my life

I drink my coffee dark

with sugar

organic chocolate milk, whole

and some cardamom 

I try to meditate more days than not

and tell myself I’m beautiful 

every single day

fabulous, too

I’m learning to say I can

and unlearning to say I can’t 

I’m turning a deaf ear

to all my mother said

While I was young and impressionable

and didn’t know

how well I would be able to do

most things

When other women are dark and brooding

I let them pout and don’t take it in

It’s not for me to save the world

I’m having a wonderful time

saving savoring my life 

the note

Theresa, 

Keep trusting

keep believing

keep hanging on

to Him. 

I’ve received a few notes in my day, in grade school, my friend Mary and I, like many children before us (and after) passed notes to each other to stave off boredom. We’d write little anecdotes about the teacher, or what someone was wearing, and later, as we got older, we’d find dead flies, and include them in the notes to each other with epithets. 

I’ve gotten a few love notes too, mostly when I was younger, and statistically, an inordinate amount when I was in Europe, when I was young. Strange young boys and men would hand you a scrap of paper that said, “call me” with a scribbled number on it, or “meet me here later” or “you are beautiful.” Silly notes that you didn’t take seriously.  All in all, notes are sort of a lovely thing you can hang onto and look at every so often and cherish. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten one. 

Today, I decided to clean out my makeup box, and at the bottom, covered in blush, and eyeliner and sparkly stuff, barely legible, I found a note, a note I’ve been toting with me for years now, the note that someone sent along with some cash, I’m not even sure of the amount now, when I was a young and struggling single mom. It meant so much, at the time, and whenever I was discouraged, I would read it and take heart. Someone understood, someone cared. Now that I look at it, I can see that it wasn’t just words, or a Bible verse; it was personal and it was tangible, especially as it was sent with some badly needed money. 

As I thought about this note, it seemed a bit ironic, after my posting just yesterday, about not being sure about what to believe in anymore, about becoming more logical, and being ok with it, that I was brought back again to the um, spiritual.  But as I read this note over again to myself this morning, it was the message it sent that has stuck with me, if nothing else, the “keep hanging on” part. Who can’t relate to that? Who doesn’t remember a time of being so overwhelmed and so alone that all we could do was hang on? 

What this note did, was it affirmed my situation, the person (still unknown) who sent it was saying, “I see your need, and I understand, and here’s what I can offer.” And I think that is what faith is for many, when they offer it as the best thing in their life, it is. For some, their relationship with God, or whatever deity they profess, is their lifeline, it is their hope. I had to throw the note away, it was too messy and yucky to hang onto anymore. But this note that for years I had tucked into my bedroom mirror, has traveled with me, a talisman, through raising my daughters, and through my move back home to Minneapolis. May the person who sent it be blessed a hundred fold.  

white girl

gathering myself up into 

whiteness

critical race theory

hits the streets

and melts onto the 

hot hot heat

of the asphalt 

and runs down

into the drain

washes away

in the rain

as the falling drops

ask you who 

wants to know

who wants to 

care 

about 

you 

white 

girl? 

So, I’ve been studying feminist pedagogy for weeks now, and I’m reluctant to admit, but I’m tired of it. Tired of the complexity, but mostly tired of the anger and frustration, mine, and others’ too. I guess it is one more construct that bites the dust for me, one less thing to believe in, if it ever were a good thing to believe in. Believe, whatever that means. It’s a word like faith, and spiritual, more words and constructs that I’ve grown tired of. And it’s not like I’m totally cynical and unhappy, it’s not like it’s a horrible thing, outside of the boredom of it all. I’m just walking into a different way of feeling and of thinking, which is I guess, a bit more logical. For a long time, Megan, my pragmatic daughter has said, “Mom, I wish I could give you just part of my brain.” Maybe she’s just rubbed off on me enough. Enough. 

Sadly, I still have a lit review paper to write. Seems pointless, but maybe in the completion something else will emerge. 

Independence Day

I am not Amelia Earhart, but I have achieved a modicum of independence, on this Independence Day. My independence was hard won in some ways, inherited in others. Nature times nurture, or vice versa. I come from a family of strong women on my mother’s side, and she was the most dependent of all of them. She became Catholic, because my dad was, married young, had lots of babies, and swore she’s never let them get the best of her, I guess she was scared, of her own kids. 

So the lesson I learned, quite young, was not to ever need anyone. It ruined your life and made you bitter. It took away all your chances for adventure. So, what did I do? I had my ex become Catholic, married young and had lots of kids, (well, 3 is lots for my generation). But then I did something different, when my life seemed to be completely running out, I divorced my ex and decided to put the energy I was putting into my marriage into my own life.  And when I did this, a miracle happened, my life started growing, and my relationships started blossoming, and I realized that I had to prune my life too. I had to start ending relationships that were simply draining me, that were not sustaining to me, and it was okay. 

Then, with all this independence gained, how do I choose to want relationship? Do I want someone to save me? No. Do I want someone to save, to rescue, to reinvent? Hardly. Do I want someone to have a family with? In some ways, yes, in the understanding of what it means to be family, coming to terms with the terms. If we don’t see relationships as we want to have them, then how do we know what we want? How will it feel? I know now, that for a long time, I was afraid of someone coming into my life and taking away my chances to grow up. This is a rational fear for a woman, many men (and women) think that a woman’s role in a relationship is to be rather childlike, helpless, sweet and when angry, impotent, but cute. 

Now, I’ve had my independence, so much of it in fact, that I’ve run out of things to be independent about. I’m ready for an easy dependence, that kind that comes from finding someone reliable in their own right. Someone comfortable in their own life. Someone willing to share their thoughts and feelings and with the ability to create a relationship, not fall into a relationship pattern forged by the past. I want something shiny and new, and dull and old, and both comfortable and adventurous, like life. A good friend (and neighbor) just moved a couple of weeks ago, and before she left, she wished for me to find someone, and she put it beautifully when she said, “with someone to love, joy is doubled and sorrow halved.”