Chag Samach!

More to come on this very unique and off kilter holiday season under the umbrella:)

Flowers born in Change

Beloved Cocoa,

On this birthday, a big girl who's 9, I have decided to tell you a little secret about that thing you and I share, both being born in November, today, I will explain to you the strength behind being a November woman.

It takes a strong flower to be born in the gap between seasons, especially the gap between fall and winter. The days offer a number of options, rain, snow, cold maybe warmth, a flower born in this month, the month of November, is a strong plant indeed. The mum is our flower, and you will not find a stronger flower for the month of change that this. A variety of colors means November women can choose among the options, for the hue that suits them. You and I both favor the strong red color of our plant.

We are like those flowers, Cocoa. You and I, were born in a month that is about change, about loss, and also about promise. We have Thanksgiving in our month, where we are so lucky to have a day to remember what is truly right with our world. We have Veteran's Day, with more remembering for the sacrifice for us from those who gave so much so we could have what we do in our lives. Your grandpas all served, and served proudly.

Cocoa, because of your strength, and because of your status as a November woman, you will weather any and all changes that come your way. You will be so strong, you will have so much to choose from and you will not fear change, because change is at the very center of your life. Our birth month is change, life is change, and as long as you can see that strength of the November birthday that you share with me, you will always be linked to me, in a way that is different than other moms and daughters who do not have the luck of having their birthdays a week apart.

I am a part of your month, I carried you to this month to have you at this time, in this month, to be a fellow November woman. I give you my strength, and the ability to embrace change. I love you and happy 9th birthday.

Love Mom

Weeks. . .

The Eve of Darkness

I will have a birthday tomorrow- 11-22, and for others this is a day of what? Dinners out maybe a gift or something else, but under the umbrella, it is of course, not that simple.
It is here, on the Eve of my birthday that the seeds of who I am today were sown, when I was 6, to be exact. It is events of my life that rule the day that is my birthday- and I have spent my life since that day, trying to make a life for myself beyond the events of that day. . .and beyond.
When you think of your birthday, imagine it as you do- a day to remark and to evaluate the path you are on and the directions you have taken or discarded- my life has made this day one of assessment- harsh, demanding and totally NOT the candle on the cupcake kind of time. . .the pain of this day cannot be underestimated, it was on this day that the seeds of my destruction were sown, and denied. My entire life has been spent trying to undo what this day has done to me- and I find myself at a place that makes my future so tenuous, and my resolve so weak.
I make the birthdays of my children so much a part of their lives- that they own their day the most amazing of social constructs- the day they began!
I do not have that for myself- I have been slotted to spend this day, 11-22, wondering if what I have made happen is enough to purge the past. . .this year. . . no
Lost my teaching job for a noble reason, but gone none the less. . .and a life in shambles- with remission no longer an accomplishment to cling to- I am lost and ready to implode.
So- in this regard my birthday, here under the umbrella will be a bit forced- the wonderful little humans will delight in their gifts of love and cards of caring- as I struggle with the legacy of what this day means to me as a human- not mom but as a separate entity. . .Darkness rules this day in my heart. . .but in the social construct of motherhood. . .all is well. . .

a most curious paradox

Witch Trials. . .

Living the life of a terminal heretic. . .checking things off my bucket list as I go. . .I don't know maybe alarmist, maybe realist. . .but whatever it is. . .DAMN THE TORPEDOES! Game on!

If Mama PhD had asked

It happened again- with the same results. For all of the education and all of the time spent trying to learn, the most basic of details can and does reveal all-



"I don't know how to pronounce that"



Yes, that's right, I have advanced degrees, and guess what- I have never HEARD that word spoken before!

Can I define it- yes! I can tell you EXACTLY what that word means. . .but I can't tell you what it sounds like! Can I use it properly in a sentence-yep, but I can't say it. . .



I am a product of my low class, no nonsense working class family, and they never EVER said that word!
Growing up in a home where women were destined to be mothers, advanced education was not part of the equation. . .I am a product of that place, of that time, and it seems that just when I think that I can be one of them. . .the educated. . .I look like SOUND like a complete idiot!
I am a teen mom grown up- heard the all the predictions- I would never be much, be on welfare (as we knew it) and would have a passel of kids. . .curlers if my hair was not so out of control curly. . .you get the point. . .yes that's right a TEEN mom. . .16 to be exact.
My path to being a doctoral student, now dissertator, has been most uncommon, and to try to pretend that I am one of you all is futile, and thanks to Star Trek, I can actually pronounce THAT word. . .among others. . . but does it matter?
I hope to get my degree, to be the end all be all of academic excellence, and to establish my place, but if I can't pronounce the words of my cohort, will I be one of you?
Sigh, I feel real, I feel like I belong, I have done all that I can to establish myself as someone who can and does understand the ACT words of my field- agency, and interaction, the inner workings of the Elizabethan Poor Laws that provide the foundation for the struggles of people like me into the 21rst century. . .but do I belong? I hope so, I guess it remains to be seen. . .and I hope that with more interaction and more time, I can rattle off the words that plague my very life, those words of the privileged homes, of the kind that children, sons and daughters, are privy to from birth. . .I hope. . .
If I do not make it, there is hope, my 8 year old daughter told me today, "Mom I mean that literally, not just figuratively. . .it is real."
Yes, Cocoa, it is real, it is real to YOU and I am proud of you, you will be ready and you WILL belong in that world, even if I do not. . . .

600- the one that belongs to Lennox

On the day you would have been born I remembered you