes, and another pair of highly priced shoes.  So I said: "I wish someone had mentioned it last month when I spent a small fortune on shoes and boots."

The reply:  "Oh we don't like to mention it unless we actually see someone's ID because we lose money when we give a discount."

WTF?

Example 2:

I was looking for a VCR to be able to play old VHS tapes of family movies so that I could transfer them to digital versions and preserve them until the next technology revolution.  Tough to find VCRs these days!  After researching on line, I found that Canada Computers carries them at a reasonable price... and as luck would have it, they've just opened a new store close to my place.  Bonus.  I pop in there on the way home from work, and after wandering dazedly among the techno-mass, I ask a clerk for help.  His immediate reply:  "We don't carry those".  "Funny, I reply, "your company website begs to differ."  Well, he says, let me go take a look.

We trudge through the laden shelves to the back of the store, where he consults a computer and says:  "The Orleans Store has two, Merivale has one."  "Could you ask them to send you one here for me?" I ask.  "It'll take about 2 weeks", he replies.  "That's fine"  "Well, he says, "it really is a lot of hassle to get things from other stores, and frankly not worth the bother.  Merivale is like 15 minutes from here so you can drive there".

WTF?

I don't WANT to drive to Merivale.  And now I don't want to shop in your store ever again.  Get it?  I will NEVER shop in a Canada Computers store again.  And I will tell this tale over and over again to anyone I can because it is a perfect example of how poor customer service is these days.

I went to the nearby Best Buy.  Paid $40 more than what Canada Computers was supposedly selling these machines at, but I didn't have to waste an hour battling traffic to get to another Canada Computers store where I am sure I would have been treated equally well.  NOT.

What is wrong with people?

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Inheriting Fierceness

In speaking with my daughter Kate (www.Katehasablog.com), I mentioned the number of amazing women from whom she and I are descended.  Frankly, it is astounding how many of them were ahead of their time, courageous, on the vanguard of social change, and just plain downright FIERCE. They weren't necessarily paragons of virtue, but who among us is?  Let me share with you a sample:


Sarah Tong Lane
My Great-Grandmother
Sarah ran the family farm when my great grandfather (renowned marksman) went off the World War I - killed in action in 1917.  She continued to manage the farm single handed for many years.  4 years later, her second eldest daughter (Rose) died at age 18 from "a heavy cold and nervous breakdown" . In the 1930's she sold the farm and moved "into town" living with her youngest daughter, Adeline - a force in her own right (see below) - only to live through what must have been hell when Adeline was murdered.  Perhaps the greatest legacy to her inner steel is through her daughters (Maud and Adeline).

Maud Lane Stephenson
My Great-Aunt 
While I have no doubt that Maud was always a force to be reckoned with, it is her more quiet strength that I find admirable.  She lost her father as a young woman, and then both her younger sisters - tragically. She married during the "Roaring Twenties", raised her small family during the "Dirty Thirties".  When her husband was 42, he enlisted in the Canadian Army and went off to the Second World War.  I am not sure how she handled 1939.  She lost her sister Adeline and her husband (who did not NEED to enlist, as a married family man) goes off to war.  She took in boarders and took over Adeline's beauty salon. When her husband does come home, he has what they would now call post-traumatic stress disease.  In those days, it was called "shell shock".  He was never right again.  He never worked.  Well, that's not exactly true.  He puttered in the work shed "inventing" things.  Maud ran a business, kept boarders, raised her two girls.  And, of course, looked after Jack.

Adeline Lane McDonald
Adeline.  Ah, Adeline.  Let's quickly skip over the fact that her father is killed in WWI when she is 7, her older sister dies when she is 11... these facts are true, and I have no doubt affected her profoundly.  But there is so much more to this phenom!  In 1929, at age 19, she won the crown of "Miss Chatham" - a beauty contest run by Hollywood producers looking for the next starlet.  The same year she married Charles McDonald. In the 1930's, Adeline owned and operated a beauty shop, employed 3 women, drove a yellow roadster, and bought vacation property along Lake Erie.  Her husband had odd jobs, chauffeuring and as a shipping clerk.  In 1936, Adeline represents her family on the "Vimy Pilgrimage" - a national event in which thousands of family representatives of soldiers killed in WWI sailed across to England and then to France for the unveiling of the Vimy Memorial by King Edward VII.  This 5'2" powerhouse was a beauty queen, a successful businesswoman in the 30's, and traveled by herself to attend an historic Canadian event.  And then, her husband murdered her.  And even her death was noteworthy: "Beauty Queen Murdered" was the headline in all the major Canadian newspapers and even those in the U.S. where a Chicago magazine (I imagine a pre-cursor to the "People" mags of today) carried a full, multi-page spread about the affair.  He murdered her because she had filed for divorce.  Her husband is eventually found guilty, sentenced to hang, and then - as the nation had begun to question death sentences - had his sentence commuted by the Governor General to mere life in prison. He was out in 12 years.

That's just a snippet from my maternal grandfather's side. My maternal grandmother (and her sister) should not be forgotten however! And maybe I should start with the great grandmother on that side as well!
Gertrude Reddick DeCou
My Great-Grandmother
Aside from the grace she showed bearing such a dreadful name (Gertrude - I mean, honestly!)... she was quite fierce in her own right.  Regrettably, I know very little of her life.  My own Grandmother adored her, worshipped her... and Ruby was pretty darned hard to impress.  There is one story, however, that really paints a picture of the kind of woman she was.  It was October 1901 (and apparently during very bad weather) when Gertrude went into labour early.  Her husband left to go get the Doctor, leaving Gertrude and 4-year old Maud at home.  As my grandmother told it, by the time the Doctor arrived, Gertrude had given birth to twins, had cut the umbilical cords, dealt with the afterbirth, and the twins were swaddled and laying near the wood stove (there were no incubators for preemies back then).  Sadly, only one of the twins survived (Lee).  Gertrude was up and back at work on the farm within a day or two.  Having had twins myself, I can only marvel at her resourcefulness and strength.

DeCou farm where Gertrude gave birth to twins, alone.


Pearl DeCou Bishop Iler
My Great-Aunt
Pearl was ahead of her time, like my Grandfather's sister Adeline.  Pearl married William Bishop in 1917 and endured his drunken debauchery and abuse for 13 years.  She saved her "egg money" little by little until in 1930 she had enough to hire a lawyer and divorce him.  May I remind you that this was 1930?  I wish I knew what she did after that, where she worked, which year on Christmas Day she married her second husband, Roy Iler.  But I don't.  I know she spent a great deal of time travelling all over the United States on bus tours and I love her sense of adventure and drive to experience being free.  I know that she had to move from the little place she lived when she divorced William Bishop because she could not even attend church because of the scandal.  In the new town she settled in, she let people believe she was a widow.  After she married Roy Iler, they moved to Windsor which is the only place I remember visiting her.  She was an avid quilter and painter, and I regret that she died long before I was aware of her fierceness, long before I could ask her how it all happened, how she managed, and where she found the strength.

Ruby DeCou Lane (Wedding Day)
My Grandmother (maternal)
In this photo of Ruby's wedding you see, Maud (standing on the left most side), Adeline (kneeling on the right foreground), Pearl (to the right of the bride, Ruby), Gertrude (behind Pearl) and peaking out between Ruby and Pearl must be Sarah.  

Ruby's brother Lee was a big disappointment to her father. He's in this picture, actually, peeking out from behind my Grandfather. You can see that he is smaller than my Grandmother - and she was not overly tall.  Dan DeCou (far right) must have hoped for a son to help on the farm, but Lee wasn't it.  Ruby, in fact, was the one who worked alongside her Dad on the farm.  She went to school, worked the farm, pitched hardball on two teams (one a men's team, since she was the best pitcher in the county) and then would come home, get all dressed up and go out dancing.  I have a little photo album of hers that is page after page of photos of boys/men she "went with" as she put it.

Ruby was a hard worker and remained a hard worker her entire life.  It irked her that women could work as hard or harder than a man and not get equal pay - or even equal recognition.  In the 1960's and 70's, she worked alongside my Grandfather in "his" toy wholesale business.  That was in addition to doing all the housework.  Every Christmas, my Grandfather would give her a crisp $100 bill as "thanks" for her work at the shop.  It still makes me wonder why he never realized that it was a $100 "slap in the face". I rarely saw my grandmother 'take it easy'.  She worked all the time.  When she came for a visit, she would clean things and fix things that my mother (who worked full time) didn't have time to do.  Ruby was unstoppable.  In her 80's, she helped my mother pack up the entire contents of a large house and then unpacked them at the new one.  Yes, she was unstoppable and indefatigable.  

And then there is my own mother, Evelyn Lane Hawkins ... and then back to Lane, if the truth be told.  My mother was complex, with many tragic flaws that don't belong in this telling.  But if we are telling true here, she was also a woman to be reckoned with.  My mother was quite tall for her generation (5' 10") which, when added to the fact that she was extremely bright, made it a little hard in the dating department.  She always thought she was not that attractive, but she was wrong.  She obtained the highest mark in her high school graduating class, but the full university scholarship prize went to the male "top of class".  My Mother attended university for 1 year - that was all her parents could afford - and then went to Teacher's College (called "normal school" back in the day).  My mother taught elementary school for a number of years before and after her marriage to my 6'6" tall father.  And then she did what most women of her generation did in the late Fifties and early Sixties:  she became a mother and a housewife...  and a help-mate to her Air Force Officer hubby.

My mother followed my father to his many postings, as was expected in those days.  First to British Columbia - far from her friends and family and in a dreary, wet climate that added to her feelings of isolation.  She had two small children by the time Dad was posted to Germany, then Italy, then back to Germany, before heading to Labrador. And while I have no doubt being in Europe was grand, and I know how much she loved Labrador, it was still a lot to have almost sole responsibility raising 3 small children (my sister was born overseas).  Dad traveled a LOT.  She was alone a LOT.

After being transferred back to Ontario, money was tight and my parents decided that Mom would go out to work.  She started selling encyclopedias (remember those?) door to door in the evenings.  I shudder to think of this.  Eventually she got a job teaching, but times were changing and she now needed to get her B.A. So, she worked full time teaching grades 7, 8, and 9, continued to manage the household as Dad was still away a LOT, and went to night school where she eventually graduated with summa cum laude (tops!) honours.

My mother spent much of her adult years frustrated by a society that had raised her with one set of expectations, imposed another set, and judged her by a third set.  An exceptionally bright woman, who had wanted to study medicine but could not, took on the role of home-maker and mother (i think somewhat reluctantly!) and then was forced by economic changes to become a working mother - and then faced the scorn of her own generation of women.  She used to tell me that I would need to realize that "I can't have it all" (meaning, career , family AND self-actualization).  She had to parse it out into stages, I think.  I'm hoping I'm doing a little better at it.  And I think I didn't really appreciate what it cost her emotionally to live in the times she did with the situations she faced.  

I come from impressive female stock.  There is a thread of inner steel, of determination, of grit and accomplishment that runs through my DNA.  Fierceness as a legacy!  So, I think that maybe on those days I feel like I just want to cocoon under the duvet rather than face the work day or minor little problems, I need to pause and remember that the women in MY family do not shrink back, do not hide; they dare, they dream, they do!


Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Don't call me skinny. That's not my name!

Let's get one thing straight, right off the get go.  I am NOT, nor will I ever be, skinny.  I'm built for comfort.  I am a pear.  I take after the ancient carvings of the ultimate mother.  I am round in the round places.

And while I appreciate that people want to congratulate me on my weight loss - yes, I am indeed looking ever so much better - I do not, repeat, NOT want co-workers to greet me with "Hi, skinny".  It may seem perverse to want to look better and feel better, yet not have every single encounter punctuated with remarks about my thinning face, my shrinking fat.  Why?  Because if you are consciously noting my size now, you were before, and god forbid, you might again.  Would you like me to address you as "Hi fatty"?

I am not my dress size anymore than I am my shoe size (which also is the subject of remark from time to time...as in, OH MY GOD! How big ARE your feet?)  What a shock to discover that a 6 foot tall woman has size 12 feet!  I would really like you to treat me as if you do not see that my clothes are a tad baggy, and that my face has lost its pudge (which means I used to look younger, but now I feel younger).  I really really only want my closest friends and family to comment on how much weight I have lost.  I don't even want my boyfriend to pass comment other than to say from time to time:  you look great!

So for all you folks out there who notice that someone you work with or are acquainted with is losing weight, here are a few alternatives to the "OMG, you're disappearing" remark:

1.  Hi [insert name].  That's a super dress / outfit on you.  It looks great.
2.  You look great.
3.  It's inspiring to see your commitment.
4.  NOTHING.  (i.e., act as if nothing is different unless THEY bring it up)

And, finally, just one aside about the "you're disappearing" comment.  No, I am not.  In fact, when I was fat I was invisible (except when you looked wistfully at the 1/2 seat I left next to me on the bus).  Now that I have lost about 140 lbs from my all time heaviest, men and women open doors, give up their seats, randomly engage in witty repartee at the bus stop, and so on.  The fat phobia and fat prejudice in our society runs rampant - it's the last area of bigotry that seems acceptable.  And it stuns me how incredibly marginalized and discounted good, smart, wonderful people are merely because they are overweight.  But that's a topic for another day.

In the meantime, yes, I DO look mahvelous... but no, my name is NOT "skinny".

Friday, November 04, 2011

Steve Jobs can teach us more than just how to design cool stuff

I was sad when I heard about the death of Steve Jobs.  I was more surprised by how my grown 'twentysomething' adult children reacted.  Yes, they are Apple fans and into i-this and i-that.  But it was their perspective on how Jobs had changed 'everything' in their world that I found intriguing.  When I thought about it, however, I realized they were right.

You could say that he was responsible for mere gadgets and gizmos, but you would miss the point.  I am no expert on Jobs, no expert on all the influence he had in so many spheres of technology; I only have my own experiences and can only bear witness to what I myself have seen.  So these are the thoughts that come to my mind:

For me, the most profound gift he gave was "access".  Access to music - lots of music - music of all kinds, from all nations, all available at the click of a mouse. But not just music!

I think of my sister, an English and History teacher who used to love to read Shakespeare to her students, until her vision problems made it impossible to see well enough to read aloud.  Yes, she has a Kindle and she can amp up the font so that she herself can read more easily.  But to read Shakespeare, you need to see more than 6 words.  The iPad gave her back the ability to read to her students.  The first day she did so, everyone was in tears:  the kids and my sister.  What a precious gift.

And while I cannot know for sure that Jobs and Apple designed their iPad with any thought to allowing the visually impaired the gift of reading aloud, perhaps that is the brilliance of the man: to intuitively know what users need.

I truly lament the loss of this visionary.  And now, having read the eulogy his sister gave at his funeral, I am ever more saddened by his passing. Take the time to read Mona Simpson's eulogy for Steve Jobs.

I am awed by his joy in the simple things, in beauty, in family.  I am awed by his continual desire to improve upon everything around him.  And, I am awed by his final words: "Oh Wow. Oh Wow. Oh Wow".

If the 'other side' is wow-ing Steve Jobs, why would we ever fear passing?

Saturday, October 29, 2011

On talking too much

I am a talker.  I would never presume to categorize myself otherwise.  It makes it hard, however, to tell someone else to "shut the eff up".

I belong to a lovely book club of wonderful women.  We meet once a month for a dinner based on the book we've read.  We've had fabulous meals and memorable discussion, some sparked because of the book and some just organically stemming from someone's news or life event.

There is one woman there, however, who cannot censor herself.  Incessant and inane are too words that come to mind.  How do you tell someone that you don't care to know every thought in her head?  Even her emails overshare.  The worst part is that she wouldn't hurt a fly and would be mortified if she knew that people are relieved if she can't make it.  Even her good friends in the group are becoming annoyed.

Last night, I did not even realize that I shut her down once or twice and turned the conversation back to one where others could participate and not be mere spectators in the monologue of the mundane.  I also did not notice that a few others had cut her off and shut her down and that people were becoming irritated.  In the end, though, everyone is too nice to tell her that she is a spotlight hog... a conversation boor.

I might say something if I were not a gabby person myself.  In fact, I often worry that I say too much and find myself consciously 'zipping it' to let others have a turn.  Perhaps THAT is the difference:  I am aware of talking too much and motor mouth is not.

Is there a book we could add to the list that would create more self awareness?  Or would that be too subtle for her?  Likely.  At any rate, group dynamics are fascinating and watching the quiet ones gradually step up and claim air time, and shut down the verbal diarrhea will be interesting.  For now, I am grateful that she hasn't managed to get the group to change the night of our meetings to suit her (and only her) or to get the group to invite her husband to join (it's a women's group) despite the fact that many of us prefer him to her.

I'll let the universe sort this one out!

Thursday, October 27, 2011

The Weight is Over, and other tall tales

I am a large person.  Scratch that - I am a BIG person.  I stand 6 feet tall and have at some points in my life weighed a helluva lot.  My relationships with food and exercise are complex and I may never unravel it all and make sense of it.  But I plan on trying.

Last year, I read "Women, Food and God" by Geneen Roth. I had been browsing O magazine while waiting for an appointment and just happened to open to the interview of Ms. Roth.  In the small bit I read, something resonated and I ordered the book as soon as I got home.  I devoured the book, if you will pardon the overeating reference!

My "aha moment" (to borrow from Oprah) was realizing how little care and compassion I had for my "self".  I am strongly supportive and caring of others, but I denied myself the same!  I also took my body completely for granted.  I have good genes as they say - great blood pressure, high "good" cholesterol, low "bad" cholesterol, etc. etc. I also had some bad genes, i.e., obesity on both sides of my family.  What right did I have to squander the good?

I also decided that I needed to stop lambasting and whipping myself for every little thing I put in my mouth.  I decided that I needed to honour my self, my body, my spirit.  I needed to commit to myself.

Sounds easy, right?  Uh uh. Not exactly. Been there and done that.  Five years previous I had embarked on a program at a local bariatric clinic and lost over 130 pounds.  Gradually the weight had gone back on - not all - but a goodly amount.  My first big decision, one that I must occasionally remind myself of, was not to dwell on the fact that I had re-gained, but to focus on the now, focus on my commitment to myself.  It became - still is - a personal journey to health and wellness.  I have no group exercise classes to go to, no Doc to weigh me.  Just me, myself, the elliptical and weights in the basement, the food scale, and http://www.myfitnesspal.com  .

I promised myself honesty.  I promised myself commitment.  And that is what I have continued to do.  I log calories and exercise. I banish the "voice" in my head that tries to undermine my confidence.  I take each day and do my best.

Here's what I've learned:  I am strong.  I prefer exercising alone rather than in a group or at a gym. I can talk myself into exercising just as easily as I used to talk myself out of exercising. The scale is a number that provides me with information but has no power; the power is my commitment to myself. The power is gentleness and honesty with myself.

I am now down to what I weighed when I finished at the bariatric centre.  But I feel different.  I feel in control, and I feel on track.  I have met my major and minor goals, and have made the effort to reward myself for my hard work in meaningful ways.  I am not done with losing, I am not done with exercising, I am not done with counting calories.  But, I feel good.

I will always be a big person.  I will never be short.  I will always have big feet, a big heart, a big sense of humour, a big intellect, a big thirst for knowledge, and a big joy for living.

I have now added to this list: I have a big commitment to myself and my health.

Bullys

I wish we lived in harmony.  I wish we could feel good about ourselves without taking someone else down.  I wish bullying others was universally reviled by society to the extent that it was as unacceptable as belching or farting in public.

Check this out to see the perspective of  a twenty-something:

Kate Has a Blog: YouTube of the Week

Sunday, October 23, 2011

Dealing with Uncomfortable Situations

I am no stranger to having to face my fears, to deliver unpleasant news, to inform employees of things they don't want to hear, to listen to heartbreak, to watching someone die... And yet, it never gets easier.


I have:
- known months in advance that my father was going to leave my mother, and kept silent 
- sat beside a friend whose baby has just died while 7 months pregnant myself, and looked at the pictures, and held my tears
- phoned colleagues one after the other to inform them that a beloved boss had been tragically killed, and then led them through the grief amidst pressing work deadlines
- confronted unethical behaviour at work
- retracted funding from organizations with failed audits (knowing that doing so would likely cause the organization to fold)
... and the list goes on.


I have had another uncomfortable situation at work this past 2 weeks, and tomorrow my own boss will be back and he will find himself in deep doo doo.  I expect he will try and "explain things" to me - as if that matters.  Friends are reminding me that I should not be the one feeling uncomfortable, because I am only the one who was left with a mess to clean up.  And yet, I know it will be awkward and unpleasant.


Do the ones who put us in these situations feel anything?  Are they sorry?  Do they know I laid in bed at 4 am worrying about how to phrase things, or what their reaction would be, or if I was making a mistake.  It's unlikely. 


I am reminded of some wisdom (from whom I remember not) that says that it is not the stuff that happens in our life that defines us, but rather our reaction to it.  This is very true, but sometimes it takes courage.  Scratch that.  Always, it takes courage.  It takes courage to stand by others who are in pain, and in your silence and in your embrace, hold their pain for them for even just a moment.  It takes courage to have integrity and bear witness to what is right and not turn a blind eye to wrong.  


"Courage is grace under pressure" said Ernest Hemmingway.  Maya Angelou takes it further.  She says: “Courage: the most important of all the virtues because without courage, you can't practice any other virtue consistently.” 


I think we must allow ourselves to be uncomfortable, so that we don't take the easy path, so that we can live with integrity, so that we develop our skills in compassion that allow us to comfort those in distress.  


So tomorrow I will try and make peace with my uncomfortableness.  And it's not like there's another option anyway!

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Dalai Lama's 18 Rules for Living

You may have read these before... he apparently wrote them at the turn of the Century.  But, if you haven't - and even if you have - read them... slowly... and think...


  1. Take into account that great love and great achievements involve great risk.
  2. When you lose, don’t lose the lesson.
  3. Follow the three Rs:
    1. Respect for self
    2. Respect for others
    3. Responsibility for all your actions.
  4. Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.
  5. Learn the rules so you know how to break them properly.
  6. Don’t let a little dispute injure a great friendship.
  7. When you realize you’ve made a mistake, take immediate steps to correct it.
  8. Spend some time alone every day.
  9. Open your arms to change, but don’t let go of your values.
  10. Remember that silence is sometimes the best answer.
  11. Live a good, honourable life. Then when you get older and think back, you’ll be able to enjoy it a second time.
  12. A loving atmosphere in your home is the foundation for your life.
  13. In disagreements with loved ones, deal only with the current situation. Don’t bring up the past.
  14. Share your knowledge. It’s a way to achieve immortality.
  15. Be gentle with the earth.
  16. Once a year, go someplace you’ve never been before.
  17. Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.
  18. Judge your success by what you had to give up in order to get it.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

"Fierce Longing" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer


There are moments
when making love
when a door
to something else
opens.
I am never prepared.
There is no preparation
for the way it takes me
and leaves me.
Sometimes it is brought
by a movement of tenderness:
soft lips that brush my forehead
and murmur my name
as the fire burns through
me making
my hips rise
and my blood moan.
Sometimes it is brought
by a moment of great courage:
eyes that dare to meet
and hold mine as the flood
of silky amber honey
takes us both over the edge.
And sometimes
it is brought
by the sting of what is not
and the memory of
tenderness and courage
that has been.
And when that moment
catches me
and tosses me
I am helpless.
The words spill
unbidden
into the night:
“I want … I want … I want…”
Unfinished
they leave me
dangling
suspended over the chasm
of my own bottomless
desire.
Reaching
aching
grasping
for that fleeting something
I glimpsed
or imagined
just beyond.
Gone before
I could name it.
The breath catches
a strangled sob
tears me
opens me
and I fall back
eyes wide and
dazed
on damp pillows
my face
wet with tears.
And his eyes
stare
bewildered
frightened by the fierceness
of my longing.

"To be of Use" by Marge Piercy


The people I love the best
Jump into work head first
Without dallying in the shallows
And swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
The black sleek heads of seals
Bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
Who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
Who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
Who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
In the task, who go into the fields to harvest
And work in a row and pass the bags along,
Who stand in the line and haul in their places,
Who are not parlour generals and field deserters
But move in a common rhythm
When the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
Has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums,
But you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
And a person for work that is real.