Archive | September, 2012

Wordish Wednesday, positivity edition

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Automated affirmation, Albany, CA.

My Pops always says he’s an optimist mainly because the alternative is so much more unattractive.  He’s also always been convinced that it came down to a decision on  his part.  For decades I fought with him over this: could he really be saying that our outlook could simply be re-routed, that the force of our will could redirect the impact of events, as simply and decisively as a railroad switch?  Well, yes: that is what he was saying. And though I think he left out a few helpful substantiating details, more and more I find myself in agreement with him. And not a moment too soon.

Everyday care of my kids has rapidly filled the breach the sudden loss of my job opened up a month ago (step aside, babysitter, Baba’s back in the driver’s seat!).  And though this throws a roller skate or two in the path toward my next Right Livelihood, there’s no disputing that children are grounding in a way nothing else is.  Per usual, I need them every iota as much as they need me.  Match made in mama’s ovaries, and in heaven.

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Intrepid

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In the tunnel, Codornices Park, Berkeley, CA.

She plunges into the dark of a tunnel with the same unflinching determination, the same open fascination for discovery that she brings to the cold of a mountain lake.  This tunnel joins the Rose Garden on the one end (it was one of her namesake grandmother’s favorite spots in town) and a much-beloved kiddie park on the other.

Helps that there’s a light at the end of this one.  ‘Spose that’s the defining element of a tunnel: they do in fact end, at some point.  Note to self.

 

 

 

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Interlude

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Daddad taking namesake grandson for a spin, Castro Valley, CA.

[A story unfolded after we exited these doors: it will follow soon. Meanwhile, I could’t resist sharing the image.]

 

 

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Mom’s passing, 19 years later (Weekend bonus shot, 09.02.12)

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Pops and family, Castro Valley, CA.

 

The summer of 1993 I was slowly adjusting to a breakup (not my choice; the axe fell just outside a Lesbian Avengers meeting in NYC).   My mother spent that summer in a convalescent hospital, ostensibly healing from first one, then another bone break earlier that spring. She was a heavyweight and older woman, unaccustomed to advocating for herself anywhere as fiercely as she advocated for others.  These were the reasons, I decided later, that no doctor had valued her body enough to thoroughly examine the x-rays of her bones as of her first bone break.  She had had a double mastectomy just three years before, and the bones that broke (we would find, posthumously) were textbook bones for a breast cancer metastasis in a woman her age.

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