They don't use an alarm clock to wake up.
The sun calls their joints and ligaments awake to arrange the aching bones.
Oo! Too long in one posture.
They share the sink in the bathroom.
He has an electric razor,
She has a rubber toothpick.
Breakfast is toast and fruit
and four pills and coffee, decaf.
She checks the calendar and
they talk to-do lists and appointments.
They talk about it twice,
because he is forgetting more and more.
They are glad to be together, still.
But she knows that life will change
now that only she may drive,
only she can make out checks,
only she knows where the turns are,
who to call, when to arrive,
how to survive
alone.
----
The above is based loosely on a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks, "The Bean Eaters," and my understanding of my grandparents' lives right now.
----
I have heard people tell me casually,
as they are getting up from an uncomfortable position,
or as they are squinting to adjust their eyes to the road signs,
"never get old."
But I have been planning to do just that, this whole time.
Next time, if I have the courage, I will respond,
"Would you rather I die young?"
----
In this country, it is a grave insult to call someone "old".
In this country, we don't vote for people with completely gray hair:
"What do they know? They're old."
What don't they know? They're old.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Just Writing
This year I have significant overlap between students in the residence hall and students in class. One such young man came up to me while I was on in the residence hall office to ask about a homework assignment I had given his class: we had already created outlines for the essay, and the rough draft of the essay was due the following day.
Regi: How do I do this? How do I change from outline to rough draft?
Me: That's one of the hard parts of writing.
Regi: Do I just write it?
Me: Yeah, you just write it. You have to sit down with your computer and your brain, and just begin.
Regi: So, I write sentences from the words in the outline.
Me: Yes.
Regi: So, okay, I just write it.
This conversation seems silly to some. But I think I understand the difficulty he was going through: how do I make my thoughts comfortable on paper? How do I breathe life into letters on a keyboard? It looks so impossible, so big. And my only answer as of yet is to respond with sympathy, and tell the people who ask, "Yes, it is as hard as it sounds. That is the work of writing."
Regi: How do I do this? How do I change from outline to rough draft?
Me: That's one of the hard parts of writing.
Regi: Do I just write it?
Me: Yeah, you just write it. You have to sit down with your computer and your brain, and just begin.
Regi: So, I write sentences from the words in the outline.
Me: Yes.
Regi: So, okay, I just write it.
This conversation seems silly to some. But I think I understand the difficulty he was going through: how do I make my thoughts comfortable on paper? How do I breathe life into letters on a keyboard? It looks so impossible, so big. And my only answer as of yet is to respond with sympathy, and tell the people who ask, "Yes, it is as hard as it sounds. That is the work of writing."
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Why Hugging a T-Rex is Not Funny
I wrote a joke on the whiteboard in the residence hall a while back: "Reminder: Sunday is hug a T-rex day!"
Nono and Qing walked in and saw the board. They discussed it together in Mandarin, but eventually the conversation flowed over to me:
Qing: What is a trex?
Me: It is a big dinosaur.
Qing: A dinesor? What is?
Me: With motions. You know, raaaarrrr!
Nono: Oh! She tells Qing in Mandarin what I'm talking about.
Qing: Less confused for a moment, then re-confused. Why should we hug it?
Me: Suddenly at a loss. Because, probably nobody ever hugs them.
Qing: It's dangerous.
Nono and Qing walked in and saw the board. They discussed it together in Mandarin, but eventually the conversation flowed over to me:
Qing: What is a trex?
Me: It is a big dinosaur.
Qing: A dinesor? What is?
Me: With motions. You know, raaaarrrr!
Nono: Oh! She tells Qing in Mandarin what I'm talking about.
Qing: Less confused for a moment, then re-confused. Why should we hug it?
Me: Suddenly at a loss. Because, probably nobody ever hugs them.
Qing: It's dangerous.
Friday, August 10, 2012
How to Break a Legacy
The sun has set long ago,
and 11pm finds us on the back porch: starlight, yes, but mostly the neighbors' floodlight.
I wish we could talk more often: my brother, his wife, and I.
Tonight my brother and I ask, how long did they make it?
-Six years.
-No, they separated after four, divorced after six.
-So they made it six years.
-No. They didn't.
-They made it longer than my parents, his wife interjects.
-How long 'til they divorced?
-Four years, almost.
We stop talking, because we did the math.
And we all know these two have been together for eight years.
And we all stay stopped,
Because our hearts are broken.
We catch fearful gazes: paralyzed
Suddenly faced with a decision to either stop now,
before it gets worse,
or keep going into the unknown.
But we breathe again,
because we all know that quitting was never an option.
and 11pm finds us on the back porch: starlight, yes, but mostly the neighbors' floodlight.
I wish we could talk more often: my brother, his wife, and I.
Tonight my brother and I ask, how long did they make it?
-Six years.
-No, they separated after four, divorced after six.
-So they made it six years.
-No. They didn't.
-They made it longer than my parents, his wife interjects.
-How long 'til they divorced?
-Four years, almost.
We stop talking, because we did the math.
And we all know these two have been together for eight years.
And we all stay stopped,
Because our hearts are broken.
We catch fearful gazes: paralyzed
Suddenly faced with a decision to either stop now,
before it gets worse,
or keep going into the unknown.
But we breathe again,
because we all know that quitting was never an option.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
To be a Woman...
I know a woman who will not leave her husband of 50 years, despite his mental and verbal abuse, because God has asked her to love her husband, and many husbands are not half so good as hers.
I know a guy who wants to be a girl, and feels that he's in the wrong body: hormone injections start next month.
I know a book that wants to put me in a box: girls play with dolls, and girls play in the kitchen, and girls teach Sunday school; and boys play with trucks, open the door, and pay for meals.
This tells me that gender is something. But no one knows what. I don't understand what makes gender. It is more than differing sex organs. There's something fundamentally different about how we think. Yet, I don't know of one stereotype that withstands every culture. I began to ask people what it is to be a woman. I'm still puzzling over it.
What is it to be a woman?
I know a guy who wants to be a girl, and feels that he's in the wrong body: hormone injections start next month.
I know a book that wants to put me in a box: girls play with dolls, and girls play in the kitchen, and girls teach Sunday school; and boys play with trucks, open the door, and pay for meals.
This tells me that gender is something. But no one knows what. I don't understand what makes gender. It is more than differing sex organs. There's something fundamentally different about how we think. Yet, I don't know of one stereotype that withstands every culture. I began to ask people what it is to be a woman. I'm still puzzling over it.
What is it to be a woman?
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Summer Weather: water above, water below
On Saturday, Rachel, Joella and I went whitewater rafting. It was incredible. I felt queasy before we began, but the moment we were on the water, paddling ourselves out of the group of 21 rafts, I felt exhilarated, brand new. And it only got better and better.
After a stop for lunch, we found the clouds gathering and darkening. The rain wasn't a problem, but the lightning would be. Happily, the storm missed us, and we carried on, until the river bent, and we ran straight into it. There was no take-out area anywhere near us. So we took cover under low-hanging trees and the rain fell hard. The storm never centered over us, and it was a beautiful rain, a warm and heavy blanket. When the thunder and lightning moved on, we paddled back out to the main current, and the rain continued to pour.
As we paddled, the rain eased up, and the clouds dispersed. Sunshine instead of rain filled the air ahead of us, and we passed into daylight, thick like honey from the humidity.
After taking out, we loaded into two school buses to return to the outfitter. Soon, the rain began to pour hard and fast. The moment we disembarked, everyone was soaked anew, and this time the rain was sharp and cold, so our teeth chattered as we tried to find a space in the gift shop where we would neither ruin merchandise nor be continually moistened by leaks in the ceiling.
The weather never cleared up entirely on Saturday. We returned to a tent that had collected significant moisture (though no standing water, as I had expected), and had to use Joella's ShamWow to soak things up. Then another thing happened that I didn't expect: I slept deep and long, like a tired child.
Another water story:
Immediately following our camping trip, I joined a friend and her family for their beach trip. After two days of flawless beach weather, it was Wednesday, and we saw the clouds gathering. We knew what was coming. But it was our last day at the beach, and all my companions dearly love being in the water. I encouraged them to get in while they had the chance. I read Animal Farm. Then the drops began. I packed a few things up and read some more. Then I realized how dark it was and how impossible it would be for us to miss the storm. I packed up an umbrella and stood under the remaining umbrella, willing my friends to come join me so we might miss the thunder and lightning. At last, they were the last people in the water. They saw the solitary open umbrella, bolstered by folded chairs and sheltering one pair of legs that paced in a small track, waiting.
We loaded up faster than trained navy SEALS and headed for the street, even braving a small river that had formed where the path from the boardwalk had been. We barely made it past the sand when the thunder and lightning cracked above our heads, and we rushed for the nearest cover: an outdoor staircase at a hotel. There we unburdened ourselves of our metals chairs and metal umbrella poles, and stood under the eaves of the building. After perhaps twenty minutes, the storm seemed to have moved on sufficiently, and we ventured out of our hiding place. Another loud CRACK! Back up we all went for another ten minutes before braving the foot (or more) of water that covered the street corners. Water even covered the yellow line in the middle of the road.
We were sloshing through this foot or so of water when I saw a perfect lightning bolt at the end of the same street, and heard the thunder almost immediately. I almost ran back to the house where we were staying. My, but it's good to be soaked and alive.
After a stop for lunch, we found the clouds gathering and darkening. The rain wasn't a problem, but the lightning would be. Happily, the storm missed us, and we carried on, until the river bent, and we ran straight into it. There was no take-out area anywhere near us. So we took cover under low-hanging trees and the rain fell hard. The storm never centered over us, and it was a beautiful rain, a warm and heavy blanket. When the thunder and lightning moved on, we paddled back out to the main current, and the rain continued to pour.
As we paddled, the rain eased up, and the clouds dispersed. Sunshine instead of rain filled the air ahead of us, and we passed into daylight, thick like honey from the humidity.
After taking out, we loaded into two school buses to return to the outfitter. Soon, the rain began to pour hard and fast. The moment we disembarked, everyone was soaked anew, and this time the rain was sharp and cold, so our teeth chattered as we tried to find a space in the gift shop where we would neither ruin merchandise nor be continually moistened by leaks in the ceiling.
The weather never cleared up entirely on Saturday. We returned to a tent that had collected significant moisture (though no standing water, as I had expected), and had to use Joella's ShamWow to soak things up. Then another thing happened that I didn't expect: I slept deep and long, like a tired child.
Another water story:
Immediately following our camping trip, I joined a friend and her family for their beach trip. After two days of flawless beach weather, it was Wednesday, and we saw the clouds gathering. We knew what was coming. But it was our last day at the beach, and all my companions dearly love being in the water. I encouraged them to get in while they had the chance. I read Animal Farm. Then the drops began. I packed a few things up and read some more. Then I realized how dark it was and how impossible it would be for us to miss the storm. I packed up an umbrella and stood under the remaining umbrella, willing my friends to come join me so we might miss the thunder and lightning. At last, they were the last people in the water. They saw the solitary open umbrella, bolstered by folded chairs and sheltering one pair of legs that paced in a small track, waiting.
We loaded up faster than trained navy SEALS and headed for the street, even braving a small river that had formed where the path from the boardwalk had been. We barely made it past the sand when the thunder and lightning cracked above our heads, and we rushed for the nearest cover: an outdoor staircase at a hotel. There we unburdened ourselves of our metals chairs and metal umbrella poles, and stood under the eaves of the building. After perhaps twenty minutes, the storm seemed to have moved on sufficiently, and we ventured out of our hiding place. Another loud CRACK! Back up we all went for another ten minutes before braving the foot (or more) of water that covered the street corners. Water even covered the yellow line in the middle of the road.
We were sloshing through this foot or so of water when I saw a perfect lightning bolt at the end of the same street, and heard the thunder almost immediately. I almost ran back to the house where we were staying. My, but it's good to be soaked and alive.
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