I has been a while since the movie Smoke signals was out, but I did like it a lot and just now finally got around to copying down the words of poetry spoken at the end of it. They are beautiful words written, I assume, by the movie's writer- author Sherman Alexie. The movie explores not only current indian culture and living on the res, but also importantly it is the story of a young man's journey to understand who his father was, learning that his father was also a human being with faults, who did what he thought he had to do, and in that process comes to terms with himself.
The words:
How do we forgive our fathers?
Maybe in a dream.
Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little?
Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage,
Or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.
Do we forgive our fathers for marrying or not marrying our mothers?
For divorcing or not divorcing our mothers?
And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth, or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning?
For shutting doors, for speaking through walls, or never speaking, or never being silent?
Do we forgive our fathers in our age or in theirs?
Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it?
If we forgive our fathers, what is left?
Click on the Smoke Signals picture at top to link to site about the movie...
Click Sherman Alexie's picture at right to link to page with First Americans awards...
Last night I dreamt a lot and, among other things, I dreamt that someone said to me, very matter-of-factly, that one needs to care as much about oneself as about others, enjoy being with yourself as much or like being with the other people in your life you love and enjoy being with.
Yes, be and enjoy your self.
This July page started late and the last few days of June saw no entries... this was due to problems with my computer... who cares anyway???
More later.... :)
The following contains information about women's under garments- a topic some find offensive or inappropriate... shield your eyes if necessary to protect your sensibilities....
For whatever reason (use your imagination) I have been deemed the "underwear consultant" at work, and have been told that I should consider doing that for a living, that I am good at motivating middle aged women to consider and purchase under garments that make them feel sexy.
Actually, it is not clear to me if men find sexy underwear all that important- it is a possibility that they are focused simply upon what is underneath the garments- but it is clear to me that some undies make women feel more desirable and that this affects how they interact with about half of the world...
Both pictures link to the Victoria's Secrets site- home of the most comfortable and beautiful/sexy bras I have found- what a delight, to have found the most comfortable bras and to have them be ones made to be seen... I have motivated several women in the office to check out Vicky's wares for the first time, and make purchases... which they proudly show me. I have never worked anywhere before where so many women show off their new bras to one another- hmmm, and I believe I started that part of the office culture...
Panties... they will await a later entry... :)
I was in the checkout line this evening and was catching up on some reading; checking out the news headlines. I noticed that the cashier appeared as if she found her job less than challenging, perhaps she even felt like her life was unfulfilling.
When she looked at me I smiled and pointed out to her one particular news item, thinking that this might help her gain some perspective, but she only faintly smiled and went back to her personal drudgery.
It is sad, sometimes we just don't take advantage of the hand that is held out. It was a story of personal trials, almost insurmountable difficulties and it was one of those stories that make your own problems pale, and help you to appreciate what you do have. Yes, the poor man, a midget, stuck in a toilet for two hours- the picture put life in perspective... :)
Terry Marker is getting married on Friday- Best Wishes Terry.
Loving, like prayer, is a power as well as a process. It is curative. It is creative. - Zona Gale
Love is one of life's greatest adventures, one whose preciousness we appreciate more as our experience with time continues- may this love last throughout your time.
Today, July 11th, is Robin's 40th birthday- we all celebrate with her and wish her well, but we are also all too keenly aware of the trauma of that milestone for her... time is a tough task master- it cuts no deals, not for anyone.
I have bursts of being a lady, but it doesn't last long.- Shelley Winters
If you don't want to get old, don't mellow. - Linda Ellerbee
Robin- thoughts from others to consider today- enjoy, what else can you do?
On each of my monthly pages I include at least one client story. I am not sure if this story will be "the one" for this month, since it is not by me, but, as I read the e-mail Carol sent me with it on, it was clear to me that this needed to be included:
The Cab Ride
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One night, when I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
"Just minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware. "Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice". I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.
For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.
As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?
All of these years later, on review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-- beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.
All great lovers are articulate, and verbal seduction is the surest road to actual seduction.
- Marya Mannes
CLICK ME FOR ONGOING WRITINGS FROM JUDITH VIORST'S BOOK: Necessary Losses
Yes, a nice little vacation to Reno, staying at the Sands Hotel... a little "get away".... having a very, very special time with a very, very good and special friend.
:)
It reminds me of something Sandra Bernhard said:
"My nipples are in their prime."
There are many diseases in this world, many that either slowly or quickly kill you. When I first started doing medical social work in hospitals I found it very difficult- I remember telling a friend that all of my clients were either sick or dying, as if that was a surprise. And all of the other social workers there seemed to me, a psychiatric social worker, to be depressed. Back then, 13 years ago, I thought dealing with patients with new cancer diagnoses was the most difficult and maybe those new terminal diagnoses still are the most difficult, but now the addicted clients are the ones who try my strength, who defy my ability to help, who make the heart of the caretaker ache. One of my daughters is an alcoholic. She has been an addict for 4 years now and the phrase "living in hell" has a much deeper meaning to me now that it did before. There is always the hope that she will grow enough to understand and control her disease, but as of yet I don’t know if she will make it there and every alcoholic client I meet who is on the road to early death echoes words I have heard from my own child’s mouth.
Terminal diagnoses are terrible, their victims cut down, losing the lives they have made, losing loved ones, losing the only really important thing in this world- our connection to others and our self. Addictions are very different, striking in the teen years and early adulthood, tearing apart the individual’s ability to connect not only to themselves but to others, destroying, piece by piece, the hopes of their parents for them, and making them forget the hopes they ever had for themselves. I am really not sure which is worse, losing the life one has made or never having been able to embark on an adult life at all.
I guess as she stood before the firing squad Mata Hari said "Life is an illusion" and you hear that said at times, sometimes making you wonder what it means and other times making a great deal of sense to you, but I think for addicts life truely is an illusion, or at the very least it is illusory- deceiving; illusive.
I have been including at least one client story every month on my pages; the next few stories will be about addictions- clients I have worked with and what I have seen. I have no answers for anyone, only stories.
I used to do all of the referrals from the hospital, setting people up for services, either at home, in an adult family home or at a nursing home. Even though I had worked with many chemically addicted clients in the past who also had mental health diagnoses, I hadn’t really worked with those clients whose addictions were in their final stages, the ones hell bent on dying. The first client I saw at the hospital like that I came to call "the yellow lady". She was an alcoholic, and she had end stage liver disease. She would periodically come into the hospital requiring extensive medical stabilization and then need to go to a nursing home for IV antibiotic treatment, eventually getting well enough to leave the nursing home and start the cycle all over again. The first time I saw her she was lying in bed, her skin bright yellow next to the bed sheets, and I thought I would make a stab at "helping" her. I asked her about going to inpatient alcohol treatment and she vaguely motioned to the hallway, saying that someone had mentioned that and that she believed someone might be checking on that for her- her manner caught me off guard and, astounded, I said to her "were you expecting someone else to quit drinking for you?" in an incredulous tone. She did not bother to respond to me and the several times we did our dance after that, me sending her to a nursing home and her coming back in from the community, I asked her no more about what she wanted to do- her answer, though vague, was quite clear. I can’t remember how old she was- 37? 39? 40?, I am not sure. I know for sure she was younger than myself. She died after a while, I can’t remember if she died in a nursing home or on the street, or even how I learned she had died, but it seemed to be true- I never saw her again.
Barbara gave me a book to read: Dreams of Love and Fateful Encounters by Ethel Spector Person. I have not made it real far in the book but thought I would include here some brief excerpts as food for thought:
"What is unique about our century is... the extent to which love is no longer even deemed worthy of intellectual analysis... This distinguishes our century from the several centuries that have preceded it... The main reason for the virtual disappearance of discourse on love, though, is the enormous prestige of science in our age, and science's propensity to value only that which it can explain... it tends to discredit the immense importance of all passions and feelings in our lives.... We are all too easily seduced away from the truth, the reality, of our own inward experience, which may often seem beyond communication and hence beyond respect or value. Too easily... we blink away the actualities of our condition- the feelings, drives, dreams, and desires that express, with painful accuracy, the depths at which we really live. Not where we think or imagine we should live, or where society advises us to live, but where our lives are fueled and our deepest satisfactions experienced- this is what we disregard... It is precisely because love is so powerful, so close to our deepest longings and dreams that it may prove glorious and even transform and enlarge the self. But for the very same reason, the pain to which the lover is made vulnerable by love may make love a suspect, even a dreaded experience."
"Humankind cannot bear very much reality."- T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets
I think that this is the end of my July page, ending with harsher stories from life and thoughts about the nature and internal experience of love. As we live, these things sit in juxtaposition, seeming separate, disparate. But the stories and thoughts about addictions and my daughter are full of feelings, much of them about sadness, and they include the love I have for her. The life each of us experiences is made up of feelings and those feelings include pain, sadness and different kinds of love. With love we transcend our self, connect to something beyond "me" and in that way validate our own existence along with that of the loved one- that is much of what Ethel Spector Person says in her book so far. That feels true and powerful, but I am not at all sure that other of the feelings and emotions that make up our internal experience of life do not also connect us with others, or connect us to something beyond our self, or, at the very least, connect us more deeply to our self.
Oh well, whatever... maybe I am just full of feelings these days and wondering about their significance and where they will lead... I hope that something I have said this month triggered for you a teeny flash of insight of sorts... take care.
Music: Click on Lips Page Created July 2002 |
