tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66967481683438087052024-02-19T07:53:05.163-08:00Whatever Comes to MindCreative non-fiction, ranging from (sort of) Jewish sermons through memoir and city sightings to general spiritual/psychological musings, by Dana VinicoffDanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.comBlogger254125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-35799983998856302682020-06-11T12:46:00.000-07:002020-06-11T12:46:19.139-07:00Hope on the Horizon<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">How is it
that I, a proud pessimist, have the slightest tinge of hope for America’s
future? Mostly because tens of thousands of people are marching peacefully,
here and abroad, against obvious and entrenched racial injustice—day after day
after day. Military leaders balk at treating peaceful protesters as the enemy. Pressure
builds for the powers that be to address that injustice. And inroads are being
made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Statues
honoring slaveholders and Confederate leaders are being removed, from the
American South as far away as England. NASCAR and the military are retiring the
Confederate battle flag, which is a symbol promoting segregation. Police
departments are banning chokeholds and no-knock warrants, encouraging police to
monitor each other’s compliance with new standards, and having their budgets
redistributed away from military weapons and training towards supporting their
communities for better health, education, and prosperity. For example, there is
a movement to stop armed police from responding to situations that really call
for community mediation, mental health professionals, or social workers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I like to
think that the triple blows of the pandemic, economic collapse, and social
unrest have so undermined America’s unfounded belief in our strength and
exceptionalism that increasing numbers of us are willing to acknowledge that we
are flawed and need to change.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">If Mitt
Romney can march and chant “Black Lives Matter,” maybe we can hope that others
will locate their moral compass and their backbone, and will be open to
constructive change.</span></div>
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<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-65836162532652079672020-06-11T12:44:00.000-07:002020-06-11T12:44:11.627-07:00A Strange Contentment<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A Strange
Contentment<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My emotions
have been a mystery to me for most of my life. This usually bothers me only
when they’re uncomfortable, because I want to understand how I’m feeling so I
can do something to make myself feel better. Without that insight, I cultivate
responses that can help me regardless of the specifics, usually distraction or
self-comfort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I recently
noticed that my good feelings are often equally mysterious. I get this ripple
of something pleasant in my chest, and notice it with baffled appreciation. I
try to remember what preceded the ripple and inspect it for clues about its
cause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes
I’ve just paused one activity, taken a deep breath, and turned to something
else. Sometimes I’ve just figured something out or accomplished something. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes
I have a sense that my digestion is working smoothly, for a change, and my
internal chemistry is in a relatively good state. Lately, I’ve been noticing
this pleasant </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">ripple of feeling when I get up from the throne, which also
suggests a happy digestive system.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes, I
can just remember the happy little ripple and feel its echo, completely
divorced from anything in my environment or any particular thought. This is a
lovely ability to have, and makes me smile, which is itself both a response to
and a cause of happiness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For so long
I have been my own worst enemy, with an inner critic frequently beating me up
and eroding my self-esteem. Maybe I’m discovering a new member of my internal
committee, one who is simply happy here and now. I will call her my happy
camper, and hope for her frequent attendance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-80148262193716865672020-06-11T12:41:00.005-07:002020-06-11T12:41:52.502-07:00Where Do I Belong?<br />
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Where do I
belong? A question of many facets. First, the literal. Where I belong these
days is in my home or outdoors wearing a mask and at least six feet away from
everyone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This
question is usually asking, with whom do I belong. Where do I fit in? With whom
do I have something in common? Who are the people I care for? Who are the
people who care for me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Whom did I
find while engaging in common interests? Who came together with me around a
common identity? Who continue to get together because we like each other, and
because our get-togethers get us out of our homes and into the presence of
other human beings?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Do I belong
in the synagogue where I’m a dues-paying member but hardly ever attend services
and no longer work in any committee? I have synagogue friends from 30 years
ago, but haven’t more than greeted in passing for the last decade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Where else
might I belong? On this planet? In my skin? At the places on the internet
frequented by like-minded people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Turning it
around, who belongs with me? For whom do I make a welcoming space? To whom do I
give the benefit of the doubt?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So many
questions and even more answers, because every moment is different and my mood
varies along with my self-esteem and my willingness to even conceive of myself
as belonging on this planet at all. But the relationship between self-esteem
and belonging is circular: I need to feel vaguely good about myself to foist my
presence on anyone else, but if I haven’t spent time interacting with anyone
else I start to wonder if I actually exist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To accept
and justify the gift of my existence, I feel the need to be doing something to
improve others’ lives. I take the most responsibility for my friends and other
members of the intersecting communities to which I belong: lesbians, seniors,
writers, liberals, San Franciscans, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyway, in
this time of sheltering in place, one of the most helpful things I can do for
myself and others is to reach out and have conversations with my friends. To
recognize the other as a person worthy of being listened to, to share my
similar feelings and affirm that we’re both human. When I’m down, I can share
that with someone who is also down and be comforted by our common humanity. Or
I can share with someone who is less down, and maybe begin to hope that a
better mood might come around to me in due course.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And I remind
myself to listen to friends who call me or share in a Zoomed meeting, not just
to reassure us of our common humanity, but also to notice any particular need
that I can help with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dana
Vinicoff<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-37835328971010985332020-06-11T12:40:00.000-07:002020-06-11T12:40:08.268-07:00Liturgical Pieces for Pride<br />
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Blessed is
the Rainbow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Blessed is
the rainbow: the variety of bright colors, the individuality of each color. The
grouping of these colors into a symbol of unity, of pride, of variety,
celebrating the unique identity of each of us, and the strength in our unity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Peace in
Pride<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Spread over
us the shelter of your peace, O Eternal. Let us march and sing and chant
wrapped in your protection and love. Let us spread your peace as we march and
sing and chant, that all our scattered queer ones may come together in peace
and pride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-27363104974696095652020-06-11T12:36:00.001-07:002020-06-11T12:36:13.592-07:00My Brilliant Career<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My Brilliant Career<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I wanted to be the best student in my high school class, or
at least to be recognized as a “Scholar of the Month.” I came in second in my class of 997 students; I was salutatorian instead of valedictorian. I did give the valedictory
address at graduation, though; it was awarded by audition. I never made Scholar of the
Month. As various of my friends received the honor, I gathered that the award
was based on extraordinary achievement in a specialized area. Although I won
some scholarships and awards in English and public speaking, I must have been
too much of a generalist to shine in the way they wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Fast forward past college, law school, and a judicial
clerkship. I settled into a career in legal publishing where I got to be a
student for my living. As a writer, I got to study a variety of legal topics under
the law of various states, to synthesize my understanding into a structure, and
to lay it out in the most accurate and reader-friendly words and paragraphs I
could build. I loved figuring out each new subject: moving the pieces around
until the picture was complete, tidying all the connections and edges, and
wrapping it up with a bow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Midway in my career, the writing was moved outside the
company to independent contractors. Editing wasn’t as satisfying as writing,
but at least I had the last chance to tinker with the writing and put my stamp
on it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Eventually, they bumped me up to managing increasing
numbers of publications. I got to spend less and less time with the words and
paragraphs, and got less and less satisfaction at my job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I managed my finances so I could retire early. Now I can
spend as long as I want writing and tinkering with my own words and paragraphs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-21176531171665265712020-06-11T12:33:00.005-07:002020-06-11T12:33:52.611-07:00Body and Spirit<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Body and Spirit<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When my mind is a blank, a remembered fragment of spiritual
direction suggests I pay attention to my body. OK. I have itchy wrists from sun
allergy, muscle knots lining my right shoulder blade, and, perhaps related to
this, a tingly numbness in my right forearm alternating with achiness there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">None of this is of any great import, certainly not
life-threatening. But they keep my attention focused on these little things,
distracting me from thinking about the risks I took today to see my friends in
person. And they keep me from dwelling on the Covid tests I took today. Even
remembering them I dwell on the physical discomfort, instead of appreciating
how scary it was for me to acknowledge the reality of this disease enough to
get tested for it. To acknowledge that I have factors raising my risk of dying
from this if I do catch it, and to remember that people have caught it despite
taking all the precautions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There is no assured safety, even if I am in the 90<sup>th</sup>
percentile of precaution-taking. Invisible particles of virus land where they
will and follow their own imperatives. All I can do is the best I can without
driving myself crazy. Take all sustainable precautions, and reach out for as
much of my normal B.C. life for which I’m willing to bear the risks. And, of
course, reach out to help my friends maintain their sanity within their chosen
levels of risk avoidance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-77377070568657880492020-05-11T13:28:00.002-07:002020-05-11T13:28:43.713-07:00Tim the Postman<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My letter
carrier is the only person from before Covid who is still in my life in the
same way. When I retired, he became the person I saw most often. And he still
is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Our
relationship began this way. My living room is at the front of the house. I
could hear him opening the mail boxes. I opened the front door once or twice after
he had put the mail in my box. After that, he started knocking on the door so
he could hand me the mail directly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I learned
that his name is Tim, which I find easy to remember since my cousin Tim was also
a mailman before he retired. If I wasn’t home and Tim had a package for me, he
would give it to a neighbor or put it somewhere safe and leave me a note
written on the back of an envelope. We greet each other if our paths cross
outside my home. When I caught him at his truck once, he remembered that he had
a package for me and handed it to me. I give him a tip at Christmas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Post-Covid,
he still knocks on my door and hands me the mail, wearing no mask. His cheery
smile is the last lingering piece of interpersonal normalcy in my life. All
other encounters take place over the internet or from six feet apart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I ran across
him the other day while walking six feet from a friend; I hailed him “There’s
my man Tim,” and we smiled at each other. I cherish his presence in my life, my
last link to the old normal whose loss we all grieve.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-47889593760892051962020-05-03T11:55:00.000-07:002020-05-03T11:58:17.454-07:00Wibbly Wobby Time<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Wibbly
Wobbly Time<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Lots of
folks are having trouble remembering what day of the week it is, now that most
of us are away from the structure of work week and weekend, of scheduled
meetings and events. It’s a problem I solved when I retired nine years ago. I
update my universal calendar with the date and day of the week each morning
while I’m getting dressed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I need reminding during the day, I ask myself
what day it is and answer accordingly. If I’m unclear, all I have to do is wake
up the iThing in my breast pocket; its wakeup screen has the time, date, and
day of the week in nice big print. Nope, I usually know what day of the week it
is, however meaningless that distinction may seem these days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My problem
is with what time feels like; it seems to stretch and contract at whim.</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;">A single day can last forever, or I can look back at a complete vacuum where the last week should be.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I made
a point of restarting my daily journal in early March in part because I sensed
that these times would be especially slippery; I wanted to keep track of what
was happening and how I felt about it. My memory for what happened and when it
happened is particularly bad, so I hoped a written record would anchor me more
firmly in time. Maybe it would help me navigate the stormy seas that had come
to us all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Not that I’m
keeping track of how many days we’ve been in lockdown; that way lies madness. It’s
going to be months if not years before we seniors can blithely head outside
with no concern for contagion. I just wanted to lay down a trail of where I’ve
been so I can look back on some record of my travails and accomplishments,
worries and appreciations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It has
helped some, having a written record to review. But what a weird time we’re
living through. The days when I was glued to televised impeachment hearings
seem like another lifetime. Worry about who made the better showing at the
candidate debates seems utterly trivial now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We might
have to develop new means of marking time: the last time we ate with friends at
a restaurant; when we understood our age made us especially likely to die from
this; when we learned what ‘flattening the curve’ and ‘social distancing’ meant;
when we learned about the hotspots in nursing homes, prisons, and meat-packing
plants; etc. etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I don’t
know. Maybe the only times that matter are ‘before’ and ‘now.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-82339986697780029832020-05-03T11:51:00.001-07:002020-05-03T11:51:12.315-07:00The Japanese Beatle<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I was
listening to the classical music station the other day, when the announcer
introduced a piece by Paul Chihara. That name was a blast from my past.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In
1971, Prof. Chihara had taught musicianship to my class of music majors at
UCLA. Among ourselves, we called him the Japanese Beatle. He was short,
dynamic, and a bit bedraggled. His elbows were coming out of his sweater
sleeves, and he wore the same pair of increasingly ragged pants most days. At
the end of the year, I coordinated a class ‘thank you’ gift for his teaching by
sewing leather patches to the frayed elbows of his usual sweater and buying him
some new pants.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The next I
heard of him was the composing credit for the gripping score to the movie <i>I
Never Promised You a Rose Garden. </i>He also wrote the score for <i>Crossing
Delancey</i> and many other movies and TV shows. He won many awards for his
composing, and has been commissioned to write pieces for many orchestras.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Nostalgia
filled me when I heard his name the other day, and I wondered if he was still
alive. Google told me that he was, and sent me to his website. I left him a
message reminding him of our times at UCLA. No response so far, and I’m trying
not to hold my breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-40308478144744052682020-05-03T11:48:00.000-07:002020-05-03T11:48:04.158-07:00Sudden DarknessA Metaphorical Fiction<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When I wake
up, I cannot see anything. OK, I keep my bedroom dark, but this is ridiculous.
Only in the darkest part of the night can I see nothing in my bedroom, and this
does not feel like then. My time sense tells me it’s morning, and I should at
least be able to see the stripes of light at the edges of the window blinds.
But no; I see nothing when I look in that direction. All right, I grab my Apple
device and push the button to wake it up. I hear the click, but there is no
light whatsoever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I get out of
bed and stand up with great care, mindful of the obstructions at the head of my
bed and the electric cords that might be underfoot. I feel and avoid them, and
grope my way to the light switch near the door. Activating it has no effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I’m starting
to wonder if I am suddenly blind. Even on the darkest night, there is some
light in my back hallway, because of the many windows. I step out of my bedroom
into the hallway, and it’s still completely dark. Must be me, then.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I blink my
eyes rapidly. I rub my eyelids gently to remove any sleep seed. I want to look
at my eyes, to see if I can find anything wrong with them, but I can’t see <i>anything</i>,
let alone my eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I go to the
bathroom as long as I’m up. Since I take this path when half asleep, I can
manage it by touch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now what? Do
I get dressed and try to get help? I can probably fumble with my telephone
enough to speed dial someone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What I’d
really like is to get back in bed, fall asleep, and wake up from this bad dream.
So I crawl back under the covers, but of course I’m way too agitated to even
begin to relax. I grumble myself out of bed again, shuffle around the bed until
I find my backrest, and heave it onto the bed. I wrestle the heavy pillow with
arms into place and clamber up until I’m seated against it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I cast my
mind back to yesterday. Did I eat anything unusual? Did I stare at anything
bright? Did I hit my head against anything? I can’t remember anything unusual about
yesterday. Not much of anything, actually. But that’s nothing new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">OK; guess
I’ll get up and dressed, and hope for inspiration. I get my underthings out of
their drawer and make every possible mistake settling them into place. I grab a
T-shirt from its drawer and yesterday’s pants and shirt from the chair on the
far side of the bed. Hope I got the buttons aligned and the colors don’t clash
too wildly. Oh well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Should I try
to call a neighbor for help, or just call 911? Lacking sight isn’t actually an
emergency, I suppose. Hey, wait, now it occurs to me, I have neighbors closer
than a phone call. I’ll just make my way upstairs and hope that one of my
tenants can help me out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This reminds
me of how I met my next-door neighbor after locking myself out picking up my
newspaper in my pajamas. Sometimes a beautiful friendship begins when one
person asks another for help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fingers
crossed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-22141419472859623802020-04-11T10:50:00.000-07:002020-04-11T10:50:15.712-07:00Throatlump<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I have often
sung at funerals for members of my family. When my grief threatened to derail
my singing voice, I soldiered on. I did a lot of acting, singing, and public
speaking over the years, so I learned to set aside any pesky emotions like
stage fright or grief while I was performing. That ability came in handy as
various deaths and disruptions entered my life, but then it became a habit, and
my emotions subsided into vague mysterious rumbles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes I
want to understand a vague emotion that has come to my attention. I consider
what has been happening to me or what I have learned recently, and imagine how
I would feel about that. Sometimes I have forgotten (or suppressed?) the
underlying event, but the emotion reminds me that something problematic has
recently come to my attention, and I reluctantly remember the problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have
various coping strategies for dealing with unpleasant emotions. Distracting
myself with absorbing reading is my go-to default. Next up would be eating something
sugary. Occasionally it might occur to me to get out for a walk, preferably in
the sun. Once in a blue moon, I might try to do a little something to address
the probable underlying problem by talking out or writing out how I feel about
the situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For the last
month or so, some negative emotions have hung around. They hover just out of my
consciousness but close enough for me to sense them when I turn my attention in
that direction. In short, whenever I attend to my throat, there’s a lump there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I think it
started when Elizabeth Warren dropped out of the race for President. My stunned
sorrow at her departure has been perceptible whenever I attended to it. At the
same time, the novel coronavirus was landing on our shores. As sickness and
death mount, and the less-than-sublime federal response makes thing worse, and
our lives are increasingly circumscribed, and returning to our prior lives
becomes decreasingly likely, that lump in my throat has become basically
permanent. I can feel it whenever I turn my attention that way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So I try to
slap some labels on the emotions causing my throatlump. I’m afraid that I’ll
catch the virus, suffer, and die. I’m afraid that frightened people will act
violently. I worry about the election in November and the survival of our
democracy. I feel lucky to live where I do, and am very proud of our political
leaders in the Bay Area and California. And I feel guilty about all my good
luck, and challenged to somehow pay it forward.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I suspect
that I’m not entirely alone in being so emotionally discombobulated. I wish whoever
reads this all the clarity you can tolerate and all the comfort you need.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-25956291877036058202020-04-04T10:23:00.001-07:002020-04-04T10:50:54.022-07:00Physical Distancing and Social SolidarityI've been at home since the first week of March. Already the rate of growth of Covid-19 cases is slowing here in the Bay Area, where the first stay-at-home orders were made. So we have hope that our inconveniences and sacrifices are bringing us closer to beating this virus.<br />
<br />
My days aren't that different from what they used to be. The events I used to attend on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays have shifted to happening online. I didn't spend a lot of time outdoors before, and may even spend a little more time outdoors now. The limitations on my freedom of movement make me more appreciative of excursions that are still allowed - visits to my garden and walking in the neighborhood with a friend once or twice a week.<br />
<br />
To express my gratitude for my blessings, I feel impelled to use some of my time at home for self-care. So I've been journaling and doing my little bit of Tai Chi for a couple of weeks now. More recently, I've added meditating and participating in Zoomed Always Active classes from my neighborhood senior center. I'd been meaning to try a class for many months, but hadn't been willing to drag my body there. Now, with the class as close as my computer, I have attended four classes, and plan to continue attending thrice a week. As an obese and sedentary person, I inched my way into the aerobic part of the session as I gradually figured out what parts of the program not to do. Next week I will finally see what the strength-training part of the session is like.<br />
<br />
I also feel impelled to build connections with others, to help me and my friends stay sane and well. I chat on the phone or Facebook Messenger several times a day, when I begin to feel isolated. Sometimes friends call or email me. Following a prompt on Next Door, I put a teddy bear in my window for neighborhood kids to find in their outdoor treasure hunts. I appreciate neighbors' recommendation of restaurants that are still open for takeout or delivery.<br />
<br />
The sunshine has gone away for the weekend, and my solar-powered emotions are sinking. I'm already losing the impetus to reach out for videochats. Which means I should stop typing and just do it. Signing out.<br />
<br />
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-77568473013566317512020-03-28T14:17:00.002-07:002020-03-28T14:18:20.510-07:00 A Prayer for Sheltering in Place<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful for our homes, and we seek ways to help the homeless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful that we have the means to keep ourselves fed, and we seek ways to help
the hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful that we can reach out to others by phone, email, and videochat, and we find ourselves reaching out to people from our past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful for everyone who takes stay at home orders seriously, and we seek to help those who work in essential
jobs for our sake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
especially grateful for first responders and health care providers who risk
their lives to help save ours, and we try to get them all the protective
equipment they need.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful that a flood of information about the plague is at our fingertips, and
we evaluate extreme messages for validity before we share them with anyone
else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We are
grateful for the beauties of nature, and we will try to maintain the healing that
is coming to the environment because of our self-confinement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;">We are grateful for our health, and we pray that our small sacrifice will</span><span style="font-size: 18.6667px;"> help slow down the spread of this pestilence</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;"><br /></span></div>
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-29281511791693072582020-03-19T10:50:00.001-07:002020-03-19T10:50:40.270-07:00Notes from My ShelterSo I've been mostly confined to home by government edict and sensible self-preservation for a week or so. As a mildly agoraphobic introvert, I'm relieved to be encouraged to isolate rather than guilt-tripped for doing so.<br />
<br />
That said, I'm spending lots of time online. I find that the internet is filled with every possible reaction to our situation: angry rants, snarky humor, and resources for the homebound, which include beautiful images and sounds, lists of what to buy, recipes, uplifting thoughts, free access to concerts, museums, live animal streams, you name it.<br />
<br />
I've been sharing the memes I find cathartic or otherwise helpful, and am honored when my friends like them or share them to their friends.<br />
<br />
One of the most helpful articles said that it helps with stress and anxiety if you find some creative outlet or other means of achievement. So that's why I got back into posting here. I also restarted writing in my journal; my thoughts are important to me, and if I can't share them with others in person, I can at least commit them to writing.<br />
<br />
Another article suggested we replace the forms of contact currently forbidden with others still available: a handshake for a phone call, a hug for an email, a smile for a video chat. So I've been phoning and video phoning people I haven't talked to in months. I put together a Facebook Messenger group so members of the Tuesday morning Koffee Klatch can virtually check in via video chat. It is heartening and nourishing to see each others' lovely faces again, and hear each others' voices.<br />
<br />
That's all I got for now. Stay safe out there.Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-2529234335712165422020-03-13T17:11:00.001-07:002020-03-13T17:11:57.964-07:00The Plush Owl<br />
<div style="border: 0px; color: inherit; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div id="x_gmail-m_358937073131823766appendonsend" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #201f1e; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; padding: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
</div>
</div>
<br />
<div style="border: 0px; font-family: calibri, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<div style="color: black; font-family: calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">It peered down at me from the top shelf of the convenience store in the lobby of my office building. I looked back at it many times before succumbing to its allure.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">The white plush owl with sand-colored wings, nose, and toes drew my attention often. Which was very often indeed, because I shopped in the store most work days. Its dark eyes were framed by inverted “V”s, leavening its apparent wisdom with a soup</span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">ҫ</span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">on of sorrow or anxiety.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I was reading Harry Potter during some of the years I worked in that building, but I don’t remember thinking of the owl as Hedwig. Plush owls aren’t very good at delivering messages. I thought of the owl as an embodiment of wisdom and calm, which I hoped she would share with me. At the very least, she would be something soft to clutch when the world seemed too much.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I don’t remember what I said to the clerk when I bought the bird, but given my penchant for honesty, I can be fairly sure that I didn’t lie about it being a gift for some youngster. I may have juvenile tastes, but at least I own them fair and square.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Nowadays she peers down at me from the top of the entertainment unit in my living room. Except for right now, when I have placed her on the table where I’m writing, for inspiration.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">If I were to give her a name, what would it be? I am sure that she is female. I am a devout female chauvinist, so I wouldn’t be attracted by a male entity. Minerva might work, since the owl is her symbol. Minerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom, medicine, the arts, poetry, and handicrafts. I could hardly choose a better patroness to preside over my retirement. I’ve been seeking to artfully write and publish whatever scraps of wisdom I’ve acquired in my life. As my body ages, medical wisdom and the willingness to apply it come in handy. Maybe I’ll call my owl Minerva.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I hug her and close my eyes. There is a lump in my throat and angry sorrow in my chest over the departure of Elizabeth Warren from the presidential campaign. It helps a little that I have plenty of company feeling the same way. The situation reignites the gut-punch of Trump’s 2016 victory. Only misogyny explains why </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">people would have voted for that mendacious, hateful, incompetent, self-absorbed, corrupt whiner instead of for the most qualified person who ever ran for the job. Lord knows the other Democratic candidates this year are immeasurably superior to Trump, but the standards applied to women candidates are also immeasurably stricter than those applied to men. It is still incontrovertible that a woman must be twice as good as a man to be thought even half as good.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14pt; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Anyway, I hug Minerva, feel the lump in my throat, and wish for a good cry to wash the lump away.</span></div>
</div>
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-68541925140564751932020-03-13T17:05:00.004-07:002020-03-13T17:05:44.794-07:00The Yarn of My Life <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I was slow
learning to knit as a child. The holidays I spent with my mother were too short
and too filled with family adventures for her instruction to take root. My
brother had no interest in knitting, so we couldn’t knit as a family. Our
holiday crafts were assembling plastic models of airplanes, knights, and
monsters, and painting by numbers. So the little knitting instruction she gave
me in those years didn’t stick very well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Most of the
year Eric and I lived with out paternal grandparents. Grandma also knitted, and
her teaching stuck better, but then she died when I was nine years old. Grandpa
Lou was not a knitter, but Great Aunt Anne was. She took up the challenge of
continuing my training, also without much success.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I knitted a
necktie for my sixth-grade teacher, Mr. Barbush. It was basically the right
shape, but the yarn and needles were way too big and the straight knitting
stitch was way too lumpy for the finished product to even resemble a necktie.
Nevertheless, Mr. Barbush actually wore it the day of the gift, and thereby won
much merit, good karma, and jewels in his crown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mother
knitted every family member a turtleneck sweater one Christmas. Each sweater
had triangles in a contrasting color knitted into the fabric around the neck
and shoulders. The kids’ version had one row of triangles, and the larger ones
for adults had two rows. They were knitted of sturdy wool, and were much too
warm most of the time. As I grew up, the knitted fabric tried to adjust to me,
growing wider (and correspondingly shorter) over the years, but eventually I
could no longer get into it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">These
sweaters had been knitted in the round, on four double-pointed knitting
needles. This technique had too many moving parts for me to manage at that
time. Mother tried to encourage me with stories about how my father knitted
himself socks that way, anchoring one end of a needle in his belly button when
it threatened to get away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She did
succeed in teaching me a complicated stitch that created rows of knotted loops. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">She said it was intended for creating furry fabric, by cutting the loops in
half and brushing the ends until fluffy. I couldn’t bring myself to cut the
loops; I really liked the texture of the rows of densely packed loops. The
resulting fabric was very thick and warm. I decided to knit myself an afghan
this way. However, I knew nothing about designing a pattern to result in a
particular knitted shape. I just bought a ball of each color and type of yarn
that appealed to me, and knitted the same arbitrary number of stitches in each
row until the ball ran out. Since I had paid no attention to the contents or
weight of the yarn, the balls were of varying weights and lengths. So I wound
up with around 40 rectangles of various lengths and widths. I had to sort them
into rows of approximately the same length before sewing the pieces together.
The result was a small afghan of many colors and textures, but, boy, was it
warm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">During my
high school years when I lived with Mother, she guided me through every stitch
of a complicated pattern for a fisherman’s sweater. She had to show me every
step at least once, but I finally succeeded in finishing the sweater correctly.
It was a tour de force, and I was very proud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-22544725211973114272020-03-13T17:03:00.005-07:002020-03-13T17:03:49.483-07:00Musical Strangers<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It must have
been about 1985 when I started attending the recorder workshop at Dominican
College in San Rafael. I learned about the early music workshops from my voice
teacher, but was more interested in playing recorders with other people than
singing. Getting a group of recorders to sound fairly good is a lot easier than
tuning up a group of singers. If you put your fingers on the right holes and
don’t wildly underblow or overblow, the right notes will come out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I had come
roaring out of the closet after the Milk/Moscone murders. I was out to everyone
except for relatives of my grandparents’ generation, and they probably
suspected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So when I
decided to spend a musical week with a group of strangers, my question was not
whether I would come out to them, but rather how and when. The workshop was run
by the San Francisco Early Music Society, so I didn’t expect to meet much
homophobia. After all, San Francisco is the city where the love that dare not
speak its name never shuts up. Had I known how many of the workshoppers came
from other states and other countries, I might have been less optimistic. In
retrospect, though, it seems to me that they had chosen to come to our turf, so
they were in no position to complain about local mores.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I don’t
remember my deliberations, but I decided to make a bold statement on arrival
and let the chips fall where they may. I was the proud possessor of one T-shirt
advertising my membership in the Pacific Lesbian and Gay Singers, and another
one for the (imaginary) Lesbian National Forest. I would wear one of these
explicit T-shirts the first day of the session, and let them do my speaking for
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Which is how
I found other lesbians in the group, including the workshop director, Frances.
We looked familiar to each other and finally figured out that we had been
classmates in the music program at U.C.L.A. a decade or so earlier. Later in
the week, an older couple quietly made themselves known to me. Turns out, we
are everywhere! I got no negative comments, and never noticed any unfriendly
expressions. If you knew your fingerings and could keep up with the other
players, you were in. Period.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-35335825061795120652020-03-13T17:00:00.002-07:002020-03-13T17:00:18.144-07:00Music in My Life<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“She shall
have music wherever she goes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Music and I
go back to my elementary school years. When I wasn’t singing to myself at
recess, I was humming quietly in class, driving my neighboring classmates crazy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Grandma tried
to channel my musical bent with piano lessons, which I hated. My short fingers
weren’t suited for the ivories, but I learned enough to be able to plunk out a
melody that I wanted to sing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Uncle Jack
had a bit more luck teaching me to play ukulele, which suited my hands. I
worked my way to playing a full-size guitar as I grew up. I played a lot of
folk guitar in my junior high school years. When I joined Congregation Sha’ar
Zahav, I used my guitar skills to accompany congregational singing in my role
as a service leader.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I took voice
lessons through high school, college, which complemented my B.A. in music. I
got a new voice teacher when I came to San Francisco for law school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I picked up
recorder playing in my teens. After law school, my voice teacher introduced me
to the San Francisco Early Music Society. I attended their week-long
residential recorder workshops for many years. During my Lutheran period, I
played bass in a recorder quartet that accompanied hymns at small services.
Despite my small hands, I wound up playing the large bass recorder because I
was the only one who knew its fingering and could read bass clef. I also helped
establish the San Francisco chapter of the American Recorder Society, and
played in a trio at the memorial service for my best friend’s mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">However, the
instrument I have played most consistently and best has been my singing voice.
I sang in nearly every chorus that was available to me—high school choruses, the
U.C.L.A. Madrigal Singers, the San Francisco Civic Chorale, the Bay Area
Lutheran Chorale, and the Pacific Lesbian and Gay Singers. For a number of
years, I conducted a small choir for Congregation Sha’ar Zahav. The pinnacles
of my avocation were touring California with the Madrigal Singers and singing
the soprano solo in the Faure Requiem at Grace Cathedral with the Pacific
Lesbian and Gay Singers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“I hear
singing when there’s no one there.” Some music is running through my head
nearly all the time. I often sing a morning Psalm while making my bed. I have a
thank you song that I usually sing when I leave the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If I read
about or think of any words to a song I know, that song will be stuck in my
head until another one takes its place. And I delight in singing snatches of
song that happen to fit into a conversation or the current circumstances.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Music has
given me so much in my life: a way to make friends, a way to fit in, a way to
contribute. Song lyrics help me to express various emotions, and to measure my
feelings against them. Listening to music can get my toes tapping, my head
bobbing, and my whole body doing ballroom dance. Music sometimes washes over me
in waves of its energy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I listen to
a lot of classical music these days, in part to mask noise from my upstairs and
downstairs neighbors. While enjoying the music, I also try to name the piece,
or at least to name the instrumentation or form of the piece. And if I can’t
name the composer, maybe I can at least pick his country and century. Challenges
and mysteries are two of my favorite things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-13223996093509989032020-03-13T16:51:00.002-07:002020-03-13T16:51:36.511-07:00Mother’s Friend Jerry<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">Mother’s
work friend Jerry was the first person I knew was gay. This was around 1960, so
he wasn’t wearing Gay Pride buttons or rainbows. Mother knew he was gay, and
told my brother and I that he was gay, and then dropped the subject. Moreover,
when we saw him, he was often with his partner Ralph.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He was a bit
like my father in shape – around five feet nine inches tall and muscular
through the chest. He had dark brown hair, possibly dyed (mother’s certainly
was), carefully styled to mask his receding hairline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He wore
stylish, color-coordinated clothes. They were made of quality fabrics, like
cashmere and camel hair. Some pieces had been tailored
personally for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He and Ralph
created perfect adventures and lovely meals in their beautifully appointed
home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jerry and
Ralph were queens, I now realize. They spoke and moved with a hint of
daintiness. They had the “gay accent.” The pitch of their speaking voices rose
and fell more musically than is customary for straight men. Their pitch fell at
the ends of sentences less of a distance and with less finality than straight
men’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I can’t
remember any signature scents of Jerry’s, but he must certainly have picked up
cigarette smoke from Mother’s chain smoking – if not his own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Mostly what
I remember is his enthusiastic energy. He poured himself into the project of
the day – whether it was a picnic by the beach, opening a wine bottle with my Swiss
Army knife, or figuring out how to operate an electronic Christmas present.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My mother,
brother, and I once drove from Santa Monica to Santa Barbara with Ralph and
Jerry. We were going to have a picnic in a park near the beach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I was maybe
10 years old, which would make it the early 1960s. The only picnics at the beach
I had experienced were where we bought tacos, snow cones, and drinks from </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">the
snack bar, and ate them while sitting on our beach towels before they attracted
too </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">much sand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jerry and
Ralph’s idea of a picnic was in a different league. Their car had a large
trunk, all of which had been pressed into service. They brought out a
tablecloth for the picnic table. They brought out china. They brought out
silverware. They brought out crystal stemware. They brought out a chafing dish
and lit a flame under it to warm the contents—fricasseed chicken, which they
lovingly ladled over the homemade biscuits they had brought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I cannot
remember the other comestibles, but surely there were vegetables, drinks, and
dessert, at the very least. What I do remember is seeing them pull item after
item out of that huge trunk, placing them on the picnic table, and arranging
them just so.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I think my
family was impressed out of our socks. I for one was on my best behavior so as
not to fall below the standard of civility set by that sumptuous repast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-89822661146509105012020-03-13T16:47:00.002-07:002020-03-13T16:47:15.664-07:00Gibson In the Park <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember
being in a production of William Gibson’s play, <i>Dinny and the Witches,</i>
in John Hinkel Park in Berkeley in 1965. Our director was Aida Brenneis, the
mother of my classmate Lisa. Their family lived near mine on top of Grizzly
Peak. The story I heard was that our families became friends when my father, a plastic
surgeon, was called on to rebuild their son’s face after a messy bike accident.
At the time, I had never met a person named Aida. Her mother, also named Aida,
was a descendant of Giuseppe Verdi, the composer of the opera Aida.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Aida was a
trained thespian and a skilled director of children, so she undertook that
summer to keep her daughter and friends busy and out of mischief with this play.
It included a few songs, but wasn’t really a musical. I was cast as one of the
witches, Ulga. She is described as “very ugly but also very vain,” “the death
witch [who] hates humans. She is very efficient.” In our production, the witch
actresses were supposed to double as “devil-made, whorish, beautiful young
women.” I refused to play this role, and it was handed off to someone else. I
don’t remember my reasoning at the time, but suspect it included disbelief that
I could pass for beautiful, unwillingness to pay a whorish person, and my as yet
unrecognized butchness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The stage
was an amphitheater in the wilds of Berkeley. As active young people, we stayed
warm enough to avoid frostbite. Aida gave us very effective training in projecting
our voices to be heard in the last rows. The father of a cast member was a
composer, and he composed music for our handful of songs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember none
of my lines in the play, and only one line that was directed to me: “Ulga, don’t
be vulga.” I do remember some snatches of the songs, and one performance in
which my prop pistol was not in the cauldron where it was supposed to be, so I had
to use a pretend gun. I blamed myself and the prop master for that bobble, but the
show went on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember
performing the next year in a Garfield Junior High School production of
Shakespeare’s <i>Twelfth Night. </i>I was Feste, the jester, so I got to sing a
few songs. We performed in modern dress, and I accompanied myself on a borrowed
autoharp. I became good friends with my classmates who played Maria and
Malvolio, since we had so much dialog together to rehearse and memorize.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remember a
few years ago when an all-women performance of <i>Twelfth Night</i> by the Cal
Shakes came to San Francisco. Hearing the old lines warmed my heart, and I
might have sung along with their Feste, except that they used different music. Having
learned and played the part made me feel connected to the play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /><br />
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-7336624361116105692020-03-13T16:42:00.001-07:002020-03-13T16:42:45.999-07:00Queer Elder?! Me?!<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14pt;">I must be a
queer elder, mustn’t I? I’m definitely a lesbian: my experiences with
boyfriends never got beyond kissing. Once I enjoyed my first lesbian lover, I
never looked back. And most folks would consider me an elder, since I qualify
for Medicare and senior discounts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, what
does it mean to be an elder, and how is being a queer elder any different?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I like to
think that living into my seventh decade has given me some gifts to compensate
for the sheer wear and tear. For every decrease in pain-free range of motion or
clarity of eyesight, I hope that I gain whatever tenacity, wisdom, or
acceptance comes with having survived more challenges, wrangles, and people who
are every bit as weird as I am. At worst, my experiences show me which
approaches don’t work. The more mistakes I have made, the more things I know
better than to do again. I don’t waste the time and effort of repeating old
mistakes; I have the opportunity to make new ones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Most kinds
of physical or emotional discomfort are familiar to me. Thus, when I experience
them again, I have the means to comfort myself with the knowledge that I got
past them before and will probably survive them again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Being a
queer elder suggests having wisdom gained from my queer experiences, personal relationships,
and lifestyle. Living in San Francisco, I have some experience with gay rights
activism, especially in religious communities and politics. I can tell
youngsters who grew up in more accepting times what it was like marching in the
early Pride parades, what it was like standing outside City Hall after the
Milk-Moscone murders, and what it was like having my civil rights determined by
mayors, governors, courts, and elections.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Openhouse
provides many ways to share our experiences with others—in writing, on video,
in person. Being fond of the sound of my own voice, I take advantage of most of
these opportunities. I tame any unrealistic expectations and my own
perfectionism by remembering that I can only speak for myself and my experiences.
Everyone’s life is unique, and we all have something special to share.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Let’s take on
the mantle of queer elderhood with grace or at least resignation. We stand on
the shoulders of our own elders. Let’s pay it forward to nurture the next queer
generation and to preserve our history for the ages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-45332903996939453182020-03-13T16:40:00.000-07:002020-03-13T16:40:51.023-07:00Cat and Dragon<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Cat and
Dragon; responses to two prompts</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As to a prompt about what animal I identify with, I must have
been a cat in an earlier incarnation. I dislike getting wet, especially in the
rain, but also in a swimming pool. I can tolerate a bath for hygiene’s sake, as
long as it includes floral-scented bubbles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I luxuriate
in textures like my cat does. She will lie on, knead, or choose to vomit on the
softest surface she can find. I love to pet her wonderfully soft fur, and seek to
wear my own fur coat in the form of corduroy, flannel, and suede. I’d wear
cashmere every day if I could afford it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My cat finds
the warmest surfaces for sleep, including the cable box and my lap, and follows
the sunshine. My emotions are solar-powered—I get gloomy when it’s dark and days
are short, and I smile when I finally step out into sunshine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Cats love to
be on elevated surfaces, to look down on the world from a high perspective. My
cat likes window sills and the back of the couch, but will also perch on the
platform of my balance-beam scale, which is all of three inches above the floor.
At less than five feet tall, I used to climb ladders to reach high places.
Nowadays, I use a reaching tool a lot, and look other people in the eye only if
they sit while I stand, or I stand a step higher than them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Like my cat
weaving between my legs or climbing up my chest, I enjoy contact with people I
like, such as a touch to the shoulder or a good long hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My cat is a
maniac for climbing into cardboard boxes and paper bags. When I was younger, I
took pride in fitting myself into very small places like a skeleton cabinet or
a clothesdrier. More recently, I settle for being enclosed in my home, what with
my gently increasing levels of agoraphobia.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My cat can
be emotionally effusive, in her own imperious way. She showers me with gifts of
rats and mice. Sometimes she greets me by flopping on her side, showing her
belly. But when I’ve disturbed her by moving too much in bed, she’ll stalk to
the farthest corner and plump herself down, giving me her back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Cats are
known for elegance, independence, and curiosity. I identify with the
independence and curiosity; two out of three ain’t bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Another prompt
had me writing something with the following ten words: dragon, delicious,
dangerous, dearly, driver, downright, depth, deliver, drown, and decision. So I
made this foray into fiction:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A little
brown dragon lived in a cave on the side of a hill. A vegetarian, she ate
mostly delicious tender fronds of the fennel bushes that filled her territory.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She was a
homebody. She felt it would be dangerous to roam far from her cave, where she
could be attacked by bigger dragons or targeted by trophy hunters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She dearly
loved her little dell, which had a happy gurgling stream and all the plants she
would ever need to eat. She would nap in the warm sun, and curl up in her cave when
it rained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One day her
eye was caught by a bright gleam of light bouncing off something in the depths
of the stream. She was a strong swimmer, so she did not worry that she might
drown if she dove into the stream to retrieve the object.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Her decision
made, she took a deep breath, plunged underwater, and picked up … something.
She was downright baffled by the object in her claw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It was
metal, sure enough. Its surface was very hard and smooth. She struggled to find
a way to describe its shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It had an inside
and an outside, and seemed solid enough to hold water. She rinsed it clean in
the stream and found that it did indeed hold water. She used it to deliver
water to some fennel seedlings she was growing to replace what she had eaten.
She had seen how the plants in her dell prospered after the rains, deducing
that the water was a driver of growth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She still
didn’t know who had made the shiny thing or how they had used it, but she was
happy with her new watering can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-14183560105502305752020-03-13T16:37:00.000-07:002020-03-13T16:37:30.216-07:00Who is My Community?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Today's
buzzword is community. What is community? How is it created? What circumstances
foster it? How is it revealed?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The word
"community" comes from a Latin root that means "common." A
community is a group of people with something in common. More specifically, it
is "a social, religious, occupational, or other group sharing common
characteristics and which either is perceived or perceives itself as distinct
in some respect from the larger society within which it exists."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I these questions as a member of the so-called LGBT community.
Outsiders may see the LGBT community as a monolith, but it contains many
sub-groups who see themselves as communities: political activists, artists, the
leather community, etc. And any one person can be a member of several
overlapping communities depending on her neighborhood, gender presentation,
occupation, activities, religion or lack thereof, and so on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I find it
helpful to separate two kinds of community: communities by identity and
communities of caring. By identity, I am a retired older lesbian living in San
Francisco, and my affiliations include a synagogue, a brunch group, and two
support groups.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">How is a
community of caring formed? Good question. Some communities of identity include
caring for each other as an element of their identity, such as religious
congregations and extended families.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In my
experience, a community of caring develops when members of a community by
identity allow themselves to depend on each other. When they explicitly or
implicitly agree to come to each other for support, and have a reasonable
expectation of getting help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I saw this
happen when members of my brunch group had surgery, and the others visited
them, sent and brought food, helped them with chores, and encouraged them. We
take each other to medical procedures and the emergency room. We call each
other to listen when we just need to vent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Pretty much
any community of identity has the potential to develop into a community of
caring. As I see it, the key is for members to express openness to supporting
each other. For as many of the group as are willing to explicitly agree to help
each other to the extent of our ability. And to express this agreement not just
once, but regularly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And then, in
any group needs will develop. If the members are in contact with each other,
and believe that they have a mutual aid agreement, they will ask each other for
help and receive it, and the group will grow stronger and closer with each need
met.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-55562822980904204582020-03-13T16:30:00.002-07:002020-03-13T16:30:24.044-07:00The Roller Coaster<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Roller Coaster<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At a family occasion in Santa Monica, a friend of the family
told a story about a roller coaster in France. I’m not sure who the teller was,
but my guess would be Nancy Nimitz, as she was the most consistent non-family
presence in Santa Monica. She was the daughter of Admiral Chester Nimitz, a
hero of World War II complete with an aircraft carrier named after him. Since
she, like my uncle Malcolm, worked for the Rand Corporation (he in economics
and she as an expert on Russia), I imagine they met at work. I liked her a lot;
she was smart and witty and irreverent. The story seems like one she would
tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don't know if the story was true, but we kids loved it.
She said that the builders had tried to make the scariest, most exciting roller
coaster ever. They were very pleased with their creation, and had tested it
thoroughly with sandbags standing in for passengers. Came the dedication day
and the honor of the first ride was accorded to the mayor and other city
officials. However, at the end of the ride, they all were dead, their necks
snapped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not long afterwards, my mother took me, my brother, and a
cousin to Disneyland. We went on the Matterhorn Bobsleds ride, a type of roller
coaster. After a little conference at the top of the ride, we had our plan. As
the car neared the bottom of the mountain, we all keeled over bonelessly, as if
our necks had been snapped. Mother had been watching us and knew exactly what
we were doing. She stepped away from the fence and pretended that she didn't
know us. When the attendants came running up to the car, we smiled sweetly up
at them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lo these many years later, I wonder why we kids loved the
story so much that we decided to re-enact it. Why we felt no horror or sorrow
at the meaningless deaths of the officials, but only macabre glee. Maybe it’s
because kids don’t believe in death; the only deaths we have seen so far in our
lives have been fictions on a screen or in writing. At any rate, the story
really impressed us at the time, and it lingers in my mind still.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6696748168343808705.post-63513726782050260172020-03-13T16:23:00.000-07:002020-03-13T16:23:51.693-07:00Council on Religion and the Homosexual<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Council on Religion and the Homosexual
was formed in 1964, about ten years before I arrived in San Francisco. In the
mid-1970s, I became its co-chair, and participated in its fight against the
Briggs Initiative. Founding members of the Council were still on board when I
arrived, and they told me the stories of its founding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The group was formed to connect homosexual
activists with religious leaders for mutual dialogue and education. Its
founders included clergymen (and they all were men) from various Christian churches.
They were joined by leaders of the gay rights groups of the time: the
Mattachine Society, the Society for Individual Rights, and Del Martin and
Phyllis Lyon, the founding mothers of the Daughters of Bilitis lesbian
organization. When they incorporated as the Council on Religion and the
Homosexual, they may have been the first corporation in the U.S. to use the
word “homosexual” in its name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">No story of CRH is complete without the
tale of the New Year’s Eve Ball. The clergy and activists decided to fund-raise
by holding a ball at California Hall on Polk Street. The ministers feared that
the police would try to break up the party, so they told them their plans. The
police response was to pressure the hall’s owners to cancel the event. After
that didn’t work, some of the police may have agreed not to interfere with the
dance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nevertheless, on the night of the ball, the
police pointed floodlights at the hall’s entrance and photographed everyone who
entered the hall. Taking their pictures was what the police did to intimidate
gay men; publishing their pictures in newspapers often ended their jobs and destroyed
their family lives.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The five hundred or so attendees were
joined by about fifty police officers, whose very presence was threatening. The
straight religious folk experienced police harassment for themselves, as
peaceful partygoers confronted by so many officers and paddy wagons.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then several officers demanded to go
inside. CRH had hired three lawyers, foreseeing such a request. They told the
officers that the party was a private one, and that they had to buy tickets to
enter. The police promptly arrested not only the three lawyers but also a ticket
taker standing nearby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy Shilts described these events in his
book on Harvey Milk, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Mayor of Castro
Street</i>. He wrote: “The ministers held an angry press conference the next
morning, likening the SFPD to the Gestapo and demanding an investigation. Even
the Catholic archbishop was reportedly up in arms. For this, if no other
reason, City Hall had to respond.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The arrested lawyers were defended at
trial by ACLU attorneys, who got the charges dropped. City Hall assigned police
officers to “smooth relations with the city’s gays.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Not
only did police harassment decrease, but incumbents and aspiring politicians recognized
the size of the gay community and began to seek their vote. In exchange for gay
support, San Francisco assemblymen Willie Brown and John Burton introduced a
bill to repeal the statute forbidding gay sex. Dianne Feinstein credited the
gay vote for making her president of the Board of Supervisors. This led to her
becoming the mayor of San Francisco, and now she’s the senior Senator from
California.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So the New Year’s Ball was a seminal step
in turning gays from an oppressed minority into a powerful political
constituency.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Danahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14359156958481847390noreply@blogger.com0