Cold Spaghetti

Jen, Mad and Su have Just Posts up for October — these are social justice and activism oriented posts nominated by readers — and I am flattered to be among the offerings. I learned of these through the talented and mellifluous Alejna, who is fun to read not only because of ThThTh, but because she is an endless source of pants-related humor. (Become the mother of a toddler and pants become very funny. Really.) The Just Posts have been a big source of inspiration for me over the last few months and this month’s posts were no different. I loved Jen’s writing about the impact of the tropical storm-related flooding in Belize, which has devastated the rural community she and her husband bought property within and are moving to in January of the coming year. Magpie’s charge inspired me to donate $25 to charity. My own sister-in-law made a strong argument about how the legacy of slavery is still a very real presence to school children attending schools named after slave owners. These are just a few examples.

I enjoy reading the Just Posts because it helps me to connect to others who are aware of the world around us and look for ways to make a difference. A little happy place in the internet.

The beach is my other happy place. So, here are a few pictures from the beautiful Gulf Coast, featuring my favorite kids. Because there is where I want to be right now…

There are so many things that contribute to my Bad Mommy status… using Jack Daniels as a teething soother, stuffing the kids into the overhead bins during air travel, co-sleeping… you get the idea.

But the number one thing that solidifies me as a Bad Mommy is this: I hate my children’s birthdays.

It gets worse each year. The anxiety, the fretting, the countless nights of web searches for the same ideas. Weeks of calling every mediocre local option to find that it doesn’t matter anyway, they are booked. Worrying over the date, the time, the people. Being frustrated that the weather is a complete question mark (three years ago it was 95 degrees and unbearably humid, last year we had frost on the ground). Feeling disappointment over Will’s obsession with presents. Knowing that I have a team on hand to judge when whatever I do doesn’t live up to expectation. Because it’s all on the Mom. There is no one else on earth responsible for children’s birthdays and every little detail… from the humidity to how the streamers bend to the taste of the frosting on the cake… lie on the shoulders of The Mother.

It’s not that I’m caught up in some ‘perfect birthday’ ideal. I couldn’t care less about theme, crafts, or activities. I just want a simple party with some friends where the adults can hang around and talk and the kids can run themselves silly. That’s it. THAT IS ALL.

Really, what I want is to borrow someone else’s house for the weekend — one with a big yard — rent a jumpy house to put outside, and let the kids run around the yard for 90 minutes while the parents hang back, eat, and talk. I wouldn’t even mind cleaning up afterward. This, in my view, is the World’s Best Birthday.

And the anxiety is because it’s just a total impossibility. Something that simple is simply not possible. There is nothing I can do to have a stress-free party for my kids, and I feel angry that I even have to think about it.

NEW PLAN, Will and Kate! You guys get to stay 4 and 2 FOREVER!

Today was the second Schweitzer Retreat. We decided as a group to hold the retreat at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, because why not do something fun?

I don’t have a lot of Renn Fest experience. There is a chance I may have attended the gigantic Maryland Renn Fest in high school… perhaps even on a day when said school was occurring… but well, bad memory runs in the family and my parents occasionally stumble on this website when scoring the internet looking for Roseville Pottery. So let’s just say this was my first Renn Fest.

Yes, they did knock each other off of horses. Which is mild compared to what their respective women did to each other after the guys were finished.

Renn Fest folks like putting ‘e’ or ‘th’ behind every word, sometimes using both at the same time. Like the sign so warmly posted at the exit: “Returneth Soon!” They also are strong believers in boob torture.

We had a wonderful time! The costumes worn by the players and visitors (you can rent yer own garb at the door) were always interesting, often stunning, and occassionally hilarious. Our group met in the morning, doing ‘business’ in a tent for a half our or so, and then had more discussion lakeside in the shade of a tree. And about when Erica noticed the foot-long daddy longlegs crawling across my torso? Yeah, I acted totally cool.

Paul and the kids joined up with us around lunch time. They spent a generous part of the morning with woodworkers, where Will asked a hundred questions about furniture making. Really. As it turns out, when Will wakes up at the crack of dawn and we shove him out of our room begging him to melt his brain with tv while we at least sleep until the sun has risen — well, he goes to the front room, turns on PBS, and watches The Woodsmith Shop.

It was news to me, too.

We spent the rest of the day at the village. The kids played some games and enjoyed some shows (Will loved the jousting, Paul loved the jugglers). The coolest thing, though, were these swings:

I was terrified of Kate going on them. But the Swing-guy assured me at a 15-month old was, “like, totally-th fine-th on the ride,” so I softened. Then noticed that Kate had already walked herself through the gate and was jumping up trying to get on to a swing. Let that nervous-ninny-Mommy get in the way of her doing something Will was doing? Ha!

And so I did my best to take pictures of her, sitting cool as a cucumber, floating and spinning around in the chair. Considering how fast they were whipping around with kids in chairs every few feet, I figured that this panning shot was purdy decent.

We also succumbed to stuff. Will was drooling over the swords even before we walked through the gates. So while I was returning from a solo port-a-potty mission, I visited a wood worker. He told me that his products have a 100-year guarantee “against any wooden weaponry.” I explained that his sister’s head was not wooden, so that the guarantee was not going to apply to us, but good to know. Will was our Knight for the rest of the day.

Here they go, off hunting dragons. Or monsters.

We all did our best to boost the economy. Paul fell for a juggling stick and I picked up a bottle of essence oil (gardenia, although the one marked ‘teen spirit’ was tough to pass up). Kate came away with cute butterfly wings and a matching skirt. The lady I bought it from was way cool and showed me a half-dozen ways to repair the wings in the case of a snag. Then she asked me if I was married.

“Yes.”

“Well, the skirt is made from memory elastic. That means your daughter can wear it during the day, and YOU can wear it at night. Men LOVE it.”

See why I thought this woman was cool?

With all the fun shows, jousting, falcons, and shops (er, shoppes?), we were surprised to find that we spent the whole darn day there. We have never spent the whole darn day anywhere with both kids (that I can think of) and that is just about the best compliment I can give any event.

When we got home weary and dusty from our long hour’s drive back, we found that there was a message on the home phone. From my cell phone. Which is at the office of the Louisiana Renaissance Festival, awaiting pick-up.

Damn. Well, at least someone found it and was nice enough to leave it somewhere safe. Looks like we may be headed back to the 16th century sometime this week.

Question: What is with Kate’s funny, scrunched up smile for the camera?

Answer: I have no idea.

(That’s me and my Mom, Easter 1978 — I’m almost 2 1/2, it’s a few months before my brother was born.)

One week into the month of November and how much I have gotten done?

I’ve translated one set of interview notes from Spanish… BUT have not gone back to listen to the original notes to put back in the parts of the notes that are in English. It equates to about 1/7th of the translation I have to complete. *sigh*

Despite my illness, we did manage to take the kids Trick-or-Treating. We went to Georgia and Emmy‘s so that the kids could explore the neighborhood en masse and we had enough support to let me rest if and when needed.

Georgia had a great party with yummy food, including delicious chili, homemade mac-n-cheese, and a movie theatre popcorn popper machine dispensing fresh kernels in red and white stripped bags. The kids took turns filling their assorted trick-or-treat bags with party candy and then putting the candy back in the cauldrons.

We got to spend some quality time with baby Ollie. Emmy kept calling him a little peanut while getting the kids in costume (I got to hold and burp the baby). Then she dressed him in his costume — he really WAS a peanut.

Everyone got in some baby time.

Wittle baby peanut!

Will and Kate stripped their impromptu costumes from the day and donned fresh personae: Will was Mike Wicowski from Monsters, Inc (a CCEX find last fall) and Kate wore her gorgeous red suit, a gift from Randy and Katherine on one of their trips to Taiwan.

Will had the Trick-or-Treat thing down this year. No need to prompt or remind, he knew how to negotiate the door knocking and opening, used the correct parlance for transaction, and held his bag or reached appropriately in the right situations. Kate, on the other hand, preferred to take one piece of candy at a time, bringing it in her tight little fist to the next door, where she would offer the kind Treater a trade: new candy for the warm mushed one in her hand. They would offer to fill her bag with candy if she’d hold it open, to which she’d reply, “no thank you.”

Both kids were pretty much ready to be done with the whole thing after one house, just to go eat what they had collected. It wasn’t until we were done that they realized the power of volume. You could actually see Will’s wheels turning as he understood that longevity of the trick-or-treat was a strategic choice. Whoops. He’s asked if we can count down the days ’til next Halloween ’cause he’s REALLY READY NOW.

Here’s a video of them in costume preparing for the Big Event…

This is a wonderful video clip from the fantastic PBS series “Unnatural Causes… is inequality making us sick?” One of the episodes, “Becoming American” was screened last night at the Ashe Cultural Center. I was one of the panelists that took questions about health inequalities at a community forum last night after the screening.

The website for the series is an incredible resource for anyone interested in income, race, immigration, housing, and the myriad of issues that influence our health. In particular, I liked the suggestions to how individuals can make strides in their own communities toward improving health. As a country, we showed we are ready for change… here are some suggestions on how we can start in our own backyards.

Research has shown that health is more than healthcare, behaviors, and genes—that the social
conditions in which we are born, live and work actually get under the skin as surely as germs
and viruses do. What can we do to help reframe the nation’s debate over health and to address
the root causes of our devastating socio-economic and racial health inequities?

Here are a few ideas you can use to get started and encourage others to become
involved in working towards health equity:

• Identify and connect people interested in the root causes of health inequities.
• Organize a “brown bag” screening to discuss how social conditions—where we
are born, live, work and play—impact health.
• Form a committee to identify assets, programs, or initiatives within your
organization where you can use the series to educate, organize or advocate for
health equity.
• Screen and discuss the series with PTAs, book clubs, neighborhood associations,
churches, tenants groups, racial justice groups, and trade unions.
• Identify three existing struggles in your community that can improve health equity,
e.g., land use, a living wage, paid sick leave, affordable housing mandates, toxic
clean-ups, lead paint removal, etc. How can you become a partner?
• Conduct an audit of health threats and health promoters in your neighborhood.
• Identify and build strategic partnerships with community-based organizations and
organizations in other sectors; link health outcomes to housing, education,
employment, political power and other arenas.
• Form a community-wide health equity coalition.
• Ask your public health department to conduct a Health Impact Assessment (HIA)
on proposed development projects and government initiatives and ordinances.
• Provide local media with facts and resources so they can incorporate a health
equity lens in their reporting; help them identify a message point person to provide
quotes, analysis and additional information.
• Broaden the discussion: look for opportunities to submit op ed articles, letters to
the editor, call in to radio talk shows, and form discussion groups.
• Organize a policy forum to brief officials in government agencies about the social
determinants of health inequities.

Paul came with me to the event last night (he was impressed that I managed to only use the phrase ‘epidemiologic assumption’ once) and regretted not having a video camera there. That can only mean that at some point in the evening, I picked my nose or something.

In lieu of my comments from last night, I’m listing a few of my thoughts based on the screening, the questions panelists were asked, and my comments…

— We should be very concerned about the mental health of the Latino youth in New Orleans. Statistically, their risks of mental illness far outweighs any other group in the city — and the risk factors we know to trigger illness in this group exist for them here in spades.

— What can we do, as a community, to create public, multiracial spaces?

— How can we advocate for better city transportation?

— What can be done to attract health researchers back to New Orleans?

All of these things are on the radars of the many community activists and organizations that are working to rebuild a better community here… but as anyone who works in community organizing and nonprofits understands, the strides made are more likely baby steps.  Can massive overhauling really occur?

Here is one community project that I think is great example of a fantastic step: The Hollygrove Market.  We have not been able to pick up the weekend box, but just knowing it is there for us and available in a neighborhood where food markets are scarce, makes me feel that maybe it is possible to create a healthy city in the midst of poverty and destruction?

h/t: Kate Harding

UPDATE: Stacy, you rock! YOU TOTALLY NAILED IT! Who can resist that catchy beat?

The clip being shown, as I understand it, is on immigration and the health of immigrants. I’m speaking here tonight about my research if anyone has an unnatural interest.

unnatural-causes-flyer

SCREENING OF THE PBS SERIES
UNNATURAL CAUSES
AND COMMUNITY DISCUSSION
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 2008
6 PM – 9 PM
ASHE CULTURAL ARTS CENTER
(1712 ORETHA CASTLE HALEY BOULEVARD)
Light refreshments will be served
UNNATURAL CAUSES is a documentary series that explores the
root causes of health and illness including economic and racial
inequality, the wages and benefits we’re paid, the neighborhoods
we live in, the schools we attend and the social conditions in
which we are born, live and work.
Please join us for a 30 minute screening followed by
a community discussion

My PapPap Charlie was the only child of a rough, Swedish woman. He was well into his forties, unmarried, and childless when he met my divorced Grandma in their jobs at the Department of Commerce. He was quiet, having suffered great abuses as a POW during the Korean War, and whether due to this trauma or his peculiar personality, was incredibly socially awkward. He loved classical music almost as much as he adored my vivacious, life-of-the party Grandma, who seemed to be the light that saved him from his Charlie Brown-like days and thrust him into the wild world of our family. He died of a massive heart attack when I was 10, but my Grandma tells me that before he died, I won his heart.

Oblivious to the awkwardness he had with children, I embraced him with the all assumed adoration of a grandchild. I followed him around, chattering through the sounds of gentle classical music, invading his space when he went to be alone in his basement retreat. Years later, Grandma Betty would tell me that these were the highlights of his life. That he would sit perfectly still and simply listen, puffing away on his cigar, terrified of doing or saying anything that might offend and cause me to leave. He was in awe of me with absolutely no idea of what to do or say, so he simply sat and took in all my chatter and energy with patience and surprise.

Later, when Grandma Betty and I became roommates during my high school days, she filled these stories with more intimate ones about their marriage. Describing how he made her feel and the things that made their relationship special. My favorite antic dotes were the ones that showed Charlie’s softer side, the jokes that made my Grandma laugh. He had a dry humor with a curmudgeon twist, and like my own husband, made jokes from words.

For example, a historical time or place, to Charlie, was an** “hysterical” time or place. Gettysburg, or the Fourth of July, or the Declaration of Independence were all “hysterical” parts of U.S. History. He described the Old Presbyterian Meeting House in Alexandria, Virginia, the place where my Grandmother chose to have me, her first grandchild, baptized, as “a hysterical church.”

So when I approached the polls this morning and entered my vote, PapPap Charlie was foremost in my mind. I could not shake the thought of how hysterical the moment was, that I was casting a hysterical ballot on a hysterical day, a day that will go down in hysterics. I think about telling my grandchildren about what it was like to participate in the election of 2008, of getting to vote for the first Black President of our country. About how good it felt, as if our country and indeed, the world, was at a turning point and suddenly the winds were picking up to bring us back to a place of safety and honor. I wonder if they will be awed to think that I was a part of such a hysterical day.

—-

* Just in case someone wonder about the grammar here, I looked it up. Using ‘an’ before a word starting with the letter ‘h’ is reserved for when the word has a silent h sound… ‘an honor’, versus ‘a horse’.

** Okay, I know the rule. But really, doesn’t “an” just sound better??

—-

UPDATE: It seems my parents found the new blog. I know because they’ve called me several times a day over the past two days to dump on me offer rewrites for my posts. (Hi, Mom!)

My Grandma Betty was known to weave a few tails… and as the first grandchild and one who lived with her for a solid year to finish high school and then again off and on while I worked in the area after college… I was the one who heard her stories. Charlie worked a desk job in the Navy and never was a POW — these were Grandma’s embellishments. The whole thing is very Grandma Betty. I wonder if she wanted to jazz up his past for her own enjoyment, or to simply make a dull story more interesting, or if it was her way of making him seem more memorable to me. She knew early on that if anyone was going to keep our family stories alive, it would be me; Grandma was aware of the need to leave a verbal legacy through me.

So Grandma made up information about Charlie’s past. Really, I think it’s sweet. A testiment to how much she cared for him, that years after his death she would weave danger and mystery into the gentle, quiet, and reserved man she loved. So Charlie wasn’t a POW, he didn’t become ill in Korea (the story was that he contracted some type of illness and was denied medical attention while a POW), and had job with a Navy supplies department. That’s one story. The other one is of an ordinary man who was loved so much by a vivacious woman who saw him as her hero. That’s the story I like best.