The driest leaf

Some days I am the driest leaf -
brown and brittle, blown away,
dropped by my maker, and turned to dust -
longing for courage to reconnect,
to find my way back up.
But there is something to be done first.

Who knew that souls-in-training
could make so much noise?
When breastbone grinds with heart and
heart clashes with head, then
rattles out through fingertips.
There are so many ways to die.

Each day, a resurrection, a
chance to green up, show up, pay up,
chop wood, carry water with
axes sharp as thoughts,
buckets big as lake beds.
There are so many ways to die!

But to the trees, they're all the same.
 
  ~MG 10.30.13

All politics is local...

What I learned on the campaign trail: a post election reflection of mostly personal and some political lessons

I recently ran for an open position on my city's board of aldermen. I entered the race at the last minute and ran against a well-known personal injury attorney. My campaign was a purely grassroots, volunteer effort, and I raised about $1,700 from neighbors, family, and friends. My opponent spent over $10,000 of his own money. After a grueling and exhilarating five weeks of intense canvassing, I lost in the democratic primary on September 10th by 166 votes (ouch)!

Here, in no particular order, are some things I learned:

- A lot of people are really hurting - and worse - despairing about the state of their neighborhood
- My father was right
- When it comes to footwear, candidates and canvassers should always forsake fashion for comfort
- Some friends will love you because of your politics
- Some friends will love you in spite of your politics
- Many people don't believe their voices (votes) matter
- Democracy in action is awesome, but could use a tune up
- People will lie to get what the outcome they want, especially when they feel entitled to that outcome
- Divisions of race, ethnicity, gender, and class are staggeringly real right here at home
- The stalwart foot soldiers of community activism are not, by and large, politicians

Scouting for acceptance

Last year, 2011, was a year of some loss. The mother of my best friend for 30 years  died in February. Known affectionately as Joanie, she was, in my teen years at least, much like a second mom. My uncle, my father's older brother Jack who accompanied him on his maiden voyage from Northern Ireland to New York, left this world in September. And my childhood friend, Matthew died in November after a long hospital stay where he lost a grueling battle to auto-immune cirrhosis.

We also lost two pets. Our round 11-year old gray cat, KC (short for Kitty Cat, the name given her by a 3-year old Rachel) died at the end of August. She was thin and wobbly those last few months. When she began gnawing off the end of her own tail, and not eating or drinking, we knew her days were numbered, poor thing. We put her down on August 29th, my birthday. More surprising was the death of our beloved orange boy cat, Jasper. He died very suddenly one spring afternoon, leaving us all shocked and heartbroken. He was very special - the kind of cat you love to come home to. Desperately cute, irresistible in his fine, feline elegance. He was super cuddly, a lap cat extraordinaire - gentle, sweet, loving. He was only 4 years old.


My daughter Rachel and my husband Andy would not allow adoption of another cat until a respectable amount of mourning time elapsed. Three months after Jasper died, I convinced them to adopt a kitten by sending them a picture of Ferris, posing in a mailbox. We went to PetSmart to meet the rescue agency rep, pay our fee, and pick up our little fellow. In the car on the way there, we came up with a name. Andy recommended Jasper. Whether this was for ease of remembering what to call it - or because he thought by giving it the same name, it would resemble Jasper in every other way - is unclear. I suggested keeping Ferris, liking the reference to one of my favorite fictional characters, Mr. Bueller. Rachel had just finished reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" and offered the name Atticus. Andy and I vetoed it, saying three syllables were too many for an animal that size. We settled on Scout - the rascally female character from the same book.

Though also orange and male, Scout is the anti-Jasper. Where Jasper was dainty, Scout is brutish - klutzy, bow-legged, and smelly. He has a penchant for passing gas and cleaning himself with loud, indelicate slurps. The first few days after we brought him home, we found him sleeping in his litter box! He rarely likes to cuddle, preferring rather to jump on your head during a dervish-like frenzy. Jasper was easy to love...and I mean, easy! Even people who don't like cats couldn't resist him. Scout is quick with his claws, malodorous, lacking in stealth, and ornery. His is black sheep to Jasper's golden child. And he most likely has a serious kitty complex for all the times he hears us declare things like "Jasper wouldn't do that!", "Jasper would do that." "You're no Jasper, Scout!" and, as he stares blankly while you pat your lap, hoping he'll curl up there for a while: "I miss Jasper!"

So I am forced to think that Scout is our lesson in acceptance; forcing us to love him exactly the way he is. Not as a second-rate replacement of a beloved pet, but as a new member of our imperfect family.

R.I.P. Jasper

R.I.P. Jasper

Not an island

Not an island

Did a little yoga and
got down on my knees
cried out to the good lord
help me please please please
i'm tired of the madness
that goes on in my head
wishing i could skip and
be grateful i'm not dead

i'm so tired of being tired
i'm so tired of feeling low
of never facing forward
of always saying no
no to life and innocence
no to love and joy
yes to fear and arrogance
maybe to the void

in this life or another
i'll find out what i'm worth
without the bonds of self
that bind me to this earth
without the judge and jury
that rule inside of me
without this island living
that keeps me out at sea.
~mg 3/2011

I'm so tired...

I'm so tired. I'm tired of Republicans - all of them. I'm tired of the Tea Party. I'm tired of homophobes. I'm tired of people who cheer over the death penalty. I'm tired of people who watch Fox News (even though I do sometimes to see if it can possibly be as insane as the last time I watched it). I'm tired of the President not repealing "don't ask, don't tell." I'm tired of war. I'm tired of politicians, in all their outrage over the federal deficit, forgetting to mention that we are fighting 2! (wars that is). I'm tired of the racist subtext, described as criticism of his leadership style, against President Obama. I'm tired of the sexist undertones against Nancy Pelosi and Hillary Clinton. John Boehner and Mitch McConnell - don't even get me started. And - just when we thought we were through with his smug, dense, one-syllable rhetoric - George W. is back to add to the misery of the mid-term election results....calling Kanye "Conway", declaring that waterboarding was [is] ok because a bunch of lawyers said so, and that invading Iraq was the right thing to do despite the lack of WMDs. The man has no conscience unless it has to do with the gruesome image of a fetus in a jar. WTF? I'm tired of trying to play to the middle. I wanna be a leftist communist socialist. There doesn't seem to be a middle anymore, if there ever was one.

And I'm tired of feeling angry and defensive about all the stuff that's making me tired. I don't want to be that person. And I don't want to use this socio-political fatigue distract me from the moments of my real, everyday life which is blessed beyond measure.

But, I am thinking that passive-aggressive rhetoric might be the way to go. You know, like when someone suggests that Obama and his administration did not do enough to create jobs or save the economy, I can say something cheerfully, of course, like: "You're right! If only George W were still around...we could invade more countries and reinstitute the draft! Then at least poor, young men who've been failed by our schools could make a living!" Or when someone says that Healthcare reform is going to kill grandma, I can say, "I know, right? And I got Kevorkian to take care of mine. Shoulda waited." How about the folks who contend that immigrants should just "go back where they came from?" I could say "I agree! Let's start with Irish bartenders in NYC and Boston!"

Anyway, I could go on. But I feel better now - just having ranted a little.