Part 2-Rain, Art, Mama Mia

We are on the downside of our annual family reunion. I am still working on the upside and will publish it later. (If that’s a problem for you, wait a couple of weeks and you can read them in order.)

As I write, I am in Dianne’s art class with Christina Chastain and Luna and about 20 other industrious and creatively talented artists and wannabes. Most of them are working on a hazy, lazy fall landscape scene in shades of grey and purple. I love this class Christina, of course, is a very good teacher…. patient and generous with her perfectly timed advice.  Everyone here appears to come ready for fun. Lots of laughing and painting. “Keeping a dry brush with wet paint is really hard.” “Make sure it’s different shades of purple.” “Get some of those gold, red, yellow colors on your canvas.”  “use too much brown and the dark colors “… “Is the music too loud? I’m taking a tai-chi art class next week.” “ What? Do you hold the brush with your teeth?”  What a warm and happy community Christina has created in her space. “Do you guys need to spray your palette?” Voices of participants bounce around spreading warmth and joy.

Let me describe her space. It’s about a 50 by 30ft room decorated by floor to ceiling supports dressed to look like trees with tiny white lights and random, dripping winter Christmas lights. She has also placed large white globes, about 4-5 feet in diameter, with daisy-like metal flowers on the ends of spokes. The ceiling is high and the effect is one of a winter wonderland. There are pictures on every single wall signed by her various students over the years, including a couple of signed Tiffany Copen’s.

Dianne’s working on a bird picture, a kingfisher with a kill in his beak. She is focused on the background and declares she is not happy with the results. We have to leave early to go to an appointment—but I can’t remember what or why. I think we ended up going to see MamaMia at a theater in Ballantine Village. Di and I couldn’t get two seats together due to the crowd of people longing for a good ABBA fix.  Later in the car going home it became apparent that Di and I had watched two completely different films. Me: where the daughter of Merle Streep, Sophie, returns to the island after Merle dies. She leaves her fiancé in Manhattan. His name is SKY…that information becomes important later… She holds a huge party to celebrate her mother’s life. All three of her fathers fly in for the celebration. In the meantime, Sophie meets and is intimate with three different boyfriends. SKY returns and she sleeps with him. The rabbit dies and she is pregnant. Sophie tells SKY he is the father and about 5 months later Sophia has the baby and all three of Sophie’s father’s are present for the celebrated birth, and all three boyfriends show up, also Cher shows up as Sophie’s Grandmother and sings her heart out!  Everybody in the theater sang along with all the cast in the MamaMia finale.

We agreed the movie was a lot of fun. But Di saw a film that had two different young women who had two different babies. She thinks SKY is the father of Sophie’s baby, but there is another girl in the movie that has her baby “all alone” That’s all I know. She’d have to tell you what that means to her.  She was very moved by the ending that happened in her film. I didn’t see her movie.

Of course, it rained all afternoon again. I swear, I must have done something wrong in a previous life. It looks like it is going to rain every day this entire 6 weeks of vacation. I’ll get back to you, if anything happens worth telling before I leave for home in Henderson on August 19th. We have plans to go to Lake Jocassiee if it stops raining long enough next week! I’ll keep in touch.

Developmental Needs

The other day I was talking with a patient I have known for fifteen years. I don’t see her often. She told me once she felt I was a good check-in four or five times a year to make sure she’s not “crazy”. I told her we all have a little crazy in us, otherwise we’d  die of boredom. We laugh a lot in our time together now and I feel sometimes like I’m visiting a good friend.  I’ve told her she really doesn’t need to see me anymore. She insists she wants to because she trusts I will talk honestly with her. When her doctor referred her fifteen years ago he said he’d never seen a woman in such despair.

Our first visit I learned her husband had died eight months earlier somewhere in Afghanistan, or Syria, or Iran…somewhere in the Middle-East…killed by someone he didn’t know and had never seen before. Killed on a hot, dusty, solid rock mountain on the other side of the world.. Her husband was the first and last person she trusted.  My first words to her were “You look like you are in a lot of pain.” For two hours I listened to her explain her broken heart and spirit.  She sobbed at times and she would wipe her face and smear her tears with her runny nose and mascara. She told me she had grown up in various foster homes.  Her mother died in a car accident when she was two. Her father was so shattered by the loss of his wife he drank himself into a stupor every night and had no idea how to raise a 2-year-old baby girl. They had no other family to help him. Eventually he lost his job and killed himself on the same day she turned eight. She was playing outside when he put the gun to his head. She heard the noise and was too afraid to go back into the house. Eventually, when darkness came to chill the air, she ran to a neighbor’s house. They called 911 and my friend was taken into the foster care system that night.

As you can imagine, she had a very lonely and chilly childhood.  She said she turned her feelings off when she became aware at around five years old that she was too much for her father. Says she knew he killed himself because she cried too much and was too emotional. She eventually aged out of the system at 18, got a job and an apartment and went on with her lonely existence. She had some money from an inheritance from her father and social security from her mother. She worked as a secretary and took night classes and eventually became an elementary school teacher. She told me she walked through most of her early life rigid with grief. She kept to herself as much as possible. Sometimes the kids in her class would make her laugh or smile, but not very often. She lived a quiet life.

Then, He walked into her life in the middle of an educational psychology class.  The class was half over. Every student was required to give a presentation relating to educational psychology. Her topic was “The Developmental Needs of an Infant or Toddler”.  She walked to the front of the class and began her presentation. Somewhere in the middle she claimed that “it is essential to the very existence of the child that her relational needs be met by the adults in her life”.  He raised his hand and asked, “Why? What happens if the child’s basic relational needs aren’t met?”She said he had the least aggressive manner of speaking and she stumbled and froze and could not answer for what seemed like hours.  Then she blurted out, “The children will never learn to trust.”  “Never?” he asked.  “Never.” she answered. She then left the classroom, mid-speech. She collapsed on a cold, stone bench behind the classroom, put her face in her hands and cried so hard she couldn’t breathe. When he asked that question ,that day in class, she heard her voice for the first time reply “Never” and knew it was she and it was true.

But this isn’t a romance novel. It’s about how we, as individuals are put on this earth to make and learn from relationships. And it is never too late! Our relationships are the way we learn to love and trust ourselves… and love and trust others.  We are hurt in relationships.  Our hearts are broken. We argue and learn how to resolve differences. We learn to listen-really listen to others. We learn about fairness and anger and what to do with it. We learn how to feel the feelings and move on when we need to move on. We learn love, disappointment, laughter and sorrow in relationships. And Oh so much more!

My friend is fine. She has learned how cruel the world can be and how wonderful.  She has never re-married, but she has loved and been loved  by many wonderful people.  She has worked very hard so that today she can feel all of her feelings. She still teaches, and loves her children. She has wonderful friends and swears life has given her more than it has taken. And, she has learned to trust her instincts and experiences enough to know when to let go. She trusts and loves herself. #ME TOO.

 

 

Too Busy to Care

     Some days days I wake up racing to catch up. It takes me a minute and a cup of coffee to actually open my eyes and then let the dog out.  I am off and running. On this particular day I took Woof (our dog) to the vet only to discover that his scratching was because he was full of mites he’d picked up at the dog park in the neighborhood. I started itching as soon as I heard the diagnosis. I wanted to rush back to my house and burn it down. I imagined it was full of mites! And they are ugly little dudes. I know this because the vet showed me a picture I wish I could forget. Fortunately he then told me they don’t like people, just dogs, but I might want to go home and change the bed sheets and vacumn the rugs. I left the vet with my infested pet and did exactly what he suggested, feeling slightly sick everytime I remembered Woof was hosting millions of mites!  I left for work after kicking the mites out. Saw two clients, was printing out my supervision agenda for the next day when my printer ran  out of black ink and stopped dead still.  Why is that? It seems to me that printers these days drink ink like water. I usually have a spare, but not this day! It’s noon and my  next appointment is an hour away, so I jump in  my car and drive to Office whatever and trade  my firstborn for a full set of cartridges…that’s what ink costs these days.  When I return to my office my one o’clock client is waiting for me. At about 3:30,  I come up for air and head out to the Post Office to pick up some stamps whe suddenly it hits me… I haven’t eaten anything all day long and I am absolutely ravenous. I pull into Micky D’s drive-thru and order the fish filet, a small fry and a medium diet coke…the guy on the other end of the speaker does not understand me…after the second time he asked me to repeat I cut the order down to  a diet coke with extra ice. He got that message. I drove thru the drive-thru and picked up my coke and as I was leaving the window I thought… What the heck? I’ll just park the car…stop running like a marathoner…and take 30 minutes to go inside, order my fish filet and sit in a booth and eat like a normal person who is hungry!
 What a surprise! I don’t know the last time I went into McDonalds, but the place was kinda nice. The owners had renovated and I was impressed with the lighting, the flowers on every table, the cleanliness of the place. My gosh! There was one booth that was in a corner that had a chandelier hanging over it. My fish filet and small fry were quite tasty…and I took time to SLOW DOWN AND LOOK AROUND.  There was a table behind me with a couple of teenagers who were talking about their day. They left within 5 minutes of my arrival. To the left of me was an elderly man finishing up his food. I looked to the right and took a deep breath and was grateful for the beautiful day. As I glanced at the table in front of me I was immediately fascinated. At this table sat a beautiful woman reading a book. Not a cell phone.  A book. She was dressed in a coral red blazer, a white blouse and navy blue slacks. Her make-up was perfect. She was sipping her coffee through a straw so as not to mess up that perfect makeup! Gold triangle earrings sparkled and danced  as she ate her burger, carefully wiping the corners of her mouth after every petite bite. As she turned the pages of her book a young woman who is employed with McDonalds stopped to check if she was enjoying her lunch. I didn’t hear the answer she gave, but I saw her smile and I was hooked. I began to eavesdrop.  After a few minutes, the older man who had been sitting to my left moved over and joined the small conversation. Turns out he and the woman who works there are married and the man is 86 and talking about how much he had seen in his lifetime. The woman in the red blazer, with the beautiful silver and white hair, agreed with him. Her voice was strong and lovely with a slight British accent. I picked up my tray to leave and finish all my “To Do” list and I found myself turning around and asking them if I might join their conversation. The older gentleman slid over and welcomed me and the woman in the red blazer turned on her beautiful smile.  They spoke about how much the world had changed in their lifetime. I found out the woman in the red blazer was 98 and alone…that once a week she would get all dressed up and go to a restaurant and read her books and talk with whomever would engage with her.  She said she had grown up in the British West Indies. When she graduated from High School WWII was raging all over Europe and she moved to the United States and went to work in Washington DC for the government. She said Herbert Hoover was President when she moved to Washington and when we dropped the bombs on Heroshima and Nagasaki she wept for days. I guess those bombs saved a lot of soldiers lives, she said, but she cried for days.  I asked if she was married and she laughed and said… not at the present time. Said she married first when she was too young and he was no good and she kicked him out after a while.  Then she married the second time, but he was alcoholic and he wandered around unti he wandered off, and that was the end of that.  Then she met a man  she admired who asked her to marry him and she told him she would not…but she would live with him and love him. She did just that until he died of cancer about 15-20 years later.  I asked if she had children and she said she did have one son. And the gentleman sitting next to me said that was good because she was not alone…then she told us that her son doesn’t visit her often, even though he lives here too, because he is married and his wife is jealous of the time he spends with his mother. The woman who works for Micky D’s asked her what she does with all her time and she replied she reads a lot and goes to the library and she gardens… and once a week, if she is lucky, she runs into people like us who listen to her story… and that is enough. This woman made my heart sing….and break. And did I tell you she is 98?
We hung around and talked about love and politics and the price of things…and of course, President Trump. You might be suprised to know we split right down the middle…just like the Country. About an hour later we all walked out of McDonald’s together and she got in her new car and drove away. In two years she will be 100 years old with a straight back.  A  beautiful woman whose skin did not have a single wrinkle , who is alone and likes the company she keeps. A well mannered, proper and kind woman named Edna with a story to tell. A wonderful story, if we are not too busy to ask.

I Have to Look Back to See What’s Coming

Guest Blogger:  Stacie Cortney

As I sat in my back yard with my foot elevated to prevent it from swelling, I started thinking about reincarnation. I thought about my mom and began to compare her life to mine. She broke her foot when she was 50. She “rescued” her grandchild when she was 49. She quit drinking when she was about 52. She kept chasing her relationship with her daughter by incorporating her grandchild.

Then I thought, what if reincarnation happens before the first human dies…hence history repeats itself.

I am curious about this. I have always liked the idea of reincarnation.  I find myself contemplating  how I have been on the same path as my mom. I broke my foot at 50. I quit drinking around 52. I flew to New Mexico to “rescue” my grandchild at 49.  And I have been chasing a relationship with my son through my grandchild. I guess I need to look back to see what I am supposed to do…or maybe I’ll break the chain and do something different … maybe create a new path.

Speaking to the heart

What Oprah had from her very first exposure to us–in the Phil Donahue/ Sarah Jessie Raphael days–was a ravishing hunger. She was driven to find answers for her questions. I imagine there were times she was uncomfortable with being at the helm of our ship. Maybe afraid even. She is human after all. And she had the courage to persevere  straight through the fear in persuit of her next truth. Which would lead to her next truth, and her next. Figuring truth out with each breakthrough. And we watched her wisdom grow, and we watched it change her, enrich her and we watched her reach higher with every insight she collected along the way. She interviewed Zen Masters and Writers of great novels, and ordinary people along the way. She surrounded herself with people from whom she could learn and  she invited us along on her journey. She began this journey with her-private-story, and in following her journey to enlightenment, we began to find our journey and our truth and our voice…and we discovered we were hungry for authenticity and Oprah validated us. She gave us permission to make mistakes- big ones- and still value ourselves. To trust our intuition and develop our power and say “No” and mean it and “yes” and mean it. She taught us to speak our truth about  abuse and the violence of our childhood without allowing the shame. She taught us we do not have to be victims of our history, we can get help and do our work -She asked us to understand we can survive and even thrive if we find a great friend or a good therapist and do the necessary work. -We began to place the blame and shame on the perpetrators and take back our life and reclaim our voices and learn to make better choices. Oprah brought all of this to center-stage for all to see, and she invited us to witness it…and we all in varying degrees became wiser for it!   She is a spectacular role-model. I have been with her every step of the way–never wavering in my admiration. Oprah inspires us and challenges us to be our best self. So when she gave her speech upon receiving the Cecil B DeMille Humanitarian award at Hollywoods Golden Globes, she spoke to every single person listening directly to their hearts. she was nothing less than perfect.      Time is up. We will not be dismissed ar disrespected. Whether we’re talking sexism, racism, violence, verbal abuse, sexual abuseor or any kind of disrespect! We. Will. Not. tolerare.anymore!  NO MORE. WE WILL TELL. WE WILL CALL IT OUT.

I love Oprah , she inspires me to be my best!  The World is better because she is here..

I do not want her to run for President.. We are being greedy and I cannot bare to watch that destruction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thurgood Marshall

11-18-2017

THURGOOD MARSHALL

If you want to help change the awareness of the culture in this country, go to your nearest movie theatre immediately and buy a ticket to Marshall. Take your best ethnic friends with you and after you watch this movie go somewhere and have dinner and talk, serious dialogue, about this film. Don’t hold back. Say what you think!

Chadwick Boseman plays Marshall in this remarkable film set in 1941 before Marshall became famous for Brown v. Board of Education before he sat as Judge on the Supreme Court. After you have begun to chew on that, go and get tickets to Hamilton, the amazing play written and brilliantly played by Lin-Manuel Miranda, inspired by the 2004 biography Alexander Hamilton by historian Ron Chernow. These two remarkable works of art, unless your heart is made of stone, will change you. No matter what -you will be changed. We should show them to every family in America, no matter what their race or ethnicity or color. We must change the way we look at each other. What we see when we look at each other.

What have we been indoctrinated by our childhood context to believe? We must go back and read history for ourselves. Develop a lust for history! History is made up of stories of people like you and me who believed they could make a difference in the world. They were committed to doing what they could to change the wrongs in the world. They told it like it was! They didn’t let fear stop them from their commitment. Thurgood Marshall was a rabble-rouser. His passion made people uncomfortable with their complacency. He was out to get justice and he did it because he was passionately motivated to seek truth and justice. That is what is so remarkable about the film Marshall. It’s not truth prettied up in its Sunday best. It’s truth that’s dirty, torn and muddy …and at times brilliantly beautiful…and it is a truth that makes us question our complacency in the face of racism, sexism, political justification and our tacit approval of the evil we tolerate because of our fear and complacency.

We breathe in our beliefs like we breathe in oxygen from the context of our families where we are born. And we breathe in what our family believes until that truth is challenged and we have the possibility of learning something different. The context of our environment is what creates our lack of individuality as adults. If Dad is a bully and beats me every other night after he has fought with mom and had a few beers- chances are that because dad is my role model I may learn this is what men do as adults, and adopt some of those behaviors along with Dad’s beliefs. When I grow up I will justify them because that is what happened to me and it is what I know as truth. If I’m a girl, I may choose to marry someone who is just like Dad, because that is what is familiar to me. If my family is racist, sexist or doctrinaire Democrats or doctrinaire Republicans, I will likely adopt those beliefs as truth because that is where I learn to think, learn what is right or wrong, what is good or evil. If I never stop to consider who I want to be and begin to individuate, it is likely I will end up a statistic of some pretty crazy beliefs I never examined. Chances are in that family I am likely to have poor self-esteem or confidence. So, guess what? I compensate by becoming a blustery, blow-hard, bully to fit into my violent family.

Like it or not, we are a product of our times, our family, and our genetics. When we are born we need our family to accept and care for us. We are babies for goodness sake! You can’t feed yourself. You can’t do much of anything, so we need whoever is taking care of us to like us enough to take care of us. So we try to please them. We smile, coo and giggle (it’s all we’ve got at first!). Very early in our development, we start to mimic our parents. They teach us how to BE. We please them and they reward us. We displease them and they punish- and a frown from Dad or Mom is the punishment to a young toddler. We learn to make meaning out of our experience through their sometimes subtle and often blatant responses, and it continues until and unless we hit a brick wall that allows us to consider what/who we are separate from our parents!

Look, I personally believe very few parents want to hurt their children. Most want to do their best! But raising children is the most difficult job we will ever have. It is often exhausting, chaotic, stinky, infuriating, embarrassing, frustrating, etc. Most parents do the best they can, and often the best they can is not good enough. Remember they were parented by less than perfect parents in less than perfect times, and their parents were, and their parents were– back to the beginning of time. Remember they didn’t have the conveniences we had. My son showed me an App. that can show you the location of your children if they are carrying a cell phone. That would have been extremely helpful when he was a teenager! Wisdom isn’t accumulative, but knowledge is.

If we can stop long enough to develop empathy towards an entire race of people who were treated as if they were less than human in ways that are painful just to consider, what is wrong with that? Their generations all the way back were tortured, spat upon, beaten, raped, shamed, humiliated, in ways we can’t imagine. They are just people like we are. Some of us are kind, some are not. Some of us are awful, some are not. On and On and On and On. Just people, people! What’s it going to cost you to admit that? Frankly, I’m sick of identity politics! I can see I am a different color and other than that I can’t see a difference that allows me freedom and not you based on color! What kind of ignorant craziness is that?

The wisdom of films and plays like Marshall and Hamilton allow me hope.I was born in 1942 in a small town in the South. It was a year after the time frame for the film Marshall. So many opportunities for equality were squandered and ignored during my lifetime. The Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court 1954 decision declared state laws establishing separate public schools for black and white students to be unconstitutional. Integration of schools and public places begins. I went all the way from first grade to graduate from high school in segregated schools. I saw signs “White Only. Then “There is no separate but equal,“ said the Supreme Court. The sit-ins when I was in middle school. Going to St. Augustine to hear Martin Luther King speak when I was a senior. First Black students at the University of Georgia when I was a Junior. The riots of the 60’s– George Wallace and the dogs and the firehoses– John F. Kennedy elected as President of the United States in 1961- and hope flowed like water until he was assassinated on Nov. 1963. Martin Luther King was assassinated in April 1968 and Robert Kennedy in June 1968. Lyndon Johnson, who was JFK’s Vice President enacted many of the measures Kennedy had been urging at the time of his death, including a new civil rights bill. Johnson’s agenda for Congress in January of 1965: aid to education, Medicare, anti-poverty bill and anti-discrimination bill, removal of obstacles to the right to vote. Viet Nam was raging and eventually, 1968 Johnson withdrew as a candidate for reelection. Thurgood Marshall was the first African American confirmed as a Supreme Court justice on August 30, 1967. I was 25 years old. By the time Richard Nixon became President the nation was divided. Faced with impeachment by 1974, Nixon announced his resignation and his Vice President, Gerald Ford, became President. Then Jimmy Carter 1977 to 1981 (I was living in Atlanta and Lester Maddox was governor of Georgia…a racist and an embarrassment). Learn what YOU believe, people. Figure out who you are when you are alone with yourself

My point is this: I am old and I am sick of racism! It makes no sense! Go see this movie. Go see this play. Discuss everything about both till you are exhausted and finally let go and allow everyone the right to do and be without you putting up barriers!

 

11-18-17

A Line from Shakespeare’s Macbeth

“Everyone agreed that Houston was a brilliant thinker and an excellent lawyer, but some people worried that he lacked the milk of human kindness.”

I drove everyone nuts with my new mantra over the summer. I recently read it somewhere on the Web and it struck a chord with me. My sister and I argue about it often because she believes it is not true…and of course, I believe it is true, more often than not. Here it is,

“HONESTY WITHOUT KINDNESS IS BRUTALITY”

Just stop for a minute and think about it in the context of our current political and environmental state. Or perhaps you might consider how it might apply in your current relationships. It reminds me of the “Golden Rule” which I believe beats “The Ten Commandments” all to hell and back- no pun intended! I believe it says, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” And that’s just it. If you want to have human discourse with me, don’t yell at me and put me down or call me names. Just talk with me as if you wanted me to hear you and I will reply to you in the same tone. Because that’s what happens. If you speak to me harshly or unkindly, chances are good I will reply defensively or harshly or unkindly and where does that leave us? Not such a good place?

If I want to relate with someone I care about, someone I want to hear what I am feeling as well as what I am saying, I believe I have to find a way to let them know I care about them and want to hear what they have to say. Even if they strongly disagree with what I have to say, they must not dismiss it, or in doing so they will be dismissing me. Human discourse allows for difference. We both matter and especially when we disagree. So I want to listen when you are talking to me. You can’t not be listening to me and instead be building a case to obliterate my opinion. In essence, you are telling me you don’t believe I have the same rights as you….or I am not as smart as you…or you don’t care about me. Maybe telling you what I have to say is extremely difficult because I know you won’t agree. I know if I can find a way to say it so that I don’t feel lessened or dismissed or belittled. If in the asking I can hear you as you disagree and feel heard BY you. Then the possible conflict or dis-connect is avoided and I WILL hear you. We may never agree, but we do not have to lose one another.

How many times have you heard or said “I’m only telling you the truth” as if “the truth” were not about perspective and context?  I know personally there are times I believe I am “right”, or what I believe is “true” and I have been wrong.  Usually about dates and times. But at that moment I believe I am “right”.  If I believe I am right I am likely to tell you that you are wrong, and you believe you are “right”.  “I haven’t made a mistake, you have!”  What is so wrong about making a mistake.  We can admit it and go on. We are all human and subject to error. Unless we do not believe we can afford to make mistakes because to do so would shatter our ego.

Think about your history. Deal with and heal the dysfunction of your childhood. Only then will you be able to engage in human discourse with human kindness. Otherwise our old, anachronistic feelings will get in the way of listening to any kind of difference without feeling dismissed or less-than or criticised. If “I am a mistake” I can’t afford to “make a mistake” so any criticism you give me will be devistating and I will be unable to hear you. That is the “brutal” end of my newfound mantra. When I am unhealed I feel continuously vulnerable, as if I were present in all of my relationships as a small, vunerable and wounded child waiting to be told, once again, how little I know…how little my opinion matters.  It is my job to heal so that I can hear you, too and not just the ghosts of the past. Then together we can create connections and relationships with one another as healthy adults.

Actually, when my sister and I were discussing my new mantra, when I told her the words, she said something like, “I’m not so sure that it’s true”.  So,  I didn’t get what I wanted which was “that’s brilliant” and I regressed to my five year old who is never heard or seen and became arrogantly defensive.  Downhill from there!

I know about the humility and brutality many parents present to their children because they are not healed themselves.  I was the middle of five children growing up in the 40’s and 50’s in a functionally violent, alcoholic family.  I knew how to hide. I was an expert. I could fit myself into any little corner of a room and disappear into the cracks in the wall. I felt as if no one heard nor saw me. Not until I many years later, after I worked hard to heal my past and became who I am today. I knew at age 15 I did not want to recreate my past!  I like who I am today. I am more open, flexable and kind.

I want to find a way to help create more Kindness in the world.  I want to promote more Kindness in the world.  Human connection leads to better health.  Human Kindness leads to better connections. Ergo, if Human Kindness leads to better connections and better connections leads to better health it just makes sense that relationships and connections will make this a better world!

In our present world of chaos, hurricanes and political unreast, an act of human kindness can be heroic!  To quote Jim Henson, “Understanding other points of view keeps you fresh. You can look at the same thing one way forever and it never seems to change. Then someone comes in and turns it upside down or inside out and suddenly, together, you’ve made something amazing.”

Wakulla, Sinkholes, Springs and Bull Gators

My sister Katy has always been the primary tour guide for our family, and I have loved that because it gave me plenty of time for having fun any way I could. It is also true that Katy does a great job of organizing our sometimes chaotic and always diverse family group.
“Hi! I’m Dianne, Katy’s not so organized sister”
Katy had a little stomach upset for this phase of our family trip, so I will do my best to cover it. Just know the perspective has changed. We are now in my favorite part of the world, the Ocala National Forest in Wakulla County where the wildlife is abundant and Florida is at it’s best. We stayed at the old Lodge on the Wakulla River, built by Ed Ball, the inventor of canning jars, and what a nostalgic walk into Florida and the Harrell family past. This is old Florida swamp land complete with all the Tarzan movie sounds and sights. An end of day hike through these grounds could end with the trembling growl of a bull gator if you aren’t paying attention.

This is the only section of river in the state that is closed off to boat traffic. Consequently the gators, exotic birds and plants thrive here. The Lodge also runs a fleet of boats in this part of the river, so the public can enjoy and fool themselves into believing they are safe. It is designated a state park and is pretty much unspoiled. The grounds are also home to one of the most productive springs in the world, Wakulla Springs. The origin of this spring has never been found so, as you can imagine, it is a favorite destination for cave divers around the world.

This was the highlight of the trip for me and I sometimes think the mystery of life is found most clearly here in these sparkling waters.
We went swimming in the clear river water (the swimming area is clearly marked by ropes so the gators and moccasins will know not to come where we are!). Some of us dove from the 30 foot tower built long ago over the spring. We could have had a problem when the teens took our three yr old niece to the top of the dive tower, and forgot she was with them. They all jumped into the spring, and surfaced to see little Kellan, arms spread, leaping and screaming “YOLO!”… her favorite cartoon quote on the trip -meaning you only live once. She descended the thirty foot drop into Wakula Spring with nothing but plastic water wings built into her bathing suit to keep her alive. She bounced right up laughing and yelling “YOLO”.

We ate in the elegant dining room our mother loved, and explored once again a part of Florida where nothing much had changed. The memories were flooding us all.

While most of us were staying at our beloved Lodge at night, we all converged on Bessie and Jessie for a good ole’ Florida cracker fish dinner and gathering one late afternoon, and it was goooooood! Three huge, whole, broiled grouper, seasoned to perfection…caught just that day by Uncle Roy with all the trimmings!

The story is a gator came out of the river after our grand niece and nephew in July. The kids were jumping off a dock into the river then running out of the water and doing it again & again, when a big gator came out of the river, onto the dock between the children and their Dad until, luckily, a neighbor came out and shot the aggressive gator. When we went to their home for dinner, the kids were back into their swimming ritual on this same dock on the river. There’s absolutely no accounting for our family’s whatever you want to call it…courage or foolhardiness.

This segment would not be complete without mentioning that BC and Roy have recently bought sixteen acres in Wakulla County around their own spring, and it is beautiful. They plan to build a home there. We all went out to welcome the property into the family on the West Coast of Florida. I understand that it is connected by underground tunnels to the Wakulla Springs!

And so the summer family story goes on and on, and I will stop ‘cause Katy and I are both now at home on our respective sides of the continent planning for next summer’s road trip! And besides, this is my sister’s blog.
—Dianne Moore 8/27/17

Stay tuned for the Outer Banks, Frozen Cappuccino addiction, and back home.

Road Trip 4- Manatees to Wakulla

We got up early on the 29th of June because we had a date to swim with the Manatees in Crystal River at 10:00. Greg drove his rental with Kelly, Jakes and Lindsey riding along with him. Di and I followed him in through all the little towns and never got lost–  and we were traveling at quite a clip. I was excited about the Manatees and curious.   As children we knew the Manatee as “Sea Cows” in the St. Johns River. It was exciting to come upon a pod of manatees in the river. They were mythological and glorious in their grandeur and we didn’t know much about them other than the myth of the sirens who sang Jason to the rocks in his pursuit of the Golden Fleece.  Other’s thought them to be mermaids.  They were munching on river grasses and came up for air once or twice and that was the only time we would see them. They have relatively small heads and noses, and I had never see the entirely of the manatees’ body!  I was a bit afraid of the size of the manatee – they are huge mammals without any natural enemies.They grow from small newborns to 2 to 3 tons in weight and 12 to 20 feet in length.  We were excited out of our minds at the prospect of swimming with them!  Paradoxically, I was a tiny bit uncomfortable with the idea of invading their space. There is a spiritual feeling for me that accompanies getting close to the splendid grandeur of Mother Nature–in any form, whether a beautiful sunset, the roar of the ocean, or a peacful summer rain. Essentially I feel awe and I am honored to share in the beauty of nature, and this was one of those times. Respect nature and do no harm.

Once we arrived at Crystal river we were invited to watch a short file about the rules and process of swimming with the manatees.  We were not to approach them in any way. Dead man’s float is the rule if they are approaching you. The guides were excited because they heard there was a pod just a short distance away that included a mother and her baby.  You can not reach to touch them, but if  you are lucky they will slide their body by you– if you are still and not aggressive.  (Still we saw one man chasing a manatee like a jerk. Our guide warned the jerk it was  against the law and the guides made him get out of the water.)  Greg, Lindsey, Jakes, Di and I were lucky and the manatees were amazing. Especially as their bodies slowly swam into your view.  Because I was snorkeling and the water was murky, it was my singular experience, as if the manatee would magically emerge from the depths and appear right in front of my face.  It was  awesome.  We stayed out on the boat or in the water for 3 hours. A truly amazing experience we all agreed.

When we changed back into our clothes and left for the 3 1/2 hour ride north to Wakulla we were all pretty exhausted.  We stopped at Subway and grabbed a bite then drove through afternoon thunderstorms and beautiful countryside till we arrived at Wakulla Springs State Park at about 5pm.  We checked in to the Ed Ball Lodge and headed for our rooms for a rest and to clean up for dinner and watch for the panhandle portion of our family to arrive.  Soon enough my younger sister BC and Roy showed up with her daughter Bessie, her husband Jessie, grandson Jackson,6,  and granddaughter Kellan,3, and we began another portion of our Fabulous month long Road Trip.

Stay tuned for alligators, sink-holes, diving towers, and

 

Road Trip 3

Road Trip…3

July 24, 2017

I realize that a few of you may have been offended by my ending of the last blog. I’m overly fond of what Gloria Steinem said, “If you haven’t been called a bitch by the time you are 30, you aren’t trying hard enough”. Anyway it would likely be good to consider that conflict and difference of opinion are quite common in families, and often about religion in particular. In my own family my older brother, Buddy, reported to be an atheist at a young age. I believe he was more of a pantheist by the end of his life. My older sister argues about everything and she goes to Bible study and church four or five times a year. I believe she is more of a biblical theologian than anything else. I believe in God. I do not like the rigid judgmentalism of organized religion- the ostracism of whole groups of people because of who they love and how they love. The racism that was so endemic in the southern religious communities in the south. The refusal of organized religion to consider anything different from church doctrine offends me. Their dogma ran over my karma, as the old bumper sticker used to say. My younger brother, David and sister Rosie are Christians whom I respect and admire, as is my youngest sister, BC. The conversation reminds me of an old joke, where Jesus and the devil were walking together in the garden. Jesus sees a scrap of paper on the side of the path that appears to be a list. He picks it up and reads the word “religion” out loud. The devil tears it out of Jesus’s hand and says, “Give that to me, I’ll organize it!

So that is that and I make no apologies for it. However, I was unkind to my cousin Judy, and I do apologize to her. I have a new mantra,  Honesty without kindness is brutality.

As I think I stated earlier some of us eventually had to go back and forth from the beach to my hometown of Palatka, Florida,. (The name Palatka comes from the Seminole for “cow Paddy”) It sits on the banks of the St. Johns River about 20 miles inland from St. Augustine. The main street has seen better days, but the people are mostly sweet and kind and fond of fishing. We arrived just in time to see David’s grandson, Syler, win a bass fishing Championship for the State of Florida in his 10- year-old age group. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stood at the city docks to receive his trophy. We then headed to Corky Bells Fish Camp to celebrate. We were blessed during dinner with a good old-fashioned Florida frog- strangler, otherwise known as a thunderstorm! Judy showed up and couldn’t find us, so I jumped in a car and drove 500 ft. to McDonalds to lead her to Corky Bells After stuffing ourselves with fried fish and hush puppies we headed to River Road where David and Rosie’s home is nestled among the old live oaks filled with Spanish moss.

News Flash! We crammed so many activities into our three and one-half days I cannot get the order of events straight. So, I’m just going to take the liberty of cramming in all into what ever space I can find.

One of the crazy days going back and forth to Palatka, we went to the best fish fry I have ever attended at Kelley and Cliff’s barn. They’d built a huge boat garage and off to one side they made a bar and kitchen outside. They installed a fryer for all the fish Cliff brings home. Cliff Prince is in the top 100 bass fishermen in the world. It is an international competition and he makes a nice wallet of winnings. Kelley and the kids follow him around as his groupies when he competes and they say a lot of fishy prayers. It’s a given that Syler follows him everywhere, but so does their beautiful daughter, Gracie! Cliff is a real celebrity. All the cousins were at the fish fry and afterwards did some skeet shooting. They had a blast. They were all sun burned from the beach, and Jakes was jet-lagged from just getting home from his school trip to Spain. Needless to say they were exhausted. Now Syler is a champion fisherman at 10, and Rosie just called to tell me Gracie is fourth in the world in Archery in her age group. What an amazing family!!!

Also, I forgot to tell you that after the fish fry we ALL went with Jennifer to YOGA class in Palatka. All of us including David, Rosie, Dianne, Logan, Chrissie, Mia, Jennifer, Kelley P, Gracie, Kelly S, Jakes, Lindsey, Syler, Greg, and me. We made up the entire class- though some were more active than others! The Yoga instructor was great. Cousin Judy also was there, but decided not to push fate and participate. And to celebrate our perfect Yoga class, we all went out for ice cream! Make sense out of that?

Oh, and one dau we went to lunch and ran into Jo Carol Meltzer! Didn’t recognize her. Brought back bunches of uncomfortable memories. Ah well.

Oh, and that morning, or one of the mornings, , Leigh Trescot brought her mom, Nancy to visit for a few minutes. Nancy lost the love of her life, Jack. He lived spryly into his 90’s, I don’t think Nancy is doing very well. She is as beautiful as ever and loves to see all of us-and we her, Hugs went all around—but she looks pretty frail. Nancy is in her 80’s. It is so damn hard losing all these wonderful people who so mightily influenced our lives just by their presence. Nancy was definitely one of those (along with Phyllis DeGuerre.). Nancy stayed to visit about 30 minutes or so, then she and Leigh left with many hugs and kind words.

Shortly after Nancy left, my son Greg showed up and we all greeted him with great enthusiasm. We said goodbye to Judy as she headed over to the beach so she wouldn’t have to get on the road so early in the morning. She was headed back to Atlanta with our love and devotion and prayers for Aunt Bunny and Gene.

We were leaving the next morning to cross the state to the Gulf for Chrystal River and Wakulla, so it wasn’t long before we bedded down for the night.

 

Next edition the saga continues : Swimming with the Manatee and Wakulla!!!