Mr. and Mrs. Pearson, part II

I have gotten a few responses to my last blog that make me think that I need to add something.  I am really appreciative of the encouraging and reassuring responses I have gotten.  I kinda think we all have some sad or traumatic experiences of childhood that are not completely resolved and maybe never will be. Things we look back on as adults from the perspective of being adults.  I am not suffering terribly with this memory.  But my relationship with the Pearson's and the abrupt and sad way it ended is a profound and poignant aspect of who I am. That's a big part of what I learned about suffering and trauma in my work with refugees in the last ten years of my career.  Well, that's it.  Let us take comfort in one another and carry on.

Mr. and Mrs. Pearson

Recently I have been thinking about the neighborhood I grew up in and being reminded of what a little community it was.  I have many good memories of that neighborhood, Fairway Drive.  I guess it was called Fairway Drive because the neighborhood, Southwood, bordered a big golf course.  I don't know.  None of the other street names were golf related.  Anyway, Mr. and Mrs. Pearson lived just about right across the street from our house.  At the time of my memories of them I must have been between about 6-9  years old, something like that.  They, of course, seemed ancient to my young self, but were likely in their 60's. (the decade I am now in, but not to put too fine a point to it..) Anyway, somehow, I got into the habit of going to their house regularly.  They taught me to play Scrabble, at least at the level I was capable of playing.  If I was 6 years old when I started, it must have been like 2 letter words and stuff like that.  Mr. Pearson was in a wheelchair.  I have no recollection of why he was in a wheelchair.  I vaguely recall the word "stroke" being part of the discussion.  Mr. Pearson was from Sweden, so spoke English with a lovely accent.  They kind of let me have the run of the house when I was there.  One of my fondest memories of being with them was that they had a bedroom that they used kind of as a library.  I used to go in there and poke around looking at books and I don't know what all.  Well, they would keep big giant Hersey bars in that room and I would sneak a piece or two or three every time I went into that room, thinking that I was really getting away with something, I suppose.  They had a back porch with one of those green plastic wavy roofs that were kind of common back then for porches.  It gave the porch a kind of other worldly color and I loved being out there.  Sometimes we would go sit on the porch and hang out just for a change of scenery I suppose.The porch was often warmer than it was outside, so it felt cozy and nice.  Where I grew up, in South San Francisco, CA, it was often damp and foggy and dreary, so that porch offered warmth and coziness for us.  Mrs. Pearson would give me coffee in tiny cups with a big dollop of evaporated milk.  I will never smell or taste evaporated milk without thinking of her and Mr. Pearson.  Her influence, along with my Great Aunt Jean's, was what got me going on coffee at a very young age.  She told me stories of making bathtub gin in San Francisco during the prohibition days. She shared memories with me that made me think she was quite the party girl in her day.  We were good friends.

Well, this is where the memory gets sad and a little murky for me.  One day I went over to their house as normal and went to knock on the back door.  I think I would usually knock on the door and then just walk in.  When I went to do that, there was obviously something leaning against the door so I couldn't get the door open.  Then I heard a kind of moan and unintelligible talking.  It sounded like Mr. Pearson.  I was immediately overtaken by a fear so deep and visceral that I froze up and just ran away.  I was so frightened that I didn't tell anyone, not my parents, not anyone.  In fact I never told anyone this part of the story until years later, because I felt such a deep sense of shame that I didn't do anything.  Well, it turned out that Mrs. Pearson had dropped dead and apparently, Mr. Pearson had tried to get to the door to get help or something and fallen out of his wheel chair against the door.  They were discovered by a neighbor sometime after my encounter at the back door.  Mrs. Pearson was dead and Mr. Pearson may have had another stroke and was taken to a nursing home.  I never knew what happened to him after that.  Or I don't remember.  I still carry some of the shame with me that I was too frightened to even say anything to anyone.  It was the childhood magical thinking perhaps that if I don't say anything or think about it, it really isn't happening.  But my young heart was broken. And has never been fully repaired from the loss of them and from my unintended involvement in their last moments as a couple.  But I am grateful to them for their kindness and care of me at that tender age.  I know they would forgive me for my fear and I hope that some day I am fully able to forgive myself.

I Cannot Keep My Mouth Shut (altho this is probably totally obvious by now)

Once more into the breech...

What with the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade and the Republicans in Congress making news with their calls for more restrictions on abortions and crazy talk about rapes (is there ever a theory or idea looney enough to be ignored by the Mitch McConnells of our world???), I am moved to hold forth the topic of abortion:

When the people who are so passionately anti abortion, or "pro life" (as they erroneously refer to themselves) start being equally passionate about what we do for children who are born and here among us, then they will have some credibility.  But not until then.  The majority of people who are anti abortion are the same ones who want to do away with food stamps, don't give a damn about properly funding education, want to undo Obamacare, are against government funding of child care services, don't give a damn about ending poverty, etc. etc. etcetera.  Some of these same folks are strangely against birth control and for the death penalty.  If you are not in support of policies that help children who are already born you have forfeited your right to call yourself "pro life". You are pro birth and that's it.  Being pro birth doesn't amount to a hill of beans if you don't back up that value with actions and beliefs that support the child once he or she is born.  I will stand up to any pro birth bullshit actions that would create a world in which safe and legal abortions aren't available to my nieces and the other young girls and women I know and love.

That's it.

President Barak Obama

This is my president. Photo taken by me at one of many citizenship ceremonies I have attended in the past several years.

I have been an unabashed fan of President Obama from the beginning.  I never thought he ought to be a miracle worker.  I never expected him to walk on water.  But in my opinion, he is the best president we have had in a very long time.  I wish he would have kicked ass more.  So I kinda like the way he is coming out of the starting gate in the aftermath of the Republican win in Congress.  I love his proposal about paying for community college.  I love his proposal 
about increasing taxes on the very wealthy.  I love his vision for this country.  It reflects my values and the values of practically everyone I know. 

I believe that much of the opposition to him and, frankly, the extreme rudeness shown to him in SOTU messages of the past and last night, is rooted in racism. Even those on the left who have complained that he hasn't done enough on this, that and the other thing ought to take a good look at whether or not some of their criticism of him may have some roots in unconscious racism: the expectation that black people need to do better than white people in similar positions. It's not that there are no valid criticisms.  Of course there are.  It's just that it is dangerous to dismiss the likelihood that some of the negativity about this man is rooted in our unaddressed history of racism. Racism is this country's cross to bear that we must find a way to address with courage and dignity.  

In short, there is no president in my lifetime that I can identify as much as this president as my president.  History will be kinder to this man than many people have been during his tenure.  I sit here and watch the State of the Union address from last night and watched the address he gave at BSU today. I can only say that his vision ought to be our vision.  When the Republicans come up with a vision that doesn't begin and end with the word "no", maybe they may  may earn the respect that I give wholeheartedly to our current president, Barack Obama.  I say, "Keep it up, President Obama. Keep going after what is right and decent and forward thinking and if the   Congress doesn't want to jump on board, then they should just get out of the way and you keep going!"   

Post Birthday Post

Clever title, no? Anyway, having just passed my 66th birthday I am left to wonder how on earth I got this far.  How have any of us gotten this far, what with the state of the world and so forth?  Today I attended a rally to "Add the Words" to the human rights laws of the state of Idaho concerning gender identity and sexual orientation.  I guess it is a step in the right direction that after 9 years of advocating for a hearing before the state legislature that this cause is finally going to be heard.  This speaks volumes for the individuals who have hung in there with this cause and for the state of the state of Idaho.  Let us hope and pray that the Idaho State Legislature comes to it's senses and passes a bill.  I wouldn't bet the farm, but one never knows. We live in hope, sometimes in spite of the evidence.

Meanwhile, the old world keeps spinning in spite of efforts by hateful groups to stop it from doing so.   We have the Boko Haram in Nigeria and elsewhere. ISIS in Syria and Iraq.  The crazies in Pakistan who murdered school children and then more recently the Charlie Hebdo murders by another bunch of psychopathic killers.  Who knew there were so many psychopathic killers out there in the world just waiting to join up with a group that would allow them to live out their dreams.  Killing just because they can. It's a scary damn mess.  I think I already may have mentioned somewhere in "Tweets..." that Steve and I had the good fortune to listen to Salman Rushdie speak to a huge audience here in Boise.  In addressing a question about Islam he said that he felt that these groups identify themselves as Muslim, so they are Muslim.  That view went contrary to the view I held up til then, that these groups were just hiding behind Islam.  But his words made me change my mind.  Who can speak better about this topic than a man who was living under hiding for years because the Ayatollah put a Fatwa on him.  Rushdie said that Muslims must stand up to these groups and examine what it is in Islam that may be supporting or encouraging these acts of violence and hate.  I have been encouraged and heartened by groups such as  Gatestone Institute:  Gatestone in Sunday's New York Times: "Beautifying Islam"   . In this ad in the NYT last Sunday a group of prominent Muslims published their thoughts about taking back Islam from the strangle hold that a bunch of psychopaths have on it in our current world.  I say "Amen" and about damn time.  Of course as we all know, Christianity has not exactly been without it's tiny faults over the many centuries either.  But at least, to my knowledge, there are no bands of raving lunatics calling themselves Christians running around killing school children.  We do have the Westboro lunatics, but still...

I would so love to see a group of millions from all over the planet have a big old protest march of the type we saw in Paris last week about all of it. About Paris. About Nigeria. About Pakistan. About Syria and Iraq.  I'd go.  Where would we meet?  Where would there be a big enough space to hold us all?  I think there are millions who would go. We could join hands and chant, "Not on my watch, you sons of bitches"  Would you go?  

Year End (No politics or commentary on the state of the world, I promise)

Well, folks, another Christmas has come and gone and almost another year.  I am using this format to write what used to be an annual Christmas letter, which has gone the way of many things of that nature.  It is not that I will never write one again.  I probably will.  I love getting them, and this way is so much less interesting, really. So there's that...  This also will serve as my 1 year anniversary of "going down the rabbit hole" of retirement.  Wonderland and so forth.  Christmas was fun and as always, the food was mighty good.  My in laws, Suzanne and Max Lester were there in full spirit, all 91 years of them.  It is a joy and pleasure that they spent yet another Christmas with their family, all 12 of us here in Boise.  

Okay, so retirement.  It is all it is cracked up to be, in case you are wondering. I love not working.  As I have said before, here and elsewhere, I am ever grateful for my career and I am so glad I am no longer doing it.  I have left it happily and with great confidence to younger people, who I had the pleasure to supervise and mentor sometimes.  I wish all of you out there contemplating retirement the same feeling of gratitude for the work you have done and the wonderful feeling contentment that this last year has brought to me.  Those of you already retired, I only hope that it has been as great for you.  

So here is the past year in a nutshell, more or less.  At the end of January, I traveled out to Cape Cod to assist Steve's Aunt Kay to transition into assisted living.  She has landed in paradise as far as I could fathom.  It was a grand couple of weeks.  I'm telling you, I would move there in a heart beat.  Great place.  I highly recommend visiting assisted living places (I also visited several here while exploring care options for Suzanne and Max...they are still happily at home, however.). It kind of takes some of the scare out of the idea of maybe needing care myself some time in the future.  Most of the places I visited were very nice, very comfortable and many had fabulous food.  

Then some other things happened between February and June, which I can't quite recall right now. One thing I do seem to recall is that Steve and I attended the wedding of my nephew, Tom at the beginning of June.  He married a lovely young woman named Vanessa and they are happily ensconced in their lives and working as attorneys down in SoCA. At the end of June, I helped my good friend, Joan move to Missoula from Boise.  She decided to go to help care for her great granddaughter, June.  It was a bit of an adventure getting there.  I drove the U Haul truck (admittedly, a small one) while she followed behind me in her car with her two kitties and a bunch of stuff that wouldn't fit in the truck.  Missoula, it turns out, is the hip, young college town capitol of the world.  Really nice town.  Reconnected with an old friend of mine from my W.S.U. days.  

In the meantime, I started volunteering for the English Language Center, which is affiliated with the Idaho Office for Refugees.  I have been helping out in the beginning class.  This class has folks just off the boat (most of them, anyway).  Many of these students don't have literacy in their own language, so their challenge is great.  I have absolutely loved doing this.  I go a total of 4 hours a week.  I also started spending a couple of scheduled afternoons with Suzanne and Max, helping them out with a variety of issues.  I spend about 6 hours per week with them.  That has been so wonderful and fulfilling for me.  It has helped to keep me off the streets and aided them with different things.  It has been an absolute pleasure.  The other thing I have done is gone to a couple of classes at the Osher Institute, which is affiliated with B.S.U. It is a learning program for older people, a category that I apparently fit into.  I've taken classes on meditation and one on digital memoirs.  I found the latter to be very interesting and kind of compelling, although I bet I never get around to doing any kind of memoir, digital or otherwise.  One thing about these classes.  I look around at the other folks and think to myself, "Really?  Am I really as old as all these folks look to me?  Are they looking at me thinking the same?"  Nobody prepared me for this particular phenomenon.  Not identifying with one's  age group.  Never been an issue before.  

My Aunt Helen died in September. She was 95 and the last link to my parents.  She was my mom's sister.  I had been planning to get down there, but wasn't able to make it before she died.  In the process of her decline, which happened very quickly, I became acquainted by phone and cyberspace with the son (Jens) of her ex-husband.  Not a step son. He was born after Helen was divorced from his dad.  Anyway, that was a very interesting experience, to learn of how they became involved with one another (long story) and to witness his devotion to her to the end.  I helped out the best I could from afar, but Jens did all the hands on stuff. Anyway, by the time I was able to get there (Santa Rosa, CA) her ashes had been scattered in a tiny garden and that was that.  My brother and myself had a somewhat difficult relationship with Helen. So I was grateful for Jens and glad that Helen was loved and cared for by him.  It's always a good thing to witness kindness and compassion up close and personal.

Steve and I took a little vacation up to Wallowa Lake in September with my brother, Don and sister in law, Ruth, which was fabulous.  We stayed in a very nice house and it was splendid all the way around.  I went back with them to the Bay Area, (the time I had planned to be with Helen). I just did San Francisco and Bay Area things.  Saw my old VISTA friends, Pat and Bill.  Lovely reconnection with friends from a time in my life that I remember in sepia shades.  

Steve is planning to retire in March.  He is ending up his career as the manager of the Western Region of Idaho Water Resources.  It is quite hectic for him with lots of challenges at a place he has been working since 1986. I think he will be ending his career with a feeling of satisfaction as well.  It has been quite the journey. He was also elected to the Board of the local Co-op after a blistering campaign. He was on the board once before during a turbulent time in the life of the Boise Co-op. It is a bonanza for us, as we get as 15% discount on our purchases!!

Well, that's it, my peeps.  May all of us find 2015 to be a great and peaceful year.  I'll be continuing on with my normal tirade of Opinions You May or May Not Be Interested In. 

12/27/14  I forgot one thing::::my book loves for 2014.  Okay.  I am not a big reader of non fiction, but I really enjoyed Erik Larson's In the Garden of Beasts. Tells the story of the U.S. ambassador to Germany during Hitler's ascent.  Nasty story because of the topic, but very interesting and well written.  Then I loved two books by JK Rowling Casual Vacancy and then under her pseudonym, Robert Galbraith, Cuckoo's Calling. I also read a book by Isabel Allende called Ripper, a mystery set in San Francisco, which I enjoyed.  I am about to read All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr, who lives right here in River City.  I know there were other books I enjoyed, but can't think of them now.  Thanks for a wonderful year of reading all you fabulous writers out there!

Christmas, 2014, minus me. You can note the expert photography skills of yours truly

Christmas, 2014, minus Ashley. Much better photo by Ashley

She Who Must Be Heard

I've been just a tiny bit discouraged lately, what with the events in Ferguson and having seen the documentary about Edward Snowdon just over the weekend. Not sure whether I should flip or fly.  Seems like our country may well collapse under the burden of its racism and a level of espionage and intrigue worthy of a LaCarre novel.  

Maybe some good could come of the unjust grand jury decision in Ferguson, amid the outrage and indifference.  Maybe we could wake up in white America and get that something in our program is just a little bit funky.  It is the legacy of slavery in this country that created the environment that allowed an unarmed black teenager to be shot and killed by a white police officer.  And something is terribly wrong that the police responded to the protests in the aftermath of the shooting with quasi military force. We can't change anything until we look at reality through a clear set of eyeballs.  As long as white people are convinced that we are living in a post racist world, the gross injustice and violence will continue. 

As for the Edward Snowdon thing: Jeez, don't ask me.  George Orwell may have imagined a world in which my stupid emails and phone calls and this blog could be of concern to the federal government, but who'da thunk it would come true.  I have visions of some NSA person saying, "Frank, she's posted another blog.  What a big mouth that woman has." Really, kids??? Just what the hell are we supposed to give up in pursuit of an increasingly elusive sense of "safety"?  

I say this:  Stand up. Speak up and don't ever stop. Write letters and emails. Show up. This democracy can only be take away from us if we allow it.  And white people: start by recognizing that you have privilege not afforded to others. Live in reality.  Painful as it is, it is far better than denial, excuses and bullshit.