Connection...

I'm delighted to say I have talked to my grandmother more times in the past two months than I have talked to her in the previous 37 years.

Alright, that's probably a major exaggeration, but I really am happy about it. My dad's mother is the one family member of that generation that I could turn to and say, for better or worse, that I am VERY much like. I have her ability to tell a story as well as her ability to stretch the honest truth. I possess her desire to take care of people, which also leads into that secret desire for others to return the same sort of affection. She and I both talk a good game and don't ever seem to STOP talking. I could go on and on, but when I look at her, I see all my heritage, the craziness, the love of those long wild trips to the coast, the need for social interaction and the sudden need to be alone with a good book (and the need to be alone so that someone can say, "Come be with me instead of hanging around here alone!") I'm all those things wrapped up in a shorter, darker skinned package (except the hair that I added on, which I did take off later, but I REALLY still like the picture!).

This all started when my mother's mother Lucy (the one we called Granny) passed. Granny was the serious one, the grandmother that made you listen to her and made you behave and didn't give you everything you wanted, so you grew to love her later in life. My other grandmother, Lula (Shug, as we called her) was the "fun" grandma that bought you things and gave you money and never really spanked you until she'd just lost it. Between the two of them, we had a full parent when we went to visit. Shug would play with you and Granny would do the disciplining.

As we got older, we started to really understand Granny more and heard less from Shug, who was doing a lot with other family members that were ill or needed support. We began to appreciate the effort that Granny had put into us as much as the fun that Shug had had with us. My parents (who were in better shape financially as my brother and I got older) started having Granny fly in for visits more often while Shug was out of town with her brothers and sisters. I created a different, but equal strong bond with Granny that stemmed from her connection with her daughter and my understanding of that circle. But Granny had emphysema and was in and out of hospice for quite a while in 2006 until she finally stopped eating and slipped away at the end of August. I think a little piece of all of us went with her. My mother, of course, lost her mother, but my father lost a close friend in Lucy, and I lost a connection to quite a few things, not the least of which was understanding the place I hold in the continuing mother-daughter cycle.

Meanwhile, Shug, who had always been in supremely good health (walking miles was never an issue for her) was losing her independence after having fallen and hurt herself some months before. When the younger Granny passed, Shug suddenly realized that time was slipping away from HER, too. The family members she'd nutured and taken care of had began to pass on or, in the case of the younger generation, leave her behind the way we tend to do with our older relatives. We stop listening, stop coming and then stop caring.

Living farther away, I was able to appreciate both women and what they meant in my life, so I was constantly inviting them to my home and visiting when I could afford it. Granny could never have made it to my place (she was VERY allergic to cats and her emphysema wouldn't have let her do more than stand outside this home) but Shug always had reasons. They usually consisted of someone else that she had to go help or be with and it took me quite a while before I realized why. She spent her whole life doing for others in the vague hope that they would someday do for her. It made her feel good to help other family members and people, but it also made her feel needed and therefore loved. I don't think she really knew what to do with a grandchild that only wanted to have her come so she could enjoy her company and take care of her, not force her to cook or watch children or even get out of bed if she didn't want to. Kevin and I were more than willing to let Shug just BE here and share with her the places we loved. Even when we went to see HER in Florida, I think it was a shock to have us washing dishes and feeding ourselves and even buying her a new car battery and changing it out when it died.

Anyway, she came to stay with us for the Christmas holiday and we had a ball. We didn't even do something every day...there were days when we all three just sat in the house and read books to ourselves, but didn't say a word to each other. We hauled her all over creation when we DID go out...took her to the wildlife refuge (where she and Kevin just about married each other in their love of the outdoors and the wildlands!), we took her to Toronto for a two day trip and we even drove her around town to some of the closer places to look at (being Native American herself, she marveled at the two refuges within driving distance of us). She REALLY wanted to see snow, but in a bizarre twist, the Buffalo area had no snow the last few weeks of December.

And now she's calling us about twice a month. It's really nice hearing from her, actually. It's this connection to my past that I really am starting to treasure more and more now that I live so far from my family of origin. She did show me one thing while she was here that I found incredibly upsetting. Because of her health issues (bad vertigo, major hearing loss and even some memory issues) she'd made up a little card that she was very proud of. It said "My name is Lula (last name omitted here) and I live at (address omitted). If I am found, please contact my granddaughter in New York at..." and then she had listed our names and addresses, as well as my cousins in our hometown and all the other pertinent info needed to make sure she didn't end up lost somewhere. At 5'8", my grandmother had always been this imposing, yet friendly Amazon of a Native American princess to me. To see her suddenly reduced to...well, a senior citizen, was nearly more than I could stand. She wanted me to tell her if it all looked good and would make sense to a stranger that might read it and I had to tell her a story about something in my eye while Kevin read the card for me.

I had a tough time for a little while after that...I FINALLY had her, only to realize I was that much close to losing her. Funny how just when you think you've got all the pieces of the puzzle in place, you suddenly look under the rug and find some TOTALLY different piece that obviously fits into the same puzzle and you have to readjust...

Still, I'm glad to have her back in my life and I hope we get her back up here once more. Nothing in the world is funnier than a grandmother who can tell terrible stories with your husband...not sure which was worse, his dried apricot story or her fresh coconut story (for the general jist of both stories, try eating your fill of either of these and see what happens)!

Glurge and Christmas Cards

Glurge is what the Urban Legends website calls any of those heart wrenching stories that people stuff your e-mail box with. Each story usually ends with something like "and that little handicapped boy grew up to be...Winston Churchill" or "and that small act of kindness saved his life all those years ago" or "So cherish these moments with your loved ones...you might not get another chance"!

This would all be well and good if not for two problems. First, these always end with some huge guilt trip, like "You can keep this and pretend it meant nothing to you or send it on to others and make a difference", or "I love you enough to send it to you....will you send it back to me?" It almost FORCES you to send it back to someone like your boss or someone you really might NOT be that close with (not unlike Christmas cards!). Worse yet is the ones that flat out TELL you that it's a chain mail, completely destroying ANY attempt at being a life changing, sentimental note. Real affection would be shown by you calling me up and telling me this story, not by forwarding it on and on to other e-mail addresses. Trust me, I won't think less of you for keeping this gem until we get together personally! :-)

The second thing that makes these hard to stomach is the fact that EVERYONE sends them over and over as forwards to tons of friends instead of copying it into a more personal individual e-mail or at least adding a personal note to me to explain why you sent it. This falls into the category of Christmas cards, too. I don't mind when folks actually WRITE in their cards, but when you just send me a card with nothing more than a quick signature, especially when I have heard from you in months or more, then I know that I'm just another one of the folks on your card list. I don't mind the family picture cards ('cause those update me visually on how you are) and general holiday newsletters (because those give me info, too, even though it's for everyone and not just me). Heck, I can even take e-mail cards, as long as you SAY a little something in them. But Christmas cards with a quick "Love, the Franklin Family" just end up in the garbage later. They're like chain e-mails...I'm on your list, so I get one, but other than that, there's no real thought in them at all

So, how do you get around this? Don't send me the whole story. E-mail me (or call) with your summarized version of the story so I know what YOU got out of it. When my students bring me a book report that pretty much just has the exact Cliff Notes version of the book, I give them an F. When they personally tell me what they thought of the book and what they got out of it, they get A's. It shows they took the time to really understand the story and that's what make other kids learn from it and want to find out more. As adults, we could do the same. If you really want someone to benefit from an uplifting story, don't chain mail it. Relate it to that person you care about and they'll relate a LOT better to you.

Canadian boxes everywhere and not a box to find!

Well, we went clean up to Toronto this week and TOTALLY skipped the 6 letterboxes in town, as well as didn't plant one while we were there! Argghhh!

We have a good reason, though. My dad sent us my grandmother from Florida and money to show her a good time and we've been doing just that She's been up here visiting us for a few days now and just having a ball. She's 83 years old and recovering from a spill she had in February, so she's moving slower than usual, but she's keeping up the pace pretty well, with the exception of stairs. While we were in Toronto heading to the subway, she was coming down stairs and going one step, one step, one step, etc. when all the sudden, this OTHER old lady, shorter than her and older, comes flying down the steps past her! She gave this lady a look so crooked as to be mistaken for a jealous 5 year old! I look back at her and, like a mom, tell her in a gentle voice, "It's NOT a race, honey," before we both crack up laughing.

She's also where I (the Sprite) get my goofy sense of humor from. We were sitting on the sofa all relaxed after that long trip to Toronto when Foggy (our youngest cat) jumps up on her lap. She tries to pet her, but Foggy can't sit still when you pet her unless you MAKE her, so she's doing her little ADD dance all over her while Shug (my grandmother) tries to make her happy. Finally, she goes "What is WRONG with you, cat? What do you WANT?" in her little soft Southern accent.

I pipe up with "She likes it when you scratch her more than just petting her."

She says "Well, now why didn't you just SAY all that, cat?" and starts doing it.

Meanwhile, Kevin (the Highlander) goes, "You know what she DOESN'T like?" With a totally straight face he goes, "She doesn't like it when you attach jumper cables up to her ears and attach her to a battery. She doesn't like that at ALL." I laugh to beat the band, but Shug looks at him all serious and we're thinking "D'oh, we went too far."

Finally after looking at him for an uncomfortably long moment, she says, "Exactly when was the last time you TRIED something like this?" Kevin is about to say he was just kidding or something and she adds, with an equally straight face "She might LIKE it now!" as if enough time has passed that our cat might ENJOY being electrocuted!

Man, I LOVE the way the nuts just float to the top in my little gene pool! Apples really don't fall too far from the tree! :-D

Anyway, at some point we really WILL get back to boxing, but for now, I think I'll hang out a bit more with the granny and get back to you all after the holidays. In case we don't hear from any of you, have a great New Year and enjoy those shirts!

My Underoos Shame

Alright...it's time I came out of the toon closet...

Like the commerical said, Underoos WERE fun to wear and they WERE something super new in underwear. I had not only the Supergirl Underoos, but the Wonder Woman ones. Now, the Supergirl ones just had the red panties with a pic of Supergirl on the shirt, but the Wonder Woman Underoos were the full deal...a red tank top shirt with the golden bird on it and the blue panties with the big white stars. Seriously, the only thing stopping me from looking like was Wonder Woman was not having the crown, the lasso and the armbands (oh, and being a 4 foot something 11 year old African American girl instead of being Lynda Carter, but other than that, I was a dead ringer!).

Did I mention I was 11 years old?

Anyway, my mother commanded me to NOT wear these under my clothes at school and I was really bent out of shape that she would say this. She was forever telling me I couldn't do things without reasons why beyond "Because I said so" and I was CERTAIN this was just one more in the series, since wearing Underoos was what all 11 year old girls did (forgetting entirely that all girls my age were begging to wear makeup and training bras, not racing boys on their bikes through the neighborhood).

After a long battle which ended in my tears and her not wavering, my dad came in and tried to convince me that if I wore these to school (especially since I had to change for gym that day), the girls at my school would definitely laugh at me. I still wouldn't buy it, so my dad sighed and said "Okay, go ahead, hon. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Remember the tampon scene in Carrie?

Okay, picture that (girls coming from all over the locker room to point and laugh), but without the tampons and blood and stuff and THAT was the scene when I busted out my Underoos in the locker room that day.

Years (of therapy) later, I've come to realize that parents sometimes DO know what's best, but 11 year old girls DON'T.

After all, what but sheer jealous rage could have driven those girls to be so mean? ;-)

Know how to protest?

One of the boards I post at got into the normal 4th of July heated debate over flag burning ('cause seriously, what board DOESN'T have some yutz coming out strongly for or against it on Independence Day so everyone gets all pissed off???) Somebody posted this, as if to end the whole debate:

"We all need to remember that our liberties are only ours until they infringe or offend others!!!!"

So, I replied with this:

Actually, that's NOT true. Being offended by something is not enough to make it legally stop BECAUSE of freedom of speech. That's why the KKK is allowed to recruit for members on the sidewalks of of several different states to this DAY and I can't do a damn thing about it. It's also why other people are allowed to protest AGAINST the KKK sitting on the sidewalk until they get embarrassed enough to leave.

However, the moment the KKK decides to burn a cross on my lawn or somewhere else where I can see it, it's a threat of violence (based on what it's always meant in the past) and THAT'S why it's against the law, just like what Booknut said about murder not being under freedom of expression. That's why hate crimes were put into law, not because they would offend other races & creeds, but because there is ALWAYS the threat of real violence involved. Burning a flag is offensive to some, but it has always been a symbol of nonviolent protest.

I think the problem in America is that we always want someone else to handle our business rather than confront it ourselves. Somewhere in the 80's, we stopped going out and protesting ourselves and starting demanding that the government step in for us. If you don't like flag burning, why not just go up to that flag burner with a whole bunch of your friends and peacefully protest against it? Or, heck, TALK to this flag burner and see what he's thinking! What if this flag burner was someone who'd fought for this country and been forgotten? What if this flag burner had lost family in the civil rights movement and still sees discrimination in his America? What if this flag burner is a Native American whose heritage and dignity have been entirely stripped by the "American dream"?

America simply doesn't offer the same comforts to everyone and it CAN'T, not by laws, anyway. Too many people have different attitudes and opinions to force them to think your way just by taking a vote and passing a bill. You CAN, however, move LOTS of people with numbers in non violent protest. It takes more time and effort, but anything worth doing is worth doing well. Our whole COUNTRY is founded on the belief that you can protest...remember, most of us came here out of protest or fleeing from OTHER countries that REALLY wouldn't let you have your say.

So, stop waiting for your government to help you...get out there and give those you disagree with a reason to believe in what you say...go make eye contact and talk about what ails you and listen to what ails them, if you're REALLY this upset. Posting to websites in an overzealous way only aggravates tensions and makes no real difference in anyone's approach...just strengthens their resolve to keep their own opinion safe.

In which case, it's probably pretty stupid for me to have posted this anyway! :-)



Then they came back with this part:

Most Vietnam vets I know are dead-set against desecration of the flag. Their country sent them there to protect the freedoms we take so casually. What they were angry about was those folks who didn't give them the respect that they deserved for DOING what their country asked.


So, I replied again with this:

Conversely, most of the vets I know were angry that their country sent them there in the first place because they didn't feel they were protecting us or our rights at all and they lost close friends and family over it. On top of that, there was still less respect given to vets of color at the time and more likelihood they would be sent to the front line, so there's a whole other level of problems inherent with that. Oh, and let's not forget the wars in which Asian Americans have helped out, only to have their families thrown into internment camps. No one can be right or wrong about their personal experiences with this country and what it's meant to them.

It really still reinforces the point I was making...we only meet a limited amount of people in our lives, so we don't always get the full picture of what America is. We've had just as much to pat ourselves on the back for as we've had to kick ourselves in the butt for in this country, so not everyone who lives here has had the same positive feelings about this place. Still, it's all part of America and what that flag stands for, even (and especially) the crappy parts. Just because we know a bunch of people with a certain opinion, we can't claim right or wrong on what America means and what the flag stands for for others. With the good comes the bad.

So, you COULD look at a flag burning as being the burning of what's negative, not what's positive about this country...then you'd have to find out why that person burned the flag and what made life in this country bad for him/her and address THAT need instead of the surface offense of flag burning. Imagine what good we could do in this country if people did that more often...found out WHY a person did something and helped them through that pain or injustice before condemning them for the act alone. Now THAT would be an America to always be proud of!

Haven't heard a thing since! :-)

Vanity, thy name is EXTENSIONS (or some other hair thing!)

Okay, I don't see how it's possible for ANY woman to not become entirely focused on a mirror when they do dramatic changes to their hair.

As a rule, I usually avoid doing things like makeup, pushup bras and coloring my hair because I like to look the way God intended me to look (we'll see how well such free spirited hippy thoughts last me into my 60's and 70's when the line between boobs and knees blurs heavily, but for NOW...!). I get my hair relaxed because I can't do anything with it when it'a all thick in its nature Native American/afro style, but that's really about as far as I go.

Until last week.

Last week I went to my hairdresser (whom I adore so much, I created a stamp for her) and she had a ponytail. Now, most black women really can't get their hair that long, but I'm dumb enough to believe anything (being a hardcore tomboy), so I'm like "Oh, cool! I so want my hair to get that long so I can do the "Marsha, Marsha, MARSHA" thing Jan does in the Brady Bunch."

She laughed at me and went into her psuedo-commercial voice: "Well, now you, too can have the hair of your dreams...just BUY it!" Then she pulls the hair out...and it's added hair! I'm not up enough on all this glamor talk to say if this qualified as extensions, a weave, whatever, but it was very natural looking and really cute...which meant immediately that I couldn't do it because I can't KEEP things looking cute for more than a day after I leave the shop.

She was really onto the idea of my having one, though, 'cause she told me how easy it was to care for and how once I bought the hair, it was mine, so I could do anything I wanted with it. Once it started sounding like a fun dress-up thing instead of dumb girly-girl work, I started warming to the idea (and before I could change my mind, her assistant rushed out to buy some hair).

So now I have this ponytail that makes me look more like the Native American side of me than the African American...and it really does make me look skinnier than before. I like the way it looks, but now I SWEAR I can't pass a mirror without playing with it! As it stands, I tried on every outfit I liked (lingerie included!) to see the effect with longer hair. I'm thoroughly ashamed, totally self abosrbed and I DON'T care. Like Narcisuss, I could DIE in front of the mirror, so long as the hair sweeps gently over my shoulder in a sort of sexy "come hither while I DIE" sort of way! Kevin isn't helping 'cause he actually likes the way it looks, so he'll let me come in with some new outfit or hair position for the ponytail and "ooo" and "ahh" appropriately.

See, THIS is how it starts! First, it's just a little extra HAIR, then it's a press on nail or two and the next thing you know, I'll be selling my body for extensions and collecting barber shop clippings to make new bangs to replace the ones I'll fry off with the gold highlights I'll have tried to add in myself...AUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!

I can't stay...I gotta go (sigh) brush it out again...!

Reeling In The Years

I just realized something about my past...I don't have folks to share it with.

Let me make sure I don't make anyone feel like crap here...it's not like I don't have friends and a wonderful husband to tell my story to, but none of them were THERE! Like I can't turn to Kevin and say, "Hey, remember how we used to have bike races up Taos Drive all the time?" because he wasn't with me when I did it. My younger brother was there, but his memory's not that great anymore and he wasn't involved in most of the stuff I did, except during the summer. Those fond memories of school that people have...I have some pretty limited ones. Most have to do with starting a new school, turning into a minor social pariah at that school and limited memories of folks that DID talk with me back in those days. (sigh)

I think if I had lived in the same area longer, or kept contact better when we moved, I'd at least have the ability to remember the better moments instead of just the rotten or the really strong memories. I mean, as good as I like to believe my capacity to remember things is, there's something to be said for having friends to rehash that info with. If you do't retell it a few times, you kinda forget how it happened, or you forget it entirely.

Which brings me to my latest discovery...I've found some more folks I hung out with back in high school as of late. Early in my late 20's, a few people found me online and told me that they were sorry we hadn't been better friends, but they thought I was nice and hoped I was doing well. That kind cooled my hatred of school life to at least a level where I started to think that maybe I had more friends than I realized. Now it seems the folks I'm connecting with are actual people whose company I DID enjoy, so I'm getting a little taste of that "remember when?" feeling.

It's really cool to hear things that you lived through from another person's point of view (like I love listening to Kevin's talk about how he and I met!). It kind of rounds out the view you had in your mind and almost validates the experience for you a little...like, "Yeah, that really DID happen!" Even more weird is seeing that I wasn't as big a social pariah as I thought...I just didn't have the world's best opinion of myself (which has totally changed because I am AWESOME now!) LOL

Anyway, so much for the "woe is me" part...I think I'm going to spend a bit more time this summer actively seeking out high school classmates so I can reconnect with my own past...after all, it apparently didn't suck as much as I thought, so what the heck! :-)