So ladylike!

Temporarily a tangents I need to do a study on the word "ladylike."  It cropped up in consciousness yesterday regarding me having my own, whole $5 bill in my big sister's purse.  A little voice of memory said, "So grown up.  So ladylike!"   "Ladylike" was a big word in my household of origin, said most frequently by my mother as a compliment.   Now, I have to say, interesting word choice.  It actually says you have made a good/successful attempt at being like a lady, but are not a lady. 


Contemplate, if you will, what cultural, class, economic and social bias this instills in little girls.  


Have your read the short story "A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor?  The grandmother is a great study of this point.  

Thank you to a Good Man

22 and 26 July 2010

Thank You for the gifts you gave to me.

Thank you for honoring me, for protecting me, for holding my hand while we drove.  At great and terrible moments, we made a great team.  The safety and security I felt allowed me to admit, learn and know how very scared and vulnerable I am.  I am no longer, and will never again be, that woman who Acts As If behind fortress walls.  I go forward, unprotected, accepting my vulnerability for the real condition that it is. 

Thank you for calling me last night, drunk.  And for coming over, drunk.  And for leaving, drunk.  I got to stare at your magnificent face.  I got to witness, again, your choice to hold alcohol more dearly and closely than everything and anything you ever loved or may have loved.  I got to sit, again, beside your crying soul.  I got to renew my lonely hope that you will one day chose life over alcohol and gain for yourself the magnificent view of you that is now mine alone. 

Thank you for enduring my faults better and more than any other man.

Thank you for the greatest sensual connection I have known.  I don’t expect to ever experience anything close to the intimacy we shared, the physical communication.  It feels like we only scratched the surface.  It was enough, and will never be enough.  The day after Thanksgiving will always be a sacred holiday of happiness for me.

Thank you for healing the hole in my soul left by Richard.  It took me twenty five years and a couple of attempts, but with you he left my heard and remains only in my mind as a series of events in time…a matter of fact, memory and history only.  With you, I trusted again and survived.  Given the opportunity, I’d still place my life, heart, soul and body in your hands or behind your shield in a heartbeat. 

For a moment, I damn you for taking your gifts away.  In this next moment, I forgive you for not loving me as I love you and for going away.  It is enough, and never enough, that I fully loved again.  I do regret not having time to move forward with you and your gifts.  I do know that this one regret—something so rare for me that it may well be unique—is mine to bear and release alone.

Cherish yourself.  If you ever find yourself in another moment when you are unsure or unable to cherish yourself, find me and I will remind you how wonderful you are.  It will be my pleasure to gift you with your own beautiful reflection.

Today, I hope you will accept this letter as my gift to you.  People tell me I write well.  Words are my passion, as are you.  Perhaps someday you’ll forgive both ;-) 

May God grant us both the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference. 

As ever and always,

Pink Oleander

He came for her.

He returned and they were a perfect pair

of the birds she watched all those years

as if she knew that her tired arms might take their wings

and her last breath, expelled from life

might join the wind and give rise to her first flight

reunited with the soul that returned for her

to once again soar behind her beautiful soul.

The beat of their wings greatened the air

until it gathered the oleander’s pink and fragrance

to wash through me and surround me

with their osprey’s laughter at freedom and joy, joy, joy.

27 April 2008

Sanctuary of Gladys

Biscuits with butter and honey

Long walks for careful talks

Canasta and Gladiolas

A cool and giant leather chair

A half-house with steep stairs that lead to peaceful, safe sleep

A conservatory of sweetness, strength, humor and laughter in the face of consistent pain

Softly fragranced, southern childhood days called forth with joy to light the chisel-sharp cruelty of northern poverty, family, and longevity

A stranger to monotony

A speaker to children

A full-bosomed mother to every wounded, tired and confused little soul

I cannot remember her ever asking for any thing, large or small.  

Not a cup of tea or a brick of gold.

16 February 2009

Etudes in Female Sharp

These women are every form of miracle in my life. They bestowed on me miracles of love, healing, and care. They performed exquisite miracles of pain and enduring destruction. From some of them, I learned to learn. From all of them, I chose to learn.

These entries are dedicated to the three women of my immediate family, who may find themselves conspicuous by their absence. You are absent from print only. You are present in every physical, emotional, intellectual and spiritual fiber of every page. I forgive you for the many acute and relentless injuries you heaped upon my little soul, and hope you forgive my acts of defense and revenge. I thank you for every moment of joy and laughter we were able to create between the rocks. I love you for gifting me with the persistent resistance that molded me into the woman I have been, am and will be.